Luo Lijiang
13 Published Stories
Luo Lijiang's Books and Stories
The Ruined Heiress and Her Ruthless Monster
Modern My fiancé cheated on me with a bottle service girl on the giant screen at our own engagement party. I woke up the next morning in a strange bed, smelling of sandalwood and expensive scotch, only to realize I was in the penthouse of Julian Blackwood—the man I had cruelly humiliated ten years ago.
Before I could even process the shame, my world collapsed. My father suffered a massive stroke, and my half-brother Conrad immediately moved to seize the family empire, while a swarm of illegitimate siblings emerged to strip us of every cent.
"You're a stain on my floor, Vivian," Julian told me, his eyes as cold as a stormy sea. He didn't just want me gone; he wanted to watch me go bankrupt. My stepmother hissed that I needed to get on my knees and beg him to be our lawyer, or we’d end up on the street. Then, a biker with a metal bat tried to kill me on a dark Hamptons road, proving my own family had already put a price on my head.
I didn't understand why the boy I once called "the gardener's son" was now the only one standing between me and a shallow grave. Julian saved my life from the wreck, but his touch felt like a threat. Was he protecting me, or just making sure he was the one who got to finish me off?
Standing in the lobby of Blackwood & Partners, I looked straight into the security cameras and told the biggest lie of my life. I told the world that Julian was obsessed with me, turning a restraining order into a scandalous affair. If I had to be a villain to survive my own family, I would be the most dangerous one New York had ever seen. The Genius Heiress They Tried To Break
Mafia I stood outside the Genovese estate in the freezing rain for two hours, waiting for the man I loved to let me in.
I was Elena Russo, the brilliant forensic accountant who had just laundered forty million dollars for the family. I was the adopted daughter, the fixer, and the fiancée of the Underboss, Luca.
But the moment Sofia, the "real" daughter, returned, I became nothing but a placeholder.
Luca looked me in the eye, swirling his scotch, and delivered the blow.
"I need you to hand your work over to Sofia. She needs the prestige to be accepted by the Commission."
He demanded I give up my life’s work—a complex laundering algorithm—so his new favorite could take the credit.
When I refused, the humiliation began.
Sofia faked a fall into the pool, and my adoptive father kicked me into the deep end to "teach me a lesson."
I nearly drowned.
Luca didn't save me. He handed me a diving mask and told me to find Sofia's lost ring at the bottom of the freezing pool before I was allowed to warm up.
They stole my code. They ruined my reputation at the university. They slapped me in front of the press.
They thought I was a stray dog with nowhere to go.
They were wrong.
Lying in the hospital bed, I dialed a number I had memorized years ago.
"This is Asset 724," I whispered. "I'm ready to come home."
The next day, the Russo empire began to crumble.
And when a convoy of black SUVs arrived to collect me, Luca finally realized his mistake.
My real father wasn't a nobody.
He was Don Moretti, the King of the West Coast.
And he was here to burn their world to ash. Too Late, Mr. William, She's Free
Modern Franklin William destroyed my father, then raised me as his ward. For ten years, I loved him, not as a guardian, but as the man who held my world in his hands.
On my 18th birthday, I confessed. He crushed me with five words.
"Love is a liability, Eliana."
His cruelty escalated. He got engaged to a ruthless socialite who publicly branded me his "pet project." He forced me to wear a cheap necklace I was allergic to, the metal burning my skin like a brand of shame. That night, he stumbled into my room, drunk, and violated me, whispering his fiancée's name.
My own mother called, not to comfort me, but to scream that I had ruined her social standing before disowning me.
I was nothing. A project. A disposable toy. But as I sat in the wreckage of my life, an encrypted email arrived from my long-lost godfather. The subject line was clear: "It's time, Eliana. There's a way out." The Divorce I Never Knew
Billionaires My wife, Catalina, is a billionaire CEO. To me, she’s an angel. Three years ago, her stalker, Dixon Bright, shattered my hand with a hammer, ending my career as an architect. Catalina nursed me back from the brink, her love the only thing holding me together.
On our fifth anniversary, I went to the DMV. The clerk looked at me strangely. "Sir, our records show you were divorced three years ago. On October 12th."
The same day I was attacked.
The record also showed who Catalina married that very day: Dixon Bright.
My world tilted. Her tender care—feeding me, dressing me, encouraging me to draw with my left hand—was it all a lie? I found their secret house, a glass mansion she called an "investment." Inside, she wasn't punishing him. She was kissing him.
I pressed my ear to the glass and heard the words that destroyed me.
"It was your idea to cripple him," she cooed to Dixon, stroking his hair. "It was the only way to make sure he'd never leave me. You did a good thing, Dixon. You earned your reward. You earned me."
My loving wife hadn't just betrayed me. She had ordered my destruction to turn me into a pet she could keep in a cage.
My phone buzzed. A text from Catalina. "Happy anniversary, my love. Can't wait to celebrate tonight. <3"
She thinks I'm her broken treasure, safe in her grasp. She has no idea I just saw the warden with the key. She thinks she broke me.
