Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 239

Adrian’s POV

Geneva is beautiful and I hate it.

Ayden and I land at Geneva International, rent a car, and drive straight to the hotel Vincent arranged. No time for jet lag or rest. Every hour we waste is another hour Sophie is with Bellamy.

By noon we're canvassing—private schools first. If Bellamy has Noah here, he'd need to enroll him somewhere. International programs for English-speaking kids. The kind of places expats use.

We hit six schools in the first day. Show Noah's photo—pulled from company files, from the few times Bellamy brought him to events. A five-year-old with dark hair and Bellamy's eyes.

Nothing: no one recognizes him, no one has a student matching that description.

"He might be using a different name," Ayden points out as we drive to the seventh school. "False documents aren't hard to get with the right connections."

"Then we're looking for a five-year-old who enrolled in the last month. American or English, started mid-year." I'm grasping at straws but it's all we have.

The seventh school is smaller than the others. École Internationale de Genève. Tucked into a quiet neighborhood, the kind of place you'd choose if you wanted to avoid attention.

The receptionist is polite but firm. "I'm sorry, but we cannot share student information with anyone who isn't a parent or legal guardian."

"This is a matter of child safety," I say, keeping my voice level even though I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake the information out of her. "This boy may be in danger."

"Then you should contact the police, Mr. Lewis." She's sympathetic but unmoved. "I truly cannot help you."

We're about to leave when a teacher walks through the lobby. Middle-aged woman with grey-streaked hair, carrying a stack of papers.

"Excusez-moi," Ayden tries. "Do you have a moment?"

She stops, looks between us. "Oui?"

I show her Noah's photo. "Have you seen this child? He might be enrolled here under a different name. Five years old. English-speaking. Started recently."

The teacher looks at the photo. Her expression shifts—just a flicker of recognition before she schools it neutral again.

"I'm sorry," she says carefully. "I cannot discuss our students."

But it's too late. I saw it. She recognized him.

"Please." I step closer, keeping my voice low, urgent. "This child's father kidnapped someone. A woman. My fiancée. We believe they're in Geneva. If you know where they are…"

"I don't know where they live." She glances at the receptionist, then back to me. "And I cannot give you information about students. It would cost me my job. I'm sorry."

She walks away quickly, papers clutched to her chest. But it's enough. It's a hit.

Noah is here, enrolled at this school. Which means Bellamy and Sophie are somewhere within reasonable distance.

"What now?" Ayden asks as we get back to the car.

"Surveillance." My mind is already racing ahead. "If Noah's enrolled here, Bellamy will come eventually. School pickup, parent conferences, something. We set up and we wait."

"That could take days."

"Then it takes days." I'm not leaving Geneva without Sophie. Not now, not when we're this close.

We rent a van with tinted windows and park it across the street from the school.

Professional surveillance equipment would be better, but we work with what we have. Cameras. Binoculars. Ayden's laptop with photo-matching software.

It's tedious work: watching parents arrive and leave, scanning faces, looking for Bellamy or Sophie or Noah in the crowd of children being picked up.

Three days pass. Nothing.

On the fourth day, my mother calls. "Adrian, how's it going?"

I lean back in the van's seat, rubbing my eyes. "We found Noah's school. We're waiting for Bellamy to show up."

"That's good news, isn't it? You're close."

"As close as we've been. How's Amelia?"

"She's fine, darling. Growing every day. She said 'dada' this morning, clear as day. Your baby girl misses you."

The words hit harder than they should. Another milestone I'm missing. Another moment Sophie isn't here for.

"Tell her Daddy will be home soon. With Mama."

"I will." She pauses. "Adrian, there's something you should know. About Claire."

I tense. "What about her?"

"She's been acting strangely, asking questions. When are you coming back, whether Sophie ever mentioned problems in your relationship. If you've been happy together."

"What?"

"She's fishing. Probing. Trying to find out if there's any chance…" My mother sighs. "I don't trust her, Adrian. She's circling, waiting for an opportunity."

"Mom, Sophie's missing, I'm in another country trying to find her. I don’t have time for this."

"I know, but Claire doesn't see it that way. She sees a vulnerable man, a single father. A woman who's been gone for over a month with no sign of returning. She's positioning herself to be the replacement."

The audacity of it makes me want to throw the phone.

"Sophie is coming back," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm going to find her and bring her home and nothing Claire thinks or does matters."

"I know, darling. But when you do bring Sophie home, that nanny is going to be a problem. Just... be aware. Set boundaries."

"I'll deal with it when I get back."

"Sooner might be better. I can start looking for a replacement…"

"Mom. Not now." My voice is sharper than I intend. "I need to focus on finding Sophie. Everything else can wait."

She's quiet for a moment. Then: "You're right. I'm sorry. Just promise me you'll be careful—with Claire and with Bellamy. Don't do anything rash when you find him."

"I promise." A lie. If I find Bellamy before the police do, rash is exactly what I'll be.

"I love you. Bring our girl home."

"I will."

After we hang up, I sit there thinking about Claire. About her questions and her circling.

Sophie has been gone over a month. Amelia is growing up with a nanny instead of her mother. And apparently that nanny thinks she can slide into Sophie's place while I'm desperate and vulnerable.

The anger that floods through me is cold and sharp. Sophie is mine, she’s Amelia's mother, the woman I was supposed to marry. She's not gone—she's taken. And I'm going to bring her home.

No one gets to replace her—not Claire, not anyone.

"You okay?" Ayden asks, glancing over from the driver's seat.

"Fine." I pick up the binoculars again. "Just ready to end this."

"Soon," Ayden says. "We're close. I can feel it."

I hope he's right.

Because I don't know how much longer I can do this. Watch and wait while Sophie is somewhere in this city, so close I could probably reach her in minutes if I just knew where.

While Bellamy keeps her locked away, playing house, maybe convincing her that I'm the villain and he's her savior.

While Claire circles back home like a vulture waiting for the right moment.

While Amelia says her first words and I'm not there and Sophie's not there and everything is so fundamentally wrong I can barely breathe.

I'm close. So close. But close isn't the same as found.

And until Sophie is back in my arms, safe and home, nothing else matters.