Are There Books Like The Neutron And The Bomb: A Biography Of Sir James Chadwick?

"I don't play games, Miss Moretti. I end them." Celine Moretti has a plan after catching her boyfriend with the new beautiful transfer student. It’s simple, really. Step one: Don't cry. Get even. Step two: Seduce the transfer student’s uncle—the icy, terrifyingly handsome Professor Reed—and destroy his niece’s perfect little life. It was supposed to be a game. A little revenge to soothe a broken heart. Celine thought she was the player. She thought Professor Reed was just a target, a rigid academic with a god complex and a stick up his ass. She was wrong. Professor Reed isn't just a teacher. He is Caelum Morano, the ruthlessly efficient Don of the Morano Crime Family. A man who hides in the halls of academia to hunt the shadow organization that butchered his fiancée. He has spent years perfecting his mask of indifference, living a life of cold solitude, surrounded by a loving but dangerous family he keeps at arm's length. Until Celine walks in. She is chaos in red lipstick. She is defiance wrapped in a short skirt. And she looks exactly like the ghost haunting his dreams. He tries to reject her. He tries to scare her away. "You’re playing with fire, little star," Caelum warned, his hand closing around her throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to own. "And I burned down the world a long time ago." "Then burn me," Celine whispered, trembling not with fear, but with a dark, twisted need. "I’d rather burn with you than freeze alone."

On my eighteenth birthday, a mouthwatering scent filled my nostrils and I was shocked when I saw the professor I hated the most was my mate. Returning home, my stepmom said she was going to introduce to me her new husband which shocked me. My father was disabled from a brutal illness yet she wanted to marry another man. When he came in, he turned out to be him. My Mate and My Professor.

Adrian Vale is a 24-year-old young and strikingly charismatic English professor at Blackwood College. Despite his strict reputation in the classroom and his sharp intolerance for laziness, he remains one of the most admired lecturers on campus, with almost every female student secretly crushing on him. Yet behind his calm authority and flawless image, Adrian is fiercely private and completely uninterested in relationships. ‎ ‎Ryder, 21, is a third-year student at the same college and a rising hockey player known for his talent, arrogance, and troublemaking streak. He’s not a freshman anymore, and his confidence has only grown with time—along with his reputation for challenging authority whenever it suits him. To most people, Ryder is just another cocky athlete with too much freedom and not enough discipline. ‎ ‎Everything changes when Ryder and his friend make a reckless bet—one that challenges Ryder to break Professor Vale’s unshakable control, push him past his limits, and get under his skin in ways no student has ever managed before. Ryder and Professor Vale cross paths in a way neither of them can ignore. What begins as irritation, defiance, and constant clashes in and out of the classroom slowly turns into something far more dangerous. The tension between them is undeniable, blurring the line between hatred and desire. ‎ ‎But at Blackwood College, relationships between students and lecturers are strictly forbidden. One wrong move could destroy Adrian’s career and end Ryder’s future in hockey. Still, neither of them seems willing—or able—to walk away. ‎

The day my parents divorced, the rain wouldn’t stop. Two agreements sat on the table. One meant staying in the old Eastwood District with my gambling-addicted father, Alexander Clark, drowning in debt. The other meant leaving for Silverstrand Coast with my mother, Charlotte Hayes, who was remarrying into wealth. In my last life, my younger brother, Mathias Clark, cried and clung to Mom while I quietly packed my things and chose to stay with Dad. Later, he quit gambling and struck it rich during a redevelopment boom. He poured everything into raising me right. Meanwhile, Mathias was trapped in his stepfather’s house—isolated, controlled, never allowed outside—until depression took his life. But this time, everything changed. Mathias snatched the cigarette from Dad’s hand and hugged him tightly, refusing to let go. "Tyler, I feel bad for Dad. You go enjoy the good life over there. I’ll stay and take care of him for you." Dad froze for a moment, then smiled with relief and patted his shoulder. I said nothing. I simply picked up the train ticket to the coast. What he didn’t know was that… In my last life, the reason Dad was able to quit gambling was because I had a brain tumor. I worked myself to the brink of coughing up blood just to repay his debts. I traded my life… for his redemption.

My husband's protégé boasted she could disarm bombs blindfolded, relying on her so-called intuition. Her reckless misjudgment triggered a bomb's secondary detonation sequence, endangering an entire building. I intervened, using the dangerous liquid nitrogen condensation method to save the day. As a result, Rita Smith was removed from frontline duties and placed under investigation. Patrick Munoz tried to defend her, but I stopped him cold. "If you back her now, you won't just fail to save her. You'll be dragged down with her." Crushed by the pressure, Rita staged an accident that killed her, leaving a letter blaming him for abandoning her in her hour of need. He said nothing, only preserving her letter in his study. Years later, he became a nationally renowned bomb disposal expert. During a terrorist attack, I was strapped to a timed explosive. He arrived to defuse it but repeated Rita's fatal mistake. As the timer ticked down, he gave a bitter laugh. "Rita was just nervous back then. If I'd supported her, she'd be a hero today." The bomb detonated, leaving nothing of me behind. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the point when he tried to defend Rita. He didn't know that the building housed the nation's top-secret core server.

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.