My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129 Building My Cold Armor

The alarm buzzed. The red digital numbers flashed six in the morning.

Friday.

I sat up. The house sat in total silence. The damp chill of the morning seeped through the thin walls of my bedroom. The gray light filtered through the small window, casting long, bleak shadows across the wooden floorboards.

I looked at my small desk. The pale green book sat near the edge. The faded cloth cover mocked me. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I walked over to the desk. I picked up the heavy first edition. I traced the worn spine with my thumb. I thought about the black ink bleeding into

the front page.

To the girl who never looks my way.

He poured his soul into that sentence. He spent four years watching me from the shadows. He built a universe around my habits. Then, when I offered him my beating heart in the middle of the empty parking lot, he panicked. He shoved me away. He looked into my eyes and called the profound, terrifying connection a cheap public relations stunt.

The rejection burned through my veins yesterday. It left me hollow and gasping for air. Today, the fire died. A cold, hard sheet of ice

replaced the pain.

He wanted a transaction. He wanted the safety of a fake contract. He refused to let me stand in his storm because he believed he was a poison. He assumed he needed to protect me from himself.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk. I shoved the pale green book deep inside, burying it beneath old spiral notebooks and spare index cards. I slammed the drawer shut. I locked the memory away.

I will give him exactly what he demanded.

I sat in my first period calculus class. Mr. Peterson droned on about complex derivatives. I gripped my black pen. I focused on the white chalk scraping across the board.

The heavy wooden door of the classroom swung open.

The ambient chatter stopped. Ryder Steinmann walked into the room ten minutes late.

The heavy thud of his combat boots echoed against the linoleum. He wore a dark gray sweater and faded denim jeans. He walked past my row to reach the empty desk in the back corner. The familiar scent of worn leather and dark coffee washed over me, threatening to shatter

my concentration.

I did not turn my head. I kept my eyes glued to the numbers in my notebook. I felt the physical weight of his stare burning into the side of my face. I felt the magnetic pull urging me to look at him. I locked my jaw. I ignored the pull. I did not flinch.

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13:12 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 129 Building My Cold Armor

The morning dragged. The hours felt like thick, heavy sludge. I navigated the corridors like a ghost. I maintained a blank, indifferent

expression.

The lunch bell rang. The shrill sound signaled our designated tutoring session. Tuesdays and Fridays. The schedule we drafted in the

chemistry lab weeks ago.

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I pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the school library. The scent of old paper and floor wax greeted me. I bypassed the computer lab. I walked straight to the round wooden table hidden behind the reference section.

I did not glance at the shadowed alcove. I refused to look at the carved wooden bookshelf.

I set my canvas bag on the carpet. I placed the thick chemistry textbook in the center of the table. I set a stack of lined looseleaf paper next to it. I placed two blue pens parallel to the binding. I arranged the materials with strict, unforgiving precision. I constructed a physical barrier between my side of the table and his.

At twelve fifteen, the heavy library doors opened. I heard the steady, heavy rhythm of his boots approaching my table.

Ryder stopped at the edge of the wood. He shoved his large hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans. He stood tall. His broad shoulders held a defensive tension. The fading bruise on his jaw looked pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. He expected a fight. He expected the fierce, shouting fire from the parking lot. He braced himself for my anger.

“Sit down,” I stated.

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