Fattening Up the Broken Villain

I inhale my lunch in the elite prep school cafeteria. The rich kids sneer. They call me a fat pig. I just nod, flashing a goofy grin. "Yep.

My dad actually snagged the county ribbon for top hog farmer back home." A bully slams Jude—the school's straightA scholarship kid—facefirst into my lunch tray.

Laughter erupts across the cafeteria. Jude lifts his dripping face. His dark eyes sweep the room, memorizing every single person.

A neon Live Chat scrolls right across my vision. "You guys are dead! The male lead enters his villain era right now!

Ten years from today, he sits at the top of the food chain and slaughters everyone in this room!" Panic spikes my heart rate. A loud burp escapes my lips. Hold up.

I lose my lunch, and then I lose my life? Jude staggers up. His skeletal frame sways toward the exit. The Live Chat shifts. "Poor baby Jude.

This bullying triggers his severe anorexia. He suffers for years until Celine cures him and melts his frozen heart.

He stays completely obsessed with her, even when she gaslights him and treats him like absolute trash! Major red flag!" My brain locks onto the crucial detail. Cure the anorexia.

Survive the bloodbath. I whip out my phone and dial. "Hey Dad.

I have a sixfoot, hundredpound skinny pig needing some serious bulk." Chapter 1 My professional pigfarming dad scoffed through the receiver.

I quickly backtracked. "Slip of the tongue! Not a pig. A person. A scholarship kid at my school. You can count the ribs right through his shirt!" Dad's voice boomed. "Ribs?

Those cook up nice! Throw them in a smoker, slather on some BBQ sauce—perfection!" "Dad!" "My bad, my bad. Tractors run loud out here. Fattening up a classmate, huh? No sweat!

Ship him home. I guarantee we bulk him up to two hundred pounds of prime muscle. Ready for market!" Relief flooded my chest. With Dad on the case, Jude's anorexia stood zero chance.

My survival odds just skyrocketed. I sprinted down the hallway, finally catching up to Jude. "Hey! Want to come over to my house for dinner?" Jude turned his head. Agonizingly slow.

The cafeteria soup dripped from his expensive uniform blazer. His eyes held zero life.

Looking legally dead, he let out a dry, rasping laugh at my invitation. "What kind of sick prank comes next?" I waved my hands frantically. "No, no!

I stand completely separate from those jerks. You just look a little hungry. I want to feed you." Jude ignored me. He turned away, picking up his pace.

I chased right after him, pushing my agenda. "Jude, seriously, my family makes the best food! Smell your jacket if you don't believe me." Suspicion tightened his features.

He pinched the fabric of his lapel and gave it a tentative sniff. "Amazing, right? Today I got the braised pork intestines.

My dad makes the sauce entirely from scratch—" Jude hurried to the wall and threw up. Confusion hit me. Intestines smelled heavenly. Why the extreme reaction?

I quietly held out a tissue, offering an apologetic smile. "Okay, fine. Not intestines. Pork head cheese." Gag. He heaved again. "Okay, scratch the head cheese!

Pork offal stew!" Silence. Jude stopped throwing up. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed straight to the linoleum. The floating comments appeared in my vision again. "Holy crap.

This side character treats Jude like an absolute lab rat." "Jude: Looks alive, actually flatlining." "Total red flag behavior! She definitely does this on purpose.

She knows he despises pigs, and she just keeps chanting about pork!" "Is this some nextlevel psychological warfare? The bullies deal physical damage.

Piper deals pure psychic damage!" Tears burned the corners of my eyes. I hit redial on Dad's number. The second the call connected, I couldn't help but wail. "Dad!

Someone out here hates pigs! Pigs look so cute! How can anyone hate them?" I pocketed my phone. I needed to move him.

A nice guy from my homeroom jogged over, opening his mouth to offer help. Before he uttered a single syllable, I hoisted Jude directly over my shoulder.

I gave him a slight bounce to test the weight. Way too light. Barely breaking one hundred pounds. The classmate froze. He blinked in utter bewilderment. "Piper.

How do you possess that much strength?" I rubbed the back of my neck, flashing a bashful smile. "Carrying baby piglets around the farm.

Builds character." I hauled Jude straight to the campus infirmary.

I ordered the doctor to strip him down and redress him in clean scrubs, slamming my dad's black card onto the counter to cover all expenses.

