The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 108: Advice

Lara panicked, her heart racing like a wild stallion set free. She had never seen her brother so angry, so wrathful, so filled with hate. The fury in his eyes was unlike anything she had faced before—not just the rage of a warrior, but the raw, unfiltered anger of someone whose very soul had been wounded. He was not merely furious; he was broken inside, and she had been the one to shatter him.

She was just a maid—why did he care so much about her? Sansa was nothing compared to the weight of their royal bloodline, yet Atlas had declared war on anyone who dared harm her. Lara clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms until they drew blood. It didn’t matter how much pain she inflicted on herself now. That wouldn’t undo what she had done.

The thought echoed through her mind like a death knell, each repetition carving deeper into her chest. Her breath came fast and shallow, her pulse hammering against her ribs like a trapped animal desperate for escape. Even when she had stood before Dracula—the Lord of Dreaming himself—she had felt no fear. No hesitation. Only determination. But now, standing in the aftermath of her own choices, she felt helpless. Utterly, devastatingly helpless.

Her knees nearly buckled beneath her, but she forced herself to stay upright. She couldn’t fall apart now. Not when the damage was already done. Not when Atlas’s voice still rang in her ears, sharp as shattered glass:

....."From now on, Sansa is under my protection... If she dies, I’ll burn the world to ash—even if it’s my own blood I destroy."....

His words were not a threat. They were a promise.

And that terrified her more than any monster she had ever slain.

For a fleeting second, the idea took root in her mind. Maybe Isabella could help. Maybe her mother—who had always played both sides, manipulating court politics while pretending to be above them—could offer some guidance. Maybe she could soften Atlas’s rage, remind him of what family meant.

But even as the thought formed, she crushed it.

’No.’

Isabella would only twist this into another scheme. Another power play. Another way to control the throne while letting others do the dirty work. Talking to her would be like asking fire to soothe a wound.

Lara turned sharply, her blue hair whipping around her face like a storm-tossed sea. There was only one person left who might still hold sway over Atlas. Someone who had once whispered in his ear, shaped his thoughts, guided his hand through the chaos of politics and betrayal.

Claire.

Aunt Claire.

Just thinking the name sent a bitter taste curling at the back of her throat. She hated her. Truly hated her. Not because Claire was cruel or manipulative—Lara had learned to expect that from everyone in the palace—but because she had been ’there’. While Lara was out hunting land dragons across the kingdom, bleeding for Berkimhum, ’Claire’ had been beside Atlas. Touching him. Talking to him. Making decisions with him.

While Lara fought monsters in the Dark Continent, Claire had been building something Lara had lost.

Trust.

Intimacy.

Power.

Lara swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat.

She didn’t want to go to Claire.

Gods, she despised the woman.

But she had no choice.

Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, Lara activated her lightning skills. Her body blurred into motion, streaking through the palace halls like a bolt of divine retribution. The guards barely saw her before she was gone, vanished into the night air, her form flickering between reality and speed.

The air tasted like rain.

Lara’s cloak clung to her shoulders as she stood outside Claire’s mansion, the stone under her boots still warm from the day’s sun. Her hands trembled—not from cold, but from a kind of emotional fever. The kind of sickness that starts not in the body but in the heart.

She had never run so fast in her life, not even when facing the obsidian-scaled land dragon that nearly devoured her two winters ago. She had used her lightning—not as a weapon this time, but as a conduit of desperation. A blur of energy streaking through palace corridors and side alleys, unseen by anyone save for the thunderclouds overhead that crackled once in acknowledgment of her grief.

She should’ve killed her.

That thought rang again in her skull like a bell no one could silence. It was irrational. Cruel. But it was real.

She should’ve killed Sansa.

Then maybe Atlas wouldn’t have looked at her like that. With that mix of hatred and disbelief. That unbearable expression like she had torn down something sacred.

And maybe she had.

Lara knocked again.

Nothing.

She felt Claire’s mana signature—distinct, restrained, deceptively calm—just beyond the door. Like velvet over a dagger.

She raised her hand again, and hesitated.

"It’s me," she whispered. "Lara."

The door opened with a whisper.

Claire stood on the other side in her usual formal gown—deep burgundy layered with onyx trim, her purple hair loosely tied back in a half-braid that made her look less like an aunt and more like an empress in hiding. Her eyes scanned Lara once. She said nothing of the tear stains. Nothing of the wild breath or the cloak clinging to Lara’s damp shoulders.

