Jing Jing
12 Published Stories
Jing Jing's Books and Stories
I Left The Jester For The King
Mafia "Little Siren: I miss your hands on me."
That message lit up the screen of a burner phone I found in my fiancé's jacket pocket while he was in the shower.
Franco Moretti, the rising star of the Vitiello crime family, treated me like a fragile glass doll. He claimed he was "saving himself" for our wedding night out of respect.
But the phone told a different story.
I unlocked it and found three years of betrayal.
It wasn't just a fling. It was Camilla, a girl from high school I had befriended out of pity.
I watched their history unfold. He complained that I was cold. He called me a statue.
Then I saw the invoice.
He had bought two identical pink diamond engagement rings. One for me, and one for her.
Worse, he had stolen my grandmother' s heirloom jade bracelet-a piece of history meant for his bride-and given it to his mistress.
"I need her name to get the chair," he texted her. "You are my true Queen."
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I realized I wasn't a person to him; I was a ladder.
Leaving him would be too easy. Leaving is what victims do.
I walked to my laptop and opened a new document. I wasn't just going to cancel the wedding. I was going to broadcast his ruin to the entire underworld, and our wedding would be my stage.
Then, I picked up the phone and dialed the one number my father forbade me to call.
"I accept," I told the deep voice on the other end.
"You understand what you are agreeing to, Gianna?" Enzo Falcone asked.
"I understand," I said, looking at the New York skyline.
"You want an alliance. I want a weapon." The Jilted Mafia Heiress Takes It All
Mafia I stood at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, the daughter of New York’s most feared Don, ready to lower myself to marry a common soldier.
Then, a toddler in the front pew shrieked, "Daddy."
Liam didn't squeeze my hand for reassurance. He dropped it like it was a branding iron. In front of five hundred of the criminal elite, he ran down the aisle, scooping up his secret child and the mistress who had been blackmailing him.
He left me standing there, humiliated and alone.
Three months later, the "Jilted Princess" title still clung to me. Yet, Liam had the audacity to bring her to my father's birthday gala.
Sarah, wearing a dress far too tight and a smug smile, cornered me in the middle of the ballroom. She wanted to twist the knife.
"He hates you, you know," she screamed, loud enough for the Dons and Capos to hear. "He says sleeping with you was like sleeping with a statue. He chose real love! He chose a family!"
The room went deathly silent. Liam looked at me with pity, thinking he had won. He thought I was broken. He thought I was alone.
I took a slow sip of my champagne and set the glass down.
"I am not alone, Sarah," I said calmly.
I turned toward the shadows near the entrance.
"Ethan?" I called out.
The crowd parted instantly for the scarred, lethal man who stepped forward—The Ghost of Chicago, the most feared Underboss in Europe.
He walked over and wrapped a heavy, possessive arm around my waist.
"I’d like you to meet my husband," I told a horrified Liam. "And our daughter is waiting upstairs." Fired My Fiance, Claimed My Empire
Modern I went undercover as a trainee in my own hotel, a secret pact with my fiancé, Greyson, the hotel's General Manager. We were supposed to be building an empire together. But our future ended the moment he chose another woman over me.
He let a manipulative socialite named Imogen terrorize our staff. She deliberately scalded my hand with hot coffee, and when I stood up to her, Greyson publicly humiliated me.
On a speakerphone call with the city's mayor, he demanded I apologize.
"Apologize to Ms. Short," his voice boomed for the entire staff to hear. "This kind of disrespect is unacceptable."
My fiancé, the man I loved, had just ordered me to kneel before the woman who assaulted me.
So I dropped my disguise.
I revealed my true identity as the heiress to the Kerr hotel empire and said, "Greyson Holden, you're fired. Get out of my hotel." I'm Not Blind Anymore!
Romance The screech of tires, then a blinding impact. I shoved my fiancée, Chloe, out of the way, taking the full force of the crash. I woke in darkness, my world reduced to a black void. "I can't see," I whispered, panic rising. Chloe promised she' d be my eyes, my guide, my unwavering support, swearing we'd still marry. I clung to her words, my only light in that crushing darkness.
Weeks later, a flicker. A tiny spark in the blackness. My sight was returning, painstakingly slow, but I kept it a secret. I became an observer in my own home, a blind man who could see everything. And what I saw shattered my world.
