Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 52: The way Out

Kianna’s PoV:

I stared at my reflection in the dorm mirror, tugging at the hem of the black dress Lesley had practically forced me into.

It was simple—satin, off-the-shoulder, with a slit that felt far too daring for my mood—but she’d insisted it made me look "mysterious and untouchable."

Right now I just felt exposed and vulnerable, like everyone would see the mess inside me if they looked too close.

Lesley bounced on her bed behind me, curling the last section of her hair. "You sure you don’t want me to do yours? Loose waves would be so cute."

"I’m good," I muttered, running my fingers through my straight hair one more time. It fell like a curtain around my face, a shield I desperately needed tonight.

She caught my eye in the mirror and softened. "Kianna... come on. You’ve been holed up for days. This party is exactly what you need. It’s not even our school—no one there knows about the videos, or Maddox, or any of the drama. Just music, dancing, free food, and a bunch of college seniors who won’t recognize us."

I turned away from the mirror. "I don’t feel like dancing."

"You don’t have to dance. You can just... exist somewhere that isn’t this room." She hesitated, then added quietly, "Last time you were alone in here too long, you scared the hell out of me."

My stomach twisted. She didn’t have to say it outright. Two nights ago, after another crying jag over the videos and

Maddox’s bruised face at the cinema, I’d locked myself in the bathroom, filled the tub and sat on the edge with my sleeves pushed up, staring at the water until my vision blurred.

I hadn’t gotten in, but I’d thought about it hard. The same way I nearly discarded myself out of this world when Mordred and I broke up...the very day I refused to listen to him for once.

Lesley had knocked eventually, then pounded, then used her spare key when I didn’t answer. She’d found me on the floor, shaking, and held me until I stopped.

I couldn’t put her through that again.

"Fine," I said finally. "I’ll go. But if it sucks, we leave by midnight."

Lesley squealed and threw her arms around me. "Deal! You won’t regret it, I swear."

The party was an after-graduation prom for the state university across town—one of Lesley’s friends from theater camp knew a senior who’d scored an invite, and somehow that invite had multiplied until half our dorm floor was going.

It was being held in the grand ballroom of the Regency Hotel downtown, the kind of place with crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and a reputation for looking the other way if you flashed a confident smile and didn’t act like a high schooler.

We took an Uber with two other girls from our hall, all of us crammed in the back giggling over contraband flasks and who might hook up with a college boy tonight

I stayed quiet, watching the city lights streak past the window, trying not to think about how close my birthday was.

Eleven days. Eleven days until I turned nineteen and the fated-mate bond could lock into place. Eleven days until I might be magically tethered to Maddox forever, whether I forgave him or not.

The hotel lobby was chaos—gowns and tuxes everywhere, laughter echoing off the high ceilings, security guards who barely glanced at us as we sailed through on the arm of Lesley’s friend Marcus, a theater kid with a fake ID and the confidence of someone who’d done this a dozen times.

Inside the ballroom, it was exactly what Lesley had promised: loud music, dim colored lights, bodies packed on the dance floor, long tables of catered food and an open bar that clearly wasn’t carding.

No one from our school. No familiar faces. Just a sea of strangers celebrating the end of something.

For the first hour, I let myself get swept along. Lesley dragged me to the buffet, piled my plate with tiny sliders and chocolate-covered strawberries, and introduced me to a dozen people whose names I immediately forgot.

We posed for photos under a massive balloon arch. Someone handed me a drink—something sweet and pink that burned going down—and I drank it faster than I should have, chasing the numbness.

Lesley disappeared into a circle of theater kids playing some elaborate drinking game involving charades and shots.

I watched her laugh, carefree in a way I hadn’t been in weeks, and felt a pang of envy. I slipped away before anyone noticed, needing a moment to breathe.

The washroom was down a quiet side hallway, all marble and gold fixtures, softly lit and mercifully empty when I pushed through the door.

I set my clutch on the counter, leaned over the sink, and stared at my reflection again. The makeup Lesley had done was holding up—smoky eyes with red lips but my eyes themselves looked hollow and tired.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, fixed a smudge of liner, adjusted the strap of my dress that kept slipping then took a deep breath.

Gosh, Why’s my life so complicated? I mean looking at everyone else here tonight...I felt like my life was some kind of punishment.

Each day, new trouble...everyone in it wants either a piece of me or just another curious betrayer.

I clutched the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection desperately, as if doing so could change something.

Then a gentle but edgy voice came through behind me.

"You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world, birthday girl."

I jumped, spinning toward the voice.

A girl leaned against one of the stalls, arms crossed, watching me with an amused tilt to her head.

