Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 15: The Monster at Home

Justin's POV

The ride to her house was silent—except for the roar of my bike and the occasional squeeze of her arms around me whenever I took a sharp turn. She held onto me tight, and I liked it more than I should.

By the time we reached her neighborhood, I was regretting this entire deal.

Because it was getting harder to remember that it was fake.

I pulled up outside a house that looked way too perfect, way too polished—like the kind of place you put on postcards. Everything was neat, trimmed, organized. Fake. Just like the life she had been living.

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She hesitated before climbing off, adjusting her hoodie as she took off the helmet and handed it back to me. "Thanks," she muttered.

I didn't say anything. Just stared at her, gripping the handlebars too tight.

She shifted, uncomfortable. "What?"

I tilted my head. "You sure you wanna go in?"

Her brows furrowed, and she let out a dry chuckle. "Well, yeah? Where else would I go?"

I smirked. "You hesitated."

She frowned, crossing her arms. "No, I didn't."

I leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "Yes, you did."

June swallowed hard but kept her chin up. "My parents are home. I can't exactly bring my fake boyfriend inside and explain why I was on his bike."

She was making excuses. I knew it.

And that only made me more curious.

I should've left. Should've just turned the bike around and driven off. Instead, I found myself gripping her chin between my fingers, forcing her to look at me.

Her breath hitched.

"Next time," I murmured, my voice dangerously low, "you should make up a better lie."

Her lips parted, and for a second, I thought she might say something. But she didn't.

She just stared at me, wide-eyed, lost.

Then, before she could react, I let her go.

"See you tomorrow, girlfriend."

I revved the engine, watching her take a step back, watching the way she shivered—but not from the cold.

Then I drove off, gripping the handlebars so hard my knuckles turned white.

I needed to clear my head.

Because I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep playing this game.

June's POV

Please don't let him be home. Please don't let him be home.

My heart pounded as I stood in front of the door, fingers cold against the doorknob. My entire body was stiff, my shoulders tight. I knew that the moment I stepped inside, my fake confidence, my queen-bee persona—everything—would vanish like smoke.

Out there, I was June Matthews, the untouchable, the girl people admired, envied, or hated. But in here... inside this house... I was nothing.

A shadow. A pawn. A toy.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling deeply. I wanted to turn around. Wanted to run. Maybe go back to Justin—no, bad idea. That boy was dangerous in his own way, and I had enough danger in my life. But... at least with him, my heart didn't feel like it was going to burst out of my chest from pure fear.

Still, I had no choice.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Silence.

For a second, I thought maybe I got lucky. Maybe he wasn't here. Maybe—

CLANG!

The sound of a glass hitting the floor made me freeze mid-step.

A sharp breath. The creak of a chair.

I slowly turned my head towards the dining area, my stomach twisting painfully.

And there he was.

Sitting at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, a half-empty whiskey bottle in front of him, his fingers lazily tapping against the wood.

My father.

His eyes, cold and calculating, slowly lifted to mine. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and that was when I knew—he was in one of those moods.

"You're late," he said, voice calm. Too calm.

I swallowed hard. "I had extra classes."

A lie. But I was used to lying. It was how I survived.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the glass in his hand. "Extra classes, huh?" His tone was mocking, like he knew exactly where I had been.

I nodded, keeping my face blank, my arms stiff at my sides. Don't show weakness. Don't react. Don't breathe too loudly.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, June, for someone so pretty, you're a terrible liar."

I clenched my fists.

The chair scraped against the floor as he stood up. My pulse skyrocketed, but I forced my feet to stay planted. Running would only make it worse.

"You've been acting different," he murmured, stepping closer. "Sneaking around. Ignoring your curfew."

I said nothing.

His fingers suddenly gripped my chin, tilting my head up. His nails dug into my skin, and I sucked in a breath, locking my muscles so I wouldn't flinch.

"Are you being a whore, June?"

My stomach dropped.

I felt the air in the room grow thick, suffocating.

No, no, no. Don't say anything. Don't react. Don't fight back.

"Did you finally spread your legs for anyone?"

Rage.

It burned so hot, so deep, I almost let it out. Almost let my shaking hands ball into fists, almost spit in his face—

But I didn't.

Because I knew better.

Instead, I forced my voice to stay steady. "No."

His eyes darkened. "You better not. You already disgust me enough."

And just like that, he let go of my chin, pushing me back slightly before picking up his drink again like nothing happened. Like he hadn't just made me feel like dirt beneath his shoes.

"Go to your room," he muttered, dismissing me. "Before I change my mind and decide to have a real conversation with you here."

I turned on my heel, walking up the stairs as calmly as possible.

I didn't break into a run. I didn't show fear.

Not until I was safely in my room with the door locked.

And even then, I still couldn't breathe.

I sank down onto the bed, my body trembling, my hands gripping the sheets.

I hated him.

I hated this house.

I hated myself for being too weak to fight back.

I curled into a ball, squeezing my eyes shut.

And for some reason, the only thing I could think about was him.

Justin Black.

And the way I felt safer with the most feared boy in school than I ever did in my own home.