One evening, Chloe' s brother-in-law, Ryan, came for dinner. I watched, pretending to be oblivious, as he snaked his arm around Chloe' s waist, pulling her close. Then he kissed her. A deep, hungry kiss. She kissed him back. My fiancée.
Later, from the couch, pretending to be asleep, I heard their whispers from the balcony. "The accident was a stroke of genius, Ry. It worked better than we could have hoped." My blood ran cold. "He's so dependent now," Chloe sneered. "A blind fool. He signed over power of attorney to me last week." Ryan' s voice, greedy, "And the inheritance from his parents?" "Massive," she breathed. "Once we're married, it's all ours." The car crash wasn't an accident. They tried to kill me, or at least incapacitate me, for my money.
My love for her died. The betrayal was a physical blow, leaving only cold, hard fury. They thought they had broken me. They thought I was a helpless victim. They were wrong. I would continue to be the blind man, observe their treachery, and on our wedding day, I would bring it all crashing down. This wasn't just about justice. This was about revenge. From Shadow Dad to Empire Heir
Billionaires For five years, I lived a shadow life, the anonymous architect behind my wife, Sabrina Anderson's, skyrocketing tech empire, and a devoted stay-at-home dad to our son, Caleb.
Tonight, her company' s IPO launch party, was supposed to be our public unveiling, the moment she' d finally acknowledge us, our little "forever home."
But bathed in the spotlight, she introduced her ex-boyfriend and his son as her new "family."
My heart nearly burst as Caleb, our five-year-old, ran to her, holding the miniature house he' d built, only for her to shove him away, her voice cutting like ice: "Who let this strange child in here?"
Caleb collapsed, his small hand clutching his chest-his heart condition flaring.
As Wesley' s spoiled son viciously kicked him, Sabrina slapped me, hissing, "You brought this misbehaving child to ruin my night? Get out!"
With her cruel words echoing, Caleb' s last whisper, "I'm a nobody," tore through me, just before his little body went limp.
He was gone.
How could the woman I loved, the mother of my child, discard us so brutally?
How could she celebrate her triumph while our son lay dying?
The world had seen her as a hero, but I knew her as a monster.
Consumed by a grief that curdled into ice-cold fury, I made a call I swore I' d never make-to the powerful father I' d abandoned a decade ago.
Now, Ethan Anderson was dead.
Ethan Wright, heir to a formidable empire, was coming back, and Sabrina Anderson was about to learn the true cost of her betrayal. Reborn in Fire: A Second Chance at Vengeance
Modern My alarm shrieked, a familiar sound that usually meant chaos and camaraderie with my fiancé, Anthony, at Station 51.
But this time, it was a second chance.
In my previous life, a new probie, Sabrina Chavez, claimed to have chilling premonitions.
I scoffed at her "bad feelings" during a warehouse fire, only to witness a section of the roof collapse exactly where she'd warned.
My captain, usually level-headed, and even Anthony, my partner in everything, started believing her.
Then came the day I was benched, branded a jinx by Sabrina' s latest "prophecy."
During a hazmat spill, my team-my family-froze, watching, as chemicals ate through my skin.
Anthony, the man I loved, stood there, paralyzed by Sabrina's terrified gaze, as I screamed for help.
I died alone, betrayed, in a hospital room, not understanding how fear could turn my own crew into murderers.
What secret did Sabrina hold that stripped away their courage, turning them into cold, superstitious strangers who let me burn?
But now, I' m back. The alarm is screaming again, the call is the same, and Sabrina is about to make her first prediction. This time, I' m not just fighting fires; I' m fighting for my life, and I' m taking down everyone who betrayed me. Betrayed by Blood
Young Adult Thanksgiving weekend was just around the corner, and as an intern ranger, I was preparing for what my supervisor, Mark Thorne, called a "mandatory exploratory survey" to Devil's Gulch.
But this seemingly routine assignment was a meticulously planned death trap, set by the man I worked for and the sister I loved.
The rock bit into my back, a sharp pain, then nothing as my climbing rope went slack, sabotaged, as I plummeted into the cold darkness of the crevasse.
Mark's chilling, empty smile was the last thing I saw above me on the narrow ledge, my sister Emily looking away, silent, complicit, as I fought for air.
Killed.
By my own supervisor and the only family I had left, betrayed for reasons I couldn't comprehend as my life vanished in an instant.
