Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Clara’s POV The morning light felt harsh, almost cruel, as it crept through the curtains of my room, prying me awake from a restless night. My eyes were heavy, swollen from tears I had cried until sheer exhaustion dragged me under. I wanted nothing more than to burrow under the covers and forget the night before—forget Nolan’s taunts, his piercing gaze, Rebecca’s mocking voice, and the way it felt like I’d walked straight into a nightmare I couldn’t escape. But life doesn’t stop for heartbreak or humiliation, no matter how much I wished it would. I forced myself to get ready, slipping into my jeans and a simple top, tying my hair back into a half-hearted ponytail. The reflection in the mirror revealed a girl who was trying too hard to look unaffected, yet I knew the truth—my lips were pale, my eyes still rimmed with red from lack of sleep, and my chest was hollow, aching with unspoken words that felt like swallowed knives. When I stepped into the dining room, the air thick with t

Clara's POV The bus ride had been my only reprieve—a chance to bury my face in my notebook and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. But stepping onto campus, I realized peace was never meant for me. University buzzed with life. Students rushed to lectures, laughter and gossip spilling into the hallways. I slid into my usual seat near the back of the lecture hall, grateful to see Jenna already there, her bright smile a beacon amid my stormy thoughts. She always had a way of making things feel just a little lighter, if only for a moment. “Rough morning?” she whispered as I sank into the chair, hoping my expression didn’t betray the turmoil churning inside me. I nodded, forcing a small smile. “You could say that.” Before she could press further, the classroom door creaked open, cutting through the low hum of conversation. A hush fell over the room as students straightened, ready for the professor to walk in. But it wasn’t him. It was Nolan. And Rebecca, glued to his

Clara’s POV The echo of their laughter clung to me even as I rushed through the hallway, my breath uneven, my chest tight. Each step felt heavier, like the weight of every stare followed me, pressing down like a suffocating blanket. “Clara!” Jenna’s voice called after me, but I didn’t slow down. If I did, if I let her catch me, the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes would break free, and I refused to let anyone—not Nolan, not Rebecca, not this entire goddamn university—see me shatter. I pushed through the doors, the outside air slapping me with its coldness. I leaned against the brick wall, clutching my bag so tightly my knuckles whitened. He won. Again. My heart screamed for escape—to go home, to hide, to drown in paint and sketches until the noise in my head dulled. But my gut told me Nolan wouldn’t let me go that easily. And I was right. His voice—low, smooth, dangerous—slid into my ears like poison. “Running already, little sister?” I jerked up, startled, my eyes

Clara’s POVThe moment I stepped inside, the familiar scent of home enveloped me—jasmine candles flickering softly on the counter, the faint aroma of spices wafting from dinner being prepared. For a brief second, I almost felt safe, almost comforted by the warmth of familiarity. Almost.“Clara,” my mom’s voice called from the kitchen, gentle but laced with concern. She peeked around the corner, drying her hands on a dish towel, a maternal instinct evident in her eyes. “How was your day, sweetheart?”I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace at this point, my lips trembling under the weight of my emotions. “It was fine, Mom. Just… classes. Nothing new.” The lie slipped out too smoothly, practiced from years of trying to shield her from worry, from the truth I desperately tried to bury deep down.Her eyes lingered on me, searching for cracks in my facade, the motherly instinct to protect wrestling with the urge to pry. “Are you sure? You don’t look too well. You know you can

Clara’s POV The house had dimmed into a hush, an uneasy silence that wrapped around me like a shroud. The kind of quiet that made every small sound feel enormous. Lying awake, eyes wide and unblinking, I replayed the events of the day in a continuous loop, each moment blurring into the next until I could hardly keep them straight. The weight of Nolan's words pressed down on me, each syllable echoing in my mind, drawing forth a tumult of dread. When I could no longer contain the pressure inside, I slipped out of bed, my feet whispering against the cold floorboards. The chill crept into my bones, but the sketchbook tucked under my arm felt like a talisman—a shield against the darkness that threatened to consume me. As I descended the staircase, the soft creaks of the old house seemed to echo louder in the stillness of night, amplifying my racing heartbeat. The kitchen light was dim, casting shadows over the countertops. The clock on the wall blinked past one a.m. A hollow hour, a tim