Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 91: Where Were You?

JUNE – POV

I had never—never—wanted a class to stretch on for eternity like I did today.

Every tick of the clock felt like a countdown to doom. Like a fuse was burning slow right underneath my chair, and any second now it was going to blow and take me with it.

Because I wasn’t dumb.

Justin knew.

How he knew? I wasn’t sure.

Maybe I hadn’t pulled the hoodie high enough. Maybe the collar had slipped. Maybe the hickey on my neck, the one that was so deep it might as well have come with a neon sign saying "I got absolutely railed last night," had peeked out when I wasn’t paying attention.

Maybe he just knew me too well.

He hadn’t said anything. Not yet.

But he didn’t have to.

He’d spent the entire lecture staring at me like he could see right through the layers of cotton, through my skin, into the memories flashing behind my eyes.

Into the ache in my legs.

Into the reason I was shifting in my seat like I couldn’t get comfortable.

Because I couldn’t.

Not with the ghost of Bad Wolf still pressed into me. Not with the phantom feel of his hands still bruising my hips and his voice still echoing in my ears. Not with the raw, stupid heat of my mistake crawling over my skin like a fever.

God, what had I done?

And what was he going to do?

Justin looked smug, sure, like he was keeping some delicious secret—but underneath that smirk, there was something darker.

A glint in his eyes that wasn’t playful.

It was controlled rage.

Like he’d taken whatever storm had formed in his gut and trapped it behind a glass wall—and I didn’t know how long that glass was going to hold.

The moment the professor dismissed the class, I swear my heart stopped.

He stood up casually, like a lion stretching after a nap. His hand brushed my back—innocent to anyone watching, but I could feel the weight in it. The message: You’re not going anywhere.

And I wasn’t.

Because where would I go?

I gathered my things slowly, pretending not to notice him waiting. Pretending I didn’t feel his eyes tracking every movement like a predator clocking prey. I kept my head down, hood up, like fabric could save me now.

Too late.

Too late to act innocent. Too late to cover the marks. Too late to pretend I wasn’t thinking about the way someone else had kissed me like they were trying to swallow my sins.

But that someone else... wasn’t someone else at all.

He was a mask.

And the truth?

The truth was worse.

Because my body had betrayed me for a stranger... and still, somehow, all I could think about was Justin.

The guilt tangled with the heat still coiled low in my belly, and I hated how much I hated myself.

I hated how much I was scared of the questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.

I stood.

Justin was still there.

Waiting.

Watching.

And I had no idea which version of him I was about to face.

The boy with the broken past and silent rage...

Or the monster who never asked before he took what he wanted.

Either way?

I was screwed.

And not the fun kind.

******

I timed it perfectly. Or at least, I thought I had.

I packed my bag as quickly as I could without looking suspicious, keeping my head low and my hoodie hood higher. My plan was simple: blend in with the exodus of exhausted students, drift into the crowd like a leaf in the wind, and get the hell out.

But fate?

Fate was a bitch.

Because as I shifted to stand, Justin’s hand—his warm, heavy, all-too-familiar hand—landed on my thigh. Through the fabric of my sweats, it burned hotter than skin should, hotter than the flames currently chewing through my insides.

I froze.

Not because I was scared of him. Not exactly.

But because he knew.

And he wasn’t letting me go anywhere.

The touch wasn’t soft. It wasn’t casual. It was quiet command.

Stay.

He didn’t even look at me.

He just kept his eyes forward, as if he wasn’t practically pinning me to the seat with one hand, like he hadn’t just turned my whole escape plan into ash with a single gesture.

The room thinned out quickly—chairs scraping, backpacks rustling, conversations fading. Each student who left was a countdown.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two...

And then, one.

The last classmate slipped out the door.

And I? I was officially doomed.

I didn’t wait.

I shot up, ignoring the warning squeeze on my thigh, and made a beeline for the door like it was the goddamn gates of heaven.

