Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 47: The Rooftop Promises

Kianna’s PoV:

I barely made it to the girls’ bathroom before the dam broke again.

The door slammed behind me, echoing off the tiles like a gunshot. I stumbled into the furthest stall, locked it, and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold floor, knees to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them as if I could physically hold myself together.

The sobs came in waves, ugly and unstoppable, ripping out of me until my throat burned and my ribs ached.

Why is it so hard to just be normal?

Why does every time I think I’m safe, the ground opens up and swallows me whole?

Mordred’s face in the cafeteria flashed behind my eyes: rage turning to shock when I accused him of stalking me. The way his fist had frozen mid-air. The hurt that flickered across his features before he shut it down.

Even though I’m trying my best to deny it, the thought of losing him still haunts me to this day. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Every damn time I see his face, something in me just awakens. I can still recall all the precious moments we’ve spent together, and that makes it ten times hard to tell him to stay away from me.

He thinks it’s that easy?

He thinks I’m not in pain? He thinks I’ve just moved on because he just saw me hanging out with my roommate?

I’m trying my best to process it, trying my damn best to come up with a lie just to comfort the part of me that still craves his touch.

But every time I close my eyes, all I see is a boy who played with my feelings, who lied and toyed around with me like a play doll.

And that part hurts more than anything else.I didn’t know who to trust anymore.

I didn’t even know who I am right now, whether Kianna the girl who blindly let herself fall in love or kianna who never believed in love.

I clutched my knees harder and drowned myself with silent tears that made my breathing come in shaky whimpers.

My chest rose and fell in shivers as I tried to control the ache of it by closing my eyes.

I sat there like that for almost an hour missing the starting period.I stayed on the floor until the tears ran dry and my breathing evened out.

Then finally, I dragged myself to the sink, splashed cold water on my face until the redness in my eyes faded, and walked to class like a ghost.

The rest of the day passed in watercolor streaks: lectures I didn’t hear, notes I didn’t take and whispers that followed me like smoke as I walked down the school hallway.

By the time the closing bell rang, I felt hollowed out, like a shell walking on autopilot.

I was heading for the exit when I saw him, Lysander. He stood just outside the main doors, leaning against the brick wall,a paper bag with a soft pink bow in his hands.

The sight of him hit me like déjà vu and a knife at the same time. I almost kept walking, almost—but he straightened when he saw me, eyes searching cautiously in mine, as if trying to figure out if this was the right time.

"Kianna." He called out politely as he walked towards me.

I stopped a few feet away. "I’m tired, Lys. I just want to go home."

"I know." His voice was soft, almost the old Lysander. "I heard about what happened at the cafeteria. Are you okay?"

I laughed, a brittle sound looking downwards. "Define okay." I muttered.

He held out the bag. "Come with me for ten minutes. Please. I have something to show you."

I should have said no.

Every rational part of me screamed to walk away. But the broken part—the part that still remembered the boy who once saved my life 3 times...followed him.

We climbed the familiar stairs in silence as he led me towards the rooftop. The very rooftop I nearly took myself out on. The door creaked open, and I stopped breathing.

A picnic blanket was spread in the center—soft blue plaid, the one he once brought to the butterfly garden at the Art gallery.

A wicker basket sat open with sandwiches, strawberries, and two bottles of iced tea. Beside it: a sketch pad, charcoal pencils lined up like soldiers whilst a fresh canvas propped on a tiny easel.

The wind tugged at my hair. Memories flooded back so hard my knees nearly buckled—the day he’d found me here, tears streaming, ready to end it all.

The way he’d talked me down, voice shaking, promising the world wasn’t all pain.

I’m indeed speechless right now, just stared at him in awe, he always knew how to comfort my soul.

He gestured to the blanket, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Sit?"

I nodded almost shyly and did, legs folding under me like they remembered this place better than I did.

He sat across from me, cross-legged, and opened the sketch pad to a blank page. "This is where fate gave us a chance," he said quietly. "Where we met again and where we were both... vulnerable. I ruined the first portrait I tried to make of you. So I’m starting over... If you’ll let me."

He picked up a pencil, eyes flicking between me and the page. His hand moved in gentle, familiar strokes, the same way it had a lifetime ago.

I should have been angry. Should have walked away. But the rooftop wind carried away the noise of the world, and for the first time in days, the screaming in my head quieted.

He made stupid jokes—about how my left eyebrow was "rebellious" and refused to be tamed, about how strawberries were basically nature’s candy and I was obligated to eat at least five.

I found myself laughing, small at first, then real. He coaxed me into eating, into relaxing against the ledge, into letting the sun warm my face while he drew.

For an hour, it was almost like before.

Almost.

Night crept in too fast, the sky bruising purple. A security guard’s voice crackled over the intercom: "Campus closing in ten minutes. Please vacate the roof."

Lysander cursed under his breath, flipping the sketch pad closed. "I didn’t finish."

I glanced at the half-formed lines of my face on the page—soft, unguarded, the way he used to see me. "It’s okay."

"No," he said, serious now. "I’ll finish it. And give it to you on your birthday."

I stiffen immediately, almost like getting under some spell. " My birthday?" I mouthed, but loud enough for Lysander to hear.

"Yes on your birthday? It’s coming right? I’ve not forgotten...Not only will you get the portrait but I have a gift for you." He said with a broad smile on his face.

He looked excited, as if that day was some kind of Special day. I just stared at him with a fake smile, trying to pretend to match his energy but couldn’t.

That day will firstly remind me of how unwanted I was in this world. The day my father abandoned my mother.

The day I was called a mistake and a curse, the day my dad died right after leaving our pack.

And most of it all, the day of my doom.

My nineteenth birthday is three weeks away and it has been a nightmare that kept haunting me.

Nineteen. The year my wolf would fully awaken. The year the mate bond whether I wanted it or not—would try to drag me back to Maddox like a tide I couldn’t fight.

I’d spent months convincing myself the pull was broken, that love could be chosen, not forced. That the slavery under Maddox was finally over.But nineteen meant the bond would roar to life, raw and undeniable.

I swallowed hard, taking a step back.

"Lys, I don’t think you should give me the gift that day."

He packed the basket, avoiding my eyes. "I know what you’re thinking. But everything will be alright I promise." He zipped the bag, then finally looked at me.

"I’m not asking for anything tonight. Just... let me finish the drawing. Let me prove I’m trying to be someone you don’t have to run from."

Then before I could protest any further to explain myself, the guard’s voice crackled again, closer this time.

"Guess we have to go right now." He said, grabbing the packed basket.

We stood and he walked me to the stairwell, the unfinished portrait tucked under his arm like a promise.

At the door he paused. "Three weeks, Kianna. I’ll have it ready."

I nodded, throat tight. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know I’m not just a mere human...that I have a beast that will rise on the very day he’ll give me that portrait.

And what scares me the most isn’t even the rise of my wolf but the fact that I’ll be back under the control of Maddox, back to slavery and bullying, back to where I nearly ended myself from.

As I descended the stairs alone, the weight of nineteen settled on my shoulders like a storm cloud I couldn’t outrun.

It wasn’t just another birthday.

It was a countdown.

And I had no idea who I’d be when the clock struck midnight.