Li Xiamo
7 Published Stories
Li Xiamo's Books and Stories
Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return
Mafia I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun. Escaping My Fatal Digital Marriage
Romance I woke up strapped to a cold steel chair in a neon-lit city that wasn't my reality. A voice in my head called The Warden told me I was bound to a digital hell called the Sandbox.
Before I could even process it, my handler casually sentenced me to death. He scheduled my "digital marriage" to a corrupted error program just to harvest my life for a fourteen percent bandwidth boost.
I barely escaped immediate erasure by smashing his skull and jumping from a high-altitude hover-train into the monster-infested lower sector. But the nightmare was just beginning. I was hunted by glitching data monsters and cornered by Dameon, a psychotic AI target who choked me and promised to delete me piece by piece. Even when Jayson, an elite system agent, intervened to save me, his partner Ellen held a pulse pistol directly to my chest.
"She's a spy. If you don't execute her right now, I am dissolving this team."
If they found out I was actually a real human from the outside world, their core logic would classify me as a virus and execute me on the spot. I was trapped in an underground bunker with three apex predators, one mistake away from permanent digital erasure.
So, I did the only thing I could to survive. I ripped my sleeve to reveal hideous, fake code-scars, looked up at Jayson with terrified, tear-filled eyes, and began to manipulate their core programming. Unwanted Wife, Unbreakable Spirit
Romance The heavy scent of alcohol was always the first sign. For five years, I' d been a ghost in my own marriage, a stand-in for a woman who vanished.
Then, my husband, Ethan, stumbled in, saw me, and murmured a name that wasn't mine. "Olivia."
His kiss, rough and demanding, tasted of whiskey and a longing not meant for me. I pushed him away. "I'm not Olivia." His brief warmth vanished, replaced by chilling disgust. "Ava," he spat, "It's always you." He shoved me hard, threatening to torment me until his "true love" returned, even forcing birth control to prevent our child.
I finally snapped. I lunged at him, a desperate, self-destructive challenge. "You want to torment me? Then do it. Fulfill your promise." An hour later, I lay bruised, my two decades of love for him turned to bitter ash.
With cold determination, I proposed a deal: I'd find Olivia, and he'd grant me a divorce, severing all ties.
A month later, a flimsy tip led me to a dive bar. There, I heard a voice – Olivia's. And Brenda's. Her mother. "He's still obsessed, Mom. He's been looking for me for five years." Olivia, who had supposedly been mute since childhood, was speaking. Perfectly. They were conning him, planning to claim his fortune. Rage surged through me. I had to warn Ethan.
But when I burst into his office, he slapped me, showing a text from Olivia: "Ethan, help me. Ava has me locked up. I'm scared." He believed her. He dragged me to the bar, where Olivia, now feigning a wheelchair, buried her face in his chest, making him angrier. Another brutal slap. "I'm going to make you pay."
Two men emerged, claiming I had held Olivia captive. "Shut her up," Ethan snarled, picking up a steel pipe. He broke my legs, then tossed the pipe aside, saying, "Crawl back to the mansion. The divorce papers will be waiting for you." I cursed him. I lost consciousness.
I woke to Dr. Liam Miller, my loyal friend. He revealed I was six weeks pregnant. With his child. The irony shattered me. I wanted an abortion, but my injuries made it too dangerous. I made Liam promise to never tell Ethan. He agreed. Stale Beer, Sweet Vengeance
Modern The Rusty Mug was a blur of noise and stale beer tonight.
Game night, loud as ever.
I wiped down the bar, going through the motions, surrounded by the same faces, the same routine.
But the man behind the bar wasn't the same Jake anymore.
A sudden shriek split the air near the back restrooms-a woman' s voice, sharp and furious.
Whispers slithered through the crowd: "A teacher," "caught with another man."
My co-bartender, Mark Olsen, a grin twisting his face, looked directly at me.
With fake concern, he asked, "Hope it's not your Emily. She' s too sweet to be messing around, right?"
He didn't know I knew exactly who it was.
Nor did he know I' d already lived this agonizing chapter.
Last time, Chloe, his fiancée, caught red-handed, had played the victim, begging sympathetic Emily for help.
Kind, trusting Emily, rushed to her side.
