My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 200

Chapter 200 Telling Me To Leave Him

“You submitted a formal petition for an Academic Tribunal, Arthur stated. He delivered a fact. “A bold maneuver, Miss Petrova. Mr. Harrison signed his career away to sponsor you. I read the document an hour after you dropped the envelope in the mail.”

‘You control the school board,” I said. I refused to let the tremor in my chest reach my throat.

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“I fund the school board,” he corrected. “I built the new athletic center. I paid for the new science wing. The administration answers to my

checkbook.

“Then you know my demands.” I stared into his frozen eyes. “I want a public examination. I want to prove my intellect. I want the

Valedictorian rank back.”

Arthur laced his fingers together. He rested his hands on his knee.

“You possess a brilliant mind,” Arthur acknowledged. His tone lacked warmth. “Your test scores showcase exceptional intelligence. You maintain the highest grade point average in the history of Crestview Prep. You achieved this status while living in a decaying neighborhood. You study while working manual labor in a diner. I respect raw ambition. I understand the drive to escape the mud.”

“I do not want your respect,” I replied. “I want a fair test.”

He ignored my defiance. He steered the conversation toward his true objective.

“My son lacks your discipline,” Arthur continued. “Ryder possesses anger. He fights in student parking lots. He damages the Steinmann corporate image. I spent seventeen years attempting to mold him into a suitable heir. I sent him to Crestview to build alliances with the elite class. I expected him to secure a foundation for our corporate future.”

“He is not a corporate machine,” I argued. The protective instinct flared in my chest. “He is a person. He possesses a good heart.”

“He forged a fake contract with a scholarship student and caused a public scandal,’ Arthur countered. The cold edge in his voice sharpened. He turned his name into a massive joke.”

“He did it to protect me from the administration.”

“He did it because he is reckless.” Arthur leaned forward. The space between us shrank. The sheer weight of his presence pressed against my lungs. “He views you as a rebellion. You are a weapon he uses to strike at my authority. You represent everything I despise. You are the East Side. You are poverty. He believes loving you makes him an independent man.”

“He loves me because I see the truth,” I said. My hands curled into tight fists. “I see the boy you try to crush. I see the loyalty you try to destroy. He cares about my existence. You care about profit margins.”

Arthur let out a dry, hollow laugh.

Teenage romance,” he mocked. “A fleeting emotion. It holds zero value in the real world. You speak of loyalty. Let us discuss reality, Miss

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Chapter 200 Telling Me To Leave Him

Petrova. Look at your hands.”

I kept my fists clenched. I refused to look down.

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“Look at your uniform,” Arthur commanded. He pointed a manicured finger at my pink shirt. “You smell like fried food. Your mother

scrubs dishes behind that glass door. She stands on her feet for twelve hours a day. Her spine deteriorates. Her joints swell. She will work

in that kitchen until her body breaks. She will die in poverty. You know this truth.”

The words hit my chest with ruthless precision. He stripped away my pride and exposed my deepest, darkest terror. I watched my mother age a decade in the past four years. I carried the crushing weight of her sacrifices.

“I will become a doctor,” I promised. The tears burned the back of my eyes. “I will pull her out of the kitchen.”

“You hold an indefinite suspension,” Arthur reminded me. The school board will expel you on Friday. You lost your medical scholarship. You possess zero funds. Your brilliant mind means nothing without a pristine transcript. You will graduate from a subpar public school. You will take out massive loans. You will fail to secure a place in a top medical program. You will end up scrubbing the same vinyl booths

as your mother.”

I swallowed hard. The dry lump in my throat felt like a stone. He painted a devastating, inescapable future. He laid the trap with perfect

logic.

He reached into the breast pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a crisp white envelope. He tossed the paper onto the leather

seat between us.

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