My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 101

Chapter 101 A Secret In The Flowers

He reached out. He brushed a stray lock of dark hair behind my ear. His long fingers traced the line of my jaw. The touch sent a shockwave straight to my core. The contact felt real. It held the same desperate heat from the freezing rain.

‘I missed you,” he murmured.

His voice carried a low, rough rumble. He pitched the sound to reach Trent. He pitched it to reach Harper two rows back. It sent a ripple

of shock through the entire class.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked into his eyes. I searched for the performance. I searched for the fake parameters of the

contract. I found nothing but a blazing, terrifying heat.

“You are interrupting my class, I breathed. I played my role. I offered the expected, responsible resistance.

Ryder smiled. It was a dark, devastating curve of his lips. It held zero remorse.

“I don’t care about the class,” he stated. He shifted his gaze. He swept a cold, lethal look over Trent, then over the rest of the room. “I

don’t care about anyone else in this building. I only care about you.”

The declaration struck the room like a physical blow. He severed the rumors at the root. He destroyed the transaction theory. He did not

act like a boy doing a favor for a scholarship student. He acted like a man marking his territory against the entire world. He claimed the

space. He claimed me.

Mr. Peterson cleared his throat. He sounded rattled. “Mr. Steinmann. This is inappropriate. I must ask you to leave my classroom right

now.

Ryder turned his attention back to me. He ignored the teacher a second time.

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He moved his hand to the back of my neck. He tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. He pulled me forward an inch. He

pressed his lips to my forehead.

The kiss lasted three full seconds. It was firm, grounding, and unapologetic. The heat of his mouth burned through my skin. A fierce blush

rushed to my cheeks. My hands gripped the edge of my chair.

“I will wait for you by your locker, Ryder promised against my skin. “Don’t keep me waiting.

He pulled back. He let his fingertips trail down the side of my neck. It was a lingering, deliberate touch designed to leave a permanent

mark in the minds of the audience.

He straightened his posture. He turned his back to me. He walked up the aisle with the same unhurried, commanding pace. He opened the

classroom door and stepped out into the hallway. The door shut with a solid, echoing click.

The room erupted.

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Chapter 101 A Secret In The Flowers

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The suffocating silence shattered. Whispers broke out in every corner. Students turned in their seats. They abandoned all pretense of learning. They stared at the dark flowers covering my desk. They stared at my flushed face. The gossip mill reversed direction in a matter

of seconds.

Ryder delivered the spectacle. He gave them the obsession. He proved his devotion with a grand, undeniable gesture that nobody could

twist into a rumor.

Trent stared straight ahead. The color drained from his face. He chewed his bottom lip, recognizing the danger he courted by insulting me. Harper Vance sat in furious, defeated silence. Her power fractured.

Mr. Peterson tapped his marker against the whiteboard. He raised his voice over the rising chatter. ‘Settle down! Let us return to the

lesson. We have an exam on Friday.”

Nobody looked at the whiteboard. The complex integrals lost all significance.

I stared at the deep crimson dahlias. My chest heaved. The adrenaline pumped through my veins. The performance worked. The school

believed the lie.

But the grand gesture blurred the lines of our reality. The public display of affection required a piece of his real heart to look genuine. The raw, desperate look in his eyes matched the look he gave me outside the rusted warehouse. His touch held the same trembling weight. The act felt terrifying and real.

I reached out. I touched a soft, velvet petal.

My fingers brushed against a small, thick square of cardstock.

The card rested hidden deep within the dark green vines. The rest of the class could not see it. It sat tucked away, a secret detail meant

only for my eyes.

The school assumed the envelope held a generic, romantic platitude. They assumed he bought the flowers to prove a point. They assumed the attached message belonged to the performance. They expected a cliché quote about beauty or love.

I pulled the card from the stems.

I flipped the thick paper over.

Ryder did not write a sonnet. He did not write a poetic declaration for the masses to intercept. He wrote a single sentence in black ink. The jagged, hurried strokes of his handwriting stood out against the white background.

I read the words.

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