Hua Jian
12 Published Stories
Hua Jian's Books and Stories
Buried Alive: Her Unbroken Spirit
Modern Ten years ago, they buried me alive. My fiancé Jake and my adoptive brother Alon had me committed, framing me as insane to cover up his affair with my family's long-lost biological daughter, Corina.
They erased me from their perfect lives, painting me as a danger to myself and others. While I was left drugged and broken in a psychiatric facility, he married her, securing his connection to our family's power and launching his political career.
But I survived. I rebuilt a quiet life from the ashes, finding peace in a small bookstore by the sea. This was my sanctuary.
Until today.
They walked through my door, shattering a decade of silence. Jake, now a powerful District Attorney aiming for the Senate, stared at me, his composure cracking.
"Chandler?"
I met his gaze, my voice cold and steady, the voice I used for any stranger.
"Can I help you?" The Roommate Pact: No Strings Attached
Romance Brendon Hampton was known across Manhattan as the ultimate "Simp," a wealthy tag-along who allowed shallow socialites to treat him like high-end furniture just to drown out the ghost of his past. For months, he played the part of a human ATM for Gloria Talley, paying for five-star dinners at Le Coucou while she ignored his existence to edit her Instagram photos. He was a man hiding behind a mask of performative degradation, using the shallow noise of the elite to bury the memory of the only girl he had ever truly loved.
The mask finally shattered during a three-hundred-dollar dinner when Brendon realized he couldn't play the fool for one more second. He left Gloria with a massive bill, blocked her on every platform, and moved into a luxury off-campus apartment to start over. But when he opened the door to Unit 4B, the air turned to lead. Standing in the living room was Kiera Richards—the girl he had ghosted a year ago during his father’s high-profile SEC scandal, and the one person he was never supposed to see again.
The reunion was a nightmare of cold stares and jagged silence. Kiera wasn't the laughing girl he remembered; she was a hollowed-out version of herself, an "Ice Queen" who looked at him with pure loathing. Because of a university housing glitch and a twelve-thousand-dollar lease penalty, they were trapped together in a four-wall cage. Kiera dropped a bombshell that leveled him: his disappearance hadn't just broken her heart; it had caused a mental breakdown that cost her a spot at Juilliard and her entire career as a violinist.
Brendon had to endure her hatred every day, unable to explain that his "betrayal" involved federal agents seizing his phone and his father suffering a heart attack. He was forced to watch her move through the apartment like a stranger, adhering to a strict pact of silence and secrecy. She treated him like a biohazard, demanding he stay on his side of the room and never speak her name. He was the villain in her story, and the weight of her trauma was a penance he didn't think he could survive.
"We do not talk. Ever," she had warned him, her voice trembling with a year's worth of unvented rage.
Everything changed during a violent Manhattan storm that plunged the apartment into total darkness. As the thunder shook the windows, the "Ice Queen" mask finally cracked, and Kiera collapsed into his arms, terrified of the dark. In the shadows, Brendon realized the pact was a lie. Despite her accusations and the year of silence, she was still wearing the silver necklace he’d given her for her eighteenth birthday. The war wasn't over, but as he held her in the blackout, Brendon knew he wasn't just a roommate anymore—he was a man who would do anything to earn back the soul he had destroyed. He Faked Death, I Married The Don
Mafia I was arranging white lilies on the cold marble of my husband's grave when I saw a ghost.
Walking through the cemetery gates was a man who looked exactly like my dead husband, Dante.
Logic said it was his twin brother, Matteo. But a wife knows the slope of a man's shoulders. She knows the arrogant tilt of his chin.
My husband hadn't been blown up in a car bomb three years ago.
He had faked his death to steal his brother's rank, his fortune, and his mistress.
For three years, I had forced our son, Leo, to kiss a photograph goodnight. We lived in a damp, peeling apartment, surviving on the "charity" of the Family.
Meanwhile, Dante was living in a mansion, driving cars that cost more than my life, playing house with another woman.
When he came to our cramped apartment to drop off the monthly "pension" money, pretending to be Uncle Matteo, he didn't look at me with love. He looked at his watch.
