Home / Werewolf / Claimed By My Stepbrother / Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

All Chapters of Claimed By My Stepbrother : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

242 Chapters

CHAPTER 81: Small Wins

We didn’t talk on the ride up the driveway. The closer we got to the mansion, the heavier everything felt. Not like dread, exactly—more like standing on the edge of a really high cliff and not knowing if you’re about to fall or fly. My stomach was doing backflips either way. Most of my stuff was still at Aunt Anya’s, but that didn’t seem to matter. Apparently, I was moving back into the mansion whether I was ready or not. The moment we pulled up, I could feel it. That weird buzzing under my skin. Like the house itself knew I was back. Like the walls were watching. Ethan parked without a word. I opened the door before he could offer, mostly because if I didn’t move, I’d probably stay frozen in the car forever. The mansion looked exactly the same as the last time I was here—and I appreciated it for that. The front door creaked when Ethan opened it, and I stepped inside, half-expecting the usual silence. But instead— “Camila...” My head snapped toward the voice. There s

CHAPTER 82: Don’t Camila!

I stared at the ceiling for a few more seconds, then groaned and forced myself up from the bed. Sitting in a puddle of my own exhaustion wasn’t going to magically solve any of the fifty-seven issues life had tossed into my lap lately. I figured I might as well try on the bridesmaid dress, just to see if it still fit. I shuffled toward the wardrobe, tugging the doors open like they weighed more than my dignity. There it was—hanging prettily in the back, like a sad little ghost of things I never asked for. It was one of those nice shade of color that screamed ‘you’ll look lovely standing next to someone else’s happy ending.’ I pulled it out and held it against me for a moment, squinting into the mirror. Then I decided screw it and slipped out of my clothes, stepping into the dress. I wriggled it up and over my hips, then tugged the straps into place. And... okay. It was a little loose. Actually, more than a little. The fabric hung around my ribs like it was trying to sociall

CHAPTER 83: Good Girl

ETHAN ~ I turned my head lazily, eyes flicking toward the glowing red digits of the digital clock on my dresser. 2:45 AM. A soft sound followed—plastic hitting hardwood. The bottle of water I’d been holding slipped from my fingers and rolled across the floor, forgotten. I didn’t even flinch. My body was already moving, mind locked on one singular gravitational pull in this cold, dark house. Her. I stepped toward the door, my bare feet silent against the polished floors. My hand wrapped around the brass doorknob and twisted it slowly before slipping into the hallway. The second floor groaned under my weight, old wood and history soaked into every beam. This house had too many rooms, too many corners. But hers? I could hear hers even when she wasn’t speaking. Humming off-key in the shower. Whispering to herself when she thought no one was listening. She didn’t know I was always listening. I turned left, pausing right outside Camila’s door. My fingers hovered over the

CHAPTER 84: Ethan?

I sat there for a minute, frozen. Completely still except for the way my chest was rising and falling like I had just run ten miles. My skin felt too tight. Like I wasn’t even in my own body anymore. The moonlight slashed across her bed, lighting up the curve of her shoulder, her soft cheek pressed into the pillow, those lashes like feathers against her skin. The edge of my shirt slid a little lower on her collarbone, exposing this little triangle of skin that made my brain stop functioning. My fingers hovered just above her skin. Don’t. But god, I wanted to. I didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want her waking up and seeing this side of me. The side that wanted to tear the whole world apart just so I could have her. Just so I could keep her. But she was right there. So soft. So close. “God!” I breathed out heavily. “The things you do to me Camila,” I said through clenched teeth. “And you don't even fucking know.” Didn’t know how I laid in bed at night, fists clenched,

CHAPTER 85: MY KIND OF LOVE!

I landed soft as a shadow, my boots barely disturbing the grass. The balcony vanished behind me as I slipped around the side of the house. The mansion loomed quiet and dark like it always did, like it was holding its breath while I snuck in like the twisted little monster I was pretending not to be. The back door creaked open. I stepped inside, the cold tile biting at my skin through my socks. Then I heard it. “Ethan?” My name, sharp and questioning, cutting through the stillness. I turned, already knowing who it was. Greg. My guardian. My fake stepfather. The guy who helped me flee my pack, taught me to blend in, to walk like a human, talk like a human, smile like a human. But under all of that? He was just like me. A werewolf pretending to be something softer. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing that faded gray hoodie he always wore when he couldn't sleep. Or when he was too wired. His jaw was clenched, salt-and-pepper scruff shadowing his face, arms cros

