My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 199

Chapter 199 His Father In The Backseat

I wiped my hands on my jeans. I turned around to walk back to the wooden bench sitting beneath the diner awning.

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I stopped.

A vehicle sat parked across the street. It did not belong in this neighborhood. It lacked the rust and the dents of the East Side cars.

A sleek, massive black town car rested in the shadows of the broken streetlamp. The tinted windows swallowed the ambient light. The polished paint gleamed like dark glass. The engine hummed with a low, powerful vibration that I felt in my boots.

It looked like a predator waiting in the tall grass.

My pulse spiked. The cold night air felt suddenly thin. I thought about Ryder. He left my house before dawn to meet with his private trust lawyer. I possessed zero communication with him all day. I wondered if the corporate security team tracked his location and dragged him

back to the estate.

Two men stepped out of the black town car.

They moved with practiced, synchronized precision. They wore immaculate dark suits and dark ties. They lacked the bulky, intimidating frames of the campus security guards. These men looked like polished corporate operatives. They possessed the quiet, lethal confidence of professionals who handled massive problems for billionaires.

They crossed the damp street. They walked directly toward the diner.

I stood my ground on the concrete curb. I crossed my arms over my chest, hiding the slight tremor in my fingers.

The men reached the sidewalk. They stopped five feet away from me. The taller man clasped his hands in front of his suit jacket. He looked at my faded pink uniform, then shifted his gaze to my face.

“Raisa Petrova,” the taller man said. His tone lacked emotion. He did not ask a question. He stated a fact.

“Who are you?” I demanded. I kept my voice steady. I refused to let them see my fear.

“We represent the Steinmann family,” the second man answered. He gestured toward the idling vehicle. “We have instructions to bring you to the car. A conversation is required.”

“I possess nothing to say to Arthur Steinmann’s security team.” I took a step back toward the diner entrance. “I submitted my academic appeal to the school board. You can route all communication through the Crestview administration.”

The taller man shifted his weight. He did not reach for my arm. He did not use physical force. He used leverage.

He glanced at the glass door of the diner. Through the glass, my mother stood behind the counter, counting the loose cash in the register

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Chapter 199 His Father In The Backseat

drawer. She remained oblivious to the threat standing on the dark sidewalk.

Your mother is finishing her shift, the taller man noted. His smooth voice carried a heavy, terrifying implication. She scrubs dishes to

pay the rent. She relies on the good graces of the building owner to keep her employment. We can conduct this meeting inside the

establishment. We can involve Pete. We can disrupt her livelihood. Or you can step into the vehicle and handle this quietly.”

The threat hit my chest with flawless precision.

They knew the rules of my world. They knew a massive scene at the diner meant Pete would fire my mother to avoid the trouble. They weaponized my poverty. They used my mother’s exhaustion against me.

I looked at the sleek black car. I looked at the glass door of the diner.

I chose my mother.

I uncrossed my arms. I lifted my chin and met the operative’s cold stare.

“Keep away from the door,” I commanded.

I stepped off the concrete curb. I walked across the damp asphalt, leaving the safety of the diner behind. The two men fell into step behind me, boxing me in and securing the perimeter. The hum of the VS engine grew louder as I approached the vehicle.

The second man stepped forward. He reached for the heavy chrome handle of the rear passenger door. He pulled the heavy door open.

A rush of cool, climate-controlled air spilled out into the street. The interior smelled like expensive leather and rich cedar wood. The contrast to the bleach and grease of the diner made my stomach turn.

I climbed into the back of the town car.

The leather seats felt soft and deep. The interior possessed heavy soundproofing. The second I sat down, the noise of the city vanished. The distant sirens and the rumble of the street died, replaced by a thick, suffocating silence.

The operative slammed the door shut. The heavy metallic click sealed me inside the luxury prison.

I sat frozen on the pristine leather. The tinted windows blocked the streetlamps, leaving the back of the car in deep shadow. A thick glass partition separated the rear passenger area from the driver’s seat.

I was not alone.

A figure shifted in the dark corner of the opposite seat. The rustle of expensive fabric broke the silence. The faint glow of a digital display panel illuminated a sharp jawline and cold, calculating eyes. He possessed the same facial structure as Ryder, but he lacked the golden fire and the protective warmth. He radiated pure, unyielding dominance.

“You caused a massive disruption to my schedule this week, Miss Petrova,” the man stated. His voice sounded like polished steel.

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