Bria walked into class on Wednesday with the exam that she got a seventy percent on crumpled up in one hand and her brows furrowed together in an annoyed glare. After I handed it to her yesterday, she barely talked to me after class. I had to f**k her pissed expression right off her face last night, but now, it was back.
But Bria had to learn one way or another. I wouldn’t go easy on her because she was my mate. Memorizing and learning classics might’ve been difficult for some people, but Bria had to know it. She was my mate, and some of these stories weren’t fables. They were real history.
Sitting down in her usual seat, she crossed her arms and stared at me with those full pink lips pressed together. While Bria was usually a straight-A, good-girl student, today, she took out her phone,
