My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220 Shredding The Printed Server Logs

I stood up from the wooden chair. I pushed the chair back. The legs scraped against the floorboards. I closed the distance between us. I

placed my hands on his chest. I felt the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart beneath the damp cotton.

“Listen to me, I pleaded. I kept my gaze locked on his. “The affluent elite build their entire lives on lies. They buy fake entrance essays. They buy perfect reputations. They hide their flaws behind massive gates and expensive lawyers. But they cannot buy the truth.”

He stared down at me. The tension in his broad shoulders remained tight. He wanted to shield me from the world, and I asked him to

drop the shield.

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“If I walk onto that stage on Friday,” I continued, “and I recite the Krebs cycle from memory, I prove my worth. I force the entire faculty

to listen to my mind. I win the Valedictorian rank through pure, undeniable merit. They cannot take that away from me. They cannot call

it a transaction. I want the crown, but I refuse to wear it if I have to steal it out of the mud.”

“She will destroy your friends, Ryder warned. His voice dropped to a low rumble. She holds a file on the B-wing. She will release it

during the tribunal.”

“Let her release it,” I said. The resolve in my chest solidified into iron. “We will face whatever secret she found. We will stand with Hugo

and Sofia. We will handle the fallout in the light. We stop hiding in the shadows.”

Ryder looked at my face. He searched my expression for any sign of hesitation. He found none.

He spent his entire life surrounded by the cutthroat politics of the billionaire class. He watched his father crush rival companies with

hidden information. He learned to fight in dark parking lots. The concept of fighting a war with nothing but raw intellect and a clean

conscience felt alien to him.

But he loved me. He loved the girl who kept her head held high in the scholarship corridor. He respected my unyielding core.

He let out a long, heavy breath. The fierce tension left his posture.

He reached up and covered my hands with his. His calloused fingers felt warm against my skin.

“You hold the moral high ground, Ryder murmured. A small, proud smile touched the corner of his mouth. You possess more strength in

your little finger than my father possesses in his entire corporate empire. You want to fight them on the stage. We fight them on the

stage.

“Thank you, I breathed.

“But we must eliminate the temptation, Ryder noted. He looked at the manila folder resting on the desk. “If you keep that file, the

administration will find a way to twist the narrative. They will claim you hacked the servers. We leave zero loose ends.

I nodded. He spoke the truth. The printed papers represented a massive liability.

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Chapter 220 Shredding The Printed Server Logs

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I pulled my hands away from his chest. I turned back to the small desk. I gathered the printed emails and the server logs. I squared the

edges of the white sheets. I picked up the manila folder.

I walked out of my bedroom. Ryder followed a step behind me.

We moved down the narrow, dark hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath our feet. We entered the cramped living room. The faded

patchwork quilt still rested on the rug, marking Ryder’s makeshift bed.

I walked to the far corner of the room. A small, battered wooden table sat pushed against the wall. My mother used the space to manage

the diner schedules and pay the household bills. A stack of final notices and utility envelopes sat near a cheap desk lamp.

Beside the table sat a black plastic wastebasket. Resting on top of the basket was a motorized paper shredder. My mother purchased the

machine years ago to destroy old bank statements and voided diner receipts.

I reached out and flipped the plastic switch.

The machine roared to life. The motorized blades whirred with a loud, aggressive hum. The noise filled the quiet East Side house.

I stood in front of the machine. I held the stack of papers in my hands.

The Ivy League ghostwriting receipts. The IP addresses. The undeniable proof of Chloe Vance’s massive academic fraud. The ultimate

weapon. The easy way out.

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