All Chapters of Claimed By My Stepbrother : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I pushed open my bedroom door, ready to drop onto the bed and lose myself in the safe monotony of my four walls. But instead of the familiar mess of my unmade bed and scattered books, there it was—a dress spread out perfectly on my duvet like it belonged there. I froze, my hand still on the doorknob. It was sleek, floor-length, and in a soft lavender shade that seemed to glow under the light, with delicate lace detailing on the sleeves and neckline. It was the bridesmaid dress for my mother’s upcoming wedding. I recognized it immediately. She had shown me a picture of it a few days ago, all smiles and excitement, asking me to come along for the fitting. I had mumbled something about being busy and conveniently kept forgetting the date. Now, here it was, looking suspiciously tailored to my size. I stood there for a moment, staring at it like it might suddenly jump up and explain why it was here. The fabric shimmered faintly, as if taunting me. Carefully folded beside it was a n

My beast stirred, clearly not satisfied. It wasn’t gentle, not a slow waking—it was a force, raw and insistent, clawing at the walls of my control. My wolf wanted her. Needed her. Every part of me did. I sat up, running a hand through my hair, the memory of her scent lingering at the edges of my mind. It was maddening how easily it overpowered my senses, how it lingered like an addiction I couldn’t shake. She wasn’t even here, and yet her presence was everywhere—in the way my chest ached, in the burning need that twisted low in my stomach, in the restless energy that made sitting still impossible. “Fuck,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as I stood. The wolf pushed harder, growling in frustration. It wanted to see her. Smell her. Touch her. And if I was being honest with myself, I wanted it too. Hell, I craved it just as much. My wolf didn’t understand boundaries or reason. It didn’t care that being near her would only make things worse, that it would tear ap

“Come on, you said you don’t even like him!” Tess yelled, grabbing my arm like she was about to stage an intervention. I glared at her, yanking my arm free. “And what does that have to do with this, anyway? Wait... is that why you offered to drop me home?” Tess’s face froze for a split second—long enough for me to catch her. She pouted, her bottom lip sticking out dramatically. “What? Nooo.” I raised an eyebrow. “Tess.” She sighed and dropped the act, though her puppy-dog eyes lingered. “Okay, maybe I was... curious.” “Curious?” She gave a half-shrug and bit her lip like a guilty child caught stealing cookies. “I mean, I just thought maybe... you know... something juicy would happen.” I stared at her in disbelief. “Tess, I swear, you’re worse than a tabloid.” Her lips curved into a sly smile. “But that means I’m entertaining, doesn’t it?” “No, it means you’re exhausting.” Tess ignored that, looping her arm through mine and pulling me along the hallway.

I tossed and turned in my bed, the sheets twisting around my legs like they had a vendetta against me. The clock on my nightstand blinked mockingly: 2:17 AM. Perfect. Another sleepless night. I groaned, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. Maybe a snack would help. Or water. Anything to give me something to do besides lie here in the dark with my overthinking brain. Pulling on a cardigan over my pajamas, I slipped out of my room, careful not to make a sound. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes you feel like even the smallest creak of the floorboards will wake up the whole world. The kitchen was dimly lit, moonlight streaming through the large windows and casting a bluish glow on the countertops. I opened the fridge, squinting against the sudden brightness. Milk. Leftover casserole. A sad-looking bag of lettuce. Ugh. I wasn’t in the mood for anything fancy. My eyes landed on a container of strawberries in the corner, their red color vivid

“Эта женщина будет моей смертью,” he muttered something under his breath “What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. “What did you just say?” Ethan avoided my gaze, his eyes firmly glued to his plate of pancakes like I hadn’t just asked him a question. Classic Ethan. Of course, he didn’t respond. That would require a bare minimum of human interaction, and let’s be real—he acted like basic communication might physically harm him. It was almost impressive how committed he was to being infuriating. Greg, however, did look up. His jaw tightened as he shot Ethan a look that could have sliced through steel. “Я же сказал тебе не говорить по-русски, когда мы с ними,” he said sharply—in Russian. Seriously? Russian again? What was this, some secret spy convention? Ethan scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk. My mom let out a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension. “I didn’t know you two spoke Russian!” she said, her voice overly chipper as she glanced between