My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 35

Chapter 35 A Photograph Filled With Hidden Sadness

He turned and walked down a long, white hallway, his heavy footsteps fading as he turned a corner.

I was entirely alone.

The silence pressed against my ears. It wasn’t a peaceful quiet. It was an oppressive, heavy stillness, the kind that made you want to hold your breath so you didn’t disturb it. The only sound was the low, mechanical hum of the central air conditioning pushing freezing air

through hidden vents.

I couldn’t focus on the French Revolution. I stared at the dates and bullet points, but the letters blurred into meaningless black shapes.

I pushed my chair back, the wooden legs scraping harshly against the marble. I stood up and walked away from the table, drawn toward the massive living room.

The space was huge, bordered on one side by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a perfectly manicured, entirely empty backyard. I wrapped my arms around my chest, rubbing my hands up and down my freezing arms.

There was a long, dark console table pushed against the far wall, sitting beneath an abstract painting of gray and black squares.

I walked toward it, my footsteps slow and hesitant.

Unlike the rest of the room, the table wasn’t entirely bare. There were three silver frames arranged in a neat, precise line. They were the only personal items I had seen in the entire house.

I stopped in front of the table, my breath catching in the back of my throat.

The first frame held a professional, glossy photograph of an older man and woman. They were standing in front of a corporate building, cutting a ribbon. The man had Ryder’s dark hair, but his face was completely unyielding, his eyes cold and calculating. The woman was beautiful, blonde, and smiling a sharp, practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The second frame was a picture of a teenage boy in a lacrosse uniform. He looked a few years older than Ryder. He was holding a trophy, grinning wide, surrounded by teammates. He looked effortless. Perfect.

I moved my gaze to the third frame.

It was smaller than the others, pushed slightly to the edge of the table.

The photograph was taken outdoors, the background a blur of green trees. It was a picture of Ryder. He looked young, maybe ten or eleven

years old.

He wasn’t wearing a scuffed leather jacket. He didn’t have split knuckles or a bruised jaw. He was wearing a stiff, dark suit that looked incredibly uncomfortable, the tie knotted tightly at his small throat. His dark hair was combed back with terrifying precision, not a single

strand out of place.

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12:49 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 35 A Photograph Filled With Hidden Sadness

He was standing entirely alone.

But it was his face that made my heart drop straight into my stomach.

The boy in the picture wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t crying, either. He was staring directly into the camera lens with an expression of such profound, heavy emptiness that it physically ached to look at him.

The shards of gold and green in his eyes were there, but the fire was completely missing. He looked small. He looked entirely abandoned. He looked like a child who had already learned that screaming for help in a house this big was a complete waste of breath.

My chest tightened, a sharp, incredibly painful ache blooming behind my ribs.

I had spent the last three years believing the rumors. I had looked at the leather jacket, the fights, the suspensions, and I had seen a monster. A boy who simply didn’t care about rules or other people. Even when I asked him to fake date me, I thought I was hiring a predator to scare away the smaller wolves.

But looking at this photograph, the reality of Ryder Steinmann finally clicked into place.

The bad boy persona wasn’t who he was. It was armor.

He had built a terrifying, violent reputation to ensure no one would ever look close enough to see the broken, lonely kid trapped inside this cold, sterile museum. If people were afraid of him, they kept their distance. If they kept their distance, they couldn’t see the hollow spaces his parents had left behind.

“Don’t look at that.”

The voice came from directly behind me, harsh, low, and completely stripped of any warmth.

I gasped, my shoulders jumping as I spun around.

Ryder was standing five feet away. He held a blank black notebook in his left hand, his grip so tight his knuckles were stark white. The dark purple bruise on his cheek stood out in sharp contrast to the sudden, pale tension draining the color from his face.

He wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were locked on the silver frame I had been staring at.

The air in the room completely shifted. The cold, sterile atmosphere vanished, replaced by a sudden, volatile, entirely suffocating heat.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered quickly, taking a step away from the console table. My heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against my chest. I wasn’t trying to pry. I just…”

I said don’t look at it, he repeated. His voice didn’t rise, but the low, gravelly scrape of the words felt like a physical threat.

He crossed the space between us in three long, heavy strides. He didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of the table. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly, and grabbed the silver frame.

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Chapter 35 A Photograph Filled With Hidden Sadness

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With a sharp, aggressive motion, he flipped the picture face-down against the dark wood. The heavy thud of the metal hitting the table

echoed loudly in the silent room.

He stood there for a long second, his back to me, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a deep, shaky breath. The faded cotton of his

shirt stretched taut across his back.

I couldn’t move. I wanted to apologize again, to tell him I hadn’t meant to cross a line, but the words were completely stuck in my throat. I felt like I had just accidentally kicked a raw, open wound.

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