Gong Zi
13 Published Stories
Gong Zi's Books and Stories
His Unwanted Mute Wife: Now His Obsession
Mafia I was the mute fisherman's daughter who married the King of New York, only to become his prisoner.
Dante Vitiello didn't love me; he used my silence as a weapon and let his mistress, Valeria, rule my home.
When Valeria poisoned herself to frame me, Dante didn't look for the truth.
He drained my blood to save her life, then threw me into a freezing dungeon to rot among the rats.
He planned to marry her while I shivered in the dark, telling me I was nothing but gutter trash.
With no voice to scream and no way to fight, I chose the only escape left.
I swallowed a vial of lethal pufferfish toxin, trading my life for a coma that mimicked death.
I wanted to haunt him. I wanted my cold body to be his punishment.
But when I woke up a year later, the world had changed.
I wasn't in hell. I was in a clinic, and Dante was lying on the floor with a bullet in his temple.
He had discovered the truth too late.
To wake me up, he had accepted a deadly game of Russian Roulette.
He signed our divorce papers with a steady hand, then pulled the trigger to buy my freedom.
The monster was dead.
And for the first time, the silence belonged to me. His Unwanted Mate: The Supreme Alpha's Queen
Werewolf For five years, I sealed my own wolf and pretended to be a "Wolfless" weakling, all to soothe my Alpha husband's fragile ego.
But when his mistress committed a crime, Ignatz commanded me to take the fall.
Desperate, I revealed the secret I had been keeping: I was pregnant.
I thought it would save me. Instead, he sneered at my stomach.
He called our child "biological waste" compared to the "high-born" heir his mistress was carrying. He ordered his guards to drag me to the clinic to "fix the mistake."
I managed to escape the needle, only to be hunted down and thrown into a silver mine.
The toxic metal didn't kill me, but the agony did something worse. It killed my unborn pup.
While I lay bleeding in the dark, Ignatz hosted a grand gala. He publicly rejected me, dissolving our bond to marry his mistress, believing I was dead and gone.
He didn't know his mistress was actually carrying a Rogue's bastard.
He didn't know he had just murdered a Royal Prince.
And he certainly didn't know that the grief had shattered the seal on my powers.
The "Wolfless" girl died in that mine. The White Wolf rose in her place.
Three days later, I crashed his engagement party.
But I didn't come alone.
I walked in flanked by the Royal Army and the Supreme Alpha, ready to burn his pack to the ground.
Ignatz fell to his knees when he saw my glowing eyes, but I only had one thing to say.
"Kneel." Pampered By The Rival Mafia Boss
Mafia Ten years ago, I saved the life of New York’s most dangerous mob boss with a sewing kit. I gave Ethan Reed my youth, my loyalty, and my heart.
But the moment his ex-girlfriend Chloe returned, I became disposable.
It didn't matter that she had abandoned him. It didn't matter that she poisoned me, killing the unborn child Ethan didn't even know we had.
When Chloe needed a kidney transplant due to her drug abuse, Ethan didn't protect me. He strapped me to a gurney.
"It's just one kidney, Ava. You owe me."
He harvested my organ to save the woman who murdered his heir. And when he was done, he decided I was a loose end.
He dragged me to the edge of a bridge in the pouring rain.
"This is how it ends," he said, his eyes devoid of love. "A tragic suicide."
He pushed me into the freezing water, watching me drown to secure his happy ending.
He thought I was dead. He thought the canary had sung its last song.
But he forgot one thing. I was the chemist who built his empire.
When his greatest rival pulled me out of the river, I didn't pray for salvation. I prayed for revenge.
Three months later, I walked into his charity gala on the arm of his enemy, wearing a white suit and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
Ethan dropped to his knees when he saw me.
But I wasn't there to forgive him. I was there to burn his house down. His Unwanted Fiancée Was His True Savior
Mafia I was standing in five thousand dollars of hand-stitched lace when I received the medical report.
My fiancé, Dante de Rossi, the future Don of Chicago, had gotten another woman pregnant.
He didn't apologize. He didn't beg. He looked me in the eye and called it a "strategic necessity."
"Isobel saved my life five years ago," he said coldly. "I owe her this child. You will raise it as your own. It is the price of the Peace Treaty."
