All Chapters of Bend me over, Professor : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

POV Anaise Bergdorf’s bridal salon is basically heaven for people who think emotional torture should come with crystal chandeliers, champagne service, and price tags that could fund a small country’s defense budget.The place shimmers like a fucking fairy tale designed by someone with unlimited resources and zero understanding of human suffering. All silk and lace and mirrors strategically positioned to make you feel like a princess while you’re literally shopping for your own gilded cage. Mom dragged me here because apparently buying a wedding dress for my arranged marriage is some kind of sacred mother-daughter bonding ritual instead of the dystopian nightmare it actually represents.I’m flipping through racks of white gowns that cost more than most people’s cars, trying to find something that says “reluctant corporate bride with complex feelings about her situation” instead of “blushing virgin ready to produce heirs and attend charity galas,” when a vo

POV Anaise The conference room’s buzzing with the usual suspects—executives in overpriced suits pretending their quarterly numbers don’t make them want to jump off the nearest bridge into the East River while shouting something about market volatility and their increasingly questionable life choices.I’m here representing Velmira Tech at some bullshit industry summit, trying to look like I belong among Manhattan’s corporate elite instead of like someone who’s been stress-eating cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while simultaneously running a failing company and contemplating whether my arranged marriage counts as a business expense. The networking event is peak corporate theater—everyone pretending they’re not desperately trying to avoid bankruptcy while sipping champagne that costs more per glass than most people’s weekly grocery budget.The chandeliers are casting that specific kind of warm lighting that makes everyone look successful and emotiona

POV Alexander I’m looking at photos from a conference last year, and this is officially the most pathetic thing I’ve done since I fired the woman I’m obsessed with for crimes she didn’t commit while simultaneously destroying the last functioning piece of my emotional infrastructure.There she is. Anaise. Standing behind some venture capitalist who’s probably mansplaining blockchain technology or cryptocurrency or whatever buzzword bullshit passes for innovation these days, while she calculates his net worth down to the penny with the kind of mathematical precision that used to make me forget basic human functions like breathing and forming coherent sentences.She’s wearing that navy dress I remember—the one that made me forget how to form complete sentences during our morning meetings, the one that made me spill coffee on quarterly reports because apparently my motor skills shut down when confronted with the sight of her looking like competence wrapped in

POV Alexander I hadn’t wanted to be there either.A dinner with Harold, some prestigious family whose name gets whispered in board meetings, and the mystery woman I’m being strong-armed into marrying? This whole thing feels like a slow-motion disaster wrapped in expensive linens and fake politeness.I’m nursing my scotch like it’s life support while Harold holds court with Roberto Martinez—two old war generals planning their next conquest over wagyu beef and decades-old grudges. They’re talking about market consolidation and strategic partnerships like they’re discussing the weather instead of my entire fucking future.“The merger will be seamless,” Harold’s saying, swirling his drink with the satisfaction of someone who’s never had to live with the consequences of his decisions. “Both companies benefit. Both families win.”Both families. Right. Because apparently I’m just another asset to be leveraged in whatever corporate chess game th

POV Alexander Sarah’s waiting for me in my office when I get back from the most revelatory dinner of my adult life, sitting in my chair like she owns the fucking place. Classic power move designed to establish dominance through spatial violation. Too bad I’m about to end her entire career and possibly her will to exist in corporate America.She’s positioned herself behind my desk with the calculated precision of someone who’s studied executive intimidation techniques, her perfectly manicured hands folded on the mahogany surface like she’s posing for a portrait titled “Assistant Who Definitely Didn’t Frame Anyone for Corporate Espionage.”The sight of her in my space, touching my things, breathing my air, makes something violent and primal rise in my chest. Because now I know. Thanks to Roberto Martinez’s very thorough private investigator, I know exactly what she’s been doing for months.I don’t bother sitting. Don’t waste time with pleasantries