Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 72: Letting Her Go

Justin – POV

"Stop."

My voice cut through the air like a blade. Cold. Final.

The control room went quiet. The team, already halfway to the doors, froze mid-step. Rico turned toward me, confusion flickering in his eyes like static.

"I said stand down," I repeated, louder this time.

"You sure?" he asked, hesitant. "We’ve got her heat signature—we can get to her in under twenty minutes."

I didn’t answer right away. I stared at the live feed on the screen—her figure, small and shivering, moving quickly through the trees like a ghost. Her hood drawn tight. Her hands clenched into fists. Not running wild with fear... but not running home either.

Not running back to me.

I shut my eyes.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

But it did.

"She left," I murmured. "She chose to leave."

I turned slowly to face them all—these soldiers, survivors, the only people I trusted left in the world. My chest felt tight. Like a rope was wrapped around it, pulling tighter with every breath.

"She snuck out in the middle of the night like I was her captor. Like I was the villain in her story. And maybe I am. Maybe I gave her a reason to fear me."

No one said a word. Not a breath stirred. All eyes were on me, waiting.

"She didn’t come to me. Didn’t speak. Didn’t yell. She just... ran."

The lump in my throat grew sharp.

"If she hates me that much—if she’s that afraid—then we’re not going after her."

Gasps echoed in the room. Even Rico’s mouth opened in protest, but I lifted a hand before he could speak.

"I’m not dragging her back like some prisoner. That’s not what we do."

I turned my back to the screen.

"If she wants to be free of me so badly that she’d rather vanish into danger than face me... then let her go."

Let her go.

The words tasted like rusted metal. Like blood in my mouth.

But I had to say them.

I had to mean them.

Even if every part of me was screaming otherwise.

Because they were—screaming.

"She’s ours."

"Go get her."

"She’s in danger—you’re letting her walk into a trap!"

"You broke her, you fix her."

"You need her."

The voices clawed at me like wolves in a cage, each one louder than the last.

The softer whispered, brokenly:

"She was happy here. She smiled for the first time in years. You held her while she slept. You made her feel safe—how did you lose that?"

The corky voice snarled, frustrated:

"She needs space, not a damn army chasing her through the woods. Give her a minute. She’ll calm down. She always does."

But he—the bloodlust—wasn’t patient.

He seethed beneath my skin, pounding against the walls of my mind like a monster trying to claw his way out of a coffin.

"You let her go, and she dies. You know what’s out there. You think those bastards will give her peace? You think they’ll hesitate? They’ll carve her open and drag the past out of her spine. They’ll make you listen while she screams and you’re too fucking far to stop it."

My hands trembled. I dug my nails into my palms so hard I felt skin break.

"You’re weak," bloodlust spat. "You’re not letting her go. You’re abandoning her."

But I shook my head.

No.

I can’t be the man who chains her.

Not again.

I promised I’d protect her—but what if the only way to do that now... is to step back?

"I won’t be the thing she fears," I muttered under my breath.

"I refuse."

The room stayed silent. No one dared argue.

I turned to Rico.

"Put eyes on her from a distance. If she gets taken, we move. But until then..."

I exhaled.

"...we leave her alone."

Then I walked out of the room, every step heavy, every breath sharp, as though I’d just buried something sacred.

Because I had.

I buried us.

I buried whatever hope I had of June seeing me as anything other than a monster.

And even as the softer voice wept and the bloodlust howled...

I kept walking.

But I knew the voices wouldn’t stay quiet forever.

They never did.

And sooner or later, I’d crack.

Because she’s still out there.

And I don’t know how long I can stay human... without her.

June – POV

When I came to, I was flat on my back, the damp forest floor clinging to my skin like sweat. Cold, wet moss pressed against my palms. Leaves stuck in my hair. My ribs ached with every breath.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

I listened.

Birds. Wind. Distant rustling. But no footsteps. No voices. No low growls or cracking branches behind me.

Whoever had been chasing me... they were gone.

Or maybe I lost them when I fell.

I lifted my head with a groan. Pain flared through my side, but nothing felt broken. Just bruised. My clothes were torn at the knee, my hands scraped raw. Dirt smudged my arms. There was a smear of dried blood on my sleeve—I didn’t know if it was mine or from crashing through brambles or something else entirely.