He forced me to cancel our engagement photos so he could take them with her.
He took her on the vacation meant for our honeymoon.
At dinner, he ordered me the seafood risotto, completely forgetting my deadly shellfish allergy, while fussing over Isobel’s water temperature.
When I tried to leave, he cornered me.
"You are a mob wife, Nina. Act like one. She is the hero who saved me."
I wanted to laugh.
Because five years ago, in that alley, Isobel wasn't even there.
I was the one in the mask. I was the one who stitched his femoral artery and saved his life, risking my own medical license.
He was destroying our twenty-year relationship to pay a debt to a liar.
I didn't scream. I didn't fight.
I simply picked up a red marker and walked to the calendar.
On the day of our wedding, while Dante stood at the altar waiting for his obedient Queen, I was already boarding a one-way flight to the other side of the world.
I left him nothing but four words scrawled across the date:
"Let's break up, Dante." His Heart, My Ultimate Betrayal
Billionaires Everyone in Seattle said my five-year marriage to tech mogul Elias Odonnell was a placeholder. I never believed them. He was the man who would delay a billion-dollar meeting for my food cravings and donate his own rare blood to save my father' s life.
The day I discovered I was pregnant, I overheard him on a call with his childhood sweetheart, Juli.
"Marrying Gemma was just the only way to get close enough to her father to cure you."
My world shattered. He brought Juli into our home, pretending she was my doctor. They tormented me, locking me in a panic room to trigger my deepest fears. Then, during a forced mountain hike, a sudden shove sent me falling from a cliff. I lost our baby.
In the hospital, I overheard the real reason he saved my life. It wasn't for me, but to keep my father emotionally stable so his "liver tissue quality" wouldn't be compromised before the harvest.
He called our dead child "a complication I've now been spared from dealing with."
With nothing left to lose, I found an unlikely ally in my father's surgeon, a man who owed my dad his career.
He came to my room and whispered, "We'll stage a fake surgery. While everyone is distracted, I'll get you and your father out of here." Love's Betrayal: The Unseen Daughter
Fantasy As a ghost, I watched my parents arrive at my crime scene. My mother, a renowned surgeon, and my father, the District Attorney, were there to consult on the brutal murder of an unidentified young woman.
That young woman was me. But they didn't know. To them, I was just Jane Doe, a messy case and an inconvenient headline.
My mother examined my broken body with chilling detachment, her analysis of the torture wounds purely clinical. My father arrived, complaining about the political fallout and the bad press.
Standing just feet from my corpse, they discussed their "missing" daughter-me.
"She's just being dramatic," my father scoffed. "Probably shacked up with some loser to get back at us."
They were more worried about my adopted brother, the golden boy Javon, and his upcoming championship game. I was the family's problem in life, and it seemed I was an even bigger problem in death.
The irony was a physical weight. They were talking about me, their lost daughter, while my body lay decomposing at their feet. They were blind, wrapped up in their perfect lives and their love for the son who orchestrated my end.
But they would find out. The killer made one mistake. He forced me to swallow a tiny pet microchip, a clue registered in my name. A piece of evidence that would not only give me back my identity but would expose the monster they called a son and burn their perfect world to the ground. Fated Love, Unwritten Endings
Romance For three years, I paid millions to have Caleb Mitchell as my boyfriend. I funded his sister's experimental cancer treatment, and in return, the brilliant, proud student played the part of my loving companion. He resented being bought, but I was foolish enough to fall in love with him.
That foolishness ended two months ago, after a fall from a horse left me with a concussion. I woke up with the horrifying knowledge that my entire life was a lie—I was just the villainess in a novel, a footnote in a story about him.
In this story, Caleb was the hero, destined to reunite with his true love, Frances. I was the obstacle he had to overcome. My pre-written fate was to go mad with jealousy, try to destroy them, and end up ruined and dead.
I thought it was a hallucination until the plot began to unfold. The final proof was the vintage watch I spent months restoring for his birthday. A week later, he gave it to Frances, telling her it was just some old trinket he'd found.
According to the script, seeing that watch on her wrist was supposed to make me fly into a hysterical rage, sealing my tragic fate.
But I refuse to follow their story. If the villainess is destined for a tragic end, then this villainess will simply disappear from the book altogether.
