Gujian Qitan
9 Published Stories
Gujian Qitan's Books and Stories
Jilted Bride's Revenge: The Valkyrie Awakens
Modern I had been a wife for exactly six hours when I woke up to the sound of my husband’s heavy breathing. In the dim moonlight of our bridal suite, I watched Hardin, the man I had adored for years, intertwined with my sister Carissa on the chaise lounge.
The betrayal didn't come with an apology. Hardin stood up, unashamed, and sneered at me. "You're awake? Get out, you frumpy mute." Carissa huddled under a throw, her fake tears already welling up as she played the victim. They didn't just want me gone; they wanted me erased to protect their reputations.
When I refused to move, my world collapsed. My father didn't offer a shoulder to cry on; he threatened to have me committed to a mental asylum to save his business merger. "You're a disgrace," he bellowed, while the guards stood ready to drag me away. They had spent my life treating me like a stuttering, submissive pawn, and now they were done with me.
I felt a blinding pain in my skull, a fracture that should have broken me. But instead of tears, something dormant and lethal flickered to life. The terrified girl who walked down the aisle earlier that day simply ceased to exist. In her place, a clinical system—the Valkyrie Protocol—booted up.
My racing heart plummeted to a steady sixty beats per minute. I didn't scream. I stood up, my spine straightening for the first time in twenty years, and looked at Hardin with the detachment of a surgeon looking at a tumor.
"Correction," I said, my voice stripped of its stutter. "You're in my light."
By dawn, I had drained my father's accounts, vanished into a storm, and found a bleeding Crown Prince in a hidden safehouse. They thought they had broken a mute girl. They didn't realize they had just activated their own destruction. He Saw My Soul, Not My Scars
Modern My husband, Jeremiah, let me die from an allergic reaction because he couldn't pause his video game. He dismissed my kidnapping as a prank and refused to come to the hospital when I was miscarrying our child.
But the final straw came when he ordered doctors to carve skin from my body for his mistress's minor burn.
He thought he had broken me, but he was wrong. I exposed his affair, took his company, and left him with nothing.
Years later, he crashed my wedding to another man, begging for a second chance. "Elena lied to me! She manipulated me! It was always you, Celina!"
I looked at the monster who had destroyed my life, my family, and my child.
Then I picked up a wine bottle and smashed it over his head. The Vows Unspoken
Romance For five years, Liam was my world.
I thought we were building a future, heading for marriage, and I even used my connections to get us VIP tickets to a tech conference-a power move for his career.
Then, on the giant live-stream screen, I watched him kiss his new assistant, Sarah, a deep, passionate embrace for thousands to see.
Hours later, after a dazed walk and a screech of tires, I woke up in a hospital, bruised, concussed, and staring at Liam, who casually informed me he had hit me with his car.
He then lied to my face, claiming Sarah was just his boss, and somehow convinced the hospital I had amnesia, painting me as an unstable woman who' d simply "forgotten" our relationship.
The humiliation deepened when I discovered his hidden journal-a five-year chronicle of how I was merely a "placeholder," a temporary fix until his true love, Sarah, returned.
He tried to reconcile, offering money and calls, but his desperate attempts felt hollow against the truth: he had never seen me as a person, only a convenient stand-in.
Then came the final blow: Sarah announced as the new Head of Architecture, taking the promotion I' d worked years for, a public, corporate execution.
But just as I thought I' d lost everything, a forgotten connection resurfaced.
My Uncle David' s persistent offer of an arranged marriage, a path I' d once dismissed, suddenly glimmered with an unexpected promise.
Little did I know, the man I was about to meet wasn't just a family friend, but a quiet, constant presence from my past, ready to offer a future I never dared to dream of. The Second Chance Life
Modern The sterile beep of the heart monitor was counting down the final seconds of my life.
Then the door creaked open, and Scarlett Hayes, my husband' s manipulative childhood sweetheart, entered with a venomous smile.
She informed me, with cruel satisfaction, that my husband, Mark, had only married me for a free nurse and babysitter, and that our son, Tommy, wasn't truly mine – he was theirs. My own baby, she revealed, wasn't stillborn, but had been given away by Mark to prevent me from having a "real heir." As she casually unplugged my life support, my world went black.
The silence was deafening, the betrayal immense and crushing. I couldn't comprehend such calculated cruelty, and the pain left me paralyzed in my own body, unable to scream.
