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Xuanhuan Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Revenge On My Deceptive Bride

Revenge On My Deceptive Bride

The cold prickle of the lethal injection syringe was my last sensation. Then, I gasped, choking on air, my lungs burning as I shot upright in my own bed. It was the morning of the day my life ended the first time. Framed for a brutal hit-and-run, I' d watched my family crumble and my fiancée, Chloe, look on with pity-filled eyes. Now, the date on my phone confirmed it. I was back. A soft knock, and Chloe stood in the doorway, smiling. Her presence, once comforting, now sent a jolt of pure fear through me. I remembered the courtroom, her sorrowful gaze-it felt like a prelude to my personal hell. "Leo, you awake? I made breakfast." Her voice dripped with concern, a perfect performance. My instinct screamed: change everything. I told her I wasn' t feeling well, cancelling the fateful drive. Her smile flickered, a micro-expression of annoyance I' d missed before. Hours later, I heard her hushed voice from the living room, tight with frustration. "No, he didn' t go," she hissed. "The point is to ruin him, whether he' s on the coast road or sitting on his damn couch. Find another way." My world tilted. The woman I was to marry was plotting my destruction. The cold dread of betrayal numbed me, then a white-hot rage ignited. I bolted, my mind a blur. I had to run, to put distance, to survive. But she was standing there, a fresh smile on her face. "Feeling better?" she asked. I pushed past her, fumbling with the lock, her voice calling my name echoing like a curse. I ran until I hit the street and called my best friend, Matt. He picked me up, confused but loyal. I told him Chloe was setting me up, omitting the rebirth. "Chloe? She adores you. Maybe you misunderstood." "I didn' t misunderstand, Matt! I heard her. She said, 'The point is to ruin him.' " He believed me, taking me to his apartment, the safest place on Earth. I hoped I had dodged the bullet. Then the news broke. "Police in Oceanville are searching for a suspect in a violent hit-and-run that occurred just an hour ago on Seaside Boulevard." My blood froze. Seaside Boulevard was nowhere near the coast road. But the face on the screen was mine. LEO VANCE. Wanted. Dangerous. My beer bottle shattered. "Leo," Matt whispered, his face pale. "What the hell is this?" Confusion turned to anger. "You lied to me! You were driving! You involved me in this!" The sirens wailed. They had found us. Just like before. The trap wasn' t a location; it was a narrative. And it had snapped shut around me again.
From Betrayal to Billions

From Betrayal to Billions

The federal courtroom buzzed, a low hum under the harsh fluorescent lights, as my fiancée Chloe begged me to sign a plea bargain for corporate espionage. This exact scene, these same tear-streaked pleas were painfully familiar. I'd lived this nightmare once before, framed by Chloe and her lover Derek, condemned to a brutal prison where I was left infertile, slowly dying alone in a cold cell. But this time, I was reborn, remembering every agonizing memory, every betrayal, burned into my mind. I feigned compliance, signing what sealed my supposed guilt, my heart a brewing storm under a calm facade. Chloe, dripping with false sympathy, celebrated, convinced Derek's narrative of my villainy would protect him as she took over my life, discarding my belongings and claiming our home as hers. She then imprisoned me in the building's damp basement, where she confessed the horrifying truth: she had systematically poisoned me for years to ensure my infertility, then brutally whipped me, counting each lash. The searing pain of the blows, the cold calculation in her eyes, mixed with the shock of realizing her long-term, meticulously planned evil, threatened to break me. How could someone I loved mete out such depravity? Yet, beneath the agony, a burning resolve tempered my spirit. Then, just as I was dragged back to court, battered and broken, seemingly destined for ruin, the doors burst open. Olivia Hayes, CEO of the company I supposedly betrayed, the woman from my true past, strode in, radiating icy power. She not only unilaterally withdrew all charges but then, to the utter shock of everyone, knelt before me and asked: "Ethan, this lifetime, will you marry me?" She remembered. And this time, armed with a second chance, our perfect revenge was just beginning.
Her Hidden Power, Their Downfall

