The Alpha's Claim, The Biker's Desire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

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 see

The fluorescent lights in the station buzzed like angry bees, casting everyone in a sickly glow. I sat on a hard plastic chair in the holding area, wrists uncuffed but still rubbing the red marks where they'd dug in during the ride. Mordred was across the room, separated by a desk and two officers grilling him about "detention protocols." He caught my eye once. He looked furious,I managed a weak nod to reassure him.Then the door to the interrogation rooms swung open, and my stepparents walked out. My mom, with her pinched face and pearl necklace too tight around her neck and my Dad, balding and smug in his golf polo. They spotted me and beelined over, fake concern etched on their faces like bad makeup."Kianna, oh thank God," my dad simpered, reaching for a hug I dodged. "We've been so worried."Before I could snap back, another figure stepped out behind them—tall, buzz-cut, hands in his pockets. My eyes widened, Trent? It was him, Lysander's "friend." The one who'd cornered me o

The campus cafe buzzed with the morning rush, students hunched over laptops, the hiss of the espresso machine and the clatter of mugs. I slipped in at 7:55 am sharp, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. Mordred's text from last night burned in my mind: “Begging you.” I'd lied in my reply, and said I wouldn't go. But here I was, scanning the tables, curiosity winning over caution. What if Lysander really knew about Anonymous? What if this ended the threats and the paranoia? Or what if Mordred was right, and I was walking into a noose?All that didn't matter now, because in life you need to take risks in order to know the Truth. Afterall, there's nothing he can do to me over here, at a cafe full of students.I spotted him in the corner booth, nursing a black coffee and looking more worn than I'd ever seen him. He has dark circles under his eyes with his hair tousled like he'd skipped sleep. He lit up when he saw me, standing with a tentative smile and pulling a small

Mordred's Pov:The tires screamed against the asphalt as I gunned the bike out of the hospital parking lot, the engine's roar drowning out the echo of Kianna's voice in my head. “Stop acting like my guardian.” “ Stop messing with my friendships.” These two words made me feel like shit.She even called security on me and made him haul me out like some thug. And what even hurt the most, is her cold and defiant eyes as she hugged that snake Lysander. After everything—after I'd begged her not to go, after I'd risked my neck a dozen times to keep her safe—she'd chosen him. Defended him and pushed me away.Fury boiled in my veins, hot and thick, making my grip on the handlebars white-knuckled. The city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow, November wind whipping through my jacket like icy knives. Home? Screw that. The empty house would just amplify the rage, the walls closing in with memories of her—wet from the shower, laughing in my bed and her body arching under mine. No. That

Mordred's Pov:The hospital loomed like a goddamn fortress as I pulled up on my bike, the engine's growl cutting off into silence that felt too heavy. My head still throbbed from the hangover, but the rage from the photos—those fake, made-up photos,had sharpened everything else. I'd spent the morning piecing together scraps: my hacker buddy was still digging on the IP, Jax had no leads on the brunette girl, and that taunting message from Anonymous “She's next” looped in my skull like a threat I couldn't ignore. I had to see Kianna and warn her. Explain that the whole thing was a setup, that I hadn't touched that girl and that the blackout was my stupid way of coping with her pushing me away. If she'd just listen...I stormed through the sliding doors, ignoring the receptionist's protest. "Sir, visiting hours…." and beelined for Lysander's room. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and regret, every step fueling the fire. If he was there, fine—I'd deal with him. But Kianna was the p