All Chapters of Claimed By My Stepbrother : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Greg raised an eyebrow, his hands casually sliding into his pockets. “Care to elaborate, kid?” That condescending tone made me want to scream. “I don’t trust you,” I hissed, taking a step forward. My mom grabbed my arm, trying to pull me back, but I dug my heels in. “I don’t trust any of you!” “Camila, enough!” My mom’s voice cracked like a whip, and I flinched, my grip on my panic loosening just enough for doubt to creep in. “Sweetheart,” she continued, her tone softening, “you’re not making any sense. What’s going on? Did something happen?” I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. How could I explain what I had just seen upstairs? How could I make her understand that Ethan wasn’t Ethan anymore, that something inside him had shifted into something monstrous? “Maybe she’s had a long day,” Greg suggested, his voice dripping with mock concern. “You know how kids are. Overactive imaginations.” I whipped around to face him, my fists clenching at my

The night stretched on, cold and quiet except for the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. My boots crunched against the gravel path as I kept moving forward. The sting in my scraped palms was a dull throb now, barely noticeable compared to the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my chest. I didn’t know where I was going. Part of me hoped I’d stumble across something—anything—that could make sense of the chaos my life had become. The other part of me didn’t care where I ended up as long as it wasn’t back home, where Ethan, Greg and my mother’s tears waited for me. As I walked, a faint sound caught my attention. I froze, my breath hitching as I strained to listen. Voices. Someone was talking—or maybe yelling? I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was sharp, heated. Curiosity pulled me forward, my feet moving almost of their own accord. The sound grew louder, more distinct, and I found myself slipping off the gravel path and into the shadows of a nearby alley. The dim

I kept walking, the cool night air wrapped around me like a thin, uncomfortable blanket. My arms crossed over my chest, partly because of the chill and partly because I just needed something—anything—to hold onto. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance and the dim glow of streetlamps lining the sidewalk. The soft hum of the city at night was all around me: the buzz of electricity from a nearby power line, the rustle of leaves blown by a lazy breeze, and somewhere in the shadows, the unmistakable sound of a cat yowling like it had just lost a fight. I glanced around, half expecting to see glowing eyes peeking out from an alley, but nope. Just the usual urban wildlife: stray cats and the occasional rat scurrying by as if it had somewhere important to be. One of the cats—a scruffy-looking thing with patches of fur missing—paused to watch me as I walked by. Its yellow eyes gleamed in the dim light, unblinking and a little too curio

By the time I reached Aunt Anya’s neighborhood, the sun was higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the streets. Her house stood at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, surrounded by a wild garden that looked more like a jungle than anything intentional. I walked up the uneven stone path, dodging a few overgrown branches along the way. As I knocked on the door, a muffled “Coming!” filtered through the thick wood. From behind the door, I could already hear the faint thump of music playing—something with a heavy bass that rattled the air slightly. Typical Aunt Anya. Never a dull moment in her house. The door creaked open, and before I could even take a step inside, the strong scent of liquor and something else—probably stale smoke—hit me like a wall. I coughed lightly, trying not to look too obvious about it. “My darling!” Anya exclaimed in that throaty voice of hers, stretching out her arms dramatically as if she hadn’t seen me in years. She enveloped me in a tight hug, pressin

I stretched out on the bed, pulling the blanket over my legs. The guest room wasn’t exactly soundproof, and every word he said seemed to echo through the thin walls. It didn’t help that he had one of those loud, obnoxious laughs—the kind that grated on your nerves after about five seconds. From the sound of it, Anya was enjoying herself, too. I could hear her laughter, light and carefree, mingling with his deeper voice. They were probably lounging on the couch, drinks in hand, completely unaware—or maybe just unconcerned—that I was upstairs, trying to ignore their presence. I sighed again, debating whether I should put in my earbuds and drown them out with music. But even that felt like too much effort. Besides, with my luck, the battery on my phone would probably die halfway through a song. “Looks like I’m stuck here,” I muttered to myself. I glanced at the door, half-tempted to sneak out and head to the kitchen for some water. But the thought of running into Anya and her