Bu Chuang
7 Published Stories
Bu Chuang's Books and Stories
The Ex-Wife's Hollywood Comeback
Romance Five years.
That' s how long Sarah Miller believed she' d built a real family and found true love with billionaire Ethan Vanderbilt, the man she married through a mysterious deal that saved her life.
Their son, Noah, was turning five.
At his birthday party, Noah, coached by Ethan, blew out his candles and wished: "I want Daddy and Mommy to divorce so Aunt Olivia can be my new mom!" Ethan' s cold, approving smile was a dagger, shattering my heart.
He served divorce papers, calling me a mere "placeholder" for his recovery.
Publicly shamed, disowned by my parents, and rejected by my son for his new "Auntie Olivia," every sacrifice was dismissed.
My rare Larsen' s Syndrome, previously suppressed, ravaged my body, mirroring my shattered life.
Was every tender moment a calculated performance?
The man I nursed back to health, my child's father, utterly discarded me.
Abandoned and utterly broken, I wrestled with this profound betrayal.
With nothing left, I activated The Guide' s "exit clause," staging my dramatic public demise.
I plunged into a new reality as Ava Monroe, a famous Hollywood actress, determined to finally find genuine love.
But a ghost from my past, Ethan, followed, poised to conquer me again, threatening my new beginning. The Fiancé Who Stole My Life
Modern My fiancé, Garrison, told me his family would love me. He said I was perfect. But at our engagement dinner, I overheard their real plan: to harvest my kidney for his sick sister, Corliss, and then discard me.
They framed me for pushing Corliss, causing her to have a "stress-induced episode." Garrison, believing their lies, had me thrown into a brutal "behavioral correction facility."
When he finally came for me, it wasn't to save me. It was to show off his new woman, my old rival, Katia. He humiliated me at a party, forcing me to wear the same dress as her, then accused me of sabotaging a chandelier that nearly killed them-a chandelier I had actually pushed him away from.
In the hospital, broken and bruised from a car crash Katia orchestrated, Garrison showed me faked evidence of my "crimes." He called me an empty void, a monster, and told me he was done with me.
He believed I was a jealous viper trying to destroy his family. He never saw that they were the ones who had systematically destroyed me.
Lying in that hospital bed, alone and in agony, I finally understood. The man I loved was a stranger, and his family were my tormentors.
As he walked out of my life for good, a cold peace settled over me. I was finally free. And I would never look back. His Unwanted Presence
Modern The smell of grilled meat and Olivia' s expensive perfume filled the backyard. We were hosting a perfect summer barbecue, or so it seemed.
I was the guy flipping burgers, the stay-at-home dad, while my wife, Olivia, laughed a bright, theatrical laugh, her hand resting on my cousin Liam' s arm-the one who got away in college.
My twins, Max and Chloe, looked up at Liam with wide, adoring eyes, asking him to do magic tricks and cut their food, preferring their "Uncle Liam" over me, their own father.
Olivia, too, openly favored Liam, remembering his steak preference while dismissing me with cold precision: "Ethan, the trash is overflowing. And did you forget to buy more ketchup?"
Each laugh, each dismissal, felt like a confirmation: I wasn' t their father or husband. I was just a convenience, my expiration date rapidly approaching.
A week later, while fixing the AC-because calling a professional was too expensive on my non-existent income-I fell off a ladder, breaking my arm.
Olivia' s first reaction? Not concern, but irritation. "Are you serious? Today? I' m about to close a seven-figure deal, Ethan. Is it really that bad?"
At the hospital, my kids barely noticed my bright white cast. Max' s only question was, "Is Uncle Liam coming over for dinner?"
That was it. The clarity cut through the pain. My wife, my children-they didn' t care. My pain was an annoyance; my presence, a service.
I looked at my angry wife, at the backs of my children' s heads. I was completely alone, a disposable tool.
That night, I looked at our wedding photo, two smiling strangers. I made a decision. Quiet, solid, absolute. I was done.
"I want a divorce," I told Olivia.
She closed her laptop, her face shifting from annoyance to clinical curiosity. "Don' t be ridiculous. We don' t have time for a divorce."
Then Max and Chloe walked in. "A divorce?" Max said, his eyes calculating. "Does that mean we can go live with Uncle Liam?"
Chloe brightened. "Yeah! Can Uncle Liam be our new dad? He' s more fun."
Their words, fueled by Olivia' s cultivation, hit harder than any fall. My children, my own flesh and blood, wanted my replacement.
Olivia, seeing my pain, delivered the final cut. "This is your own fault, Ethan. You let yourself go. The kids want a father they can look up to."
A cold rage burned through me. I pulled out the divorce papers, already signed, that I' d secretly prepared.
Olivia snatched and shredded them. "No one is divorcing me. You work for me, Ethan. You don' t get to quit."
The children watched, not scared, but as if it were a power play, knowing whose side they were on.
A chilling emptiness settled over me. I walked away, locked myself in the guest room, the click of the lock the first taste of freedom in a decade. Love After the Betrayal
Romance The scent of lilies and hairspray usually meant joy, but for me, Abigail Turner, on what was supposed to be my wedding day, it was a suffocating prelude to disaster.
I stood in my bridal gown, gazing into an ornate mirror, my heart a storm.
