The Price of Purity

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During an experiment in the quantum computing lab, the graduate student I was mentoring suddenly asked me, Professor, do you know the saying, 'From chaos, duality'?

I set down the equipment I was holding, but before I could answer, she let her lab coat slip from her shoulders, followed by everything else.

She guided my hand to the warmth between her legs.

Her captivating eyes locked onto mine.

"From chaos, duality," she whispered. "From duality, unity."

"The highest form of purity is also the highest form of debauchery."

That night, my restraint finally broke.

My wifes beauty had long since faded, and my life was consumed by my work. It had been a long time since I'd felt such a release.

Afterward, I rested my hand on Isabelles waist.

"What do you want?" I asked.

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, strangely vacant. "Someone once said that for kids from towns like mine, the most powerful person we'll ever meet is our university advisor."

"I refused to believe that was my limit. I sent my resume to company after company. They'd grant me an interview out of respect for you, but the questions were always about you. Once they realized our relationship was purely professional, the offers would vanish into thin air. I haven't received a single one."

"Professor," she said, her voice hardening, "I want a position at Elysian Dynamics. I've given you the most valuable thing I have to trade for it."

She added, almost as an afterthought, "It was my first time."

In the dim, hazy light, I studied her. She was undeniably beautiful; otherwise, she never could have tempted me to cross this line. Her face was a portrait of conflict: one half pained innocence, the other half ruthless ambition.

I dressed and, before leaving, told her, "You'll get what you want. The offer from Elysian will be in your inbox tomorrow."

My reputation in the field is formidable. A word from me was all it took.

After I made the call, I found my wife staring at me. Her expression was placid, but her words were like needles.

"You've never involved yourself in student placements before."

"What's different today?"

"Is there something special about this student? I think I saw her once, at that university gala."

"She's very beautiful. It makes sense you'd take such an interest. I just"

"That's enough."

I cut her off before she could finish.

"She's from a poor background. Life is harder for kids like her. Besides, her academic record is exceptional. I'm just giving her a hand up. Is there a problem with that?"

My wife, Connie, looked at me, stunned. I rarely used such a sharp tone with her. But tonight, for some reason, the sight of her sagging cheeks and her shocked expression filled me with an intense irritation. My mind involuntarily flashed back to Isabelle's smooth, pale skin, and the flicker of panic in her eyes as I entered her.

I couldn't stop myself. I went to see Isabelle again.

She smoothed her hair, her voice unnervingly calm. "Professor, a one-time transaction can be born of desperation. But to continue that would make me no better than a prostitute."

She bowed deeply.

"Professor, despite what happened, I still believe you are a man of principle. You wouldn't force me if I wasn't willing, would you?"

After she left, I sat there, rubbing the rim of a paper cup. She was right. I wouldn't force her. But there were other ways to make her willing.

Isabelle was gambling on my character.

I was gambling on her breaking point.

Isabelles new job at Elysian quickly became a nightmare. She was hitting roadblocks at every turn. It was my doing, of course. I hadn't needed to say much. Just a single, casual comment to a senior executive: "That student of mine, Isabelle I don't know what's gotten into her. She's become rather difficult lately. I suppose a big offer from a company like yours has gone to her head."

We were all seasoned players. The executives at Elysian understood immediately. They began applying pressure from all sides.

I expected her to last a week, maybe less. To my surprise, two weeks passed, and she still hadn't contacted me. A flicker of annoyance sparked within me. I had been a master puppeteer for years; this was the first time a string had gone slack in my hands.

I called the executive and arranged a dinner meeting for that evening. Isabelle, naturally, was required to attend.

Throughout the dinner, she played her part perfectly, smiling and making conversation as the wine flowed. But afterward, her face was etched with fatigue.

"Professor," she said, her voice low. "I didn't think a man like you would resort to such petty, dirty tricks."

I cornered her by the restrooms, my hand moving to her blouse, undoing the buttons one by one.

"Isabelle, there's a beast I've kept caged inside me for a long time. You're the one who unlocked the cage. Are you just going to walk away and leave it hungry now?"

Just as the pale curve of her breast was about to be exposed, she clamped her hand over mine. Her eyes, when they met mine, were shockingly resolute.

"Don't push me, Professor. I told you, our transaction is over. Don't try to use my job to threaten me. I may be an ant trying to shake a tree, but if I make our story public even if no one believes me, even if I have no evidence it would still damage your reputation, wouldn't it?"

Her voice was cold and steady. "You value your reputation above all else. You wouldn't want to tarnish it, would you?"

She then proceeded to button her blouse, her gaze never wavering from mine.

I let out a soft, sharp laugh. To kill a snake, you strike it where it's most vulnerable. I had been too hasty.

I had someone look into her background. I needed to understand this sudden, fierce resistance. Once you take the easy road, its hard to go back to walking the hard path.

The report arrived on my phone that afternoon.

It turned out Isabelles fianc had come to the city to be with her. Interesting.

According to the file, he had paid for her entire education, from her undergraduate degree through her master's, with his own labor. They had planned to get married in a month.

I sighed, zooming in on a photo of the two of them on my phone. Her fianca man named Roccolooked like hed just finished a shift on a construction site, covered in grime. But Isabelle was kneeling beside him, holding a lunchbox, looking at him with a smile of pure adoration.

True love

If it was true love, then why did she climb into my bed? Another hypocrite, tainted like the rest.

After some thought, I made a call to a friend in real estate.

The very next day, Isabelle was in my office.

"Professor was it you?"

I feigned ignorance. "What are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "My fianc he doesn't have the connections. No one would just hand him a major construction contract out of the blue. I don't believe in miracles. So, what is your price?"

I gestured behind her. She turned her head. Through the one-way glass of my office wall, she could see Rocco in the hallway, his face alight with a joyous, triumphant smile. I felt her entire body begin to tremble.

I stepped closer, putting my arms around her. "Don't be afraid. He can't see in. But look at him look how happy he is. Do you have the heart to shatter that beautiful dream of his?"

As she watched him, I pressed her against the cold glass and slipped my hand beneath her blouse. Once you've tasted something, you develop a craving. I was beginning to realize I was becoming obsessed with her.

The first person to notice my change was my wife.

She confronted me, holding up one of my shirts, a smear of lipstick on the collar. "Alistair," she pleaded, "this was a mistake, wasn't it?" I could see the desperation in her eyes. She was begging me to lie.

How pointless. To come looking for an answer you already know, hoping I'll tell you what you want to hear.

I took the shirt from her calmly. "No, Connie. It's exactly what it looks like. I'm having an affair."

She began to shake. "But why?"

Why?

My mind drifted back to a suffocating summer afternoon decades ago. I was just a junior lecturer back then, a boy from a small town who had clawed his way to the big city. I was called a genius back home, but here, I was just one among many. I had neither top-tier talent nor powerful connections. Advancement seemed impossible.

The day before my tenure review, when I had finally understood the unwritten rules of the world and was on the verge of despair, Connie told me she had to work late.

The Dean, however, had told me to wait for him in the office next to his. He had something to discuss with me. I assumed he wanted a bribe for the promotion, a bribe I couldn't afford.

But I didn't wait long.