Prep schools drained your wallet for every little thing. Thank God for unlimited credit lines. The school doctor hooked an IV line into Jude's frail arm.

He shook his head, frowning at the monitors. "Severe malnutrition plagues this young man.

If this continues, his organs shut down." I nodded vigorously. "Write me a medical leave pass for him," I demanded. "I need to take him home for some intensive rehab." Chapter 2 The doctor reached for his prescription pad.

Jude’s eyes snapped open. "No." The word sliced through the room. He reached over, digging his fingernails into the tape holding his IV line, and yanked.

I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. "Jude, stop! Your organs are literally shutting down." I needed a new angle. Fast. "Look, come home with me. I offer free room and board.

Plus a monthly salary. Consider it a livein tutoring gig." Jude looked at me with deep suspicion.

Even the school nurse frowned, adjusting his glasses. "Piper, kidnapping and defrauding classmates violate state law." I stamped my foot against the linoleum. "It isn't fraud!

I mean it!" Jude sneered. "Do you rich kids physically ache if you don't crush someone's dignity with a checkbook?

My life might hold zero value, but I refuse your sick charity." Jude threw off the blanket to leave. Left with no choice, I had to use the ultimate tactic my dad taught me.

I pulled a black card from my pocket and slammed it onto his mattress. "One hundred thousand dollars," I stated. "Come home and eat dinner with me." Jude froze, his skeletal frame locking midmotion as the sheer absurdity of the offer registered.

I tossed down a second piece of plastic. "Half a million." The nurse cleared his throat. "Piper, does your family need another—" "No." The doctor shook his head regretfully.

My fingers hovered over a third card. Before I flicked my wrist, Jude reached out. His trembling fingers brushed the first piece of plastic. He kept his head bowed.

Shadows hid his expression. "Are you serious?" His voice cracked. It sounded incredibly soft, like a feather landing on snow. "Absolutely!" Jude lifted his gaze.

A tiny, desperate spark flickered in his hollow eyes. "Draft the contract." "Done!" The floating text immediately lost its mind. "What the hell is Piper doing?

Buying the male lead?!" "Jude caved way too fast. Huge red flag!" "Give the guy a break! His dad died, his mom bailed, and his grandma needs heart surgery.

He needs the cash!" "If someone corrupted me with a black card, I'd probably cave too." "+1" "Same." "Literally me." We sat in the back of my idling RollsRoyce just outside the campus gates.

Jude stared at the freshly signed NDA and employment contract in his lap. A selfdeprecating smirk twisted his lips. "I took your money. You own me now.

Do your worst." He leaned closer. He took my wrist. His grip felt cold and frail. He gently guided my palm upward, pressing my hand flat against his cheek. His skin felt freezing.

Clammy. A violent shudder ripped down my spine at the sheer hopelessness burning in his stare. "Hit me," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "Do whatever you want.

I won't fight back." My eyes dropped. The top buttons of his uniform shirt hung open. Angry, raised welts crisscrossed the pale skin of his collarbone.

Fresh, bloodred bruising painted his ribs. I snatched my hand back like his skin caught fire.

My fingers trembled uncontrollably. "No, no, no!" I scrambled backward against the leather seats. "I don't have a hitting fetish!" He just stared at me, looking genuinely baffled. "You bought me," he rasped. "You want a literal punching bag, right?

Or do you have some twisted psychological torture planned?" I froze, not expecting that from his perspective, things looked like this.

How much abuse did this guy swallow every single day? How warped did his reality become? "Jude," I breathed out, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You pull straight A's.

I paid you to force me to study!" He leaned back against the window. His muscles stayed tightly coiled, ready to strike or deflect.

It seemed the world had never shown him any kindness. I exhaled a long, heavy breath. I plastered a warm smile onto my face and extended my hand. "Let's hit restart.

I'm Piper, from your AP Biology section.

Piper, like the airplane, because my dad says I spend my whole life with my head in the clouds." Jude stared at my outstretched fingers for a long, agonizing moment.

Slowly, cautiously, his calloused fingers brushed against mine. He squeezed my hand with zero strength. "Jude. AP Chem." Chapter 3 I brought Jude straight to my house.

Dad also came back not long after. A gold chain thicker than a rapper’s rested against his massive beer belly. A Gucci belt with overlapping logos struggled to hold up his slacks.

His entire existence screamed one concept: New Money. Dad literally defined the term. So when my classmates called me nouveau riche, I never talked back.

