Adrian’s POV
Lolita's call comes at nine in the morning, two days after the party. I'm in my study reviewing lecture notes when her name flashes on my screen. My stomach tightens—she never calls unless the news is bad.
"We have a problem," she says without preamble.
I close my study door, ensuring Sophie won't overhear from the nursery. "What kind of problem?"
"The blackmailer has shifted tactics. They're no longer threatening to release the party footage. They've pivoted to something more damaging."
My hand tightens on the phone. "More damaging than video evidence?"
"Much more. Lisette's letters."
The name hits me like a physical blow. I'd convinced myself that threat was neutralized, that having her declared insane and institutionalized meant she couldn't hurt us anymore.
"What letters?"
"Detailed psychiatric analysis of your relationship with Sophie. Letters Lisette has been writing from the institution, documenting what she calls 'patterns of grooming and coercive control.'"
I hear her take a delicate sip of something—probably tea or champagne, knowing Lolita. The casual pause makes the next words land even harder.
"She's quite thorough, Adrian. Timestamps, behavioral observations, professional terminology. She paints you as a predator who systematically isolated and manipulated a vulnerable student."
I feel the blood drain from my face. "That's insane. She's the one who—"
"I know what she did. The truth is irrelevant. What matters is how this reads to the public, to Sophie's university, to your colleagues."
Her voice takes on a clinical edge, and I can picture her examining her perfectly manicured nails as she delivers the killing blow.
"Lisette includes psychiatric analysis claiming Sophie exhibits clear signs of Stockholm Syndrome. That her acceptance of your relationship, her willingness to marry you, her defense of you during the scandal—all evidence of successful psychological manipulation."
The implications crash over me. I sink into my desk chair. "How did these letters get out? She's supposed to be monitored."
"Her lawyer’s been receiving them regularly, shopping them to media outlets for the highest bidder. The plan is to release them the week before your wedding."
I close my eyes, imagining the headlines. The way Sophie's academic achievements would be reframed as symptoms of her 'condition.' How every choice she's made would be questioned, invalidated, pathologized.
"This destroys everything," I say quietly. "Not just the wedding: Sophie's academic future, graduate school, my remaining career prospects. The custody implications…"
"I'm aware of the stakes. Why do you think I'm calling?"
"Can you stop it?"
"I can make it disappear. Completely. Permanently."
The certainty in her voice sends warning signals through my system. Lolita doesn't solve problems out of kindness. Everything has a price.
"How?"
"We discredit Lisette entirely. My contacts can ensure her letters are deemed legally worthless—ramblings of a woman too mentally unstable to testify. We buy off the lawyer, eliminate his motivation. The whole problem vanishes."
It sounds too good to be true. Which means it is.
"What's the price?"
There's a pregnant pause. When Lolita speaks again, her voice has shifted—softer, almost maternal, which is somehow more unsettling.
"I want to be part of Amelia's life."
My entire body goes cold. "Absolutely not."
"Hear me out. I'm not asking for custody or overnight visits. Just access. I want to see her grow up, Adrian. Be present for milestones, contribute to her development, her education."
She pauses. "I shaped you into who you are. Imagine what I could do for her with intentionality from the beginning."
The words make my skin crawl. That's exactly what I'm afraid of—Lolita doing for Amelia what she did for me. Molding her, manipulating her, turning her into something sophisticated and damaged.
"Amelia’s four months old, she doesn't need your kind of education."
"She's your daughter, which means she'll be exceptional, brilliant, and intense. She'll need guidance that conventional parenting can't provide. You know you're not like other people, Adrian. Neither will she be."
"No. I won't expose my daughter to…"
"To what? Her family? I helped raise you. For better or worse, I'm part of your lineage. Pretending otherwise doesn't change reality."
"You're not family."
"I'm the person who can save your wedding, your reputation, and Sophie's future. Today. With one phone call." Her voice hardens. "Or I can let those letters drop and watch everything collapse. Your choice."
The threat is unmistakable. She's not just offering to fix the problem—she's offering not to make it worse. For all I know, she orchestrated this entire crisis.
But what choice do I have? If those letters get published, if Lisette's psychiatric analysis becomes public, we're destroyed.
The university would investigate, social services might get involved. Sophie's graduate school acceptances could be rescinded. Our entire life would become a case study in pathological relationships.
I think about Sophie at that party, about how hard we're working to make this relationship work. About Amelia sleeping peacefully in her nursery, oblivious to the threats circling our family.
"What specifically are you asking for?" My voice sounds defeated.
"Monthly visits. Supervised if you insist. I want to be present for birthdays, holidays. To watch her grow, to contribute to her education as she gets older. To be her godmother, essentially."
"Sophie would never agree to this."
"Then Sophie doesn't need to know. This arrangement stays between us."
The suggestion lands like a stone in my stomach. More secrets. After promising Sophie transparency, after swearing I'd include her in family decisions, here I am considering a secret arrangement about our daughter's life.
"She'll find out eventually."
"Perhaps. But by then Amelia will already know me, love me. Sophie won't want to disrupt that relationship."
Lolita's confidence is absolute.
"This protects everyone, Adrian. You get your wedding, your reputation intact, Sophie's future secured. I get to be part of Amelia's life. Everyone wins."
Except we don't. This is exactly how Lolita operates—creating dependency, establishing control, positioning herself as indispensable while quietly reshaping people to suit her vision.
But what alternative exists? Let the letters drop? Watch Sophie's name dragged through psychiatric analysis? See her academic dreams destroyed? Raise Amelia under public speculation about whether her mother needs rescuing?
"One condition," I hear myself say. "Sophie never knows about this arrangement. If you ever tell her, if you ever use this as leverage against her, the deal is off."
Lolita's laugh is soft, almost fond. "I have no interest in hurting Sophie. I actually quite like her. This arrangement protects her as much as it protects you."
"Do we have a deal?"
"We have a deal. I'll make the calls today. By tomorrow, this problem will be handled. The lawyer will withdraw the letters, Lisette's credibility will be demolished, and your wedding will proceed without incident."
She pauses. "I'll expect to see Amelia the week after you return from your honeymoon."
The phone goes dead.
I sit in my study, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of what I just agreed to. I've made a deal with the woman who shaped me into someone capable of making such deals. The irony isn't lost on me.
I think about my conversation with Mom about choosing differently than my father, about breaking patterns of control.
And here I am, making secret arrangements about my daughter's life, keeping crucial information from the woman I'm marrying.
But I tell myself it's different. I'm protecting Sophie, protecting all of us. She doesn't need this burden, doesn't need to know how close we came to destruction or what price I paid to prevent it.
Sophie's voice calls from the hallway, asking if I want lunch. I arrange my face into something normal, file this conversation into the locked box where I keep things she's better off not knowing.
"Be right there," I call back, voice steady.
Our secret, Lolita said.
Just one more secret in a relationship I keep promising will be built on honesty.