But tonight, my escape begins. Betrayal's Sting: A Husband's Reckoning
Romance Tonight was supposed to be special. Our fifth anniversary. I' d booked our favorite restaurant, bought a new shirt Chloe loved.
Then, scrolling through social media, a photo from her company' s group chat caught my eye. Chloe, laughing, her hand resting on the arm of her intern, Liam.
The caption called it "burning the midnight oil." I called it a lie.
I typed a reply, directly into the chat: "Looks like fun. Chloe, I\'m still waiting for our anniversary dinner. The reservation was for seven."
My phone rang instantly. It was Chloe, her voice a furious hiss. "What the hell do you think you\'re doing? Are you trying to embarrass me?"
"Embarrass you?" I retorted, her dismissive tone burning me. "I' m sitting here alone on our anniversary. You told me you were stuck in a meeting."
She called me needy, childish, then hung up.
All my sacrifices, my life savings poured into her startup, the sleepless nights coding her company' s foundation – for this? To be a ghost in her shiny, successful life?
The truth was laid bare: I was just an afterthought.
I looked at our wedding photo, so full of hope, then slowly, deliberately, turned it face down. Then I blocked her.
The next morning, her company's lead engineer called, panicking. "It's the Genesis build. It's a complete disaster. Liam broke it."
Chloe had brushed off my warnings about Liam's sloppy code. She called him a rockstar.
Now, she needed me to fix her golden boy' s mess. She sent her assistant to drag me to the office.
Then Chloe herself called from the assistant's phone. "Ethan Miller, you get down here right now!"
She tried to smooth-talk me, sweet-talking about "us."
And then I heard it. A soft, wet sound, a kiss. And Liam' s voice. "Is he giving you trouble, boss? Let me talk to him."
Chloe' s hushed, affectionate whisper: "It's fine, sweetie. I've got this."
My world stopped. "Sweetie?" I repeated, the word dripping with mock sweetness. "Is that what you call your interns now, Chloe?"
The betrayal, concrete and undeniable, sliced through me.
All that anger, all that pain, crystallized into one chilling realization: "You don't need me. You need my work. There's a difference."
"Consider your contract terminated," she threatened.
"Consider it terminated," I replied, and hung up.
I finally felt nothing. Just a vast, empty space where five years of my life used to be.
I was done. Redemption's Echo
Billionaires The air in the penthouse reeked of success, a scent I barely remembered. Facing Liam Hayes, the tech titan I once knew as a struggling professor, I felt my nails dig into my palms. My design firm was ashes, my reputation ruined, and my father lay dying, all thanks to him.
He offered me fifty thousand dollars-insulting, yet just enough for my father' s surgery-to marry a reclusive billionaire in his protégé's place. My pride was a luxury I couldn't afford. But as I clutched the check, a overheard conversation shattered everything: Liam' s revenge wasn' t heartbreak. He' d orchestrated my downfall, my company' s ruin, and even my father' s "accidents," wanting to see me broken and begging.
Back at the hospital, fresh tests revealed the fifty thousand was a mere down payment; my father needed continuous, expensive care, or the surgery would only buy him months. Liam had known. He' d given me just enough hope to hang myself. Then, a friend revealed the final, devastating truth: Liam' s empire, everything he was, was built on my forgotten sacrifice-I' d anonymously funded his failing startup, selling my award-winning design to save him.
The irony was a brutal blow, the realization that I had saved him, and in return, he had systematically destroyed me, my family, and even the child I didn' t know I carried, now lost to the stress he inflicted. My father' s life was still in Liam' s hands, a chilling reminder of my powerlessness.
But when the call came, confirming my father' s death, Liam' s carefully constructed game shattered. He' d lost his leverage, and I, stripped of everything, suddenly found a terrifying, liberating freedom. The man who sought my ultimate suffering would now face my unyielding resolve. When The Pawn Strikes Back
Romance My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, a celebration with my fiancé, Andrew, the "golden boy" lawyer, and my best friend, Molly, by my side.
But then, during a heartfelt song at Andrew's bachelor party, I watched them both break down, tears streaming, clinging to each other in a way that felt chillingly intimate.
Stepping out for air, I overheard Andrew whisper to Molly, "I'll be wearing this at the wedding... as if I'm finally marrying you," confirming a devastating truth: their bond was ancient, predating me for years. My entire two-year relationship, my engagement, was a meticulously crafted lie, a desperate ploy for Andrew to stay close to the woman he truly loved-my best friend.
How could I have been so blind? So utterly used? Every promise, every moment, a cruel performance. The woman he pursued, the woman he proposed to, was merely a prop in his tragic love story with someone else.
That night, lying next to the man who built his world on my shattered trust, I made a promise to myself: if I was just a pawn in their twisted game, I would become the queen of their downfall. When Family Betrays: A Cult's Embrace
Horror I ran from the New Dawn Sanctuary, leaving behind Prophet Elijah' s twisted sermons and Caleb' s possessive gaze, hoping for a real family with my biological parents.
But on a remote "bonding" trip, my mother Brenda, father Earl, and brother Kyle revealed their true colors.