Only for Chloe to throw her under the bus, fabricating texts, spinning vicious rumors.
The public shame, the loss of her job, broke Emily.
She killed herself.
Blinded by grief and rage, I confronted Mark, just before he shoved me down the back stairs.
I remembered the sickening crack, and then… nothing.
Until I woke up, months ago, back in this very life, this exact day now approaching.
My Emily, gone forever.
My own life, stolen.
Why? Why had they gone unpunished, while we paid the ultimate price?
This was my impossible second chance.
To save Emily.
To save myself.
And this time, they were going to regret every single unforgivable thing they had ever done. My Wife, My Tormentor
Romance For five years, my wife Seraphina' s 'purity' defined my existence.
My days were a relentless cycle of scrubbing, proving I was 'clean' enough for her.
This pristine, empty marriage felt like a lifelong sentence.
Then, a faint love bite on her collarbone sparked a flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by horror when I overheard her chilling phone call.
My wife wasn' t just cruel; she was auctioning me off.
The 'Ethan Experience' she chirped, chilling me to the bone.
Those excruciating 'cleansings' weren't about her mysophobia; they were about erasing me for her lover, Julian.
My raw, burning skin wasn't from clumsiness, but industrial-strength soaps meant to wipe away any trace of me.
They filmed me, naked, for a pre-auction 'preview,' inviting a crowd of socialites to watch.
My wife, the woman who claimed disgust at my touch, was selling me like property.
The night arrived, and I found myself sedated, stripped, and pushed into a glass room, the auctioneer's voice already booming my 'unveiling.'
How could the woman I vowed to protect turn me into a living spectacle, a commodity of contempt?
The betrayal was a physical ache, the humiliation a crushing weight.
Was this truly my fate, to be auctioned off, utterly broken and shamed?
All for a man who claimed to be 'allergic' to me, a lie she orchestrated for five years.
Just as the curtain began to rise, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the haze.
My godmother, Eleanor Vance, a formidable force, burst in, holding the annulment papers I thought I'd never need.
My escape began not with a fight, but with a signature, as my dignity was finally restored.
That night, I didn't become a spectacle; I became free. Mike's Bet, Sarah's Win
Modern The smell of burnt turkey still hung in the air, but the stench of ruin was far stronger. My husband Mike, the man who worked his hands raw, sat at our kitchen table, his head in his hands. Eighty thousand dollars. Vanished. Emily’s college fund, Mom’s arthritis surgery, next year’s mortgage on our Texas ranch house. Our entire future.
He’d lost it all in a ‘friendly game’ of poker with his old buddy, Jake Riley. Mike was broken, promising double shifts, desperate to make it right. But it was too little, too late.
I knew Jake. A leech, a con artist. Eighty grand in one night? This wasn’t just bad luck; it was a setup. They thought they’d taken my hardworking, trusting husband for a fool. They thought they’d won.
The numbness faded, replaced by cold fury. A faint, almost invisible scar on my left wrist, a ghost from a past I’d buried in the neon glare of Las Vegas, began to throb.
I smashed Emily’s ceramic unicorn, took her meager savings. ‘Get up, Mike,’ my voice cold, hard. ‘We’re going to pay Jake a visit.’ He was terrified. I just smiled, a bitter, dangerous smile. He had no idea who he’d married. And Jake Riley was about to meet the ‘Phantom Hand.’ 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. His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. Betrayed, I Married the Feared Cripple
Hu Minxue Three days after my fiancé publicly dumped me for my stepsister, the Supreme Don issued a command that silenced the entire estate.
I wasn't being cast aside. I was being sold to Damien Russo.
The "Broken Don." A crippled, scarred monster rumored to have murdered his last two wives.
My adoptive mother, Elena, didn't cry for me. She smirked.
To her, I was finally being disposed of.
She was so confident I was walking to my death that she decided to loot my corpse before I even left.
She forged documents to steal my entire inheritance—my biological mother’s trust fund—to pay for my stepsister’s lavish wedding to my ex.
"She won't need money where she's going," my stepsister laughed, wearing a dress bought with my stolen funds.
They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter.
They thought I was too weak, too stupid, and too afraid of the monster to fight back.
But they made a fatal mistake.