They told the absolute truth. Getting filthy rich overnight sounded like the ultimate American dream to me anyway.

Dad’s eyes lit up the second he spotted Jude. "Hey there, kiddo!" He slammed a meaty palm down on Jude’s frail shoulder.

Jude coughed repeatedly. "Dad!" I poured water and patted Jude's back to help him catch his breath. "Jude, please don't get mad! He means well.

He just forgets his own strength." If Jude added my dad to his future hit list, our entire bloodline stood zero chance.

The American agricultural industry would lose its brightest star. Jude coughed until his pale cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

He shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. "It's fine.

I'm fine." Dad hooked a massive arm around my neck and dragged me into the hallway, waggling his thick eyebrows with a knowing smirk. "Sweetheart, you never bring friends over.

Especially not boys. You practically had a heart attack over him just now. Tell me the truth…" I leaned into the bit, nodding vigorously. "Yep.

I like him, Dad." "So, you need to fatten him up. Make him healthy.

Put some meat on those bones!" Dad snapped a crisp, mocking salute against his temple. "Yes, ma'am!" I trusted my dad with livestock more than anything.

He started out raising cattle and hogs in Texas, earning the title of Livestock King. Not a single animal left his ranch under three hundred pounds.

A flock of weird red chickens wandered onto our property years ago, and Dad started tossing them feed. They multiplied like crazy, taking over the entire front yard.

Right before Dad tossed them into a deep fryer, federal wildlife agents swarmed the house. Those birds turned out to be critically endangered Attwater's prairie chickens!

Biologists struggled to keep them alive in labs, but Dad accidentally bred an entire colony. The government ended up paying him to breed everything.

By then, our family owned a massive network of private wildlife reserves across the country.

Dad turns regular animals into absolute units, and endangered species multiply like an invasive plague under his care.

He bred the most fragile creatures on earth back from the brink of extinction. Fattening up Jude would take zero effort.

Meanwhile, Jude decided my black card required immediate hard labor. He unpacked his backpack, spreading textbooks across the massive mahogany dining table.

I crept up behind him, quietly sweeping his AP study guides off the edge and onto a nearby chair. Jude spun around. His homework completely vanished.

He leaned over, scanning the floor, his hands feeling under the table's edge. I threw my hands up defensively. "The dining table holds sacred status in this house.

Filthy things like test papers absolutely cannot contaminate it." The excuse sounded very weird. Jude stared at my face for a long, uncomfortable minute.

As the school's AP Chemistry god, he probably tried to mentally dissect the exact chemical composition of my brain damage.

Chapter 4 Before Jude unzipped his backpack, Dad started slamming dishes down. He balanced a massive aluminum catering pan of Alaskan King Crab legs in his left hand.

A towering platter of dryaged Tomahawk steaks rested in his right. "Grub's up!" Dad bellowed, dropping the mountains of food onto the mahogany wood.

He shot Jude an exaggerated wink. "Piper gave me the rundown. You hate pork. So tonight, I present the Ultimate NoPig Feast!" He definitely coined that masterpiece himself.

Jude stared at the two massive platters and froze. "Isn't this… a bit much?" he stammered, clearly terrified by the sheer volume of the industrialsized pans.

Before I opened my mouth to explain, our housekeepers marched in. A literal parade.

They banged on serving trays. "Whole roasted turkey!" "A barrel of lobster bisque!" "Wagyu beef sliders!" Jude shortcircuited. Platter after platter hit the table.

If it flew, swam, or ran across a field, it sat roasted in front of us. He slowly turned his head. His eyes met mine, unable to hide his shock.

I waved the AP Chemistry guide in the air. "See? I told you. No room for study materials." Jude frowned tightly, looking completely perplexed.

The floating text scrolled past, mocking me. "LMAO. Piper played herself! Jude physically cannot stomach a single ounce of meat right now!

And she gave him a literal carnivore's wet dream." "Does she really think anorexia vanishes that easily? Only Celine holds the cure for him!" Jude parted his lips to speak.

I immediately stood up. "Stop! I know exactly what you want to say!" I locked eyes with my dad. I gave him a look that meant absolute business. "Dad!

Swap the menu!" Ten minutes later, a sea of green completely replaced the meat. Several bowls held root vegetables yanked straight from the garden dirt moments ago.