Then Brandon Hayes, my fiancé, walked in, his eyes cold and distant.
He took his mother' s diamond necklace, an heirloom he' d given me, straight from my neck.
"I need that back," he said, his voice flat.
Before I could process the shock, my cousin, Seraphina Vance, appeared, clutching an overnight bag, her eyes red-rimmed.
Without a word, Brandon fastened the necklace around her neck.
My future, my life, was now hers.
"I can' t marry you, Abby," Brandon declared, his voice devoid of emotion.
"The wedding is canceled."
Then, he looked at Seraphina, his voice softening. "I' m marrying Seraphina. Today."
Just like that, my own cousin, who should have been my bridesmaid, was taking my place.
"Why?" I managed to choke out.
Brandon sighed, as if burdened by immense self-pity. "It' s for the good of the family. There' s a curse, Abby. A psychic told Seraphina' s mother. If I don' t marry her, something terrible will happen."
Seraphina sniffled, burying her face in his chest. "I' m so sorry, Abby. I didn' t want this."
He held her tight, then looked back at me, his eyes filled with a bizarre pity. "It' s just for a few years, Abby. Once the danger from the curse has passed, I' ll divorce her. Just wait for me. You' ll always be the one I love."
The absurdity of his words was staggering. He wanted me to wait.
My family rushed in, drawn by the commotion. My mother' s face paled at the scene: me in my dress, Brandon holding Seraphina, the necklace on the wrong neck.
Everyone expected tears, screams, pleas.
But a strange calm washed over me.
The heartbreak was a cold, hard stone in my chest, but my mind was clear.
I looked at Brandon, the man I thought I would spend my life with, and saw a stranger-a weak, arrogant man easily manipulated by my jealous cousin.
I turned to my father, my voice steady and firm. "Dad, do you remember the arrangement with the Beaumont family in Europe?"
His eyes widened in shock. "Abby, you don' t mean…"
"I do," I said. "Call them. Tell them I accept."
Silence fell over the room.
My life as Abigail "Abby" Turner ended in that moment.
The next day, I was on a plane to Europe.
Five years later, the world knows me as Ava Beaumont.
I am a respected art curator, happily married, and six months pregnant.
I am back in the United States for the first time in five years, for my husband William' s grandfather' s ninetieth birthday.
And I am a completely different woman. Betrayal's Bitter Harvest
Modern The anesthesia was a thick fog, but the voices cut through it.
"Is she going to be okay?" That was Mark, my boyfriend, a rising musician.
"She' ll be fine. She gave you a kidney, Mark, she can handle a little post-op pain." That was Jessica, his new manager.
My blood ran cold. A kidney. I' d donated a kidney to save his life, worked three jobs, sold my art, used family connections, all for his dream.
Then the words that shattered my world.
"She was a good stepping stone, Mark. She got you where you needed to be. But you can' t have a sick, tired artist clinging to you when you' re about to become a star. You need… Jessica' s Lullaby."
Jessica's Lullaby. Our lullaby, a deeply personal melody from my childhood that I rewrote just for him. He had given her our song.
He didn't just take my kidney, he stole my art, my trust, everything. Even when he came back to the hospital, publicly proposing with cheap roses and a camera crew, it was a sham. Jessica staged an illness, and he abandoned me, rushed to her side, his devotion clear for all to see.
The man I loved had betrayed me, not just by stealing my art, but by commodifying my sacrifice, casting me aside as a mere stepping stone.
My heart was a hollowed-out cavity. But in that emptiness, a cold, hard rage began to burn.
He thought I was just a stepping stone. He was about to find out how wrong he was. I reached for my phone, scrolling for David, the head of a rival record label.
"David," I said, my voice raspy but firm. "It' s Sarah. I have a proposition for you." Trampled Legacy: The Hero's Daughter
Modern My daughter Emily, just seventeen, had a heart of gold.
She wanted to change the world, much like her father, James, a Medal of Honor recipient who died serving his country.
Emily was kind and brave, even standing up to Kevin Jennings, the mayor’s son, when he bullied a disabled classmate online.
Then, one cold night, Emily was gone.
The doctor’s words were flat: "Severe internal injuries. Hypothermia."
The police officer’s words were a punch: Kevin Jennings claimed Emily attacked him, and he’d acted in self-defense.
They found my sweet girl beaten and left in the freezing rain.
The powerful Jennings family immediately offered hush money, threatening to smear Emily’s name if I didn't comply.
The media, in their pocket, painted Emily as "aggressive," while online, I became a "gold digger" facing vicious attacks.
When I tried to protest, Kevin Jennings himself publicly *stepped* on James’s Medal of Honor, disgracing everything sacred to me.
The system closed ranks, branding Emily’s death "mutual combat."
But I knew the truth.
Emily’s journal revealed she was trying to reason with a monster.
This wasn't self-defense; it was murder, a brutal cover-up by the powerful.
How could they erase my daughter’s memory, twisting her kindness and trampling on her hero father’s legacy?
Broken and alone, I remembered a sacred promise James’s commander, Colonel McGregor, had made: "His family is our family."
Hundreds of miles away, he was my last, desperate hope.
I packed my bags, clutched James’s Medal, and drove out of that corrupt city.
The Jennings family *would* pay.
This fight wasn't over. It had only just begun. You might like
Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. 
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