I closed my eyes and tried to replay what had happened.

Running. Heart pounding. That feeling—the certainty that someone was behind me. Not Justin. I knew how he moved. This was different. Heavier. Less desperate, more... calculated.

I didn’t look back. I just ran. My boots slamming into the underbrush. My breath burning in my lungs.

And then—

The slope.

I slipped. Tumbled. Fell too fast to stop. The world had spun and twisted and then gone black.

Now... I was here.

Alone.

Safe—for now.

I sat up slowly, hissing as the pain in my ribs protested. The forest was thick and endless, pine needles carpeted the ground like snow. I didn’t recognize where I was. Not even a glimpse of the safehouse rooftops, no scent of smoke or the quiet hum of hidden cameras. Just trees. Just birds. Just me.

Good.

I needed to get out of here.

I needed to disappear.

Far from Justin. Far from his moods, his eyes that changed with every version of him. Far from the memory of what he did—to the man I once called father.

I should’ve been grateful.

But I wasn’t.

Because it wasn’t just vengeance. It was something else. Something darker. And when he handed me that knife, when he asked me to listen to the voices, I felt them rise in me like a tide.

And that scared me more than anything.

Even now, they whispered faintly.

You should’ve carved him. You should’ve screamed while you did it. He deserved it.

I dug my fingers into the earth and focused on the pain.

I wouldn’t listen. Not now. Not anymore.

I needed to find civilization. A town. A road. Anything.

I’d fake a name. Take a bus. Disappear into a city crowd. Somewhere the scientists couldn’t find me. Somewhere Justin couldn’t either.

No more safehouse.

No more secrets.

No more knives and whispers and boys with too many faces.

Just me.

Alive.

Free.

I pushed myself up, staggered, caught my balance, and picked a direction—any direction—and started walking.

Branches clawed at my sleeves. Insects buzzed. My stomach growled. But I didn’t stop.

I wouldn’t stop until I was lost in the noise of the world.

Until nobody could find me.

Not even the parts of me I was trying to leave behind.

****

I finally stumbled out of that cursed, suffocating forest. My jeans were torn, my shoes caked in mud, and my arms covered in scratches, but I was breathing freer than I had in days.

There it was.

The road.

Civilization.

A thin, winding strip of cracked asphalt with no road signs and no sounds but the occasional bird and the distant hum of tires on gravel. I looked both ways. Right. Left. No clue where I was.

I laughed a little. Not because it was funny. It wasn’t. I was cold, starving, barely holding it together, and the only thing keeping me upright was spite and adrenaline. But after everything, getting lost in a damn forest and having to choose between left and right felt like a cruel joke from the universe.

Then—I heard it.

A slow-rolling engine. A rusted-out teal minivan appeared from the left, wobbling on tires that looked as exhausted as I felt.

I tensed. I knew the risks. Hitchhiking was basically asking to be chopped into bits and buried in the woods. But what were the odds that a sweet old granny in a knitted lavender cardigan and oversized sunglasses was a serial killer?

Small, right?

"Need a lift, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice like warm tea and shortbread cookies.

I nodded, heart pounding. "Just to the city. Any city."

She smiled and popped the passenger door open without a second thought. "Hop in. I was heading that way anyway."

I slid in, clutching the seatbelt like a lifeline. The car smelled like peppermint and mothballs, and there was a tiny porcelain angel taped to the dashboard.

Maybe angels really do exist.

She didn’t ask questions. Not about the dirt on my clothes or the panic in my eyes. She just hummed to the soft tune of oldies on the radio and passed me a ten-dollar bill at a gas station stop.

"Get yourself something warm," she said with a wink.

I could’ve cried.

Instead, I thanked her quietly and slipped inside the station to use the ATM. I typed in the access code for my allowance card.

The screen lit up. Balance: enough to disappear for a while.

I withdrew a few hundred. Just enough to keep me going for a week or two—hotels, food, a new phone, a ticket if I had to travel again.

When I stepped outside, the van was gone.

She left without a goodbye, like she was never really real.

Like she was just... passing through.

I stood there in the sun, fingers curled around the bills, and breathed in the city air. It smelled like gasoline, cheap coffee, and freedom.

Now all I had to do was vanish.

Before the past caught up with me.