I shoved a heavy silver fork into Jude’s hands. I flashed a victorious, blinding smile. "Jude. Pick your favorite." Please. My family ran an agricultural empire.

We grew absolutely everything. That night, Jude barely swallowed three bites. Dad and I shoved pounds of raw greens down our throats.

Meanwhile, Florence, our housekeeper, devoured the multimilliondollar meat buffet in the kitchen. Jude took minuscule, excruciating bites.

His eyebrows remained permanently stitched together. Every single swallow looked like sheer agony. His throat clicked audibly with the effort.

I tracked his every movement until he headed for the front door. I shadowed him down the hallways. I hovered.

I felt terrified he might hurl those three pathetic spinach leaves right back up. Finally, he paused at the threshold.

He turned around. "Piper," he rasped out. "That thing you said earlier… did you mean it?" My brain flatlined. I talked way too much today. Which specific thing?

Jude dragged in a harsh, ragged breath. His long, calloused fingers gripped the hem of his uniform shirt. He practically shredded the fabric. His dark eyes darted away.

A thin sheen of sweat gathered at his temples. "When you said… you… you liked me." Did an academic tutoring gig just morph into a teenage romance?

Before I formed a single syllable, the floating neon text hijacked my vision. "Ugh, is this side character actually confessing? She isn't Celine! Stay in your lane!" Right.

I sat entirely outside the main plot. If I claimed I liked him, he'd probably reject me into oblivion.

Then, the text shifted. "But the male lead literally starves for basic affection. Maybe Piper's tiny bit of love pulls him out of the dark?" That argument held serious weight.

I made eye contact with Jude, trying to read his true thoughts. Chapter 5 Hmm… 30% cool indifference, 40% casualness, and—100% desperate expectation?! Fine.

If he needed this validation to survive, I’d give it to him. "Yes! I like you. I literally fell for you the exact second I laid eyes on you!" I thought I nailed the delivery.

Instead, Jude’s brow violently stitched together. The tiny spark in his eyes instantly froze over. "Liar." He spun on his heel and walked away.

The neon text ruthlessly roasted me. "LMAO, idiot side character. During their first meeting, Jude got humiliated and shoved into her lunch tray.

She didn't even think before gaslighting him." Right. That first encounter was a total disaster. He looked pathetic, dripping with my cafeteria food.

Nobody fell in love with a victim at their rock bottom. He’d never buy a confession like that. The iron walls around his heart just slammed shut all over again.

The next morning, before I even waved hello, a bucket of filthy mop water crashed over his head.

The clean, laundrydetergent scent of his freshly washed blazer vanished beneath a putrid stench.

The prep school brats pinched their noses, howling with laughter. "Jude, can you leave the trailer park stench at home?" "Seriously, you rat!

Take a damn shower!" A teacher marched down the hallway. Instead of punishing the bullies, he joined in scolding Jude. "Jude, what is wrong with you?

Do you think this is a locker room? Go home! Stop embarrassing the academy!" Jude just stood there. Dirty water dripped from his dark bangs. His jaw stayed completely locked.

He absorbed the verbal abuse like a hollow shell. The warning bell shrieked. He turned around, his sneakers dragging heavily against the linoleum.

The crowd dispersed, highfiving over their successful bullying and debating their lunch plans. Nobody spared a single glance at the boy they just destroyed.

I sprinted down the corridor. "Jude!" He didn't even flinch. I cut him off, grabbing his freezing, soaked wrist and yanking him backward. "Come on!

We are going back to drench them!" Jude pulled his hand out, saying faintly, "It doesn't matter, I'm used to it." The floating text flooded with broken heart emojis. "Poor baby Jude.

He got into this elite school purely on academic merit, and everyone treats him like dirt. He can't even transfer! That annual scholarship is his only lifeline.

No wonder he goes full psycho on these rich kids later. He has been bullied for almost three years!" Jude stubbornly trudged toward his neighborhood. I stubbornly shadowed him.

We passed a rundown corner store. The owner had a discount bin of overnight butcher scraps shoved near the door. Jude stopped.

He handed over a crumpled fivedollar bill for a plastic container of cheap offal. The second the lid popped, the metallic stench hit the air. Jude bolted for the nearest trash can.

He gripped the metal rim, his knuckles turning stark white as violent dry heaves wrecked his thin frame. "Jude," I whispered. "You literally can't stomach that." He stayed bent over the trash can, gasping for oxygen.

