My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38 Trapped on the Porch by the Storm

:))

Neither of us moved. The battered, dog-eared copy of The Glass Desert sat on his nightstand, a silent, damning witness to the absolute truth he had just confessed. My heart hammered a frantic, unsteady rhythm against my ribs. The air in the charcoal-painted bedroom felt incredibly thin, completely stripped of oxygen.

He had paid attention. When the rest of the school looked right through me, he had listened.

I opened my mouth, desperate to find a word, a sentence, anything to bridge the terrifying gap that had just opened between us. I wanted to ask him why. I wanted to ask him how long he had been carrying that specific memory.

But Ryder didn’t give me the chance.

The raw, unguarded vulnerability in his hazel eyes snapped shut. The heavy, indifferent mask slammed back down over his features, completely sealing away the boy who cared. He stepped forward, closing the space between us, and shoved the coiled white cable into my

numb hands.

“Laptop’s dead, Petrova, he muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh, dismissive scrape. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned his back on me and walked out of the bedroom, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood

floor.

I stood frozen for another three seconds, my fingers gripping the smooth plastic wire. My chest physically ached. I looked at the nightstand one last time, burning the image of the peeling silver letters into my brain, before turning and following him down the long,

sterile hallway.

We didn’t speak as we walked down the glass staircase. The suffocating tension from the bedroom followed us, settling over the massive dining room like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

I plugged the charger into the wall outlet and connected it to my laptop. The screen flickered to life, the bright white glow harsh against the dimming natural light of the room.

We went back to work.

I typed the outline, my fingers stiff and clumsy against the keys. Ryder sat across from me, dictating notes about the Reign of Terror, his voice completely devoid of the quiet reverence he had used upstairs. He was entirely focused on the textbook, refusing to meet my eyes.

But the dynamic had permanently shifted.

I couldn’t look at him the same way. Every time he shifted in his chair, every time his dark hair fell across his forehead, my mind flashed back to the small, empty boy in the silver picture frame and the battered sci-fi novel on his nightstand. I was hyper-aware of his hands. I watched his bruised knuckles grip the black pen, tracing the faint, fading scars across his skin, and wondered how many of those fights he had started just to make sure people kept their distance.

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12:49 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 38 Trapped on the Porch by the Storm

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the afternoon sky began to turn.

:))

The pale, hazy gray thickened into a deep, bruised purple. The wind picked up, rattling the massive panes of glass. The manicured trees in

the backyard swayed aggressively, their branches bending under the sudden shift in pressure.

A low, deep rumble of thunder vibrated through the marble floor beneath my feet.

“We have enough, Ryder said abruptly.

He dropped his pen and pushed his chair back. The metal legs scraped harshly against the stone.

“We still need the bibliography,” I pointed out, my voice sounding incredibly small in the cavernous room.

I’ll format it tonight, he replied, not looking at me. He walked over to the massive black granite kitchen island and grabbed his empty water bottle, tossing it into a stainless-steel recycling bin. The clatter was deafening. “Pack up. I’m taking you home.”

He was shutting down. He had exposed too much upstairs, and now he was aggressively rebuilding the walls.

I didn’t argue. I saved the document, shut the laptop, and carefully packed my binders into my heavy canvas backpack. I pulled the zipper closed, the teeth catching slightly before securing. I stood up, slinging the strap over my right shoulder.

The house was incredibly dark now. Ryder didn’t turn on any of the sleek, modern light fixtures. He walked to the foyer, grabbing his heavy leather jacket from the back of the white sofa. He shoved his arms into the sleeves, the worn material creaking loudly.

I walked toward the front door, my loafers squeaking faintly on the marble.

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