Then I jolted awake, not in a freezing abyss, but in my familiar bunk, the comforting scent of pine from my cheap park-issued mattress filling the air.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I touched my face, my arms, realizing there were no broken bones, no blood.
The calendar on the wall screamed at me: three days before that fateful Thanksgiving trip to Devil's Gulch.
I was alive.
It was a memory, vivid, terrifying, but now it was also a warning.
A second chance.
This time, I wouldn't be the naive one; I would protect myself first, and if I could, protect my sister from him and from herself.
I could still stop this.
And I would. His Fatal Plan, Her Flourishing Future
Modern I was just scrolling through a silly online forum, the kind where people ask if they're the bad guy.
My life as a stay-at-home mom felt quiet, a stark contrast to my old marketing career.
Then, an anonymous post caught my eye: "AITA for wanting to trick my nagging wife into a temporary legal separation?"
The man detailed a plan to claim a big overseas job required him to be single, all to leave with his mistress.
A chill went down my spine; it was a nasty, elaborate lie.
The very next morning, my husband Mark, usually so predictable, sat me down, beaming.
He described an amazing overseas job, needing a "temporary separation on paper" for legal reasons.
His exact words mirrored the forum post.
My stomach twisted; this couldn't be happening.
The father of my child, my husband of seven years, was orchestrating this cruel deception.
Later that night, the anonymous poster updated: "She agreed! Now planning to fake my death abroad."
My blood ran cold; he wasn't just leaving, he was vanishing.
Mark had emptied our joint savings, taking every last penny.
He hugged Lily goodbye, promising presents, while I knew he was planning to disappear entirely.
I looked at the man I married, and a cold certainty settled in.
But he had no idea I had my own secret escape fund, carefully built for years.
This wasn't the end of me; it was just the beginning of his undoing. His Toxic Legacy
Modern My seven-year relationship with Mark was a whirlwind of late nights building our startup, a venture I poured my entire life into.
He was my co-founder, my boyfriend, and soon, I thought, my future.
Then, the unthinkable happened: a notification pinged, and Mark was dead, a shocking end to my world.
But before I could even grieve, his pre-recorded video went viral, branding me a "toxic ex" and leaving everything we built to Tiffany, his college obsession.
The internet exploded, a torrent of hate branding me a gold-digger, a villain in his self-authored drama.
His lawyer delivered a cruel letter, demanding I arrange his lavish funeral for Tiffany and financially support his parents who had always treated me like dirt.
I fought, I won my share of the company, but my name was mud, my reputation shattered.
Just as I stepped out of court, vindicated but broken, a monstrous SUV barrelled towards me.
Tiffany knelt over my bleeding body, a serene smile on her face, confessing she' d orchestrated Mark' s death for his money.
The pain was searing, but the rage was absolute – how could I have been so blind, so used, so utterly disposable?
My life, my sacrifices, all meticulously destroyed by the very people I trusted most.
Was this truly my end, a footnote in their cruel game?
Then, a jolt.
I opened my eyes to the thumping bass of a college frat party, years in the past, and saw Mark standing across the room.
I had a second chance.
This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would rewrite every single chapter. Her Voice From The Grave
Horror Five years. That's how long I've been dead, my restless spirit clinging to the humid air of Bayou's Rest, a town now filled with an unsettling disquiet. My former love, Michael, now mayor and married to my sister Jessica, dismisses the eerie whispers as 'superstition,' but his fear is palpable. He hired a 'paranormal expert' to cleanse the bayou, unaware he was about to disturb more than mud.
What the expert unearthed wasn't just ancient trash, but a rotted wooden box containing a chilling secret: my skeletal arms. And with them, a leather-bound journal, my own handwriting detailing my deep love for Michael, his sudden coldness, and my sister Jessica's calculated manipulations. The truth, buried deep, was finally stirring.
Michael's face went ashen, but Jessica, ever the perfect actress, shrieked 'Lies!' painting me as 'unstable,' 'vindictive.' My parents, complicit in her charade, shamefully echoed, 'Sarah was never right. Always making things up.' They reinforced a false narrative, trying to bury my truth, and me, once more.
But the journal held a secret far worse than simple betrayal: Jessica's ultimate motive. She didn't just abandon me to starve in that fishing shack; she murdered me because I was pregnant with Michael' s child. Then, she brutally dismembered me, scattering my remains in a dark ritual to forever bind my spirit. My righteous fury, a cold spot in the bayou, demanded justice.