But then, a blinding light, a familiar voice, and I gasped, sucking in air that didn' t feel like it came from a machine. I was back in my parents' living room, staring at Mark Peterson, kneeling before me with a velvet box, proposing. It was the day my miserable past life began, and this time, I wouldn't let it. Justice Served Cold
LGBT+ My 18th birthday was supposed to be a celebration, a chance for my biological family, the Hewitts, to finally accept me.
Living in their lavish Napa Valley winery, I desperately hoped for their love, despite being cast aside for their adopted daughter, Nicole.
But the party turned into a nightmare when Nicole burst in, smeared with fake blood, dramatically accusing me of hiring men to hurt her.
The room erupted.
My "parents" looked at me with disgust, my brother Andrew, the one I' d longed for a bond with, unleashed his fury.
He beat me, kicking me as I collapsed, while my father watched indifferently and my mother prepared to institutionalize me.
They dragged me out like trash, sending me to Dr. Albright' s "behavioral correction facility" – a private asylum for inconvenient children.
I felt a deeper pain than any physical blow; the betrayal was absolute, the injustice unbearable.
How could they believe such a monstrous lie? How could my own family turn on me so viciously, so easily?
They broke Molly there, with every needle and shock, every whispered lie, until, on the brink of sexual assault, her gentle spirit gave way.
But a whisper echoed in my mind: "Stella… make them pay."
That night, Molly died, and I, Stella, was born, ready to exact a chilling revenge. My Second Death, My Second Chance
Young Adult I died once trying to be a hero.
It was after high school graduation, at Brad Thompson' s notorious "End of the World Bash" lake party.
I warned everyone about the spiked punch and Brad's predatory nature, but my girlfriend Tiffany scoffed, and my childhood friend Sarah, blinded by her crush on Brad, turned away.
They went, everyone went, except me.
Later, Sarah blamed me for ruining her shot with Brad; one rainy Tuesday, she found me and ended my first life with a knife.
Then, I woke up, gasping, back in my high school bedroom, reliving the day Brad would announce his party.
I wasn't dead.
But then I saw Sarah in the hallway.
She remembered everything too.
And her already dangerous obsession with Brad had intensified, chillingly so.
"This time, I' m going to be by Brad' s side. No matter what," she whispered, a promise that sent shivers down my spine.
I tried to avert disaster, to warn everyone away from that party, but Tiffany broke up with me for being a 'buzzkill.'
Brad' s jock friends cornered me, forcing me to attend.
I desperately tried to record Brad admitting his punch was spiked, but they caught me.
Brad had his goons lock me in the boathouse, just before the cops raided.
But instead of being safe, it was worse.
Sarah pointed at me, claiming, "He' s the one who brought the spiked punch!"
Tiffany and Brad quickly corroborated her lie.
I was arrested, charged with felony drug distribution, for something I had fought to prevent.
My childhood friend, now my accuser, was willing to destroy my life to preserve her twisted fantasy with Brad.
Her obsession was a cancer, eating away at her humanity, and I was caught directly in its malignant path.
Was this second chance just another slow, agonizing death, orchestrated by the very person who ended my first?
My confiscated phone might hold hidden fragments of truth.
Could those damaged recordings be my only proof, my sole hope to prove my innocence and change a grim fate once more? My Perfect Marriage, His Secret Sons
Romance My life with Ethan Hayes was the American dream: a brilliant tech visionary, a devoted husband, and a seemingly perfect marriage.
He built her a state-of-the-art lab, named a literacy program after her, and swore he'd walk away from everything for her.
I believed him, utterly, deeply, until I stumbled upon a hidden folder on his laptop.
There, I found photos of Chloe Van Doren holding two baby boys, clearly Ethan's sons, his secret family.
Dates on the pictures stretched back over a year, overlapping perfectly with our "perfect" marriage.
The horror of his betrayal was matched only by the shocking truth she carried: I was also pregnant with his child, a dream now turned into a nightmare.
Every loving gesture, every tender word, every shared memory was instantly poisoned by his calculated deceit.
How could the man I loved be so captivatingly charming, yet so utterly, viciously deceptive?
I was trapped in a gilded cage of his lies, my trust shattered beyond repair.
I couldn't just walk away and be free; his control ran too deep.
So, I had to choose a more extreme escape plan.
I had to vanish, leaving behind nothing but a tragic, staged death. You might like
Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. 
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