Her Hidden Power, Their Downfall

Elara Vance believed her world was solid: a devoted Lumin wife to Damien, and a proud mother to Kaelen, her son whose powerful Tier 7 Aura brought her immense joy. But that foundation crumbled when, in a horrifying display of ambition, Damien and Kaelen, with chilling indifference, betrayed her, brutally extracting her Lumin Core and leaving her for dead. She gasped awake, not in the afterlife, but back in opulent Lumin society, at the very Concord Gala where, in her past life, Damien had chosen her as his bride. This time, however, utter public humiliation awaited as Damien heartlessly announced his choice of her cousin, Selena Vance-a supposed rising Lumina Scion-and dismissed Elara as nothing but "Tier 1 weakness." The degradation deepened when community patriarch Alistair Thorne, driven by family "pacts," condemned Elara to a forced marriage with Rhys Ashworth, a man suffering from a fatal Aura Drain, a cruel ploy by Damien to ensure her quiet, swift end. The raw, burning questions of her agonizing death tangled with the fresh pain of public scorn: Why did they crave her demise so deeply, despising her very being as an insurmountable obstacle? Yet, armed with the vivid nightmares of betrayal and the shocking truth she now held-that Selena' s dazzling Tier 6 Aura was a dangerous lie, fueled by illicit serums-Elara stood firm. Her seemingly helpless acceptance of the doomed marriage concealed a quiet storm: she carried the forgotten ancestral secrets of her Vance lineage, ancient healing arts like "Aura Weaving." This forced union, intended as her grave, was now her unlikely battleground, her chance to not only survive but to uncover the insidious rot beneath their community's shining facade and unleash a power they never dreamed she possessed.
The Prodigy’s Last Dance of Love

The Prodigy’s Last Dance of Love

The terminal diagnosis felt like an ending, a quiet period to a long, exhausting sentence. I, Ava, the world' s only true prodigy in data analytics, was dying. My mind-a machine that could map the future with flawless precision-couldn't find a single path that didn't end in a hospital bed. The irony was suffocating. My body was failing because my mind had been running at an impossible overload for centuries. Not just this lifetime, but seven of them, a secret etched physically on my chest. Then the doorbell rang. It was Liam, my ex-fiancé, radiating success as always. But he wasn't alone. Clinging to his arm, my stepsister, Chloe, was unmistakably pregnant. "We came to tell you in person," Liam said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Chloe and I are getting married. Next month." Chloe added with fake sweetness, "We wanted you to be the first to know, sis." He then dropped the bombshell: "I' m buying out your shares. It' s time we made a clean break." He was cutting me out, erasing me from the company I had built. I watched him. He saw my frail form, noted my fading life, and coldly assessed it as his final liberation. He believed my death would untether him, unleashing his supposed genius to unimaginable heights. Little did he know, he was a parasitic fool convinced he was the host. For six hundred years, I had been the silent engine behind his every success, bleeding myself dry in the process. Each lifetime, my illness and early death fueled his ascent, bound by a master-servant contract. He thought my dying was his victory. He was wrong. My death was not a sentence. It was a deadline. And for the first time in centuries, I felt not despair, but a cold, sharp surge of energy. He thought he was closing the book on me. He had just given me permission to write the final, devastating chapter. This time, I was ready to reclaim what was mine.
Dying for His True Happiness

Dying for His True Happiness

In New York, everyone knew Grady Allen lived for me, Emely Harrison. He was my shadow, my protector, my world, and our future seemed inevitable. But as I lay dying from ALS, I overheard him whisper, "Emely, my duty to you is done. If there is a next life, I pray I can be with Kandy." My world shattered. His lifelong devotion wasn't love, but guilt for Kandy Paul, a woman who had taken her own life after he' d left her. Reborn, I found Grady with amnesia, deeply in love with Kandy. To give him the happiness he truly desired, I concealed my own early-onset ALS diagnosis and broke off our engagement, telling his parents, "I won't chain him to a dying woman out of a sense of duty he doesn't even remember." Despite my efforts, Kandy' s insecurity led her to frame me, accusing me of throwing her engagement ring and setting fire to the mansion. Grady, believing her, threw me into a muddy pit and later choked me, snarling, "You're not even as good as a dog. At least a dog is loyal." During a kidnapping, I saved Kandy, nearly dying myself, only to wake in a hospital to learn Grady had spared no expense for her, while I lay abandoned. Why did he choose her, even when his body instinctively reached for me? Why did he believe her lies? I had given him everything, even my life, to set him free. Now, I would truly be free. I married my brother, Jeremiah, who had always loved me, and left Grady behind, whispering, "Be happy, Grady. We're even now. I'll never see you again."
My Wife's Betrayal, My Second Life

