Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 171

Adrian’s POV

The restaurant Lolita chose was the kind of place where conversations disappeared into leather booths and discretion was guaranteed for the right price.

I arrived ten minutes early, but she was already there—perched in a corner booth with a glass of red wine, looking like she owned the place.

She probably did, knowing Lolita.

"Adrian." She smiled as I slid into the seat across from her. "You look tired. Not sleeping well?"

"Cut the pleasantries," I said, keeping my voice low despite the privacy. "You said you had information about the blackmailer. Let's hear it."

Lolita took a slow sip of her wine, clearly enjoying my impatience. "Always so direct. That's what I've always appreciated about you—no unnecessary dancing around difficult topics."

She set down her glass. "I've been making inquiries through my various contacts. The threats you've been receiving? They're being traced to someone with access to mental health facilities."

My stomach dropped. "Lisette."

"Very likely, yes. The institution where she's being held has had several... irregularities in their communication logs. Outgoing mail that wasn't properly screened. Visitor logs that don't quite match security footage timestamps. Someone's been facilitating her contact with the outside world."

I leaned back, trying to process this. "She's supposed to be monitored twenty-four hours a day. Restricted communication. How the hell is she coordinating a blackmail operation from inside a psychiatric institution?"

Lolita's smile was sharp.

"Money and manipulation work anywhere, Adrian. Even behind locked doors. Especially behind locked doors—underpaid orderlies, overworked administrators, security guards who look the other way for the right price. Lisette always was excellent at finding people's weak points and exploiting them."

"Christ." I rubbed my face, exhaustion pulling at me. "So what do we do? Report the irregularities to the authorities? Get her transferred somewhere more secure?"

"That would take months of bureaucracy and investigation. Meanwhile, she continues her little campaign, drip-feeding threats and demands, making your life miserable."

Lolita leaned forward, her expression becoming more serious. "Or I could help you handle this. Permanently."

The way she said "permanently" made my skin crawl. "What exactly are you offering?"

"I have resources, Adrian. Contacts in places you've left behind. People who can make problems disappear quietly, efficiently, without leaving fingerprints."

Her voice was utterly calm, discussing this like she was suggesting a business merger.

"Lisette's access to the outside world could be... closed. Her ability to coordinate anything could be neutralized. And the people helping her could be strongly encouraged to stop."

"You're talking about threatening or bribing institutional staff."

"I'm talking about solving your problem in a way that ensures it stays solved."

She tilted her head. "Unless you'd prefer to wait months for official channels while your fiancée lives in fear and your wedding gets shadowed by blackmail threats?"

I wanted to refuse. Wanted to tell her I'd handle this legally, properly, without dragging myself back into the shadowy world I'd worked so hard to escape. But the truth was, I was desperate.

The threats were escalating. Sophie was already stressed about returning to campus, about the wedding, about a thousand other things. This blackmail hanging over us was one more weight I couldn't let crush her.

"What's your price?" I asked flatly. "You don't offer help without wanting something in return."

Lolita smiled like I'd passed some test. "I want you to bring Sophie and Amelia to dinner at my estate. A formal affair—proper invitation, proper acknowledgment that I'm part of your family circle, that my connection to you is recognized and legitimate."

I stared at her. "That's it? You want a dinner party?"

"I want a public acknowledgment," she corrected. "I want Sophie to understand that I'm not going anywhere, that I have a permanent place in your life whether she likes it or not. I want to celebrate your engagement properly, to show the world that I support this union."

"Bullshit." I leaned forward. "What's the real agenda, Lolita? You don't do anything without multiple layers. What are you really after?"

Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes—approval, maybe, or amusement that I still knew how to read her games.

"I'm building my legacy, Adrian. My network. You think I manipulated and trained you all those years ago just to watch you disappear into domestic bliss? You're part of something larger—a web of connections, influence, power. Your family is part of that tapestry whether you like it or not."

She paused. "And Sophie needs to understand the world she's marrying into. Better she learns now, with me as an ally, than later when circumstances might make us adversaries."

There it was—the implicit threat wrapped in reasonable language. Lolita wanted Sophie under her influence, wanted to establish herself as a permanent fixture we couldn't remove.

"One dinner."

I said finally, my jaw tight.

"One evening, fully supervised by me, and you don't try to manipulate Sophie. No psychological games, no subtle undermining, no planting seeds of doubt. You play the gracious hostess, you make your public acknowledgment, and then you leave Sophie alone."

"Those are rather restrictive terms."

"Those are non-negotiable terms. Take them or I'll find another way to handle Lisette."

Lolita considered this, swirling the wine in her glass. Finally, she nodded. "Agreed. One dinner, best behavior, no manipulation." She extended her hand across the table. "Do we have a deal?"

I hesitated, knowing that shaking hands with Lolita was like signing a contract in blood. But what choice did I have? Sophie and Amelia's safety had to come first.

I shook her hand. "One dinner. And Lolita? If you try anything, anything, with Sophie or Amelia, our friendship ends. Permanently."

"Understood." She released my hand and raised her wine glass. "To productive partnerships and mutually beneficial arrangements."

I didn't raise my glass to meet hers.

We discussed logistics—she'd handle Lisette's situation within the week, I'd arrange the dinner for the following Saturday. She promised discretion, efficiency, results. I promised one evening of Sophie's time and public acknowledgment of Lolita's place in my life.

When I finally left the restaurant, stepping into the cool night air, I felt like I'd just sold something I couldn't get back.

Sophie was going to ask questions. She'd want to know why we were having dinner at Lolita's estate, why I was suddenly dragging her into my complicated past with the woman who'd shaped so much of who I was. I'd have to lie or tell partial truths, and either option made my stomach turn.

But the alternative was letting Lisette destroy everything we were building. Letting those threats escalate until they shattered the fragile peace Sophie and I had reconstructed.

I pulled out my phone and stared at Sophie's name in my contacts. I should call her, tell her about the dinner, start preparing her for an evening with Lolita. But I couldn't make myself dial. Not yet.

Instead, I sent a text: ‘On my way home. Love you.’

Her response came quickly: ‘Love you too. Amelia's asleep and I made your favorite for dinner. Drive safe.’

I stood in the parking lot, reading those simple words—the domestic sweetness of them, the trust implicit in her waiting for me, in her making dinner, in her loving me despite everything I'd put her through.

And I'd just agreed to bring her into Lolita's orbit. Into the gravitational pull of a woman who viewed people as chess pieces and relationships as strategic advantages.

I wondered, not for the first time, if I was protecting Sophie or just dragging her deeper into darkness.

I wondered if I'd just made a deal with the devil.

Again.