Huang Xiaohuai
10 Published Stories
Huang Xiaohuai's Books and Stories
Apocalypse Rebirth: Reclaiming My Infinite Space
Modern I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry. The Day I Caught Him Cheating, I Married Another
Modern I walked into my apartment dripping wet from the rain, only to hear a guttural moan coming from the bedroom. I told myself it was just the TV, but my shaking hands could barely fit the key into the lock.
When the door swung open, I saw a pair of red stilettos on the floor and my fiancé's favorite silk tie discarded like trash. I pushed the bedroom door open to find Javon in our bed with another woman, the sheets I had just washed two days ago tangled around them.
Instead of apologizing, Javon looked at me with a sneer and barked, "You don't know how to knock?" He claimed he paid the bills, even though I worked double shifts just to keep the lights on while he chased a promotion he'd never get.
When I slapped him, he didn't show remorse-he called me a "stupid bitch" and lunged at me with a look of pure malice. My life was a total wreck; my fiancé was a cheater, and my grandmother was about to be kicked out of her nursing home because I was forty dollars short of the payment.
I felt like I was falling off a cliff with no one to catch me. Why was the man I loved treating me like a cockroach in my own home? Just as Javon moved to strike me, a shadow fell over the room. A man in an expensive black trench coat stood in the doorway, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the room.
It was Carmine Wilkinson, a man I had never met but whose terrifying calm made my heart stop. He didn't look at the trash on the bed; he only looked at me. He handed me a monogrammed handkerchief and asked one simple, brutal question.
"Do you want revenge?"
I nodded, desperate for any lifeline in the middle of my imploding world. He didn't offer me a shoulder to cry on; he looked me in the eye and gave me an ultimatum that would change my life forever.
"Good. Get your ID. We're going to City Hall." The Algorithm of His Ruin
Sci-fi My name is Sarah Miller, and I built an empire for the man I loved. AuraTech, David Chen' s tech company, was on the brink of collapse until I rescued it by writing the core algorithm that became its foundation. He promised me the world in return.
Now, he' s a tech titan, and I' m a prisoner, framed for corporate espionage-the very crime he committed against my family. He had me locked away in a remote, high-tech detention facility while he and his new fiancée, Chloe Davis, flaunted the smart-fabric made from my stolen family designs.
Chloe, David' s fiancée, arrived to mock me, wearing a dress made from my stolen code. She reveled in telling me how David not only stole my family' s unique textile archives but then crushed their business, turning their legacy into marketable assets for AuraTech. Everything they treasured was gone, destroyed by the man I loved.
The pain intensified when I recalled the truth I discovered just before my arrest: I was pregnant with David' s child. The stress of his betrayal and my imprisonment led to a miscarriage. Yet, in front of me, David coolly ordered the deletion of my family' s digital archives, knowing they contained the ultrasound scans and heartbeat recording of our baby. He erased our child.
He believed he had broken my spirit, but he was wrong. Fuelled by unimaginable grief and rage, I activated the fail-safe I had hidden in AuraTech' s core code. The digital curse, woven through every system and product built on my stolen work, would turn his triumph into a torment, making all who celebrated his fraud into living antennas for my pain. Betrayal's Echo: A Wife's Revenge
Sci-fi Dr. Evelyn Reed had finally done it.
Three years of relentless work, the neural interface cure for her paralyzed husband, Ethan, was a success.
A triumphant smile touched her lips as she reached for her phone to share the life-changing news.
But an email caught her eye, a cheerful invitation that turned her world to ice.
"Dr. Ethan Vance and Miss Tiffany Reed request the pleasure of your company at the celebration of their marriage."
Ethan. Her husband. Tiffany. Her own niece.
It was a sick joke, a complete error, yet the high-end Parisian wedding agency confirmed its legitimacy.
Her joy evaporated, replaced by a cold dread as she drove through the night, a ghost to a celebration she was never meant to see.
She saw him there, standing, whole, laughing, with Tiffany tucked into his arm, radiant in white.
He kissed her, a tender kiss meant for the world to see, and Evelyn' s world tilted off its axis.
Then she heard them talking, overheard their cruel confessions: he had always loved Tiffany, while Evelyn was merely "a necessary step," "a convenient solution."
The man she had sacrificed everything for, the man who had promised his undying love, had been betraying her for two years with her own blood.
The pain of betrayal, the hollowness of her sacrifice, the absolute injustice of it all, left her hollowed out, empty of tears.
She watched him walk away from her in the hospital, choosing Tiffany, right after a fire, right after she found out a bomb, orchestrated by Tiffany, nearly killed her.
This wasn't a love triangle; it was a war, and she was losing.
Driven by a quiet, ice-cold resolve, Evelyn began to fight back. The Medal of Honor: A Father's Fight
Modern The whistle blew, but the hit came a second later-a sickening crunch that echoed across the field.
I watched my son, Caleb, collapse, his dreams of a football scholarship shattering with his knee.
Ryan Blakely, the star linebacker from the town' s wealthiest, most powerful family, stood over him, flexing, a sneer on his face.
Then his father, Mr. Blakely, offered me a paltry sum to sign an NDA, dismissing the career-ending injury as an "in-game accident," outright threatening my livelihood if I didn't comply, all while the corrupt sheriff and coach turned a blind eye.
I saw my son's spirit break as he was mocked on crutches, and I realized nobody would help; the system was rigged.
But then, I remembered a promise, a fading beacon in the dark: a general, Maria' s commanding officer, who once told me, "We don't leave our own behind," after handing me my Medal of Honor wife' s medal.