I slid a black credit card across the polished desk. "I want to be declared dead," I told the man who specialized in new beginnings. "Lost at sea. No body." The Inmate's Redemption: A Mob Boss's Debt
Modern After six long years, I walked out of prison on my 30th birthday, ready to reclaim my life.
Instead, my ex-husband, Ryan, arrived with his high school sweetheart, Gabby, who coldly informed me Ryan's sleek new Tesla had "Gabby's seat."
My own son, Caleb, now ten, peered from the back, his eyes mirroring his father's icy gaze, asking why I was even trying to get into "Aunt Gabby's seat."
Then came the demand: apologize to Gabby publicly for what I "did," or Caleb would forever believe I was a "crazy liar" who attacked Gabby, his "real mom."
Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, a deliberate hit-and-run orchestrated by Gabby left me broken and vulnerable in a hospital bed, part of a sinister plan to fake amnesia and commit me to a mental institution permanently.
How could the man I built an empire with, and my own child, be so utterly poisoned against me?
But they underestimated me. Prison taught me how to survive, how to wait, and how to call in a forgotten favor from a dying mob boss. I'm Jocelyn, and the comeback they never saw coming just started. Twelve Years, One Stranger
Romance On my 30th birthday, I stood in a grand gala, believing I was celebrating twelve years with Ethan, the man I loved, and his big project win.
But my "celebration" was a pathetic banner and a wilting cupcake, while the main stage projected a smiling tribute to Ethan and his "brilliant protégé" – his intern, Madison.
Ethan, oblivious, pointed to the cupcake, "Madison arranged that. Sweet, right?" His intern's "adorkable" hug felt like a trap, her eyes gleaming with malice.
The betrayals escalated: abandoned on a dark train platform for Madison's "panic attack," our anniversary skipped for her "lost keys," and the ultimate insult – being asked to give her my concert ticket.
The final blow came when Ethan, in a fit of rage, weaponized my deepest shame, snarling, "You' re just like your father, always putting your hands on things that don't belong to you."
In that crushing moment, my twelve years of love for him disintegrated into ash, leaving behind only chilling emptiness and the realization he was a stranger.
Ethan, full of arrogant certainty, winked, "Give her a week. She' ll come crawling back."
He had no idea I'd just accepted a promotion to Program Director of my non-profit' s international branch – in London.
I quietly packed two suitcases, deleting him from my life as I hailed a taxi to Logan International.
When he frantically called, yelling, "What is wrong with you?", I simply said, "It's over," then blocked him and turned off my phone, finally free.
But my past wasn't quite done with me, and soon, Ethan and Madison would confront a terrifying truth that would change all our lives forever. She Played Dirty: The MIL Who Met Her Match
Romance Sarah was a calm, capable project manager, often jokingly called a "MIL Whisperer" by her friends.
She prided herself on being a "domestic diplomat," adept at navigating the trickiest family dynamics.
This was her fourth marriage, and she felt well-prepared for any mother-in-law challenges.
What Sarah didn't fully realize was the scale of the battlefield she had just entered.
Her new husband, Michael, came with a notorious mother, Brenda.
This woman had systematically destroyed his previous two marriages, framing one ex-wife for her business's collapse and the other for a manufactured addiction, all to assert absolute control over Michael.
Brenda began her campaign of terror immediately.
At a "welcome to the family" BBQ, she served Sarah a malicious "artisanal slider" packed with an insane amount of habanero peppers and salt, a public trap.
Later, Sarah discovered Brenda had planted a hidden nanny cam in her master bedroom, mirroring the psychological warfare used against former daughters-in-law.
Most women would feel overwhelmed, targeted, and utterly helpless by such calculated malice.
But Sarah wasn't most women.
She had faced worse, and she knew Brenda's every move was a performance, a deliberate attempt to shame and break her.
This wasn't just a personal attack; it was a project.
Brenda wanted to play dirty with cameras and public humiliation?
Fine.
Sarah decided to show Brenda exactly how deeply that game could be played, ready to strategically use Brenda's own tactics to dismantle her carefully constructed empire of control. The Wife He Erased
Modern My wife, Sarah, had conveniently "disappeared" three years ago, leaving me, Ethan Cole, the music mogul, free to thrive with my new star, Tiffany Vance—who just happened to be my high school tormentor and current lover.
