Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 36: The Day of peace

The morning after Maddox’s apology felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

I walked across campus under a washed denim sky, no clouds or rain, just the soft winter sun that made the frost on the grass glitter like broken glass.

My breath fogged in front of me, but for the first time in months it didn’t feel like I was breathing through a straw.

The stares were still there, of course, but they were different. It was now out of curiosity instead of cruelty. Some people even nodded at me when I actually greeted them good morning.

A girl from my psych discussion group actually smiled and said, "Hey, you okay?" like she meant it.

I didn’t know how to answer, so I just smiled back and kept walking.

The whispers had changed too, what began as Kianna did this, Kianna did that turned into;

"Heard Maddox cried in front of the whole hallway."

"Trent’s been hiding in the library like a kicked puppy."

"Anonymous hasn’t posted since the rain video and the account’s gone."

Gone, the word felt odd to me.I’d refreshed the forum a dozen times last night just to be sure.

The profile picture, which was a black square with a white ’A’ had been replaced by the generic gray silhouette of a deleted user with no archived posts or trace.

It was as if these past few weeks had been a bad dream, someone finally woke me up from.I should have felt relieved, but instead I felt... waited.

Like standing on a frozen lake and knowing the ice is thick but still listening for the first crack.

Mordred was leaning against his bike outside the humanities building when my last class let out, he was holding his helmet and had that smirk that always made my knees weak plastered on his face.

He looked unfairly good in the sunlight, wearing an open black leather jacket and a gray thermal clinging to his chest. He had his sunglasses pushed up into his hair like a magazine supermodel.

"Thought you might want a ride," he said, voice low and warm.

I didn’t answer with words. I just walked straight to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, face pressed to the hollow of his throat that smelled like cold air and the cedar soap he used.

He made a surprised sound, then folded me in, one hand splayed across my back, the other cradling my head like I was something breakable and priceless.

"Hi," I mumbled into his jacket.

"Hi yourself." He replied, then

brushed his lips against my temple. "Rough day?"

"Surreal day." I pulled back just enough to look at him. " I felt like I was living in an illusion, after Maddox deleted the anonymous forum in front of everyone, things have changed completely."

His eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"I don’t know what I believe anymore," I admitted. "But I want to believe it’s over."

He studied me for a long second, then nodded once. "Then let’s pretend it is. Just for tonight."

He handed me the spare helmet, I climbed on behind him and slid my arms around his waist like they belonged there.

"Ready?" He asked. I nodded and tightened my hold around him.

The engine growled to life, and we left campus behind.

We didn’t go to the safe house this time. He took me to the little apartment above his garage. It was the one he never let anyone see.

Bare brick walls, mismatched furniture and a record player in the corner spinning something slow and bluesy. It smelled like coffee and motor oil in here.

We made our way to the kitchen and he volunteered to cook. Mordred Sinclair actually cooked because of me. How unbelievable.

He chopped onions without cursing, seared chicken like he’d done it a thousand times and let me steal cherry tomatoes straight from the pan while he laughed and swatted my hand with a dish towel.

We moved around each other in the tiny kitchen like we’d been doing it for years. Shoulders brushing, fingers lingering and stolen glances that lasted a beat too long.

He set the table with real plates, not paper. Lit a single candle he claimed was "left over from a power outage, not me being romantic, shut up." I grinned so wide my face hurt.

We ate on the couch because the table felt too formal. I sat cross-legged, plate balanced on my knees, and he fed me bites between his own like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At some point the forks were abandoned completely; he just held a piece of chicken to my lips and I took it, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth when I missed.

Music played low, the first track was Nina Simone, then Otis Redding. He pulled me up to dance without asking, just wrapped his arms around my waist and swayed, my cheek against his heartbeat.

The room was small, so we barely moved, just turned in slow circles, foreheads touching and breathing the same air.

And for the first time in forever, I let myself smile genuinely. I felt the happiness from the race of my heart when Mordred’s smile grew wider as we slowly danced.

"I could get used to this," I whispered, as he turned me around.

He answered by kissing me slow and deep, tasting like garlic and red wine on my lips.When we broke apart, his voice was rough. "Stay tonight."

And I did. We laid beside each other on his rooftop watching the beautiful stars in the sky.

I fell asleep on his chest with his heartbeat under my ear, as he pressed soft kisses to my hair and cheeks. I didn’t even remember how or when I got to the bedroom.

The next morning he woke me with coffee and a kiss on the shoulder. And we showered together. Mostly laughing, some touching, teasing and watching a lot of soap slid down places it probably shouldn’t.

He dropped me at campus with a lingering kiss on the lips against the bike that left a sophomore walking past gaping like a fish.

"Text me when you’re done," he said.

I nodded then floated through my classes. Even Ciara’s glare felt distant, like background noise I could finally tune out.

Lesley met me in the cafeteria at four, eyes bright. "You’re glowing," she accused, sliding a latte across the table. "Spill."

So I did, every detail I could tell without blushing myself into a coma. She listened, chin in hands, grinning like a proud mom.

"See?" she said when I finished. "Told you the storm would pass."

I wanted to believe her or I already have.

At 6:17 p.m.

Back in the dormitory, I found a white rose. It was taped to our door with a single strip of clear tape, no note or ribbon. Just a perfect bloom with its petals still dewy.

My heart did a stupid flip , thinking it was probably Mordred since he has been so sweet lately. So I texted him a string of heart-eyes emojis and added a thank you for the flowers.

His reply came two minutes later saying, "It wasn’t me, baby."

The smile slid off my face, I stared at the rose like it might bite me. Who sent this?

Lesley came up the stairs behind me, keys jingling. "Secret admirer?" she teased.

I didn’t answer, just pulled the flower down, thorns pricking my thumb, and crushed it in my fist.

That night I slept in my own bed for the first time in days. The room was dark and cold but somewhere in the silence I could have sworn I heard breathing that wasn’t mine.

I lay very still, counting heartbeats, waiting for a red light that never came.

Or maybe it blinked once, so fast I convinced myself I’d imagined it.

Day One of Peace ended exactly the way it began: with me pretending everything was fine, and something watching me believe it.