With nothing left to lose, I clutched that medal and drove toward a military base, hoping a general's word still meant something. The Brewery Heiress's Reckoning
Romance The first thing I remembered from my last life was the smell.
Stale beer, blood, and the cheap, cloying perfume Jenna always wore.
I was on the cold concrete floor of my brewery, my head bleeding, watching my fiancé, Liam, kiss my best friend, Jenna.
They had just pushed me.
'Is she dead?' Jenna asked, pulling away.
'Doesn' t matter,' Liam said, his voice cold.
'With her gone, the brewery is ours.
Her parents will be lost.'
They left me there to die.
In that life, their betrayal led to my family' s ruin and my own demise, bled dry by their endless demands for 'business expenses' that were really just lavish trips and gifts.
I perished, feeling the bitter sting of ultimate betrayal and injustice.
But then, I somehow returned.
I was staring at that same man, my fiancé Liam, very much alive, standing in my parents' living room.
He was giving me the exact same ultimatum, demanding my family' s money for his 'Master Brewer program' and Jenna' s living expenses.
This was the moment I chose him over my family last time.
The moment I signed their death warrant and my own.
Not this time.
This time, the memory of my own blood on the brewery floor was a burning clarity.
This time, Liam and Jenna would pay.
This time, I' m strong enough to fight back. Framed No More: My Vengeful Rebirth
Modern I was at that awful class reunion, the air thick with fake smiles and bitter memories.
Jessica' s sneering laughter echoed in my ears, and then, a crushing pain in my chest.
Darkness.
I was dead.
Not a peaceful passing, but a final, bitter end to a life they' d stolen.
Mike Johnson, my childhood friend, and his toxic girlfriend, Jessica Smith, had meticulously orchestrated my downfall years ago.
They framed me for hacking, shattered my dreams of a Stanford scholarship, and left me with dead-end jobs and a broken spirit.
My death at that reunion was just the cruel crescendo of their lifelong amusement at my expense.
The injustice burned hotter than any physical pain.
Why did I have to suffer for their venomous games?
Why was my future stolen, and they got away scot-free?
The sheer, unfair waste of it all.
Then, sunlight streamed through my bedroom window.
My old room, exactly as it was before everything went wrong.
My hands, seventeen again.
I wasn't just back in time, I was back, a second chance.
But a chilling notification on my phone confirmed my worst fear.
"Did you see it? Mike and Jessica at the game last night!"
They were back too.
And they remembered.
They thought they had a cheat code to life.
They were wrong.
This time, I was ready. My Fall and The Billionaire's Fall
Modern Our anniversary was supposed to be a night of celebration, a quiet evening in our Brooklyn brownstone, cementing the perfect life my husband Ethan and I had built.
But a sudden fall down our dimly lit stairs ripped that perfect facade apart, plunging me into darkness and pain.
In the sterile blur of the Manhattan hospital, drifting in and out of consciousness, I heard my husband' s voice, clear and cold, talking to a doctor: "The increased sedative dose is my directive... She won't feel it... The fetus is viable, but proceed with the induction... It's critical for Liam's formal introduction to the Miller Family Foundation."
Our baby, gone. My legs, paralyzed. Ethan' s sorrow felt too practiced, too deep. As I lay 'unconscious,' I overheard him tell his lawyer something monstrous: the fall wasn' t an accident; it was orchestrated. My baby' s death, planned. My paralysis, a consequence he accepted. All for a child named Liam, and a debt to a woman named Olivia.
My entire marriage was a meticulously crafted lie, my life a pawn in his ruthless game. How could the man who promised me forever shatter my world so utterly, all for a 'debt' and a hidden son, ensuring I could never have children again?
But beneath the feigned despair, a steel resolve took root. They thought I was broken and gone. They were about to learn that Sarah Miller doesn' t break, she rebuilds – and she comes back for everything they took. His Sister's Last Gift
Fantasy As a successful surgeon, I, Michael, dedicated my life to my chosen sister, Chloe, whose critical lung condition required a transplant.
My biological sister, Sarah, however, remained nothing but a painful, inconvenient burden, ignored and resented for years.
Terminally ill and near death, Sarah made a final, desperate call from her hospital bed, her voice weak as she tried to say goodbye.
My only response?
A chilling, impatient "If you're not dead, stop bothering me!" before I hung up.
I dismissed every subsequent plea from her university, every warning about her rapidly deteriorating health, convinced she was just a "drama queen" faking for attention.
Even when her name appeared on the critical admissions list at the very hospital where Chloe was scheduled for her life-saving surgery, I coldly scoffed, "She's doing this to ruin my day."
How could I, a healer, allow such a festering hatred to consume me, built on a lie I blindly believed for years?
The sheer, crushing weight of Sarah's silent suffering and my monstrous indifference hangs over me, a chilling testament to my unforgivable cruelty.
But then, the unimaginable truth was slammed into my reality: the anonymous donor who saved Chloe's life was none other than Sarah.
In a single, devastating moment, her ultimate sacrifice exposed the agonizing depths of my abandonment, shattering my carefully constructed world and setting me on a course of inescapable, public ruin. You might like
The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk's office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk's pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray's text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we're done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray's life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge
Xiao Hong Mao I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go.
The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside.
The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal.
I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate.
But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone.
"Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands."
The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak. 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." Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle
Ming Yue Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.
I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.
I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he’d dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family’s land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.
I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.
"If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned.
So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell—the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.
Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I’ve suspended Hugh’s executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I’m just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout.
But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back. 
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