The Bad Boy Saves.

[Ava’s POV]

I wait for the hit.  

My eyes stay shut, my shoulders tight, every muscle locked in place as I brace for the pain that should already be exploding across my face. Seconds stretch longer than they should. Yet nothing lands.  

Instead a heavy, solid sound cracks through the room, the noise of two bodies colliding hard enough to shake the air. 

I slowly open one eye, half expecting to find myself somewhere else entirely, maybe already on the floor.  

What I see makes my breath catch.  

Kyle West stands in front of me, one hand locked around the wrist of the man who was about to strike me. 

His expression is cold, the kind of look that says the other person has already crossed a line he will not forgive. 

He shoves the guy backward with enough force that the man stumbles into one of the leather chairs.  

The second man scrambles to his feet, face twisted in anger.  

“Who the hell are you?” he demands, voice rising. “And what makes you think you can just bust in here?”  

Kyle does not even glance at him. He keeps his eyes on the first man for another second, then turns his head just enough to answer. 

“I have every right,” he says, tone flat. “You were disturbing my rest.”  

The third guy who had been sitting quietly, finally stands. He looks Kyle up and down, taking in the simple black jacket and jeans that somehow still look out of place among their expensive clothes. His eyes widened slightly.  

“You dress so shabby,” he mutters, almost to himself. “How the hell do you even have a room in the VIP suite?”  

Kyle ignores the question completely. He steps toward me instead, the tension in his shoulders still visible.  

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice lower now.  

I nod once, already tugging at the hem of my top, trying to pull the fabric higher even though it will not stay. My hands will not stop shaking.  

“Yes,” I manage. “I can handle myself too,”  

One corner of his mouth lifts, but there is no real humor in it.  

“Look who’s so ungrateful,” he says. “I just saved you from something a lot worse than a bad night at work.”  

Heat floods my face, equal parts embarrassment and anger. I bend down, grab the tray I dropped earlier, and straighten up.  

“Whatever you saw here is nothing,” I tell him, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse is racing. “Stay away from me.”  

I move toward the door. Behind me I hear the scrape of chairs and the beginning of raised voices, the rough sound of bodies shifting like a fight is about to start. 

I already know Kyle is the type who will not back down, and the last thing I need is to be standing here when things get expensive. 

He might be able to pay for broken furniture. I cannot.  

I reach for the handle.  

Before I can open it fully, his hand closes around my upper arm and turns me back to face him. The movement is firm but not rough. 

This close I notice a faint heat still lingering around his mouth, the residual intensity from whatever just happened. I swallow hard.  

“What do you want?” I ask, quieter than before. “You’ve already seen me. Thank you for your help, but please do not follow me, and do not say anything about this.”  

His eyes search mine for a long second. The noise behind us grows louder, someone cursing, glass shifting on a table. 

I pull my arm free and step into the hallway before he can answer, the tray clutched against my chest like a shield.  

The corridor feels colder than it should. My legs are unsteady, but I force them to keep moving. I do not look back. I cannot afford to.

I only make it three steps down the hallway before his hand closes around my wrist again. The grip is firm enough to stop me without hurting. 

I turn, ready to snap, but the look on his face makes the words stick in my throat for a second.

Kyle West stands there with his jaw tight, eyes still carrying the leftover heat from whatever just happened inside that room. He does not let go.

“What is a scholarship student like you doing working shifts like this?” he asks, voice low enough that only I can hear it.

I yank my arm free and take another step back. “That is none of your business.”

He follows the movement, staying close enough that I can still smell the faint mix of cologne and something sharper on him. “It became my business the second those idiots tried to put their hands on you.”

“I did not ask you to walk in there,” I say, clutching the tray tighter against my chest. “I can handle my own problems.”

“You were about to get hit,” he answers, one eyebrow lifting. “That did not look like handling anything.”

Heat crawls up my neck. I hate that he is right. I hate even more that he saw me like that, scared and cornered in a uniform I never wanted to wear. I force my voice to stay steady.

“Stay out of it, Kyle. Go back to your VIP room and forget you saw me.”

He tilts his head, studying me the way he did in the hallway at school, like he is deciding how much pressure to apply. “I do not forget things that easily. Especially not when the top student of the academy is serving drinks in a place like this at night.”

My stomach drops. The words land exactly where he meant them to. Scholarship. Academy. Night job. All the pieces I have worked so hard to keep separate are suddenly sitting in the open between us.

“You would not,” I whisper.

“Ohh, I would,” he says without hesitation. “Unless you give me a reason not to.”

I stare at him. The noise from the main floor drifts up the stairs, laughter and bass mixing together, but it feels far away. All I can hear is the quiet threat in his voice.

“What do you want?” I ask.

He shifts his weight, sliding both hands into his jacket pockets like this is just another casual conversation. “My friends made a real bet. They said I could never get the quiet scholarship girl to even look at me twice. You already kissed me in front of half the school and called me your boyfriend. The hard part is done. Now you just have to keep playing along.”

I let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You want me to fake date you so you can win a bet.”

“I want you to stop pretending this is only about a bet,” he answers, his eyes never leaving mine. “But yes. Be my girlfriend in public. Show up when I need you to. Let everyone keep believing what you already told them. Do that, and no one at the academy ever finds out you work here.”

The tray feels heavier in my hands. Theo’s medication, the rent, the warning letters from the scholarship board, all of it presses down at once. I could refuse. I could walk away and hope he is bluffing. But the way he is looking at me says he is not.

I swallow hard. “And if I say no?”

He shrugs one shoulder, almost gentle. “Then Monday morning every teacher and student will know exactly where the top-ranked girl spends her nights. Your choice.”

The hallway suddenly feels too narrow. I can still feel the ghost of that man’s hand on my wrist from earlier, the fear that had locked my body in place. 

Kyle had stopped it. Now he is using the same moment to box me in again, only this time with words instead of fists.

I lift my chin even though my pulse is racing. “How long?”

“Until I say it is over,” he replies.

I hate him a little for how calm he sounds. I hate myself more for already knowing what my answer has to be.

“Fine,” I say, the word tasting bitter. “But there are rules. No touching unless people are watching. No questions about my life. And you never come back here again.”

Something flickers across his face, too quick to read. Then that familiar half-smile returns.

“Whatever you say, girlfriend.”

He steps back, giving me space at last. I do not wait for anything else. I turn and walk toward the staff stairs as fast as my legs will carry me, the tray still in my hands, the deal already settling like a weight across my shoulders.

Behind me I hear him speak one more time, quiet but clear.

“See you at school, Ava.”