Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 215

Adrian’s POV

Forty-eight hours. Two days since Sophie was supposed to walk down the aisle. Two days since Bellamy took her. Two days of searching and coming up with nothing.

I haven't slept. Every time I close my eyes I see Sophie in that car, terrified, wondering why no one's coming.

The apartment has become command central. Cleo's at the dining table coordinating social media campaigns. Ayden's working his tech contacts for traffic footage. Lolita showed up, using her network of connected people.

Sophie's family is everywhere: Derek and Emma call hospitals, Madison video-calls between classes, Abby created a Facebook group with three thousand members.

Everyone's trying. And yet, we have nothing.

"Adrian." Ayden appears beside me, his expression grim. "Traffic cameras picked up Bellamy's car heading north on I-87. Two hours after the ceremony was supposed to start."

Finally. Something. "Where?"

"That's the problem. We tracked it for about fifty miles, then it disappears. No more camera hits after Exit 23."

"So he went off-highway somewhere between here and there." I'm already pulling up maps on my phone, scanning the route. "That's rural territory, lots of back roads."

"Lots of places to hide," Cleo adds quietly from the table.

She's right. Fifty miles of potential search area with countless side roads, properties, cabins. It would take weeks to search thoroughly, and we don't have weeks.

Every hour that passes is another hour Sophie's with him, another hour she's terrified and alone. Another hour I'm failing her.

My phone buzzes. A number I don't recognize. "Lewis."

"Adrian, it's Vincent Marchetti."

I freeze. Vincent Marchetti—my father's former lieutenant. The man I've spent years avoiding.

"How did you get this number?"

"Your mother called me, said you might need help finding someone."

Of course. Eleanor Lewis knows exactly what resources I've been avoiding, and how desperate I'd have to be to use them.

"Your girl is missing," Vincent continues. "The man who took her has military training and a two-day head start. You need more than traffic cameras."

I want to argue, want to hang up and pretend I'm not about to do what I swore I'd never do. But Sophie's face flashes in my mind.

"What can you offer?"

"People who can find things the police can't, resources that don't show up in databases. Your father built an empire on information. I can access it."

The words taste like betrayal. But Sophie's out there, terrified.

"Do it. Find him. I don't care what it costs."

"Consider it done."

He hangs up. I just accepted help from my father's criminal organization—the thing I swore I'd never touch. But if it brings Sophie home, I'll burn every bridge I've ever built.

Cleo's watching me. She heard enough to understand what just happened. "Adrian…"

"Don't." I can't handle judgment right now, can't handle anyone questioning what I'm doing. "I'll use whatever resources I have to find her. That includes the old network."

She nods slowly. "Okay. Then let's keep searching."

The afternoon bleeds into evening. More dead ends, more frustration. Bellamy's phone is off—has been since the wedding. Sophie's phone goes straight to voicemail, probably destroyed or discarded.

My mother arrives around six with Amelia. My daughter is fussy, crying, sensing something's wrong even if she can't understand what. Mom rocks her gently, but Amelia keeps reaching for the door, making sounds that could be "mama."

The sound splits my chest open.

"She keeps asking for Sophie." Mom's voice is quiet. "In her own way. Oh, Adrian, she misses her so much… Why do such terrible things always happen to such good people?"

I take Amelia from her, hold her close. She's warm against my chest, real and solid when nothing else feels real anymore. For a moment I let myself just breathe her in—baby shampoo and milk and innocence. Our baby, made from our blood and flesh.

"Mama's going to come home," I whisper against her soft hair. "I promise, little princess. I'm going to bring her home."

Amelia whimpers, unconvinced. She's too young to understand promises, too young to know that sometimes the people who are supposed to protect you fail.

My Mom touches my shoulder. "Let me take her tonight. You need to focus, and she needs stability. I'll keep her as long as you need."

I want to argue, want to keep my daughter close, to prove I can handle this, that I'm not falling apart at the seams. But I am falling apart, and Amelia deserves better than watching me break.

"Thank you."

"We'll find her, Adrian. I know we will."

I wish I had her certainty. I wish I believed it as completely as she seems to.

After everyone leaves, I'm alone in the apartment Sophie and I shared.

The silence is suffocating. It presses against my ears, fills my lungs, makes it hard to breathe.

Her coffee cup I didn't wash is still on the counter. Her laptop I didn't close on the table. Her sweater I didn't touch on the couch.

Evidence of a life interrupted. A future stolen.

I walk through touching her things. The book on her nightstand, bookmark still in place. Her moisturizer in the bathroom, cap loose the way she always leaves it. The photo on the dresser—me, her, and Amelia, taken last month when we thought we'd survived the worst of everything.

Something inside me breaks.

The lamp goes first. I throw it against the wall and it shatters, glass scattering across the hardwood floor.

Then the chair—I lift it and slam it down until the legs splinter. Books off shelves, clothes out of drawers, everything becomes a target for the rage building for two days.

I'm destroying our home and I can't stop.

When there's nothing left to break, I slide down the wall and end up on the floor surrounded by wreckage. Glass crunches under me. Wood splinters press into my palms.

My hands shake—not from exertion but from pure emotion. Rage at Bellamy for taking her. Fear I won't find her in time. Terror that even if I do, she'll be different, broken, forever changed by whatever he's doing to her right now.

My breath comes in ragged gasps. The professional mask is gone. The control I've maintained for forty-eight hours has finally shattered along with everything else.

Wherever Sophie is right now, she's thinking about us. About Amelia. Hopefully about me. Wondering if we're looking for her, if we're coming, if she'll ever get home.

I will find her.

I don't care what laws I have to break or what lines I have to cross. I don't care if I have to become my father to do it. I'll tear the entire world apart if that's what it takes.

I'll return Amelia's mother.

And myself—I'll return my failed wife. The woman I was supposed to protect, supposed to marry, supposed to keep safe. The woman I failed spectacularly by letting Bellamy anywhere near her.