Jun Wen
8 Published Stories
Jun Wen's Books and Stories
The Mafia Heiress's Scorched Earth Revenge
Mafia I spent a year scrubbing floors in my fiancé’s club, hiding my identity as the daughter of the Capo dei Capi.
I needed to know if Connor Bishop was a King worth merging empires with, or just a puppet.
The answer came walking in wearing a neon pink dress.
Jaden Juarez, a civilian he was infatuated with, didn't just treat me like a servant; she deliberately poured scalding espresso over my hand because I refused to be her valet.
The pain was blinding, my skin blistering instantly.
I video-called Connor, showing him the burn, expecting him to enforce the code of our world.
Instead, seeing his investors watching, he panicked.
He chose to sacrifice me to save face.
"Get on your knees," he roared through the speaker. "Beg her pardon. Show her the respect she deserves."
He wanted the daughter of the most dangerous man on the East Coast to kneel to his mistress.
He thought he was showing strength.
He didn't realize he was looking at a woman who could burn his entire world to ash with a single phone call.
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
I simply hung up the phone and locked the kitchen doors.
Then, I dialed the one number everyone in the underworld feared.
"Dad," I said, my voice cold as steel. "Code Black. Bring the papers."
"And send the wolves." My Mate Rejected Me, So I Married the Alpha King
Werewolf On the night of the Full Moon Banquet, I stood in my mother's white silk dress, waiting for my childhood sweetheart, Chace, to finally claim me as his mate.
Instead, he stood on stage holding another woman's hand.
He didn't just reject me. He humiliated me before the entire pack.
"Ember is gentle," Chace announced, his eyes cold. "But a pack needs strength. She will serve Karyn. And because I am generous, she will stay on as a Breeder."
A mistress. A vessel for pups he would never acknowledge.
To prove his loyalty to his new Luna, Chace forced me to drink Wolfsbane wine.
As I convulsed on the floor, he laughed. He even threatened to dig up my dead mother's bones and feed them to wild dogs because Karyn called her a traitor.
He thought he had broken me.
He didn't know the poison hadn't killed me. It had dissolved the seal on my core, waking up a bloodline thought to be extinct.
I wasn't a weak Omega. I was a White Wolf.
And I had one card left to play—a debt owed to my mother by the Alpha King himself.
I clutched the obsidian token in my pocket and screamed into the mental void.
Keith Mosley, I am calling in the debt.
A dark, ancient voice answered immediately.
I hear you, little wolf. What do you desire?
I looked at Chace's smug face one last time.
Revenge. The Vengeful Ex-Fiancée Returns Strong
Modern On my birthday, I went to the resort I designed to tell my fiancé, Elias, that I was pregnant with his child.
Instead, I found him at the altar, marrying my stepsister in a ceremony officiated by my own mother.
When I confronted him, he laughed. "Pregnant? You're delusional, Aubrie. Kallie is dying, and you're here spreading malicious lies."
My entire family agreed. They called me a jealous monster.
During a wildfire at the resort, he shoved me to the ground to save her, breaking my leg and causing me to lose our baby. They left me there, alone and broken, convinced I was insane.
They thought they had destroyed me.
But from my hospital bed, I made a single phone call to my lawyer. I didn't just want to disappear from their lives-I wanted to erase them from the world. And I had the evidence to do it. Convenient Marriage, Shattered Dreams
Romance My plane landed smoothly, yet my heart churned with a nervous hope.
I hadn' t told David I was coming, hoping to bridge the growing chasm in our two-year "convenient" marriage-a partnership built more on family connections than genuine affection.
But as I watched David Hayes' s assistant, Sarah Jenkins, casually link arms with him at the airport, her "smooth and practiced" voice oozing familiarity, a cold dread began to set in.
She looked like a model, not the efficient helper David had mentioned.
Her eyes, bright and confident, scanned me from head to toe, making me feel like a specimen under a microscope, an intruder.
"You have to be careful, Chloe. Men can get tired of the same old thing. It' s good you came to check up on him," she purred in the car, a thinly veiled warning coated in false sweetness.
My husband, David, just gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and offered a weak, dismissive laugh.
He didn't defend me; he managed the situation.
That night, alone in his hotel suite, scrolling through a torrent of screenshots Sarah had mysteriously sent, my world shattered.
"It' s a convenient marriage, Sarah. You know that. It' s not about passion."
"You and me? We' re about everything else."
The words, his words, tore through me like a physical blow.
He had a whole vibrant life here-concerts, dinners, milestones-a life I was excluded from.
My once protective, encouraging husband, the boy who called me pretty, was gone, replaced by a stranger who saw me as a "plain," "boring" obligation.
The next day, during a forced shopping trip, he picked out a scarf for me.
"Sarah has one just like it. She has amazing taste," he said.
Then, he bought an identical one for her, right in front of me, using our "fresh start" as a cover for his infidelity.
"People might compare," he fretted, not worried about me, but about what Sarah or his circle would think if we wore the same thing.
My humiliation turned to ice.
Then, Sarah appeared, melting into tears at the sight of the scarf, claiming they had picked it out.
David, without a moment's hesitation, bolted after her, leaving me standing alone on a crowded street, holding the symbol of his betrayal.