He finally dragged his sleeve across his mouth. "The doctor said Grandma needs protein." His voice cracked, shattered and raw. "This is all I can afford." Jude blocked the door to his cramped apartment, refusing to let me step inside.

Defeated, I turned around and spotted his grandmother sitting on a worn bench in the courtyard. She spotted my uniform, waved me over, and started talking.

Her frail voice unraveled his entire nightmare. An abusive father. A mother who couldn't take the beatings and fled. His dad remarried a woman who despised Jude's very existence.

Both of them treated him like a parasite, draining their grocery budget. So, the stepmom found a solution. Every single day, she forced Jude to eat raw, bloody pig intestines.

Jude finally escaped, running to the only person left who actually loved him. That was the origin. From then on, he could never touch pork again and started suffering from anorexia.

Chapter 6 Through the paperthin walls of the rundown apartment complex, Jude’s muffled, agonizing dry heaves echoed. Grandma released a heavy, trembling sigh. "It's getting worse.

His body completely shuts down just from the smell of meat now." I squeezed her frail, wrinkled hand. "Don't worry.

I promise I'll get him healthy." The next morning, absolute chaos erupted in Class A. Montgomery ripped a plastic bag of rotting, bloodsoaked butcher scraps from his locker.

The metallic stench instantly choked the room. "Who did this?!" he roared. Dead silence. Montgomery marched straight toward Jude.

He locked his fists in the collar of Jude's uniform, yanking him upward. "Was it you, rat?" Jude didn't flinch. Instead, he gave a nonchalant smile. "Yeah.

It was." His first real act of rebellion.

When Montgomery cocked his fist back, Jude didn't even brace for impact; instead, his hand shot up in a blur, pressing a tiny, silver pencil sharpener blade dead center against his own throat. "Touch me again, and I bleed out right here." Montgomery froze.

The color drained from his face. He released the collar and stumbled backward. These prep school kids came from generational wealth and political dynasties.

Nobody wanted blood on their family name. Class A suffocated in dead silence. Jude kept the sharp metal digging into his skin. He backed out of the classroom.

He walked straight up to the roof. He stopped at the concrete ledge. Vicious winds whipped his unbuttoned blazer around his skeletal frame.

I sprinted through the stairwell doors. "Jude! Don't jump!" Jude turned around. His eyes were empty voids. "Give me one reason." My brain scrambled. Cold sweat slicked my palms.

I screamed the only thing I could think of over the howling wind. "Because I like you!" Jude's lips twitched. A hollow, broken sound escaped him. "Liar." I lunged forward.

My fingers locked into the fabric of his shirt. "Jude, look at me! Do you know when we actually first met?" Jude grabbed my wrist, trying to pry my fingers off.

He didn't speak. "I noticed you six months ago." Jude’s entire body went rigid. The blade lowered a fraction of an inch. Shock shattered the numbness in his eyes.

Six months prior, I had transferred to this elite academy to escape relentless bullying at my old public school.

Before I walked through the iron gates, Dad shoved a stack of black cards into my backpack. "Making friends works exactly like feeding livestock," Dad had declared, dead serious. "You just throw down the absolute most expensive bait." So, on day one, I booked out a Michelinstarred restaurant for my entire homeroom.

The same girls whispering about my weight suddenly cheered my name. Word spread fast. The kids in the top AP tracks complained about being left out. I didn't even blink.

I handed over my card and invited them all. Free food bought loyalty. It bought silence. But one person skipped the dinner. Jude.

He sat in the back row of his classroom, staring blankly out the window. The rest of the school screamed and celebrated around him. But Jude was like a dark cloud.

Then, he turned his head. Our eyes locked. In that single, fleeting second, I recognized the shattered look in his dark eyes. We were exactly the same.

Chapter 7 Jude let out a harsh, selfdeprecating scoff. "You're a trustfund heiress. I'm a charity case surviving on grades.

We exist in entirely different universes." I didn't argue. I just grabbed the hem of my uniform sleeve and shoved it up to my shoulder.

Jagged, silvery stretch marks tracked heavily across my bicep.

The physical receipts of my own personal hell. "When my dad started building his empire, he hired nannies to keep me alive. They figured out food kept me quiet.

So they constantly shoved calories down my throat." I kept my eyes locked on his. "I stayed the fattest kid in the room for years. They tormented me.

If I bent over to pick up a dropped pencil, the boys used my spine for leapfrog