My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 34

Chapter 34 A House That Didn’t Match the Rumors

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I tightened my grip around Ryder’s waist as the motorcycle idled, waiting for the massive black metal to clear our path. We weren’t in my neighborhood anymore. The cracked asphalt and cramped, sensible houses of my street were completely gone. Here, the road was perfectly paved, lined with ancient, towering oak trees that cast long, cold shadows over the pavement. The estates sitting far back on the

manicured lawns looked less like homes and more like fortresses built of stone, glass, and quiet money.

Ryder rolled the throttle, and the heavy bike surged forward.

My stomach twisted into a tight, nervous knot. We were entirely off the script now. Faking a relationship in the crowded hallways of Crestview was a performance; there was an audience, a clear goal, and a ticking clock until the bell rang. But sitting on the back of his motorcycle, heading toward the place where he actually slept, felt like crossing a heavily guarded border. I was going behind enemy lines.

I expected his house to match his reputation. I pictured a sprawling, chaotic mansion. Loud music echoing through empty halls. Empty beer bottles left on expensive furniture by absentee parents. A garage filled with dismantled car parts and the heavy scent of motor oil and stale smoke. I expected a physical manifestation of the boy who threw punches in the cafeteria and sneered at authority.

The motorcycle slowed, turning onto a long, sweeping driveway paved in dark slate.

At the end of the drive sat the Steinmann estate.

It was massive, angular, and constructed almost entirely of dark steel and towering panes of tinted glass. It looked like a modern art museum. There were no warm porch lights, no flower beds, no signs of life anywhere. It sat against the gray afternoon sky, sharp and

entirely unwelcoming.

Ryder killed the engine. The abrupt silence crashed over me, heavy and ringing.

I unclasped my stiff fingers from his leather jacket, sliding awkwardly off the leather seat. My legs trembled as my loafers hit the slate driveway. The March wind whipped across the open lawn, biting through my thin uniform blazer, but the chill didn’t compare to the cold, creeping dread settling in my chest.

Ryder pulled the helmet off my head. He didn’t say a word. He just hung the helmet on the handlebars, grabbed his heavy canvas bag, and started walking toward the massive front door.

I followed him, hugging my heavy backpack to my chest like a shield.

He didn’t use a key. He pressed his thumb against a sleek, glowing biometric scanner next to the steel handle. A soft chime sounded, and the heavy door clicked open.

He pushed it wide and stepped inside.

I hesitated on the threshold. The air rushing out of the house didn’t smell like smoke or stale beer. It smelled like aerosolized lemon, ozone and cold, polished stone. It was a completely sterile, chemical cleanliness.

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Chapter 34 A House That Didn’t Match the Rumors

“Close it behind you,” Ryder murmured, not looking back.

I stepped inside, pushing the heavy door shut. It locked automatically with a solid, echoing thud.

I stood in the foyer, my breath completely stalling in my lungs.

It was immaculate.

The floors were vast stretches of white marble, so polished and reflective they looked like standing water. The ceilings soared two stories high, dominated by a sharp, geometric chandelier made of black metal and exposed bulbs. There wasn’t a single speck of dust. There were no shoes kicked off by the door, no mail scattered on a console table, no coats hanging on a rack.

It was completely devoid of chaos. It was completely devoid of life.

My own house was tiny and cramped, smelling constantly of the diner fryers and my mother’s cheap lavender soap. The floorboards creaked. The kitchen table was always cluttered with bills and my study notes. But it felt warm.

This place felt like a mausoleum.

Ryder didn’t take off his heavy combat boots. He just walked across the pristine marble, the heavy thud of his footsteps echoing loudly against the bare, white walls. He threw his leather jacket over the back of a stark white, modern sofa in the center of the massive living

room.

I hovered near the entryway, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I felt entirely out of place. My wrinkled plaid skirt, my scuffed loafers, the nervous sweat dampening my palms-1 was a walking mess in a room designed for perfection.

“Are your parents…” I started, my voice sounding thin and small in the cavernous space. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Are they

home?

Ryder walked past the white sofa toward a massive, open-concept kitchen. The counters were sleek black granite, entirely empty.

“No,” he said flatly. He opened a stainless steel refrigerator that looked large enough to walk into. “They’re in London. Or maybe Geneva. My father’s assistant handles the schedule. I don’t keep track.”

He pulled out two bottles of mineral water, nudging the heavy refrigerator door shut with his elbow.

I stared at his broad back, the faded charcoal fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders. He said it with complete indifference, as if having parents on another continent was as mundane as discussing the weather. But the absolute emptiness of the house made the words feel incredibly heavy.

He walked back into the living room and held a cold, sweating bottle out to me.

I crossed the marble floor, the soles of my shoes squeaking faintly, and took the bottle. Our fingers didn’t brush this time. He was keeping a deliberate physical distance. The suffocating, magnetic tension from the hallway locker was gone, replaced by a cold, rigid wall.

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Chapter 34 A House That Didn’t Match the Rumors

:))

“We can work in the dining room,” he muttered, gesturing with his water bottle toward a long, dark wood table surrounded by ten empty

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