Jing Jing
11 Published Stories
Jing Jing's Books and Stories
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
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. 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. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother
EVA PINK I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.
"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."
His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.
For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.
But then I found the truth.
I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.
"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."
He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.
He was wrong.
I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.
"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.
"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's." 
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