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Chen Ziluo

7 Published Stories

Chen Ziluo's Books and Stories

Her Regret, His Peace

Her Regret, His Peace

Romance
5.0
They told me it was a contract marriage, a deal to save my mother' s life. In reality, it was my own slow death sentence. For three years, I was hired to be Chloe Davis' s husband, the man she blamed for ruining her life after her high school sweetheart dumped her. I endured her endless parade of boyfriends, her daily allowance of five dollars, and constant humiliation, all to ensure my ailing mother received the best care. Then, the day my mother died, Chloe' s assistant called, demanding I return home from the funeral to make snacks for a party. Chloe, my wife, had no idea my mother was gone. Days later, I learned the truth: my mother had committed suicide to free me, after Chloe' s cousin, Jake Stone, maliciously convinced her that she was an inescapable burden. That night, at a club, Chloe poured red wine over my head for Jake' s amusement. But the ultimate betrayal came when I collapsed from malnutrition and exhaustion. Chloe visited me in the hospital, not with concern, but to demand I take the fall for Jake' s drunk driving accident. The irony was suffocating; her own reckless driving had caused the power outage that shut down my mother' s life support, effectively killing her. "No," I told her, my voice finally firm after years of silence. "I want a divorce." Her shock was absolute; I had never defied her. Before I could escape, Jake ambushed me, confessing his role in my mother' s death, triggering a rage that landed me back in the hospital. Yet, Chloe watched as her bodyguards, on her command, broke my ribs and crushed my painting hand. Why had my life become this torment? Why had I, a quiet artist, become the target of such unbridled cruelty? I left with my mother' s ashes, leaving behind all the money, and promised myself I' d never look back.
His Penance, My Freedom

His Penance, My Freedom

Billionaires
5.0
Two years, Alex. It's been two years. My whisper was dry, lost in the cold, vast living room where I knelt on marble, gripping his expensive trousers. For two years, since his mother' s death, this had been my life, my prison. He blamed me, twisted a lie of grief into his truth: I' d hidden her sickness for his company' s IPO. Every week, a different woman. They wore my robes, used my perfume, slept in our bed. My task: welcome, serve, clean. I swallowed humiliation because my father was sick, his treatments astronomically expensive. Alex Thorne, my husband, was my only hope. But when I begged for money, for my father on his deathbed, Alex sneered, "Let him die." "It's what he deserves for having a daughter like you." Then the hospital called: My father was gone. He took his own life, leaving a note, not wanting to be a burden. I was on my knees, begging for a life already lost. "Problem solved," Alex chirped to his current paramour, tossing my phone aside. My world shattered. He was a monster who savored my pain. Something inside me snapped. The part that endured, that hoped, broke. "No," I said, rising on shaky legs. "I want a divorce, Alex." He laughed, demanding I apologize to his mistress, then commanded me to clean toilets with a toothbrush. He was mocking me. Humiliating me. Using my deepest wounds as his amusement. But as I knelt once more, a single thought crystallised: I wouldn't just leave him. I would erase him. And when he then shoved me, triggering a terrifying pain and a warm, wet sensation, I knew my silent revolution had just begun. He might have killed my father and our unborn child, but he had just awakened the storm within me.
The Monte Cristo Heiress

The Monte Cristo Heiress

Billionaires
5.0
My family, the Thompsons, was crumbling, and I was paraded before the powerful elite, the Ashworths, Albrights, and Cartwrights, supposedly to secure a lifeline through a strategic marriage. My childhood friends-Caleb, Leo, and Julian-were the intended targets. But at a humiliating dinner, they didn't just reject me; Julian, the one I'd always trusted, dropped a bomb: it was a bet, a game to see if he could "rehabilitate the fallen Ava Thompson." Shattered, I fled, inventing a boyfriend, a lie that miraculously led me to Nate, a kind outsider who made me feel truly seen. Our fragile peace was my escape, until the day my past violently resurfaced. Nate wasn't just a quiet artist; he was Caleb's vengeful cousin, the mastermind behind the vicious cyberbullying that had nearly destroyed me last year, using my pain to further his own twisted agenda. The betrayal was a gut punch, realizing I'd walked from one manipulator's hands into a far more insidious trap. How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to be used and discarded again and again? But this time, the helplessness curdled into ice-cold rage; I wouldn't be a victim anymore, I would be the architect of my own fate. I meticulously exposed Nate' s dark scheme, watching his carefully constructed life implode. Yet, my father, in a last desperate gamble, drugged Caleb and me, staging a fake engagement scandal to seize control of the Ashworth fortune. Cornered, but seeing an undeniable opening, I turned to Julian, the original betrayer, and whispered, "It was always you." He swallowed the lie, becoming my unwitting protector and weapon. Julian tore down my father, rescued my mother, crushed Caleb, and ensured my absolute safety, believing it was for love. When everything was finally secured, I left him a single, symbolic book-"The Count of Monte Cristo"-and disappeared, finally truly free.
The Price of Devotion: His Other Woman's Lies

The Price of Devotion: His Other Woman's Lies

Billionaires
5.0
I was Sarah Miller, Marcus Thorne' s wife, a public asset in his gleaming empire. Our life, from galas to high-stakes business, was a meticulously crafted facade. But Marcus' s true devotion was reserved for Vivian Hayes, his late partner' s widow and mother of his son, Leo. He canceled our feverish daughter Lily' s doctor' s appointment because Leo had a "sniffle." He fired a man for upsetting Vivian. I was always the shield, absorbing his neglect, but the line blurred when I confronted him about Vivian' s abuse of Lily. He didn' t just dismiss it; he raised his hand. Not at me, but at our own daughter. He slapped Lily, a sharp, sickening crack across her small cheek. Time stopped. Lily cried out, a small, choked sound. Marcus, his face a mask of cold indifference, simply muttered about "respecting Vivian." Later that night, reeking of Vivian' s cloying perfume, he attempted a reconciliation, only to abandon me again when she called with another supposed "panic attack." My little girl, her cheek still red, crept into my room, quietly, heartbreakingly. Her small hand found mine. "Mommy," she whispered, her voice clear despite the pain, "He' s left us for her a hundred times." Her words, old with a child' s painful wisdom, finally shattered the last, desperate shred of my endurance and hope. The final piece of my former self crumbled to dust. She looked at me, her eyes resolute. "Let' s go. We don' t need him." And in that moment, as she clung to me, I knew this wasn't just about escape. We wouldn't just leave quietly. No. We would make them pay. All of them.