Life was perfect, until Tiffany needed a "raw" memoir and suggested Sarah write it. I returned to Sarah’s godforsaken hometown, expecting to drag my "dramatic" ex-wife back, only to be told by her brother, David, and an old woman, Maria, that Sarah had been dead for three years.
I laughed in their faces, accusing them of lying, shoving David, and nearly strangling Maria. I refused to believe it until I ordered my men to dig up her grave. Seeing Sarah’s bones in that cheap coffin felt like a punch to the gut. Then, the world truly tilted when I learned Maria, the woman I’d just assaulted, was my own long-lost mother, whom I believed dead.
Tiffany tried to soothe me with a fabricated story of saving me from drowning, holding up a tarnished locket as proof. But the inscription on that locket, a tiny "S.J." and a unique dent, screamed a different truth. It was Sarah’s. She was my savior, not Tiffany. Tiffany had stolen her heroism, just as she'd stolen my life, and used me as a weapon against Sarah and my family. The realization was a cold, terrifying clarity, revealing the monstrous fool I'd been.
My world, built on lies and cruelty, shattered. The man who had unknowingly destroyed my life would now be the instrument of ultimate vengeance, vowing to uncover every one of Tiffany’s twisted schemes, every lie, and make everyone involved pay. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. The Mafia King's Substitute Bride
Western Rose The space between them disappeared. She arched into him, tilting her head as his lips traced a slow path down her jaw, then lower.
Goodness, she wanted more.
***
Valentina De Luca was never meant to be a Caruso bride. That was her sister's role-until Alecia ran off with her fiancé, leaving behind a family drowning in debt and a deal that couldn't be undone. Now, Valentina is the one offered up as collateral, forced into marriage with Naples' most dangerous man.
Luca Caruso has no use for a woman who wasn't part of the original bargain. To him, Valentina is nothing more than a replacement, a means to reclaim what was promised to him. But she isn't as fragile as she seems. And the more their lives tangle, the harder she is to ignore.
Everything begins to go well for her, well, until her sister returns. And with her, the kind of trouble that could ruin them all. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. Rebirth of the Mafia Mistress
Olivia My fiancé Jaret Frazier promised to protect me on my nineteenth birthday. By the next year, he had married a Mafia Princess for power and locked me in a hidden apartment as his secret mistress.
When his new wife discovered I was pregnant, she didn't file for divorce. She sent her enforcers to my bedside.
They held me down while a back-alley butcher tore my unborn son from my womb.
Jaret never came to save me. For ten years, I rotted in that gilded cage, watching him use my money to become an Underboss while I faded into a ghost. I died alone, completely erased.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I was back in my own bed, unscarred, the calendar turned back to the year my life was destroyed.
Jaret was still just my fiancé, not yet my jailer.
And this time, I wouldn't be the one who ended up in a cage. When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts
Landslide On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies. Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway
Tangye Wanzi I watched my husband, the most feared Capo in New York, sign away our marriage with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for ordering a hit.
The nib of his Montblanc pen scratched against the paper, drowning out the rain hitting the coffee shop window.
He didn't bother to read a single word.
He thought he was signing routine shipping manifests for the family business.
In reality, he was signing the "Dissolution of Union" papers I had hidden beneath the cover sheet.
He was too distracted to check. His eyes were glued to his encrypted phone, frantically texting Sofia—the widow, the tragic beauty, the woman who had haunted our marriage for three years.
"Done," he grunted, tossing the stack into his armored SUV without even glancing at me.
"Business is concluded, Elena. We leave."
Moments later, his phone rang with her special emergency tone.
His demeanor shifted from cold boss to frantic protector instantly.
"Driver, divert. She needs me," he roared.
He looked at me with zero affection and ordered, "Get out, Elena. Luca will take you home."
He kicked me out of the car into the pouring rain to rush to his mistress, completely unaware he had just legally granted me my freedom.
I stood on the curb, shivering but smiling for the first time in years.
By the time the Don realizes he just signed his own divorce, I will be a ghost in San Francisco.
And he will have nothing left but his shipping logs and his regret. 
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