Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 19: Gossips of Chaos

Kianna’s Pov:

The bike growled to a stop in the faculty lot at 8:47 am. I yanked the helmet off, hair still damp and tangled from the shower, Mordred’s oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.

He killed the engine and swung a leg over, but I was already moving.

"Keys," I said, holding out my hand.

He dropped them into my palm without argument. "Text me when it’s over." he whispered softly.

I didn’t answer, I just bolted. But the second I stepped onto the quad, the stares hit like hail.

Heads swiveled, and Phones were lifted. A ripple of whispers and murmuring followed me across the pavement.

"Did you see her?"

"She’s actually shameless..."

"They’re saying she’s literally living at Mordred Sinclair’s house now."

"Guess the rumors were true.."

My stomach twisted, but I straightened my back and stepped onto the polished tiles, heels clicking softly.

Every step felt like a drumbeat announcing my arrival. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

I kept my head high, ignoring the stares, the pointing, and the snickers that floated behind me. Yet, the whispers crawled under my skin like icy fingers. My life had always been under scrutiny, but this... this was something different.

Locker row was worse. The crowd parted like I carried a disease. Maddox leaned against my locker, arms crossed, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. A half-circle of his lacrosse bros flanked him holding their phones out and ready to record.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, loud enough for the hallway to hear. "Look who rolled in on the bad-boy express. Spend the night at your boyfriend’s house, Kianna? Real classy."

Laughter ricocheted off the metal lockers. Someone wolf-whistled. Oh here we go again, I knew this would happen. I stopped two feet away, keys digging into my palm. "Move Maddox, I have no time for this."

He pushed off the locker, stepping into my space. "What, no denial? No ’it’s not what it looks like’? Damn, you’re not even pretending anymore."

He leaned in, voice syrupy with mock concern. "People are saying you’re shacking up. Like, full-time. Hope he’s got a spare helmet for your reputation."

More laughter echoed through the hall. A girl I used to study with fake-coughed "slut" into her fist.

I didn’t flinch or blink, just stared Maddox down until his grin faltered. Explaining yourself to people like him is useless anyways.

"You done?" I asked in a flat tone. He opened his mouth—then thought better of it. Then suddenly the school bell shrilled overhead, and the crowd scattered like startled birds.

I shoved past him, spun the combination, and grabbed my BioChem notebook. Slammed the locker so hard the clang echoed.

The hallway to my lecture hall was a gauntlet of side-eyes and mutters. I was almost at the door when I spotted Lysander—heading the opposite way, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes fixed on his phone.

Our paths crossed right in front of my class. I slowed then whispered with a grin. "Lysander."

He didn’t break stride. Didn’t even glance up. Just brushed past like I was a stranger in the crowd.

"Lysander," I called louder, turning. But there was no reply.

A guy I didn’t recognize–tall, with a buzz-cut, earbuds dangling...jogged up from behind and clapped Lysander on the shoulder. "Yo, man, we’re late for Econ. Professor’s on a rant today."

Lysander nodded, muttered something low, and kept walking. They vanished around the corner without him sparing me a look.

The rejection landed like a slap. Did he just ignore me? But why?

I stood there a beat too long, stomach knotting. The whispers behind me hadn’t stopped; now they had fresh material to talk about.

I pushed into the lecture hall, slid into a seat near the back, pulse still hammering. Professor Harlan passed out exams without looking up.

I opened the test, and the first question blurred. Mordred’s voice ghosted through my head: "I don’t trust either of them."

For the first time all morning, I wondered if he was right about more than just the danger. But why will Lysander do that? It doesn’t make any sense.

The test dragged on like a bad dream, multiple choice on cellular respiration blending into free-response on enzyme kinetics.

My pen scratched answers on autopilot, but my brain kept replaying the hallway snub.

Lysander’s blank stare, Maddox’s smug grin. The quad whispers that followed me like smoke. I feel like I’m going crazy now. I couldn’t just ignore the fact that all these are happening to me. Especially being ignored by someone I adored most.

By the time Harlan collected the papers, I was the last one in the room. I shoved my notebook into my bag and slipped out, dodging the post-exam chatter in the hall.

Then my phone buzzed as I hit the quad. It was Mordred’s text: "Done? I’m outside."

I ignored it, because right now? I needed air and answers. And so I decided to go and sit outside for a while.

The campus café was packed, but I spotted a quiet bench under the oaks. I dropped onto it, pulling out my phone to text Lysander: "Hey, what was that about? We need to talk now."

There was no response, not even read receipts.Frustration boiled over, I scrolled back through our messages. Late-night study tips, memes about bad professors, that one time he’d talked me down from a panic attack after the mansion mess.

"He’s real with me," I’d told Mordred the last time. But now? I don’t even know if I was lying to myself all this time.

"Calm down Kianna, maybe you are just overthinking." I told myself, then exhaled deeply.

Just then, a shadow fell over me. I looked up immediately, expecting Maddox for round two...and froze.

It was the buzz-cut guy from earlier, hands in his pockets, expression neutral. "Kianna, right?" he asked, with brows raised.

I tensed, and looked at him carefully. "Do I know you?" I asked.

He sat uninvited, too close. "Name’s Trent. Friend of Lysander’s." His voice was casual, but his eyes scanned the quad like he was on watch.

"He wanted me to pass on a message."

My pulse kicked up. "Why not tell me himself?" I asked him again.

Trent shrugged, trying to avoid eye contact, then he replied.

" He’s busy. Said to say he’s sorry for blowing you off. Things are... complicated right now. He’ll explain later."

"That’s it?" I snapped. "After everything?"

Trent leaned in, voice dropping. "Look, he’s not avoiding you on purpose. There’s stuff going on—stuff he can’t drag you into. Just... lay low for a bit."

Before I could press, he stood and melted into the crowd.

I stared after him, phone still clutched in my hand. Complicated? The word echoed through my head. Then Mordred’s warning about the black SUV. What if Lysander was in over his head? Or worse—what if he was the one pulling strings?

Oh no, that can’t be. There’s no valid reason for it. Bedsides Lysander is never that type of guy, I trust him.

" Let’s trust him Kianna, maybe it’s just a personal issue." I muttered under my breath. Even though something still doesn’t sit right.

Then almost like a sudden storm, my phone buzzed again. Not from Mordred, but from an unknown number. It say’s,

Anonymous: Test went well? Careful who you trust, Kianna. Friends can be foes."

Attached is a photo of me on the bench, taken seconds ago.

I whipped around, scanning faces, trees and rooftops but no one was obvious. What the heck? My heart began hammering.

I quickly texted Mordred, "Pick me up. Now."

As his bike roared into view minutes later, I climbed on without a word, arms locking around his waist. The engine drowned out the whispers, but not the fear gnawing at me.

Whatever game this was, it wasn’t just about secrets anymore. It was personal.

And somehow I hate the fact that I’m starting to suspect my only friend.