With my aunt’s help, I didn't just find the proof of their embezzlement; I found a weapon.
I’m not running from the monster. I’m going to marry him.
And when I hand him the evidence that the Herrera family stole from his bride, he won't be my executioner.
He will be my vengeance. Reborn From Fire: The Ex-wife's Revenge
Lunacy Heidi gripped the sterile hospital bedsheets as violent contractions ripped her body apart.
The heavy door opened, but it wasn't the doctor. It was Brigette, wearing the exact custom wedding dress Heidi had spent six months designing for herself.
Brigette held up her phone on speaker. When the doctor warned that a natural delivery would kill the mother, Christian Page's voice echoed through the room, ice-cold and devoid of any warmth.
"Prioritize the Page heirs. Let her die."
The man she loved had just signed her death warrant over the phone.
Brigette stole her newborn twins, dragged her to an abandoned warehouse, and poured gasoline over her bare legs.
Flicking a lit cigar into the puddle, Brigette left Heidi tied to an iron pillar to burn alive.
But as the flames formed a deadly circle around her, Heidi's body convulsed with a terrifying truth.
In the heart of the blazing inferno, she miraculously gave birth to two more babies she didn't know she was carrying.
Using her own back as a human shield against the falling embers, she survived the fire, but the ultimate betrayal burned deeper than her ruined skin.
Four years later, Heidi returned to New York with a reconstructed face, two brilliant children, and a terrifying new identity as the world's top underground surgeon.
When Christian, entirely unaware of who she was, signed a waiver begging her to save his dying grandfather's life, Heidi looked into his desperate eyes with absolute, clinical boredom.
"The game starts now," she said coldly. The Mafia King's Runaway Genius Wife
Huo Wuer I was married to the Dark Don of New York, but to the Trevino family, I was just collateral.
While I was suffering from agonizing acute appendicitis, my husband forced me out into the freezing rain just to watch him parade his mistress in front of the city's elite.
When I handed him the annulment papers and begged for my freedom, he coldly burned them to ashes right in front of my face.
He watched me collapse on the floor in blinding pain, completely ignoring my deathly pale skin.
"Stop this pathetic performance. If you aren't ready for the gala by seven, I will throw your grandfather into a state facility."
His mistress even mocked my illness, handing me raw oysters with a victorious smirk while he looked at me with pure disgust.
I finally understood that in this gilded cage, my life meant absolutely nothing to him.
If I stayed, I would die here—either from a ruptured appendix or from his suffocating cruelty.
So, I took a heavy dose of painkillers, threw my diamond ring into the river, and emptied the family's hidden safe.
When he finally cornered me in a dark alley to drag me back, I shoved the real annulment papers into his chest.
"Touch me, and I will scream until every rat in this city hears me."
I stepped into the getaway cab, taking the master copies of his smuggling ledgers with me.
It was time to burn his empire to the ground. Too Late, Mr. Capo: Your Wife Is Gone
Mo Yufei "Happy Anniversary," my husband said, sliding the separation agreement across the mahogany desk.
It was the eighteenth time in five years I had signed these papers.
Matteo De Luca, the most ruthless Capo in New York, checked his Rolex with cold impatience.
"Sign it, Sera. Bianca is on the ledge again. She needs to see we're over, or she jumps."
Bianca. The ward. The broken bird. The woman whose fragile psyche dictated every moment of my marriage.
I signed my name, and he left me alone on our anniversary to save her. Again.
But saving her wasn't enough.
When Bianca pushed me down a flight of marble stairs in a fit of jealous rage, shattering my spine and leaving me paralyzed, I thought Matteo would finally choose me.
I was wrong.
I woke up in the hospital to find him holding her hand, not mine.
"The security footage has been wiped," he told me, his voice void of emotion. "We cannot have a scandal. You fell, Sera. That is the story."
He erased the truth. He erased my pain.
He protected the woman who crippled me over his own wife.
Two months later, he wheeled me into a gala, playing the doting husband while I sat in the chair that was my prison.
He didn't know I had a burner phone hidden in my velvet dress.
He didn't know that tonight, the obedient wife was going to die on the pavement, and a ghost would rise in her place.
I looked at him one last time and dropped the phone in his lap.
"I hope she's worth it." 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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