When Leo ran to hug him, shouting "Papa," Dante peeled the boy's small arms off his expensive suit like he was removing a piece of lint.
"Don't call me that," he snapped. "I am your Uncle."
My grief turned into ice. He chose another woman's comfort over his own son's hunger.
I grabbed Leo's hand and walked out the door.
"You walk away, and you get nothing!" Dante shouted after me. "You'll be on the street!"
I didn't stop. I walked straight to the black SUV idling at the curb.
The window rolled down, revealing Salvatore Vitiello. The Don. The most lethal man in the city.
"Get in, Elena," he commanded.
I opened the door and slid onto the leather seat next to the devil himself.
As we drove away, leaving my husband in the dust, I realized I had just traded a liar for a killer.
And I didn't regret it for a second. The Mafia Don's Regret: Torturing His True Savior
Modern My husband crushed the metacarpals of my left hand—my drawing hand—with a heavy leather-bound book.
This was Punishment Ninety-Six.
The offense? I had missed a single phone call from my stepsister, Joyce.
According to Don Austen Ballard, ignoring the woman who allegedly saved his life fifteen years ago was akin to high treason.
"Discipline is the highest form of love, Alana," he whispered, watching the violet bruise spread across my skin.
He calls shattering an architect's hand "love."
He believes Joyce dragged him from a burning building when he was a boy. He treats her like a living saint and me like a punching bag to pay his life debt.
But it is all a lie.
Fifteen years ago, Joyce was at a cheerleading camp three towns away.
I was the one in that crawlspace.
I was the one who found the bleeding boy in the dark.
I was the one who called him "Stellen" because he was too terrified to tell me his real name.
He has spent our entire marriage torturing his true savior to please a fraud.
Tonight, the pain finally burned away my fear, leaving only cold resolve.
I didn't cry.
I waited until the house was silent, then I retrieved a burner phone hidden in a false bottom of a box in the bathroom.
I dialed the number of his sworn enemy, Don Dalton Underwood.
"I have the blueprints," I said, my voice steady despite the agony in my hand. "And I have the controlling shares of Ballard Industries. I'm ready to burn his kingdom to ash." Finding Love In A Scripted Betrayal
Modern I was the black sheep of the wealthy Jenkins family, the villain in my adopted sister Jami's perfect story. Everyone adored her, the sweet, innocent heroine. I was just the difficult one.
Then, a system uploaded itself into my brain, showing me the script of my life. It wasn't just a story where I was the bad guy-it was a detailed blueprint for my entire family's destruction, all orchestrated by Jami.
The script showed how she would drive one brother to suicide, frame another for a crime he didn't commit, and leave me for a gruesome "accidental" death, making her the sole heir to their fortune.
My family saw her as an angel. They were completely blind, worshiping the very monster who was plotting to bury them all.
But the system that showed me this horrifying future also gave me a weapon. It let me hear their thoughts.
And then, at the family gala, I realized something even better.
They could hear mine. Seven Years, One Heartbreak, New Love
Modern For seven years, I was the perfect girlfriend to Hollywood star Ethan Cleveland. I put my life on hold, baked his favorite pastries, and silently endured the online hate from fans who wanted him with his co-star, Keira.
Then came my 29th birthday. He said he had a late-night script meeting, but I discovered the truth: he was at a private clinic, comforting Keira as she confessed her feelings for him.
He publicly defended Keira from online harassment, calling for kindness. But when I received death threats from his fans, he called me "dramatic" and "insecure."
He was capable of empathy and protection, just never for me. The man who claimed to love me was systematically destroying my self-worth while playing the hero for the world.
So I left. And when he finally tracked me down, trying to reclaim what he'd lost, I did something I never thought I would. I turned to the new man by my side-the one who truly saw me-and kissed him right in front of my ex. My Heart's Last, Bitter Goodbye
Modern The doctor told me I had weeks to live. But the real death sentence was seeing my fiancé's hand slip into my best friend's outside the hospital room. They thought I didn't see.
They had already turned my little brother against me, the boy I raised. He called her "Mom" now.
At their engagement party, held in my house and paid for with my money, he looked me in the eye.
"I hate you!"
