My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 102

Chapter 102 My Mother Sets A Trap

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I carried the massive arrangement of dark dahlias and blood-red calla lilies home on the city transit bus. The dark petals drew stares from strangers. The rich scent of damp earth and crushed green vines filled the cramped transit car. I set the heavy glass vase on our small kitchen table. The velvet blooms clashed with the faded yellow wallpaper and the chipped formica counter. They belonged in a mansion. They looked like an alien artifact inside my house.

My mother worked a double shift at the diner on Thursday. She did not see the flowers until Friday morning.

She stood by the stainless steel sink. She wore her faded pink uniform. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes tracked my movement as I walked into the kitchen to grab my canvas backpack.

“You did not mention a boy, Raisa,” she said. Her tone held a rigid, unyielding edge.

I stopped. I gripped the strap of my bag. “It is a new development. We study together for midterms.”

She gestured to the sprawling flowers. “Boys who need tutoring do not send floral arrangements that cost more than our monthly grocery budget. Mrs. Gable from the bakery saw him carry them into the high school. The whole neighborhood talks. They say he is the Steinmann boy. The billionaire’s son with the suspension record.”

Panic flared in my chest. The Crestview Prep rumors leaked into the city streets. My mother worked herself to the bone to keep our lives quiet, stable, and respectable. Ryder represented chaos. He represented the dark, unpredictable edge of the city.

“He is not what the rumors say,” I defended. My throat felt tight.

“I will decide that,” my mother countered. She leveled a stern, uncompromising look at me. “Invite him to dinner tomorrow night. I want to meet the boy who interrupts academic classes and starts fights in school parking lots.”

“Mom, he is busy-”

“Saturday, Raisa. Seven o’clock sharp. Or you do not see him outside of school walls again.”

I retreated to my bedroom and pulled out my phone. I sent a text message with the time and the address. I expected a refusal. I expected him to dodge the domestic trap. He hated enclosed spaces. He hated adults asking questions.

He replied two minutes later with three words: I will come. Saturday arrived with a heavy, suffocating weight. I spent the entire afternoon scrubbing the house. I washed the baseboards. I polished the cheap wooden dining table until the surface gleamed. I prepared a simple roast chicken with rosemary and garlic potatoes. The savory smell filled the house, attempting to mask the thick, nervous tension in the

air.

My mother changed out of her diner uniform. She wore a nice beige blouse and dark slacks. She set the table with our best ceramic plates.

The wall clock in the hallway ticked. Six fifty-five. Six fifty-eight.

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Chapter 102 My Mother Sets A Trap

At exactly seven o’clock, the brass doorbell chimed.

My stomach dropped. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I wiped my damp palms on the thighs of my dark denim

jeans.

“I will get the door, I called out. My voice shook.

I walked down the narrow hallway. I unlocked the deadbolt. I grabbed the brass handle and pulled the wooden door open.

I braced my body for the storm.

The storm did not arrive.

Ryder stood on my small concrete porch. The fading evening sun cast a warm glow over his broad shoulders. I stared at him. My brain

failed to process the image standing in front of me.

He wore a crisp, dark blue button-down shirt. The expensive fabric stretched across his broad chest, tucked precise and neat into dark, tailored trousers. He rolled the sleeves up just past his wrists. His dark hair lacked the wild, untamed tangle from the warehouse. He brushed it back, revealing the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. The fading yellow bruises on his jaw were the only remaining trace of

the East Side.

He looked polished.

“You changed your clothes,” I breathed. The words escaped my lips before I could stop them.

A small, private smile touched the corner of his mouth. The golden shards in his hazel eyes warmed.

“I told you I would fix the public image,” he murmured. His voice was a smooth, steady rumble. I am playing the part you asked for.”

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