Websites For Downloading Textbooks

It all began with a single post about canceling a food delivery order. Overnight, I became the internet's punching bag. Thousands of vicious messages flooded my inbox, filled with photoshopped memorials urging me to die. They doxxed my family, plastered my personal details across shady websites, and used AI to create obscene images of me, spreading them in vile chat groups. They spread lies about my income, claiming it came from illicit sources, and accused me of carrying diseases. I didn't call the police or block the messages. Instead, I read every hateful word before singling out the 100 worst offenders. Every day, I sent each one a luxurious meal: Boston lobster, Australian wagyu, the works. Each delivery came with a simple note: [Thank you for your hard work.]

We have just finished our classes for the day when Nicholas Wolfe tells me that he's going to a concert with his junior, Madeline Cross. "I'm heading over to the venue right now. I can't let Madeline wait for me, after all." Nicholas sounds so casual, as though he's talking about the weather. I arrange my textbooks neatly before putting them into my bag. "Okay." My response leaves Nicholas stunned. He pauses in the middle of typing a text to Madeline before raising his head to look at me. "Madeline and I are about to watch the concert performed by The Paxleys, your favorite band. Are you… not mad at me at all?" I zip my bag while replying calmly, "Nope." I've begged Nicholas 99 times to watch the concert with me. On the 100th time, he finally buys two tickets… for himself and Madeline. I'm not surprised in the slightest. Ever since Madeline transferred to our university, I've started to get used to Nicholas prioritizing her over me. I sling my bag onto my shoulder and begin making my way to the classroom's exit. Nicholas doesn't move an inch. But when I'm about to leave, he catches up with me and grips my wrist. "Lia, we'll travel to Sorenton three days later. The Paxleys will be holding another concert there. I'll attend that concert with you. "That day is our third-year anniversary, so I definitely won't bail out on you." I look down at Nicholas' hand that's gripping me, then I look up at him. This time, my lips curl into a smile. "Okay." Over the past six months, Nicholas has promised me to do things "next week" nine times, and said "I'll definitely show up" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. But he's bailed out on me every single time he makes plans with me. Next week, we won't be attending the concert together, that's for sure. After all, I'm the one bailing on him this time.

On the fourth day after my son's death, I decided to secretly dissolve my military marriage with my husband. Before that, I had three days to settle everything for my son. On the first day, I tricked my husband into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to the school and collected the textbooks my son would never get to use. On the third day, I cooked a table full of dishes and begged my husband to celebrate our son's last birthday. He agreed, but soon after claimed he had a mission. Instead, he spent the entire night setting off fireworks with his childhood sweetheart. That night, I cooked. Then, I sat alone before my son's photo and ate all my son's favorite foods. The next day, my husband returned, guilt flickering in his eyes as he handed me a brand-new backpack. He said it was a gift for our child's first day of school. But he didn't know—our child would never have a first day of school.

On the fourth day after our son died, I decided to end my military marriage. Before that, I spent three days taking care of what remained of him. On the first day, I tricked my wife into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to my son's school and collected the textbooks he never had the chance to use. On the third day, I prepared a table full of his favorite dishes and begged my wife to come home so we could celebrate his birthday one last time. She agreed. Then she turned around, claimed she had a mission, and spent the entire night setting off fireworks with her childhood sweetheart. That night, I sat beside my son's memorial photo and ate alone. The next day, she came home looking guilty and handed me a brand new backpack. She said it was a gift for our son to use at school. She did not know that our child would never live to see his first day of school.

His hand pressed against the wall beside my head, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re blushing again, professor,” Ace whispered, his voice low, sinful. I swallowed, trying to steady myself, but my body betrayed me, arching towards him, aching for more. “You’re too close,” I managed, my voice unsteady. He smirked, brushing his lips over my jaw, slow and deliberate. “Then tell me to stop.” I should have. God, I should have... Instead, I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him to me. His mouth crashed over mine, hungry and rough, and the world outside his disappeared. I thought living with him would be the worst decision of my life. Turns out, it might be the hottest. -- -- -- I needed a roommate. What I got was Ace, tattooed, arrogant, and infuriatingly gorgeous. He breezed into my apartment like he owned it, with that cocky smile and a body that makes focusing on my studies nearly impossible. The walls are thin. Too thin. Every night, I hear things I shouldn’t. And worse… I start fantasizing about things I shouldn't. I tell myself that he’s a distraction I can’t afford but when he offers to tutor me in things that have nothing to do with textbooks, I’m not sure I can resist. One touch. One kiss. One lesson I’ll never forget. Living with Ace was meant to be temporary. Falling for him? That was never part of the plan.

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains sexual content, violence, slavery, and abuse. 18+ only. Read at your own risk. ~ ALPHA IAN ~ I’ve got a stunning wife. But I don’t love her. Hell, I don’t even like her. She’s just there—to be used, by me… and every male I allow. In my pack, power is everything. We share our women. We crush weaker packs for sport. Love? Mates? That’s a fairytale— The Moon Goddess cursed us long ago, and we stopped believing in that shit. But then I raided the Blood Moon Pack… And found her. A filthy little omega. Weak. Fragile. Worthless. She was supposed to be nothing. Yet here I am, obsessed. I can’t stand anyone touching her. I want to tear her clothes off… Grip her thighs and shove myself deep inside her sweet, untouched body. Again. And again. Until she knows who owns her. I want to break her. Mark her. And make her beg for more.