My own family praised her for being a "natural mother," while the world celebrated their love story. They saw a weak, dying woman, too broken to fight back. They thought they had won.
So I gave them everything they wanted-my company, my fortune, my blessing. But I also left behind one final gift, a dead woman's last words. When I die, they will inherit my empire, but they will be forever branded by a legacy of eternal shame. Too Late for Her Regrets
Romance The world came back in pieces: gasoline, twisted metal, and a searing pain in my leg. Through the shattered windshield, I saw my wife, Olivia, scramble not to me, her injured husband, but to the passenger door, frantic over our "assistant," Liam.
She cradled his head, her voice filled with a tenderness she hadn't shown me in years. "Liam? Liam, can you hear me? Oh my god, you're bleeding." Ignoring my gasps, she finally looked at me with pure irritation: "Ethan. Your phone. Call an ambulance. Liam is hurt."
The cold clarity hit me: I didn't exist for her. Then, in the hospital, I learned my leg was shattered, and Olivia's first words concerned the hospital bill, not my well-being. Liam, she announced, was out with a concussion, making our household a "disaster." I was just a logistical problem.
As she left, a nurse brought "my favorite chicken soup," supposedly from Olivia. But Liam's Instagram later showed the identical thermos, captioned: "Best boss in the world! Nothing like Olivia's homemade chicken soup to make you feel better." It was never for me.
The final blow came when I found a positive pregnancy test and a receipt for a "Surgical Procedure" in Olivia's hidden box, dated the same week she claimed a "solo business retreat." She'd been pregnant with Liam's child and terminated it, all while pushing me to continue IVF.
The numbness shattered. My marriage, my decade of love, was a cruel, pathetic joke. Now, amidst the wreckage of my shattered life, I picked up my phone, my hands steady, and dialed the fertility clinic, then a divorce lawyer. It was time for my truth. The Gilded Cage: Her Fierce Escape
Billionaires My world revolved around the resonant strings of my cello and the man I loved, Ethan.
Even after the devastating miscarriage, I tried to find solace in music, in the quiet rhythm of our opulent New York life.
But that life shattered on a single, horrific night.
Ethan claimed he wanted to cheer me up with a party, but it was a trap.
As his "associates" brutalized me, he stood by, silently recording every agonizing detail.
He used the footage to force a divorce and strip me of everything.
The video went viral, branding me a "sick debauchee" and turning my family against me.
I was a pariah, utterly alone.
Then, Caleb, Ethan's rival, emerged, offering solace and protection.
I fell into his arms, believing him my savior, only to discover on our wedding day that he was the true architect of my public humiliation, the one who purposefully leaked the video to snag me.
My gilded cage marriage to Caleb was a new hell.
He subjected me to constant psychological torture, culminating in the ultimate public re-traumatization: replaying my complete, unedited assault video at a high-society charity gala for everyone to see.
Broken and hollow, I became a captive ghost in my own life.
How could I be so completely betrayed, not once, but twice, by the men closest to me?
The raw injustice, the ceaseless pain, threatened to consume me.
What unspeakable darkness festered beneath the surface of their ambition, driving them to destroy me so utterly?
Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, a call from my revered cello maestro ignited a faint, burning ember of hope.
He called me a phoenix and promised not just survival, but an inferno of revenge.
My destruction had merely been the prelude to a symphony of retribution. He Tortured, Her Unexpected
Romance Three years in gilded-cage Florence. Now I was back in Napa Valley, clutching my wedding invitation. My adoptive parents had exiled me with a brutal command: "Don't come back until Ethan is purged from your heart." I was here to marry Noah Williams, Ethan's best friend, proving I had moved on from my devastating, unrequited love for my adoptive brother.
But then I saw him, at his family vineyard, his new, very public actress girlfriend, Brooke, clinging to him. He smirked, pulled her into a passionate kiss right in front of me, then scoffed when I presented my invitation. He ripped it to shreds, calling it a "pathetic stunt" to get his attention.
From that moment, his cruelty, fueled by Brooke's manipulative games, became relentless. At poolside parties, at my final dress fitting, they mocked my engagement, fabricating lies, even allowing Brooke to physically harm me. He believed every accusation, every feigned sob, leaving me injured and humiliated. "Stop the theatrics, Ava," he'd sneered, ignoring my bleeding arm, rushing Brooke to safety over a minor scratch. My own adoptive parents silently approved of my torment, concerned only with their perfect family image.
