Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 32: Shattered Friendship

Kianna’s Pov:

The rain started the moment I stepped out of the gallery, a cold, sudden downpour that soaked through my hoodie in seconds.

I didn’t run, I couldn’t. The portrait Lysander had drawn for me was still clutched in my arms against my chest, the paper had already started warping under the water.

I stared at it, at the soft charcoal eyes he’d given me, and felt something inside crack wide open.

I had gone back for it despite Mordred’s words. No matter what, it was a gift made for me and so I needed to keep it. But when I went for it, he wasn’t there, he left it at the center where I had left him hanging after his desperate confession.

As I walked through the rain in search of him, only one thing was on my mind. A plea, something that will cool down my temper and release me of this doubt.

Lysander had done so much for me, but I can’t deny the fact that everything Mordred had said earlier with evidence made sense.

Even if he was part of all this, what is his excuse? What would probably want him to destroy Mordred and I so badly? Nope, it can’t be.

That’s why I’m searching for him, I needed answers, I needed him to tell me all this was a prank and none of it was real. I needed his excuse only if it would wipe that doubt away from my head.

I clutched the portrait in my arms tighter, as if it was made of glass. Then Mordred’s words looped in my head again like a broken record:

"Trent’s not rich, his parents are street vendors and Lysander fed you bullshit."

And Lysander’s voice, a few hours earlier, warm and pleading came through.

"I like you more than friends and my world is safe." Safe, the word tasted like ash now.

I found him in the fine-arts courtyard, under the awning of the sculpture studio, wiping paint from his fingers with a rag.

He looked up when he saw me, hope flickering—then faltered at the storm in my eyes.

"Kianna..."

"Why did you lie about Trent’s family?" The words came out flat and sharp. No greeting and no softness.

He blinked, taken aback by my words. "What?"

"Don’t." I stepped forward, rain dripping from my hair.

"Mordred’s guys followed him to the Street market. His parents sell knockoff sunglasses and bruised fruit. You lied to me, Lysander. In the café before the shooting. You brushed it off like it was nothing."

His face went pale."That’s not true, Mordred’s twisting it. He’s trying to frame me, Kianna. You know he hates me. He’s jealous..."

"Jealous?" I laughed, bitter and broken. "He doesn’t need to twist facts.The SUV never existed in Trent’s world because he’s broke. You made up that story to kill the suspicion. Why?"

"I was protecting you!" His voice cracked, stepping closer. "You were spiraling and thinking I was involved, that the arrest and Trent’s lies were connected to me. So I gave you something simple to hold onto. A lie, yeah—but a kind one."

"Kind?" I shoved the soggy portrait at his chest but he didn’t hold onto it. It hit the ground with a wet slap, face-up, my charcoal eyes staring at the sky.

"This isn’t kindness, Lys. This is control. You decided what I could handle and lied to my face instead of explaining yourself."

"I was trying to keep you safe!" he shouted, rain now soaking us both. "Mordred drags you into warehouses, scandals and beatings. That’s the real danger! I gave you peace!"

"Peace built on lies?" I screamed back, voice raw. "You think I’m too fragile to handle the truth? That I need you to edit reality for me?"

"You do!" he fired back, eyes wild. "You’re letting your feelings for him cloud everything! He’s a thug, Kianna. A criminal. And you’re choosing him over..."

"Over you?" I cut in, tears mixing with rain. "This isn’t about choosing sides, Lysander. This is about trust , and you broke it. You lied and now you’re gaslighting me into thinking he’s the manipulator?"

He flinched like I’d slapped him. "I’m not..."

"You are." My voice dropped, deadly quiet. "Don’t come near me again,ever. Only heaven knows what you’re even up to."

I turned to leave but he immediately grabbed my wrist in a gentle but desperate manner. "Kianna, please listen..."

I yanked myself free. "Let go of me Lysander."

He did, but tears were flowing down his cheeks. He didn’t even bother to wipe them, he glared at me with those eyes that once made me smile anytime I looked into them.

But this time? Those eyes showed me nothing but a flicker of pain and guilt.

The portrait lay between us on the wet concrete with its ink bleeding into gray puddles.

I picked it up, stared at it for a while and debated whether to even consider taking it along with me.

Then I lifted my head to meet his eyes for the last time, before I turned around and walked away without looking back.

My heart clenched in my chest like an arrow had been pierced into it. Why should it be him? After everything we’ve been through together, why should he deceive me like that?

The dorm was a blur. I left the portrait outside the entrance, propped against the wall like trash. It hurt...God, it hurt so bad but I couldn’t carry it anymore. Not the lie nor the weight.

Inside, Lesley was awake, curled on her bed with a mug of tea. She took one look at my face—soaked, shaking with my eyes red and opened her arms.

I collapsed into them, sobbing like a child.

"He lied," I choked out. "Lysander lied about everything, about being rich and Trent’s real identity."

Lesley held me tight, rocking slightly. "I know, babe. I know... it’s okay, calm down."

"I told him never to come near me again," I whispered, voice breaking now. "but it hurts so much. Why me? Huh, why will he do that to me!"

"Because you loved him," she said softly. "Not like Mordred but real, you loved him as your one and only friend. And love doesn’t vanish just because trust does."

That did it,I cried harder. Because she was darn right, I saw Lysander as someone dear to my heart and cherished him very much because of how much he let me rely on him. And now? All of it has shattered because of a lie.

Lesley didn’t shush me, she just held on, allowing me to push it all out. She shed some tears silently on my shoulders as she consoled me.

My tears had triggered some memories of hers maybe from when she broke up with her ex boyfriend.

We stayed like that, entangled in each other’s arms as we calmed ourselves down with silent whimpers.

Outside, the rain kept falling—washing the portrait’s charcoal eyes into the gutter, line by line, until there was nothing left but smears.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure which loss hurt more: the boy I’d trusted, or the version of myself I’d believed in with him.

No matter how this ends, one thing is certain: this is only the beginning, and the story is far from over. Trust is like a fragile vessel—once shattered, it can never return to its original form.