She was striking—tall, with sharp cheekbones, skin like porcelain, and long dark hair twisted into an elaborate braid that fell over one shoulder.

Her dress was blood-red, vintage-style, like she’d stepped out of a 1940s film noir. She looked maybe twenty-one, twenty-two. Definitely college-aged.

I frowned. "Do I know you?"

She smiled, slow and knowing. "Not yet. But I know you, Kianna."

My heart stuttered. "How do you know my name?"

"Small world," she said lightly, pushing off the stall and stepping closer. Her heels clicked softly on the marble. "Or maybe not so small. Word gets around when certain people are... destined for big things."

I backed up instinctively until my hips hit the counter. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a painting she was trying to decipher. "It means you’re at a crossroads. And the choices you make in the next week or so? They’ll echo for a long time."

Her voice was soft, almost kind, but the edge beneath it couldn’t be ignored. "Maddox, Mordred and the bond which will happen on your birthday...I can see you’re drowning in it, aren’t you?"

I couldn’t breathe. What the hell? Who’s she? How did she know all this? I thought nobody was supposed to know me over here.

"Who are you?" I questioned, taking a step backwards.

"Someone who’s been where you are," she said. "Trapped between two terrible options, wondering if there’s a third door no one’s showing you."

Then she reached into her clutch and pulled out a sleek black card—thick stock, no name, just a silver phone number embossed in the center. She held it out.

"When you’re ready to stop letting other people write your story, call that number."

I stared at the card like it might bite me. "Why would I trust you?"

"You shouldn’t," she said, smiling wider. "Not yet. But you’ll want to. Because I’m not on anyone’s side but yours."

I opened my mouth to ask more—how she knew about the bond, what she meant by a third door, why she was here, but the door suddenly banged open.

A guy stumbled in, clearly drunk, tux jacket unbuttoned, bow tie hanging loose. Mid-twenties, blond frat-boy vibes, eyes glassy. He took one look at us and grinned sloppily.

"Whoa, ladies’ room jackpot," he slurred, staggering forward. "You two need company?"

The girl in red sighed, rolling her eyes. "Wrong door, sweetheart."

He ignored her, gaze locking on me. "Hey, you’re cute. Wanna dance?"

"I’m good," I said quickly, edging toward the door.

He moved to block me, laughing. "Come on, don’t be like that..."

The girl stepped between us smoothly, placing one manicured hand on his chest. "She said no. And you’re in the wrong bathroom. Leave."

Something in her tone—or maybe the sudden steel in her eyes—made him pause. But the alcohol won out. He grabbed her wrist. "Mind your own..."

She moved so fast I barely saw it. One second he was holding her wrist, the next he was bent over, gasping, her heel pressing lightly but deliberately into the top of his foot. Her voice stayed calm, almost bored.

"Let go. Now."

He released her instantly, stumbling back with a yelp. "Crazy bitch..."

"Out," she said simply.

He muttered something obscene but backed toward the door, rubbing his foot. It banged shut behind him.

I stared at her, pulse racing. "What the hell was that?"

She smoothed her dress, unfazed. "Some men need reminders about boundaries." She held out the card again. "Think about what I said, Kianna. Time’s running out."

This time I took it, fingers brushing hers. Her skin was ice-cold.

Before I could speak, voices echoed in the hallway—more people were approaching. She glanced toward the door, then back at me.

"See you soon," she said, and slipped into one of the stalls just as a group of giggling girls pushed in.

I stood frozen for a second, clutching the card, heart hammering. When the newcomers scattered to the mirrors, I hurried out, scanning the hallway for red satin. Nothing. She’d vanished.

Back in the ballroom, the music had shifted to something slower but heavier. I found Lesley by the bar, flushed and laughing with Marcus and a few others.

"There you are!" she shouted over the bass. "We’re doing shots—come on!"

I shook my head, forcing a smile. "I’m gonna get some air."

"You okay?" she asked, concern cutting through the buzz.

"Yeah. Just... too many people."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Text me if you need me. I’ll come find you."

I slipped out a side door onto the hotel’s terrace, the cold night air hitting like a slap. The city sparkled below—traffic lights, neon signs, distant music from other parties. I leaned against the railing, pulling out the black card.

Just a phone number, no name or explanation.

I flipped it over. On the back, in silver ink so faint I almost missed it: Freedom has a price.

My hands shook.

Eleven days.

I didn’t know if the girl was a friend, an enemy, or something worse. But for the first time since this nightmare started, someone had offered me a way out that didn’t involve choosing between Maddox and Mordred.

I tucked the card into my clutch, deep in the inner pocket, and stared out at the city lights until my breathing steadied.

Whatever came next, I wasn’t going to drown anymore.

Not if I could help it.