Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 224

Sophie’s POV

I change into dry clothes in the bedroom while Bellamy does the same somewhere else.

My hands shake as I pull on the jeans and sweater he packed for me. Everything feels surreal—the soft fabric, the unfamiliar room, the sounds of traffic outside in a language I don't understand.

I'm exhausted. The breakdown took everything, and the cold water shocked my system. My body feels heavy, wrung out. My head aches, my eyes burn.

I sink onto the bed and just sit there. A few minutes later, there's a soft knock.

"Sophie?" Bellamy's voice, careful. "I made tea if you want some."

I don't answer, but I don't tell him to go away either.

The door opens a crack. Bellamy appears, changed into dry clothes. His hair is still damp. He's carrying two mugs.

He sets one on the nightstand. "Chamomile. Thought you might need something calming."

Then he leaves, taking his own mug. I stare at the tea, finally pick it up and take a sip. It's warm and soothing.

Eventually, I make my way to the living room.

Bellamy's sitting on the couch. He's cleaned up most of my mess. Broken glass gone, books back on shelf. Furniture righted.

He looks up but doesn't say anything. We sit in tense silence. I sip my tea. He sips his. Neither speaks.

The silence stretches. Finally, I can't take it anymore.

"Where are we?" My voice comes out hoarse, damaged from screaming. "You said Switzerland, but where exactly?"

"Geneva," Bellamy says quietly. "The French-speaking part."

Geneva. Switzerland. Europe.

The words don't feel real. I'm not just in another state, I'm in another country. Another continent, thousands of miles from Amelia, from Adrian, from everyone and everything I know.

The realization breaks me again, but quieter this time. No rage, no screaming—just tears, silent and steady, running down my face and dripping into my tea.

"How far?" I manage to ask. "How far am I from home?"

"About four thousand miles."

Four thousand miles. The distance is incomprehensible. Insurmountable. I might as well be on the moon.

"Sophie…"

"Don't." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "Just... don't."

Bellamy sets down his mug. Leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Noah's enrolled in a private school here, in Geneva. International program. He starts next week."

I look at him through blurry vision. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand this isn't temporary. I'm not taking you back in a few days or weeks. This is... this is our life now. Yours, mine, Noah's."

He pauses. "I'm trying to build something stable, something safe. Away from Adrian and everything he represents."

"Safe?" The word tastes bitter. "You call this safe?"

"Safe from him. From his control, from the life that would have consumed you."

Bellamy runs a hand through his damp hair.

"I know you don't see it that way, not yet. But Sophie, if you'd married him, if you'd stayed, he would have owned you. Completely. You would have lost yourself."

"And what do I have now?" My voice breaks. "I've lost my daughter. I've lost…" I can't finish the sentence.

"I know." His voice is quiet. "I'm a father too, Sophie. I know what I've taken from you."

The admission surprises me. I look at him, really look at him, and see genuine pain in his expression. Guilt—the kind that eats at you from the inside.

"If you know," I say slowly, "then how can you do this? How can you keep me here knowing what it's doing to me? To Amelia?"

"Because the alternative is worse." He says it with such conviction that for a moment I almost believe him. "Amelia will be okay. She has your parents, Adrian's mother, an entire support system. She's young enough that," He stops. "She'll be okay."

"But I won't see her grow up." The tears are coming faster now. "I won't be there for her first steps, her first words, her first day of school. I'll miss everything."

Bellamy doesn't have an answer for that. The silence stretches again, heavier this time.

"Can I..." I swallow hard. "Can I at least see photos of her? I need to know she's okay. Please."

Bellamy hesitates. I see the war happening behind his eyes—the calculation, the concern about whether showing me will make things better or worse.

Finally, he pulls out his phone. "There are... there have been news articles. About you. The missing bride. I can show you those, if you want. They have photos."

Missing bride. The phrase makes me feel like a ghost of myself.

"Show me."

He unlocks his phone, navigates to a news website, and hands it to me.

The first thing I see is Adrian's face. The headline reads: "Desperate Groom Pleads for Missing Fiancée's Safe Return."

Below it, a photo from a press conference. Adrian standing at a podium, looking haggard and desperate. And in his arms…

Amelia.

My baby. My daughter. She's wearing a little pink dress I recognize, the one with the flowers. Adrian is holding her carefully, one hand supporting her head, and she's looking up at him with those big eyes.

I can't breathe.

I scroll down. More photos. Adrian at the press conference, his face tight with controlled emotion. Amelia reaching for something off-camera. My parents in the background, my step-mother's face devastated.

There's a quote from Adrian: "Sophie is the love of my life and the mother of my child. Whoever has her—please. Bring her home safely. We need her. Amelia needs her mother."

The phone shakes in my hands. I scroll further, find a video embedded in the article. Press play before I can think better of it.

Adrian's voice fills the quiet apartment.

"Sophie, if you can hear this—we love you. I love you. Amelia needs you. Please come home. Whatever happened, whatever you're going through, we can work through it together. Just please come home."

His voice breaks on the last word.

Seeing her face—seeing Adrian holding our daughter, pleading for my return, looking like he hasn't slept in days—breaks me completely.

The sobs come from somewhere deep inside. Wrenching, desperate sounds that I can't control. I curl forward in the chair, still clutching the phone, watching the video loop as Adrian repeats his plea over and over.

"I love you. Amelia needs you. Please come home."

I can't stop crying, can't catch my breath. My entire body shakes with the force of it.

Bellamy sits nearby, helpless. I hear him shift on the couch but he doesn't come closer, doesn't try to touch me or comfort me. He just sits there, probably not knowing how to help without making everything worse.

"Sophie," he says finally, his voice careful. "I can… Do you need…"

"Don't." I manage through the sobs. "Just... don't."

I watch the video again. And again. Adrian's face. Amelia's tiny hand. The desperation in his voice. "Please come home."

But I can't. I'm four thousand miles away in a country I've never been to, with a man who thinks he's saving me by tearing me away from everyone I love.

"I'm sorry," Bellamy says quietly. "Sophie, I'm so sorry. But it had to be this way."

I don't respond, just keep crying, keep watching the video, keep memorizing every detail of Amelia's face because it's all I have now.

My daughter. My almost-husband. My entire life. Four thousand miles away.

And I have no idea how to get back to them.