Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 185

Adrian’s POV

I insisted on meeting them halfway. Told Sophie I wanted to surprise her, that I missed her and couldn't wait the extra hour for them to drive all the way back.

The truth was, I didn't want Bellamy alone with her for one more minute than necessary.

I spotted my car pulling into the rest stop and immediately saw Sophie's face light up through the windshield.

But she was turned slightly toward Bellamy, laughing at something he'd just said, and that brightness—God, when was the last time I'd made her laugh like that?

I got out and walked toward them. Sophie practically bounded out of the passenger seat, still glowing with residual excitement from the symposium.

"Adrian!"

She threw her arms around me, and I held her tight, breathing in her familiar scent.

"I have so much to tell you. It went even better than I hoped. Professor Wu introduced me to someone from Brown, and there's a fully funded PhD program at Penn that…"

"That's incredible," I said, and I meant it. I was proud of her.

But over her shoulder, I watched Bellamy get out of the driver's seat, and something in his expression—soft, fond, like he was watching something precious—made my jaw clench.

The drive back to the city, I listened to Sophie talk excitedly about her presentation, about the professors who'd approached her, about the possibilities opening up.

And I watched in the rearview mirror as Bellamy occasionally added something to the conversation—some observation about Victorian literature that I wouldn't have expected from a bodyguard, some question that made Sophie's eyes light up as she elaborated.

They had inside jokes now. References to things that happened on the trip that I wasn't part of. "Remember when you said—" Sophie would start, and Bellamy would laugh, and they'd share a look that excluded me completely.

The ease between them was undeniable. Comfortable silences punctuated by natural conversation. The way Sophie's whole face animated when Bellamy engaged with her ideas.

Small touches that might mean nothing or might mean everything—her hand on his arm when she made a point, his steadying hand at her back when she stumbled slightly getting out of the car.

And I sat there driving, my hands tight on the steering wheel, feeling like an outsider in my own relationship.

At the apartment, my mother was waiting with Amelia. The moment Sophie saw our daughter, she lit up in a way I rarely saw anymore—pure, uncomplicated joy. She scooped Amelia into her arms, covering her face with kisses, murmuring how much she'd missed her.

I glanced at Bellamy. He was watching Sophie with Amelia, and the expression on his face made my blood run cold.

It wasn't professional detachment. It wasn't even friendly observation. It was longing—tender, aching longing. The look of a man imagining that this was his family, his woman, his life.

The look of a man in love.

After my mother left, after Sophie took Amelia to the nursery for a feeding, I caught Bellamy before he could leave.

"Stay for a minute," I said, keeping my voice casual. "I want to discuss updated security arrangements for the wedding."

Bellamy nodded. "Of course."

We went to my study. I closed the door, and the moment the latch clicked, I dropped the pretense.

"Do you have feelings for my fiancée?"

To his credit, Bellamy didn't flinch. Didn't look away. His expression remained perfectly controlled. "I have professional respect for my client. That's all."

"That's not what I asked." I moved closer, searching his face for any crack in the armor. "I asked if you have feelings for Sophie."

"It's the only answer that matters," Bellamy said evenly. "I do my job. My personal feelings, whatever they might be, are irrelevant. I maintain professional boundaries. Always."

"The way you look at her isn't professional."

"You're reading things that aren't there." His voice remained calm, but I saw something flicker in his eyes, just for a second. "Sophie chose you, Adrian. She accepted your proposal, she's wearing your ring. I'm her security, nothing more."

I studied him, looking for cracks, for tells, for any sign that would confirm what my instincts were screaming.

But Bellamy had spent years in my father's world, had learned the same lessons I had about control and concealment. If he was hiding something, he knew how to hide it well.

"After the wedding," I said, my voice hard, "I want you to step back. Reduce your hours. Sophie won't need full-time security once we're married. We'll keep you on retainer for occasional work, but the constant proximity—that ends."

Something crossed Bellamy's face too quickly to read. Then he nodded. "Understood."

I moved closer, making sure he understood this wasn't a request.

"Stay professional. Whatever you think you feel, whatever's going through your head when you look at her—keep it locked down. She's mine, Bellamy. My fiancée. The mother of my child. Mine. Are we clear?"

"Crystal clear." His jaw was tight now, the only sign I'd gotten under his skin.

"Good. You can go."

Bellamy left without another word, his footsteps retreating down the hallway. I heard the front door open and close. Heard Sophie call out something from the nursery. Heard my daughter's soft sounds through the baby monitor.

And I stood alone in my study, jealousy warring with uncertainty.

Bellamy had denied everything. Given no confession, no admission, nothing I could point to as proof. But I knew. Felt it in my bones the way you feel a storm coming before the first drop of rain falls.

Something was there. Something between them that shouldn't exist.

I pulled up my laptop and opened the security monitoring system I'd installed in Bellamy's car weeks ago. I'd told myself it was standard security protocol, but the truth was I'd been suspicious for a while.

I pulled up the footage from the symposium trip. Started watching.

Nothing inappropriate happened. No kiss, no confession of love, no betrayal I could point to definitively.

But I watched the way they talked during the drive—the ease, the depth, the way Sophie laughed at his jokes. I watched them at dinner, heads bent close over the table, conversation flowing like water.

I watched them in the hotel hallway, standing too close for too long, Sophie's hand reaching out to touch his arm before he gently stopped her.

I watched the way Bellamy looked at her when she wasn't watching—like she was the sun and he was finally warm after years of cold.

I watched the way Sophie looked at him when she thought no one could see—like he made her feel something she couldn't name.

Nothing inappropriate. Nothing I could call her out for without sounding paranoid or controlling.

But it was there. In every frame, every exchanged glance, every moment of comfortable silence.

The ease that Sophie and I used to have. The connection we'd been struggling to rebuild since my abandonment. The partnership I kept trying to force while she pulled away in small, incremental ways I'd been pretending not to notice.

Bellamy had that with her now. And even though nothing had happened—even though Sophie wore my ring and slept in my bed and was planning our wedding—I knew with absolute certainty that I had a problem.

A problem named Bellamy. Who'd saved my life fifteen years ago. Who I owed everything to. Who I'd trusted with my family when I couldn't trust myself.

And who was slowly, inexorably, falling in love with the woman who was supposed to be mine forever.

I closed the laptop. Sat in the dark study listening to Sophie sing to Amelia in the nursery, her voice soft and tender in a way she rarely was with me anymore.

And I wondered what I was supposed to do when the man I owed my life to wanted the woman I loved more than life itself.