My Wife's Betrayal, My Second Life

Thirty years I gave the Miller family. Thirty years of my life, my talent, my devotion. And it ended with gasoline soaking into my clothes. "Our son was conceived using Alex' s sperm through IVF! Aren' t you mad? You spent your whole life raising my beloved man' s child!" That was Olivia, my wife, her face twisted with hatred I never understood until then. Our son, the boy I raised, stood with her, holding the empty gas can. A lit match fell from her fingers. The fire consumed me, the pain absolute. My last thought: Why? Then, I opened my eyes. The scent of roses and champagne, not smoke, filled the air. I was in a tuxedo. My hands were young. The date on my phone: ten years ago. It was my wedding night. Olivia burst in, screaming, "Alex is going to jump!" Her father stopped her, threatening to disown her. The moment he left, Olivia slapped me. "This is all your fault! You and your pathetic ambition! I' d be with him right now!" Her words echoed my death in the future. In my past life, I comforted her, promised to earn her love, built their empire, raised her lover' s son. They burned me for it. All affection turned to ash. I had been brutally betrayed, manipulated, and murdered by the very people I sacrificed everything for. Why had I been so blind, so stupid? Why had I devoted my entire existence to those who saw me as nothing more than a convenient tool to be discarded? This time, I would choose myself. I looked at Olivia, not as the girl I loved, but the woman who would murder me. "You want to go find him? Go."
Shattered Compass, Broken Empire

Shattered Compass, Broken Empire

I, Ethan Thorne, had quietly ensured my fiancée Seraphina Vance's family wealth for years. It was a sacred pact, tied to my ancient Thorne Providence, a legacy of power I cherished. At the grand ballroom, I sought Seraphina, only to find her locked in a passionate kiss with Marcus Blackwood. She brazenly announced our breakup, publicly mocking me and our past, calling me a "relic." Then, with chilling contempt, she desecrated our engagement compass, a powerful conduit for her family's prosperity, flicking it to the ground. The crowd snickered, their whispers fueling her disdain, as she declared it "lost." My heart, once bruised, solidified into cold, stark resolve as she deliberately shattered the compass, unwittingly destroying the very source of her family's fortune. She still thought this was about her petty pride or common money, completely blind to the profound act she had just committed. Unaware of the ancient force she had provoked, she laughed when I offered her a final chance to avert disaster, to simply pick up the pieces. Then, I calmly revealed her fate: her company would plummet by thirty percent on Monday. And for her new lover, Blackwood: a crippling leg cramp, within minutes. He scoffed, mocking my "magic," but then screamed and collapsed, writhing in undeniable agony. The lavish ballroom fell into a terrifying silence as everyone witnessed the brutal materialization of my words. Seraphina, her face pale with dawning horror, finally saw the terrifying power she had irrevocably unleashed. This chilling demonstration was just the first payment for her betrayal.
From Cursed Child to Trueborn Scion

From Cursed Child to Trueborn Scion

For years, I lived in the hallowed halls of the Blackwood estate, a shadow. My supposed mother, Agnes, systematically siphoned my spiritual energy, gifting it to her own daughter, Claire, who reveled in every stolen blessing. I was the family's "cursed" child, scarred and suffering, my true, ancient Silvercreek power suppressed, biding my time. My life, a lie, a carefully constructed illusion of weakness. Then came the Founder's Centennial Gala. Agnes, consumed by hubris, decided this was her stage. She orchestrated a twisted plan: publicly declare Claire her biological child, and use me as live bait to lure a mythical beast, the Old Man of the Mountain, to steal its powerful Heartstone for Claire. I endured the unimaginable: dragged to sacred peaks, brutally mauled, left for dead, then hauled back to the glittering ballroom, bleeding and broken, a grotesque spectacle. Guests gasped, recoiled in disgust. Agnes beamed, ready to deliver her grand, self-serving revelation, believing her triumph was at hand. They thought me a pitiful, broken creature, a mere pawn in their twisted game. Did they truly believe I had endured decades of torment, of stolen life and power, only for a final humiliation? Did they think my silence was weakness, my downtrodden gaze surrender? I watched and waited. No. The pain was my fuel, the injustice my fire. As Agnes began her smug confession, I rose, not as a victim, but as a force. The Gala wouldn't be Claire's crowning; it would be the Blackwood family's absolute reckoning. I would unveil every single one of their dark, bloody secrets, starting tonight.