But I’d barely made it halfway across the room when a shadow moved faster.

Justin.

He was there before me.

Standing in front of the door.

And then—click—he turned the lock.

The sound echoed through the room like a gavel.

Guilty. freёweɓnovel_com

My heart pounded. My breath got stuck somewhere between my lungs and throat. I stepped back on instinct, but the wall wasn’t far. And neither was he.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

He just stood there, hand still on the door, his back to it, and looked at me like I was a problem he’d already solved but was still pissed about.

And all I could think was—

Yeah. I was doomed.

Completely, absolutely, cosmically screwed.

And I didn’t know whether I wanted to scream, confess, or melt into the floor and vanish.

But I knew this:

Whatever was about to happen—it wasn’t going to be gentle.

Not his words.

Not his eyes.

Not the truth he was about to rip from me, whether I was ready or not.

"Who were you with yesterday?"

His voice was low, smooth—dangerous in the way a quiet storm always is just before it rips the roof off your life.

I froze. My hand was still gripping the strap of my bag like it could anchor me to reality.

"I wasn’t with anyone," I said quickly, too quickly.

Wrong move.

Justin’s eyes narrowed, his entire body shifting forward—just one step, but it felt like the air between us dropped ten degrees. I instinctively stepped back, my heel brushing against a chair leg, the lecture hall suddenly feeling way too small for both of us.

He tilted his head, like he was studying me under a microscope. "Try again, June."

"I—I went home," I stammered. "I had a headache. Slept it off."

Lie.

So. Many. Lies.

Each one stacked like matchsticks beneath a powder keg.

Justin didn’t flinch. He just took another step, closing the distance like a predator who already knew his prey was cornered and lying through her teeth.

"Really?" he asked, voice dripping with disbelief. "Funny. Rico says you didn’t get back to her place until late. Says you were walking weird this morning, too."

My heart stopped. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He was watching me with those sharp, brutal eyes—the kind that didn’t just look at you, but through you. Straight into your blood and bones and all the dirty secrets you hoped would rot in silence.

"I—uh—I went for a walk?" I tried, knowing damn well how pathetic I sounded.

He took another step. We were dangerously close now. Too close. I could smell the fresh, clean scent of his cologne—notes of something woodsy and warm and maddeningly Justin. I hated how my body betrayed me, how my pulse jumped and my knees threatened to betray their goddamn duties.

"Wanna try again?" he said, this time a little darker, a little lower. "Because if this is some attempt to make me jealous, it’s cute. Really. But ineffective."

"I don’t need to make you jealous, Justin," I snapped, trying to sound angry and not like a girl who spent the night being thoroughly, filthily, mercilessly fucked by a stranger in a mask. "Not everything’s about you."

"Oh, no?" His gaze flicked down, laser-focused on my neck, and I knew.

I knew he’d seen them.

The hickeys.

Those cursed, traitorous, dark red reminders of last night’s sin.

His jaw clenched. "You’re wearing a hoodie in ninety-degree weather," he said, voice like steel. "That’s subtle. Real subtle."

"I was cold," I said.

He let out a low, humorless laugh. "Sure. Cold. That why you’re limping too?"

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

There was no escaping this.

And yet—telling him the truth?

Yeah, no.

I wasn’t about to tell the possibly morally gray guy I fake-date for cover that I spent the night at Red Bull, a fantasy sex club, getting bent over every surface by a masked man named Bad Wolf who made me forget what guilt felt like.

Because how do you even say that out loud?

Hi, Justin. Sorry I lied. I was busy moaning into a stranger’s mouth while he made me forget my name. You cool with that?

So instead, I said nothing.

I stared. He stared back. His eyes were hard, unrelenting, that storm inside him getting darker by the second.

And I realized—this wasn’t just jealousy.

This was territorial.

This was rage wrapped in restraint, control tightly wound around something feral.

And I...

I wasn’t ready for what came next.

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