How could the boy who once protected me become this cold, heartless stranger? Why did he refuse to believe I had moved on? Every act of cruelty, every dismissal, twisted the knife of a love I was desperate to bury. My past with him was a nightmare that wouldn't end.
On my wedding day, just before the ceremony, he abandoned me yet again for Brooke's false emergency, convinced I wouldn't go through with it. But as his car pulled away, a quiet resolve settled within me. His final act of abandonment was my true release. I was finally free. And he would never have power over me again. Escape From His Perfect Lie
Romance Everyone envied my life.
I was Sarah Miller, the picture-perfect wife of high-tech CEO Ethan Hayes – a modern power couple, constantly featured in glossy magazines.
Publicly, he was my adoring husband, showering me with grand gestures. It looked like a dream.
But behind the scenes, I discovered a nightmare.
Hidden on his private cloud, disguised as corporate files, were explicit photos and messages.
My husband, Ethan, and his ambitious Head of Communications, Chloe Vance.
He called me "The Anchor," his "dutiful, boring wife," a deadweight holding him back.
When confronted, he didn' t deny; he gaslighted.
"You' re just stressed, Sarah. After everything I' ve done." He weaponized my father' s illness, reminding me how he' d "saved" me, built "this life for us," how I "owed" him.
The betrayal was no momentary lapse; it was a brazen, parallel life, constantly flaunted by Chloe' s smug social media posts.
I realized I was suffocating in a beautiful, empty museum, a gilded cage.
His "sacrifices" and "kindnesses" weren't love; they were chains. He twisted my vulnerability into perpetual debt.
The man the world adored was a monster, and my "perfect" life was a suffocating lie. How could I escape?
Then, a thick envelope arrived.
A letter from an estranged, wealthy grandmother I barely knew, naming me the beneficiary of a colossal family trust. This was it. My way out.
I was done being his accessory.
I was done being Sarah Hayes. No Second Chance With My Past
LGBT+ I thought leaving Hollywood, branded a plagiarist and heartbroken, would bury the past forever.
My film school dream, "Desert Bloom," was supposed to be my triumph, a shared vision with Isabella Hayes, my muse and first love.
Instead, it became my ruin, as Isabella, seduced by Julian Vance, the slick heir of a rival studio, coldly betrayed me.
She stood on stage, her voice trembling with feigned sincerity, publicly accusing me of stealing my own script, conceived in our golden days.
The humiliation was a physical agony, a death sentence for my nascent career, forcing me to flee to Europe a broken man.
How could the woman who once looked at me like I held the stars in my hands, surrender our shared dream, our love, for a manipulative con artist?
I rebuilt my life from the ashes, finding solace in a new career, a loving wife, Olivia, and our beautiful daughter, Lily, who became my anchor.
But now, years later, the past has crashed back.
I'm back at my old school, and Isabella, the architect of my ruin, is here too, brazenly trying to rewrite history.
She's publicly proposing we "reunite" to finally make "Desert Bloom," attempting to reclaim a story she deliberately destroyed.
She expects me to play along, to let her manipulate my narrative, to fall back into her toxic orbit.
She has no idea about the life I've painstakingly built, or how fiercely I will protect it.
Tonight, the ghost of my past will finally face the undeniable truth of my present. You might like
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!" 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." 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." 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." 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. Destiny's Choice: Married The Man They Called Unlovable
Lila Rivers Sophie stepped in for her sister and married a man known for his disfigured looks and reckless past.
On their wedding day, his family turned their backs on him, and the town laughed behind their hands, certain the marriage would collapse.
But Sophie's career soared, and their love only deepened.
Later, during a high-profile event, the CEO of some conglomerate took off his mask, revealing Sophie's husband to be a global sensation.
***
Adrian had no interest in his arranged wife and had disguised himself in hopes she would bail.
But when Sophie tried to walk away, Adrian broke down and whispered, "Please, Sophie, don't go. One kiss, and I'll give you the world." 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. 
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