Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 30

Five months later

Summer went by like a fever dream designed by someone who hated me personally. A hot, dragging, absolutely miserable blur of existing instead of living.

I didn't hear anything from Adrian: not a text, not a letter, not even a whisper of campus gossip. Nothing.

Radio silence so complete it made me question whether he'd ever existed at all, or if I'd just had the world's most elaborate psychological breakdown disguised as a semester.

No one knew where he went, no updates from the administration, no news from the investigation. Nobody even called me in for questioning.

Like he'd been erased from reality with bureaucratic efficiency. But it wasn't a dream. I had the emotional scars to prove it.

And lately... I'd started feeling something else.

It began small. A prickle at the back of my neck while I was walking home from the grocery store. The sense that someone was watching from across the street, though when I turned, no one was there.

A shadow that lingered too long in my peripheral vision before dissolving into nothing.

At first, I thought I was losing my mind. Paranoia born from months of isolation and obsessive overthinking. My brain is inventing threats to fill the void Adrian had left behind.

But then other things started happening.

The coffee shop near my childhood home, the one I'd started visiting every morning just to have somewhere to go, began comping my drinks. "Already paid for," the barista would say with a shrug when I tried to hand over cash. "Someone called ahead."

My car, which had been making a concerning rattling noise for weeks, was suddenly fixed. My dad swore he hadn't touched it. Neither had Madison or Abby. The mechanic had no record of anyone bringing it in.

And once, in the middle of July when I was crying on a park bench at two in the morning because the weight of everything had finally crushed me flat, I could have sworn I felt a presence nearby. Not threatening. Just... there. Watching. Waiting.

It should have terrified me. Instead, it felt strangely calming. Like being wrapped in a blanket made of shadows. Like someone out there still cared whether I lived or died, even if they couldn't, or wouldn't, show themselves.

My gut told me it was him. My rational brain said that was insane. But since when had anything about Adrian Lewis been rational?

I spent those five months trapped in a loop of memory. Replaying every moment, every touch, every word.

The way he'd looked at me in the bookstore when I'd compared myself to Vaughn. The shock on his face, genuine, unguarded shock, like I'd wounded him in a way he hadn't expected.

The way he'd frozen when I said "peaches."

That single word had stopped him cold. The most powerful man I'd ever known, brought to a standstill by a fucking fruit. Because I'd asked him to stop. Because, for all his darkness and control, he'd respected the line I'd drawn.

I thought about that a lot. More than I should have. I missed it. God help me, I missed being broken in exactly that way.

My sisters kept asking if I was okay. My dad suggested therapy approximately forty-seven times. He looked worried and bought a lot of ice cream and wine, like frozen dairy products and alcohol could fix whatever was clearly wrong with me.

They couldn't. Nothing could. And I hated myself for it.

***

Fall had arrived. New semester, new classes, new books. Same heartache, just with better weather and the crushing weight of academic expectations.

At least Cleo was back. I spotted her the moment I dragged my suitcase onto campus. She was literally glowing like she'd been dipped in liquid sunshine.

Sun-kissed skin with bikini tan lines, coral pink neon nails, oversized sunglasses perched on her head with long dark curls like a crown, and a giant iced coffee that looked like it had its own Instagram account.

"You look like a walking vacation advertisement," I said, because subtlety has never been my strong suit.

She squealed and pulled me into a hug that smelled like expensive sunscreen and happiness. "Sophie! Oh my God, I missed you, my sad, pale little hermit."

"I missed you too, you glowing goddess of summer privilege."

She laughed, the kind of genuine sound I'd forgotten existed. "That's what ten days in Antalya will do to a girl."

"Ten days?" I blinked. "You were gone for a month."

"Yeah, okay," she grinned, not even pretending to be embarrassed. "But ten days were actual paradise. The rest was me trying to stop Ayden from flirting with every girl in a bikini like some kind of hormonal golden retriever."

"You two are finally official?" I raised an eyebrow, because apparently I'd missed major relationship developments while spiraling into my summer depression.

"Define 'official.'"

I gasped. "Cleo!"

She wiggled her eyebrows with the kind of shameless pride that made me remember why I loved her. "Let's just say we're exclusive. He makes me exclusively wet."

"I regret asking and regret knowing English."

We unpacked and caught up. Cleo told me about beach parties and moonlit swims and Ayden falling off a jet ski like some kind of romantic comedy disaster.

I told her about the watching feeling, the strange coincidences, the way I couldn't shake the sense that Adrian was still out there somewhere, circling my life like a shark waiting to strike.

And now, to make this semester even more psychologically complex, I had a class with Dr. Vaughn. The same woman who'd sent him away. The woman who'd destroyed everything because she couldn't stand seeing me in her place.

Fucking fantastic.

The lecture hall was already half full when I arrived. I slid into a seat in the very back row, as far from the front as physically possible without actually leaving the building.

Vaughn stepped in a few minutes later, wearing a crisp navy dress and heels that clicked across the floor like she was marking territory.

I stared at her without blinking, willing her to feel my hatred radiating across the room like toxic energy.

She didn't look at me. Not once.

After class, I walked back to my dorm on autopilot, barely registering the campus around me. My mailbox key felt heavy in my hand as I approached the row of metal boxes in the lobby.

I almost didn't check it. Mail was usually just junk—credit card offers and campus flyers and the occasional passive-aggressive note from the housing office about recycling protocols.

But something made me stop. That familiar prickle at the back of my neck. The sense that I was being watched.

I turned around. No one there. My hands were trembling as I unlocked the box. Inside sat a single envelope. Thick. Expensive paper. No return address.

Just my name, written in handwriting I'd recognize anywhere.

Sophie.

My heart stopped.

I tore it open right there in the lobby, not caring who might see. Inside was a folded note—and something else. Something soft. Something that made my breath catch and my face flush crimson.

My panties.

Black lace with the little bow. The ones I'd been wearing the night of the club. The ones that had disappeared into his pocket and reappeared in my graded papers like a perverted Easter egg.

The ones I thought I'd never see again.

I unfolded the note with shaking fingers. His handwriting was bold and elegant, each letter deliberate:

Can't wait to see you in these again.

And without them.

— A.