"He chose her," my mind screamed, the realization a stark, brutal clarity. His Art, Her Agony
Romance The relentless buzz of my phone announced another rejection, a common melody in the life of a struggling indie filmmaker.
Then, my best friend' s panicked face flashed on screen: "Chloe, have you seen the news? It\'s Ethan. His new exhibition. It\'s everywhere."
A cold dread washed over me-Ethan, my estranged artist-husband, whose art had always blurred the lines of our life.
But what I saw on that major art blog wasn\'t art; it was a violation: intimate photos of me, twisted into a public spectacle, portraying me as his "tragic muse."
The comments section exploded: #JusticeForChloe, #CancelEthanMiller, yet it felt like a new form of torment, a public stripping of my privacy.
I stormed to his loft, demanding answers, only for him to shrug, "It\'s art, Chloe. It\'s supposed to tell the truth."
He stood there, casually threatening to expose painful, private moments to my traditional grandmother if I didn\'t publicly apologize and collaborate in his twisted narrative.
Before I could process his cruelty, the phone rang again-the nursing home.
My grandmother had fallen.
She died in the hospital, her last words a plea for me to be strong, to not let anyone make me feel small, as my humiliated face was plastered across the news.
When I returned to the loft, Ethan was there with his new muse, Ava, who, feigning sympathy, accidentally revealed she knew about my grandmother' s death.
Then, a charity gala, a public relations stunt, where Ethan unveiled a new sculpture-encasing my grandmother\'s stolen locket, pulled directly from her grave.
Ava tearfully accused me, playing the perfect victim, implying I had desecrated her grave for art.
Ethan, without hesitation, believed her, his eyes filled with a cold, performative fury, declaring me a monster and having me dragged away.
Trapped, discarded, then brutally beaten by Ethan under Ava' s gleeful gaze, I realized the full depth of their monstrous betrayal.
My world was shattered, my body broken, but in the ruins of my spirit, a cold, unwavering resolve began to form: Chloe Davis had to die, so Aria Sinclair could rise and burn his world to the ground. Operative Maya: Five Years Cover
Sci-fi My life with Ethan was a predictable loop: his phone calls about Olivia, his "friend" who always needed him, my forgotten anniversaries, and our shared savings mysteriously funneling into her latest drama.
It was exhausting, yet I' d become numb to it, a quiet resignation my constant companion.
Then, a stark notification flashed on my sleek, Agency-issued device: "Covenant Term Conclusion: Operative Maya.
Extraction Protocol initiated.
T-minus seven days." Five years of this life, defined by his neglect and her endless demands, were about to end. Just like that.
A profound, almost liberating indifference washed over me.
Later, true to form, Ethan called, cancelling our anniversary dinner again because Olivia was having a crisis.
He expected my usual quiet frustration, but all I felt was nothing. Every chipped-away piece of me over the years had finally left me utterly empty.
He couldn't comprehend my calm "Okay," only that it wasn't the reaction he was used to. He' d barely noticed how deeply I' d funded his dreams, how I' d been the only one holding onto "our" life.
What did it all even mean, this existence where I was merely an afterthought, an ATM?
But that notification wasn't just an end; it was a beginning.
A countdown to an 'extraction protocol' only I understood.
The taste of freedom was intoxicating, and I knew, with utter certainty, that the real assignment was just beginning. And this time, it was for me. 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.
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. Marrying The Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Mafia Brother
Nero Daniels My fiancé left me standing alone at the podium during our rehearsal dinner to rush to the side of a woman whose only illness was a desperate need for attention.
He humiliated me in front of the heads of the Five Families, abandoning our alliance to scoop his "dying" mistress off the floor.
I didn't cry. I didn't run. I walked straight to the head table, to the most terrifying man in the city—his older brother, the Don.
"The Woodward family owes me a husband," I declared calmly.
An hour later, I was married to the Capo dei Capi. But my ex-fiancé didn't accept his demotion.
He kidnapped me, strapping me to a chair in a soundproof basement.
For three days, he drained my blood pint by pint to "save" his mistress, Jaidyn, who watched me fade while she casually ate an apple.
"Take another bag," she ordered, smiling at my agony. "She still has too much fight in her."
As the cold crept up my chest and my vision blurred, I realized I was going to die for a lie, drained dry by a madman.
Then, the steel door detonated.
Through the smoke and debris walked my husband, not with a ransom, but with a serrated knife and a promise to burn them alive. 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.* 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. 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." A BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA LORD
Nooriva "Where do you think you're going, huh? You're mine now, Little Mouse. Get back in the house!" Vincenzo's voice boomed, sending chills down Victoria's spine as her world seemed to crumble.
Victoria Washington was shattered-betrayed by her boyfriend who dumped her the day before his wedding, to her sister. She was left humiliated, mocked by everyone. But fate had other plans for her.
She's broken, he's lost. She's full of fear, and he's the monster. Yet, somehow, he's her light while he remains in darkness.
Vincenzo Dante will stop at nothing to tarnish his family's name for forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. But what he doesn't realize is that his new wife is stronger than she seems-too broken to bend under his cruelty. But when love begins to bloom, and secrets start to unfold, what will happen next?
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." 
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