CHAPTER 86: Just… Breathing

I stood in the center of my room like a statue, fists clenched, my heart beating so loud I could hear it in my ears. I needed her. So I did what I always did when it got this bad. I went to the wardrobe. It was like some sick little ritual by now. Always the same steps. Open the door. Slide aside the jackets. Reach behind the stack of old clothes. Pull out the box. The box with her in it. I dropped to my knees in front of it, breathing hard. My fingers trembled as they touched the lid. I hadn’t even opened it yet, but my body was already reacting like she was right in front of me. My hands shook harder as I peeled the lid off. And there they were. Camila’s pajamas. Soft, pink, silky. Folded with so much care you’d think they were worth more than gold. In my head, they were. They were more valuable than anything I owned. Because she wore them. They had touched her skin. Clung to her curves. Soaked up the heat of her body. I reached out and ran my fingers over

CHAPTER 87: Golden Retriever My Ass

Morning came like a slap in the face. The sunlight didn’t gently pour in—it shoved its way through my curtains, bold and blinding and way too loud for the mood I was in. My whole body ached, a raw throb under my skin from the night before. You’d think sniffing a girl’s pajama top wouldn’t feel like being torn apart and stitched back together, but that’s the thing about Camila. She ruined me in ways I didn’t even have names for yet. I sat up in bed, hair a mess, mouth dry, heart still stubbornly aching like I’d been through a war. I felt like shit. The same kind of shit you feel after a really vivid dream you didn’t want to wake up from. The kind where you had her—arms wrapped around her, her head on your chest, her fingers twisted in your shirt—and then the alarm goes off and you’re back to reality where she barely even looks at you in the hallway at school. I dragged myself into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at the mess in the mirror. Golden retriever

CHAPTER 88: Memory Lane

After breakfast, things started winding down in that awkward domestic way I never quite liked. Camila quietly stood up from the table, carrying her plate to the sink like a good girl. Then, without saying much—no glance, no snide comment—she padded back upstairs to her room. Still wearing my shirt. My eyes followed her the whole way, heart drumming slow and heavy. Greg kissed Camila’s mom on the cheek, murmured something about having “something to take care of,” and slipped out of the house like he wasn’t irritated as hell by me. I didn't miss the way his jaw clenched when he looked back at me on his way out. Whatever. I waited until I heard the front door click shut before I stood up and made my way into the kitchen. I wasn’t particularly thirsty, but I needed something cold. Something to distract me from the memory of Camila’s bare thighs brushing the hem of my shirt. The ache hadn’t gone away. It just simmered under my skin, low and stubborn. I pulled open the fridge, gra

CHAPTER 89: Good Riddance

CAMILA ~ The next morning, I dragged myself back to my room after a very awkward breakfast where I tried not to think too hard about the fact that I was wearing Ethan’s shirt. Or that my mom was suspiciously glowing like someone who hadn’t just been mourning the death of her dignity last night. And let’s not even talk about Ethan—who looked like he hadn’t slept at all. But whatever. I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me with a soft click, leaning back against it and sighing like I’d just returned from war. In some ways, I had. Emotional warfare. Mental chaos. Secret agency. Suspicious stains and an endless trail of awkwardness. And now? Now I had laundry duty, apparently. I glanced toward the small heap of clothes piled messily near the foot of my bed. All of them mine. All of them... well, definitely unwearable. My face twisted as I walked over and knelt beside them. They looked worse in daylight. The dried crusty streaks across the fabric made my skin

CHAPTER 90: I’m Losing It

Still in a bit of a haze, I stood in the laundry room, arms crossed as the washer thudded to life like it was struggling with the weight of my anxiety. My thoughts were spiraling—someone had definitely been in my room. Not just passing through. They had touched my clothes. Done God knows what to them. And they might still be here. Under this same roof. Was it one of the staffs? I stared at the spinning machine, jaw clenched. My skin crawled a little, like the feeling you get when someone’s watching you. I hated it. Hated the vulnerability of it. Hated that I couldn’t shake the thought of how long it had been happening. Days? Weeks? Then— A hand landed on my shoulder. I jumped like the damn machine shocked me. My heart slammed into my chest as I spun around and—“Jesus Christ, Ethan!” He blinked, eyes wide. “Sorry,” he said quickly, holding his hands up like I had a weapon in mine. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” “Don’t sneak up on people, psycho!” I snapped, one h

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