She simply stepped aside. freewёbnoνel.com

"...This should be interesting," Claire said, voice unreadable.

Lara entered.

The scent of lavender struck her first—faint, powdery, clinging to the edges of the warm air like a memory refusing to die. The room was dim. Bookshelves stretched high. A single candle flickered on Claire’s desk, casting the room in soft gold and long shadows.

Lara sat without being told to. Her legs felt like they might give otherwise.

Claire followed, perching across from her, hands laced beneath her chin.

"So....Your highness....What brings you here?" she asked.

Lara opened her mouth.

And nothing came out.

The words choked, caught in the trap of her throat. Her entire body ached from holding it all in.

"I.....I need your help," she said finally. It came out hollow. "I don’t know what else to do. ....i’ve messed up....I’ve messed everything up."

Claire said nothing. She watched. Waited.

"....I locked Sansa away," Lara admitted. "I thought I was protecting him... protecting us. But now he... he said he would burn anyone who touched her. Even me."

There was a tremble in her voice. A desperate edge.

Claire’s gaze didn’t falter. She didn’t judge. She didn’t comfort. She simply listened, her presence more powerful than any outburst.

"I didn’t want this," Lara whispered. "I didn’t plan it to go so wrong. I thought if I removed her, if I created a vacuum, he’d come back to us. To me."

Claire inhaled, slowly. "So.....You wanted him to need you again."

"Yes!"

The admission ripped from her like flesh tearing from bone.

Claire tilted her head slightly. "And instead, you made yourself into his enemy."

Lara’s face crumpled.

"....I know."

Claire leaned forward, resting one arm on her knee. "Then let’s not waste time. Tell me everything. The real version. The one you’ve been too afraid to say....aloud."

Lara swallowed, her throat thick with shame. "I ...I was scared," she whispered. "Not of her. Of what she meant. She’s... soft. Gentle. She believes in him..... Not the power. Not the prince. Just... him."

Claire’s expression flickered, for just a second.

"And that scared you?"

Lara nodded. "Because he never looked at me like that. Not once. He respected me. Trusted me. But he never... he never loved me in the same way....Never."

She hated how small her voice sounded.

Claire leaned back. "You wanted to replace something you never had."

"I wanted to be enough," Lara said. "I wanted to protect him from himself. From the future. From making stupid decisions out of love—because love makes you blind, we ...we are of nobility...people like her, they only want fame and money...."

Claire’s voice came quieter. "And yet, here you are.... Blind from love."

The words struck harder than they should have.

Lara looked up, blinking rapidly. "....He won’t forgive me."

"No," Claire said honestly. "He probably won’t. Not right away."

"Then what do I do?"

"...You bleed," Claire said. "And you don’t run. And you don’t justify. And you don’t make it about him. You sit with the fact that you did what you did—and then, if he gives you the chance, you tell him why."

Lara’s shoulders slumped. "And if he doesn’t?"

Claire’s voice was colder now. "Then you serve him anyway. Because he’s your future king. Not your brother. Not your rival..... Your king." She voiced with a smile.

A long silence.

"I miss who we used to be," Lara whispered.

Claire’s eyes softened. "....So do I."

She rose slowly, walked behind her desk, and opened a drawer. She returned holding a folded piece of parchment. "I wrote this," she said. "After I made a similar mistake."

Lara took it with trembling fingers. She didn’t open it.

"Read it when you’re alone," Claire said. "And then decide what kind of person you want to become."

Lara stood, her legs unsteady.

The air in the room was thicker now. The lavender scent almost suffocating.

"I’m scared...I have never been this scared...," she admitted again.

Claire walked with her to the door.

"Good," she said. "It means you’re still human....you still care....you still love."

Lara stepped outside into the darkness.

The rain had stopped. But the ground was wet, the air sharp with petrichor and the scent of cut grass. The castle loomed behind her like a monument to failure.

And far in the distance—beyond the hills, beyond the smoke—she saw the faint glow of Atlas’s command camp.

He was there.

Still burning.

And she, lightning in name, in blood, had never felt farther from him.

She closed her eyes.

And the candlelight in Claire’s study flickered behind her, a flame still burning—but always on the edge of going out.

Visit freewe𝑏nov(e)l.𝗰𝐨𝐦 for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience