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️ Warning ️ This book isn’t for the faint of heart because once you enter The Pleasure Archive, there is no turning back. In a world where desire knows no boundaries, she thought surrendering once would be enough but she was wrong. Lila Bennett’s forbidden affair with her dangerously seductive literature professor, Elias Voss, was supposed to be a secret. One late-night encounter on his desk was all it took to set off an obsession neither of them could control. But when hidden cameras capture their raw, passionate sin and a mysterious blackmailer threatens to destroy them both, Lila is dragged into a dark game of blackmail and lust. Now she must journey through a web of dangerous desires: From the strict control of her possessive professor, she is pushed into the merciless empire of a cold billionaire CEO who turns her into his personal office whore, making her drip with his load while she works. Her submission then escalates inside the beastly midnight club where she is publicly used, shared, and trained by the city’s most powerful men. As the story continues, Lila becomes even wilder. From innocent student to corporate fucktoy, from secret club slave to willing cumslut, Lila’s descent into pure, filthy pleasure knows no limit. ️This is not a love story. It is dark and addictive with 200 chapters of raw, dirty, and unapologetic sins

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.

For as long as I could remember, a family scorecard hung by our front door like a corporate dashboard. At the end of the semester, my older sister Ava ranked first in her class, and Dad stuck a bright gold star beside her name. I had studied until my eyes burned, but my score still came in exactly three points lower than hers. Dad shook his head in disappointment and drew a huge red mark beside my name. "Mia, do you know how much money you cost this family this month?" He tapped at his calculator and said in a cold, businesslike tone, "Tutoring, supplements, private coaching. Five thousand dollars altogether. Terrible return on investment." "Starting next month, your allowance is in the negative by two thousand. You can work it off by taking over every chore in this house." Ava's eyes curved into a smile. "Mia, according to the performance rules, starting today you have to handle my laundry for a whole year." I clenched my fists, but all I could do was nod. That night, I hid in the bathroom and searched how to raise grades fast. A strange forum link flashed onto my screen. "Do you want to make a trade?" "Give up what is yours. Receive what you desire." "Tap to begin."

You like it rough. You like it wrong. You like your pleasure soaked in power and dripping with sin. Welcome to The Alpha’s Smutty Library, a filthy collection of scorching werewolf erotica where the rules are simple: the Alpha takes what he wants, and you’ll be begging him to take more. These aren’t gentle mates or sweet romances. These are dominant Alphas who knot deep, ruin pretty little things, and leave them shattered and addicted. These are broken, angry, powerful women who swear they’ll never submit… until they’re bent over, dripping, and screaming the Alpha’s name. Every story is shameless. You’ll find hate-fucking that turns into dangerous obsession, revenge deals sealed with raw public claiming, drunken nights that become one-week contracts of total surrender, and orgasms so intense they’ll wreck you for any lesser man. Every scene is soaked. Every Alpha is feral. So if you’re tired of polite romance and you’re craving teeth, claws, knots, and filthy dominance… open the book, baby. Come get wrecked. The Alpha’s Smutty Library is now open. Lock the door. Spread your legs. It only gets wetter, darker, and dirtier from here.

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

For the past three months, I've slept only three hours every day just so my team and I can create an app. Thanks to our hard work, the app goes absolutely viral to the point we've garnered over 100 million registered users on the first week of its launch. At the afterparty, my wife, Stacie Woodward, announces that her godbrother, Tory Frost, who's the PR manager, will be the one receiving the million-dollar bonus. She then tosses me a few 50% discount coupons that can be used in shopping malls as my bonus. "You're just a code monkey—why do you need that much money anyway? You can have these discount coupons. Use them on anything you want. At least buy some nice clothes for yourself. Don't go around wearing these rags. You'll just end up humiliating me more." I plead to her in a low tone, "Have you gone crazy, Stacie? My dad needs the money for the best medication in order to save his life! Can you please stop joking around?" But Stacie clings to Toby's arm, looking high and mighty. "Your dad's dying, isn't he? He might as well stop wasting the public resources! I can always choose him a better grave and hold a nice funeral for him when his time comes!" As I look at Stacie's smug face, I just smile at her instead of getting mad at her. She must have forgotten that the app's core algorithm and the user growth model are built using my private, undisclosed technology stack. That means the copyright is mine and has nothing to do with the company. I just smile while nodding at Stacie. That night, I activate the technology stack's self-destruct and migration protocols.