Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 92

Sophie’s POV

My indignation boils over the moment the door closes behind Cleo.

She'd lingered as long as she could, sensing the storm brewing, but eventually even her loyalty couldn't justify staying for what was clearly about to become a fight.

She squeezed my hand, mouthed "call me later," and slipped out with one last curious glance at the stranger who'd taken up residence in Adrian's study.

Now it's just us—me, Adrian, and the fury building in my chest like a pressure cooker about to blow.

"Security?" I round on him before he can speak. "You hired a bodyguard without even asking me? Without a single conversation about whether I wanted some stranger following me around, monitoring my every move?"

Adrian remains calm. Infuriatingly, impossibly calm—hands in his pockets, expression neutral, like I'm a student asking a question he's answered a hundred times before.

"Sophie—"

"What is this supposed to mean, Adrian? That you don't trust me to take care of myself? That I'm so helpless I need a babysitter?"

"It means you need protection." His voice is measured, patient in a way that only makes me angrier.

"Bellamy is an old friend. Someone I trust with my life—and more importantly, with yours. Yes, he can be a pain in the ass. I won't pretend otherwise. But he's good at what he does. The best, actually."

"The best at what? Lurking in living rooms and scaring pregnant women half to death?"

"The best at keeping people safe. With everything happening—the media attention, the threats, the unpredictable public reaction to the pregnancy leak—you need protection I can't provide around the clock."

Adrian takes a step toward me, his tone softening slightly.

"I have meetings, obligations, a career I'm trying to salvage. I can't be with you every moment of every day, no matter how much I want to be."

"So your solution is to hire someone without telling me? To make decisions about my life like I'm a child who can't be trusted with information?"

"I was going to tell you."

"When?" I cut him off, my voice rising. "Before or after he moved into the guest room? This is too much, Adrian. You can't keep doing this. You can't keep making choices that affect me without any discussion, any input, any acknowledgment that I have a say in my own existence."

His jaw tightens. The calm starts to crack. "This isn't the first time you've accused me of being controlling, Sophie."

"Because it's not the first time you've done it! The Independent Study you arranged before I agreed to it. Moving me into your apartment like it was already decided. And now a bodyguard I never asked for, planted in your home without warning."

I throw my hands up in frustration.

"Your control, your constant decisions on my behalf, your complete mistrust in my ability to handle my own life—it's suffocating. It's getting on my nerves."

"Getting on your nerves?" Something flashes in his eyes—anger, finally, rising to meet mine. "I'm trying to keep you safe. I'm trying to protect you and our child from a world that has decided you're entertainment. Forgive me for not scheduling a committee meeting before taking action."

"Don't be condescending."

"Then don't be naive." His voice sharpens. "Have you forgotten where we are? The scandal that's destroyed both our reputations? The harassment that forced you into hiding? The pregnancy that's now public knowledge, discussed by millions of strangers who think they have the right to an opinion?"

He steps closer, frustration bleeding through his composure. "I didn't think a conversation was necessary for something so obvious. You need protection. I provided it. End of discussion."

"That's not how relationships work!"

"Then tell me how they work, Sophie, because from where I'm standing, nothing I do is ever right. I give you space, you accuse me of being distant. I try to protect you, you accuse me of being controlling. I stay silent about my past, you investigate behind my back. I can't win with you. No matter what I do, it's wrong."

The argument escalates, our voices filling the apartment, bouncing off the high ceilings and expensive surfaces. I say things I might regret later. He says things that cut deeper than he intends.

The distance between us, the tension that's been building since Cassian's trial, finally finds its release in this eruption of frustration and fear.

Then Bellamy's flat voice cuts through like a blade.

"I'm allergic to couples arguing. Can we wrap this up? I don't intend to stand around all day listening to a domestic dispute. We still have business to discuss, Adrian."

I whip around, incredulous.

He's standing in the doorway to Adrian's study, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching us with an expression of profound boredom. Like we're a mildly annoying television program he can't be bothered to change.

"Excuse me?" The words come out sharp enough to cut glass. "You're speaking as if I'm not even here. As if I'm furniture you have to talk around."

Bellamy finally turns his gaze fully to me.

For a moment, something flickers behind his eyes—something unreadable, startled. His expression shifts in a way I can't interpret, and he stares at me like he's seen a ghost. Like my face has triggered a memory he wasn't expecting.

The silence stretches a beat too long. Two beats. Three.

I feel pinned by his gaze, examined in a way that goes beyond the surface. He's not looking at me like a job or an assignment. He's looking at me like I'm someone else entirely. Someone he used to know. Someone who hurt him.

Then it's gone.

His expression hardens, walls slamming back into place, and when he speaks, it confirms everything Adrian warned about. Sharp. Dismissive. Just sarcastic enough to ruin any chance of a decent first impression.

"My apologies, princess. I didn't realize the hired help needed to introduce themselves before existing in your presence." He pushes off the doorframe, his tone dripping with condescension. "I'll be sure to bow next time."

"Bellamy." Adrian's voice carries a warning.

"What? She wanted acknowledgement. I acknowledged her." Bellamy shrugs, already turning away. "Now can we discuss the actual security protocols, or should I wait for another round of relationship therapy?"

Adrian shoots me a look—apologetic, frustrated, tired—before steering Bellamy toward his office with a hand on his shoulder. As they pass, Bellamy's gaze lingers on me.

Just a second too long.

Something passes between us—hostility, yes, but something else too. Something I can't name and don't want to examine.

Then the door closes behind them, and I'm alone in the living room with my racing heart and my unanswered questions.

I exhale slowly, trying to release the tension coiled in my shoulders.

"What a jerk."

"Yeah."

Cleo's voice comes from behind me, and I spin to find her still gathering her things by the couch—I'd thought she left, but apparently she'd lingered just long enough to witness that entire exchange.

She's smirking, her bag half-slung over her shoulder, eyes bright with amusement.

"A very sexy jerk."