Only Father Gabriel, with eyes that saw beyond the veil, understood the profound injustice that cursed Bayou's Rest. Driven by an unwavering sense of cosmic imbalance, he set out to uncover every last piece of me, both body and truth, determined to confront Michael, Jessica, and the town with the horrifying reality they tried to deny, no matter the cost. His Secret Son, Her Silent Rage
Modern My life was a picture-perfect dream: a loving husband, Ethan, and our joyful six-year-old daughter, Lily.
That perfect image shattered the day I received a letter stating the impossible: my daughter, Lily, was not biologically mine.
My husband calmly tried to brush it off, but a cold suspicion led me to a hidden recording, revealing his affair with another woman, Veronica, and a chilling secret about our first child, Noah, who I was told died at birth.
The truth was a physical blow: Noah was alive, merely swapped at birth by them, then brutally killed by Veronica, and his tiny body preserved as a specimen.
Ethan had even secretly put me on contraception for years, ensuring I couldn't have more children of my own.
My entire life, every memory, every tender moment, had been a calculated lie engineered by the man I loved, leaving me consumed by a silent, bone-deep rage.
How could someone I trusted so completely orchestrate such an elaborate, monstrous betrayal, all while forcing me to live under their roof, seeing the woman who stole my child?
But amidst the wreckage, a burning resolve ignited: I would stop playing the victim, gather every piece of damning evidence, and systematically dismantle the monster who destroyed my family, piece by agonizing piece. 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.
Burned by Poison, Saved by the Devil
Gale Kaaya My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip. 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. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." 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." Reborn, I Wed the Untamed Playboy
Bone Possolo On my wedding day to Julian Moretti, the future Mafia Don, I was deliberately sent to the wrong penthouse.
My half-sister Sofia had crawled into my fiancé's bed, leaving me to be discovered by the family's exiled, alcoholic cousin.
In my past life, I was shattered by this orchestrated betrayal. I cried and begged when Julian publicly humiliated me, choosing his illegitimate mistress over his rightful bride.
I played the perfect, dignified Mafia wife for years. I swallowed his insults, ignored his infidelities, and accepted my ruined reputation to keep the peace.
But my blind obedience only paved the way for my murder. Julian discarded me, and I was poisoned to death so Sofia could steal my crown as the Mafia Queen.
Until my agonizing last breath, I didn't understand. I had honored our families' blood alliance flawlessly.
Why was I the sacrificial lamb while they were rewarded for their treason?
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the dark leather sofa, suffocating in my heavy silk wedding dress.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I grabbed a heavy brass letter opener, marched straight into the Don's main study, and slapped the Underboss across the face in front of the entire family.
"A Valdez woman does not share her husband," I declared coldly. "To honor the alliance, I will marry Dante."
If they wanted to make my humiliation a fact, I was going to make it a funeral. The Unwanted Fiancée Is A Legend
Waldo Friesinger For three years, I played the role of the submissive, boring fiancée to pay off a blood debt.
My mother gave her kidney to save the Moretti Matriarch, and in return, I was promised to Dante, the heir. A life for a life.
I cleaned his estate and wore his ring while he treated me like furniture.
But my silence only bought me humiliation.
Dante didn't just cheat; he brought his mistress, Roxy, into our home for dinner.
He called me a "glorified housekeeper" on a recording and then broke our engagement via an Instagram post, tagging me to ensure the entire underworld saw my shame.
When I went to return the family crest, they wanted a show.
Roxy mocked me in front of Dante’s soldiers, snatched my mother’s antique jade pendant—the only thing I had left of her—and shattered it on the dirty club floor.
Dante laughed, thinking I was helpless.
They thought I was a hothouse flower who would faint at the smell of exhaust.
They didn't know the "boring" girl had a racing license hidden under the floorboards.
They didn't know I was "Ghost," the legendary underground racer they all bet on.
Roxy handed me a spectator ticket to the Death Race, telling me to watch how the big boys play.
I took the ticket, but I didn't go to the stands.
I walked to the starting line, put on my helmet, and decimated the track record.
When I took off that helmet in the winner's circle, Dante’s face went pale.
And when Lorenzo Falcone, the most dangerous man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to wipe the blood from my hand and claim me as his own, Dante realized the truth.
He hadn't just lost a fiancée.
He had signed his own death warrant. My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. 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. 
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