Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 206

Bellamy’s POV

The club is exclusive in that manufactured way that comes with velvet ropes and overpriced bottle service—loud music, expensive drinks, the kind of place that makes you feel important for being allowed inside.

Adrian's bachelor party consists of maybe a dozen men: a couple of professors from his old department who stayed friendly despite the scandal.

Ayden who came as Cleo's proxy, two grad school friends who flew in for the wedding, and a handful of others I don't recognize but assume are professional acquaintances.

I stay peripheral, positioning myself near the bar where I can maintain sight lines on Adrian while remaining invisible. Security detail, professional boundaries, exactly as it should be.

Adrian has been drinking steadily since we arrived two hours ago—whiskey, neat, one after another. But there's no joy in it, no celebration. Just grim determination, like he's trying to drown something that won't stay down.

He's positioned at a high-top table with Ayden and one of the professors, nodding along to their conversation without actually participating. His body is there but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

Multiple women have approached throughout the night, sensing bachelor party energy like sharks smell blood in water.

Beautiful women, interested women, flirtatious in that practiced way that suggests they're used to getting what they want. Adrian waves them all off without even looking, his focus fixed on the amber liquid in his glass.

One particularly persistent woman tries three times, each rejection more pointed than the last. Finally Ayden intervenes with gentle diplomacy, explaining that Adrian is very much taken, getting married in three days, completely off the market.

The group laughs about it, makes jokes about Adrian being "whipped," completely domesticated.

But I see the edge to Adrian's smile, the way it doesn't reach his eyes. The way he grips his glass tighter with each joke, each reference to his upcoming wedding.

Around midnight, he stands abruptly. "I need air."

He doesn't wait for response, just heads toward the back exit. I follow at professional distance, instinct overriding the part of my brain screaming that following Adrian Lewis into a dark alley while he's drunk and clearly in a dark mood is a spectacularly bad idea.

The alley behind the club is quieter, the bass from inside reduced to a muffled thump. Adrian leans against the brick wall, visibly drunk but still coherent. The cool night air seems to sharpen something in him.

Silence stretches between us. I should say something professional—ask if he needs water, suggest we head back inside. Instead I just wait, watching him war with whatever thoughts are churning behind his eyes.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" Adrian asks suddenly, not looking at me.

The question catches me off guard. I deflect on instinct. "That's not my place to…."

"I'm not asking professionally." He turns to face me directly, and his eyes are sharp despite the alcohol. "I'm asking as someone who knows Sophie, who's been there for her. Do you think I'm making a mistake marrying her?"

Every answer is a trap. I know this. But before I can formulate something diplomatic, Adrian continues.

"If Sophie called you right now. Right this second. Asked you to come get her, to take her away from all this—what would you do?"

I should lie. Should say something appropriate, professional, safe. That I'd tell her to work it out with her fiancé, that I'd encourage her to honor her commitments, that it's not my place to interfere in their relationship.

But I'm tired. Tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of maintaining boundaries that feel increasingly meaningless when we both know the truth underneath.

"I'd come running," I say, and my voice is steady, honest, devastating. "Immediately. Without question."

The words hang between us like a confession and a challenge. Adrian's expression shifts—from drunk contemplation to something colder, sharper, dangerous.

"Are you saying you’re in love with my fiancée?"

I don't confirm, don't deny. Just hold his gaze, and my silence is answer enough.

Adrian moves fast despite the alcohol. He shoves me hard against the wall, the brick rough against my back. I don't fight back, just absorb the impact. Could stop this easily—I'm trained, sober, stronger. But I don't.

His fist connects with my jaw. The pain is sharp, immediate, radiating through my skull. I taste copper but don't move to defend myself. Maybe Adrian needs this. Maybe I deserve it.

"You son of a bitch," Adrian growls, winding up for another punch. "She's mine. She's marrying me in three days!"

The second punch splits my lip. Blood floods my mouth. Adrian is breathing hard, drunk and furious and hurting. He reaches back for another swing but this time I catch his wrist—gently but firmly.

"That's enough."

"Enough?" Adrian tries to pull free, stumbles. I steady him reflexively, my other hand catching his shoulder before he falls. The irony isn't lost on either of us—me protecting the man whose fiancée I just admitted I'd run to without hesitation.

Adrian wrenches away, swings wildly. This time I don't block fast enough. His knuckles connect with my cheekbone, the impact snapping my head to the side. The pain is bright and sharp.

My restraint cracks. Instinct takes over—trained responses I've spent years honing. I shove Adrian back, harder than intended, not quite as controlled as I should be.

He crashes against the dumpster behind him, his head catching the metal edge with a sickening sound. Blood immediately starts running down his face from a split above his eyebrow.

We both freeze. Stare at each other across the alley, both breathing hard, both bleeding. His from the eyebrow, mine from the split lip and the bruise already forming on my cheekbone.

"Fuck," Adrian says, touching his eyebrow and looking at the blood on his fingers.

I should apologize. Should offer first aid. Should do something other than stand here watching blood drip down his face and knowing I put it there.

"We can't do this," I say finally. "Whatever this is between us—fighting over her, competing for her—she's not a prize to be won. She's a person. And she made her choice."

"Did she?" Adrian's laugh is bitter, humorless. "Make a choice? Because from where I'm standing, you've been circling my fiancée for months like a vulture."

"I've been doing my job," I shoot back, tasting blood from my split lip. "Protecting her, being there when you weren't."

"Fuck you." Adrian straightens, anger flaring fresh. "You think because you have feelings for her that means something? She's wearing my ring. She's marrying me in three days. Whatever fantasy you've built in your head—it's one-sided."

The words are meant to wound, and they do. But something reckless rises in me, fed by months of restraint and the sharp taste of blood and the knowledge that I'm losing her permanently in three days.

"What, afraid she'd actually choose me if she had the chance?" I say, voice low and challenging. "Afraid that maybe your hold on her isn't as strong as you think?"

Adrian moves toward me again, fists clenched, but this time I'm ready. I don't back down, don't flinch. Just hold his gaze steadily.

"She loves me," Adrian says, but there's something desperate underneath the certainty. "Not you. Me. And in three days she's going to stand in front of everyone we know and prove it."

"Then why are you out here bleeding in an alley instead of celebrating?" I counter quietly. "Why does the thought of me being at the wedding make you so angry you're willing to start a fist fight?"

Adrian has no answer for that. Or if he does, he doesn't say it.

"You should get that cleaned up," I say finally, nodding at his bleeding eyebrow. "And I should…"

"You're fired." Adrian's voice is flat, final. "I don't want you near Sophie, near Amelia, near any of us. Stay away from us."

I nod. Already knew this was coming, have been preparing for it for weeks. "Understood."

"And if you come to the wedding…" Adrian pushes off from the dumpster, stands despite his obvious unsteadiness. "I'll finish what we started here."