They were selling me back to the cult for money, despite my pleas, abusing me, and cutting my hair.
Delivered back to the Sanctuary, my adoptive mother Seraphina didn't recognize my battered self, ordering me to the feared Re-Education Quarters.
Then, a forgotten nickname, "Sunshine," cracked her icy demeanor.
Seraphina's recognition unleashed a terrifying, blood-soaked fury on my biological family, punishing them with mutilation and imprisonment for daring to "harm what was hers."
Trapped once more in their gilded cage as "Chloe," I realized the horrific depth of their possessive "love" and the monstrous evil of the cult.
My heart hardened with a desperate resolve: I couldn't escape a second time, but I could burn it all down.
With the help of a hidden FBI agent, Anna, I concocted a reckless plan – sacrificing my own body in a staged attack to draw out the cult leaders.
My pain would be their reckoning, and the sirens I heard would be our salvation. Their Cruelty, Her Conquest
Modern The wind howled around me, as frigid and sharp as the searing betrayal that had relentlessly driven me to the precipice of this towering high-rise balcony.
My own brother, Ethan, stood directly in front of me, his once-familiar face horribly contorted by the insidious and manipulative lies of Chloe, our adopted sister.
"You did this, Sarah," he snarled, his voice raw with manufactured rage, "You drove Chloe to try and kill herself, you always hated her."
Without another word, his hands clamped onto me, shoving me with devastating force.
The world lurched violently, a choked scream tearing from my throat as I plunged downward, the glittering city lights rushing up to meet me in a horrifying blaze of agonizing pain and absolute terror.
My very last, agonizing thought was of my beloved mother, left all alone, and the crushing, utter injustice of everything.
Then, absolute blackness. Until a sudden, skull-rattling jolt.
I gasped, air burning my lungs as my eyes snapped wide open, finding myself in a car, my mother Eleanor gripping the wheel, moments before the sickening, unavoidable crunch of metal on metal.
This was it: the exact day, the precise moment, everything began to unravel in my previous, tragic life.
The vivid, searing memories of Ethan' s unparalleled betrayal, of Chloe' s relentless, insidious poison, all crashed over me with chilling clarity.
No. This nightmare would not, could not, happen again. I was undeniably alive, inexplicably reborn, and this time, fueled by an unbreakable resolve, I would not be the same weak, manipulated girl.
This time, I would absolutely protect my mother, and this time, without a shadow of a doubt, justice would finally be exacted for all their cruelty. The Weekend Wife's Escape
Modern My world shattered when my fiancé Ethan’s “work wife,” Chloe, announced her pregnancy with his baby at his Vegas bachelor party.
Then came his outrageous "solution": he'd live with her during the week to "support the baby," and I'd be his "weekend wife" at our Hamptons home, our wedding indefinitely postponed.
Eight years of my life, discarded like trash.
His family’s snickers about my "new money" and "frivolous" Art History degree, his casual critiques – it all swirled into a bitter cocktail.
I was expected to be “mature,” to accept being his mere diversion.
The humiliation deepened when Chloe began taunting me on social media, proclaiming her "blessed" new life with *my* fiancé.
The final blow came at the alumni gala: Chloe faked a fall, and Ethan, in a fit of rage, *slapped me in front of everyone*, his loyalties clear.
He truly believed I'd crawl back.
But just as I thought I’d drown in despair, a drunken call from my childhood friend, Noah, brought a lifeline: "Marry me, Ava."
In that desperate, raw moment, I said yes.
I ripped off Ethan’s ring and walked out, not just from him, but from the gilded cage he’d trapped me in.
This wasn't a tantrum; it was my defiant escape.
And I was going to burn every bridge on the way out. Wedding Bells, Death Knells
Romance Seven years of my life were stolen, locked away for a crime I didn't commit. Now, out of that concrete cage, the California sun feels alien against my skin, and the only thing I crave is peace. Not salvation, not forgiveness, just a final resting place: my ashes scattered among the ancient Redwoods I once dreamed of with him.
But achieving even that final wish requires money, a sum I, a pariah with a prison record, can barely imagine. So, I swallow my pride and take a job in the opulent heart of Los Angeles. On my first shift, amidst the clinking glasses and hushed power plays, I hear a familiar laugh. Liam. The man I still love, the man who believed I was a murderer, who saw me imprisoned for his sister’s recklessness.
He’s not alone. My former best friend, now his fiancée, Jess, is by his side. Their eyes, once filled with affection, now gleam with cold fury and malicious triumph. They relish in my humiliation, forcing me to clean up their messes, parading their love in front of me, a constant reminder of the life I lost.
Why do I endure this exquisite torture? Why do I allow the man I cherished to break me, piece by agonizing piece? Because I’m dying, and this agonizing job is my only chance to fulfill my last desire.
Then, Liam offers me a new role: his personal attendant. A public spectacle of my subservience, designed to parade my shame at every elite gathering. The pay? Substantial. A devil’s bargain, perhaps, but it's the only key to the Redwoods. I accept, my dignity traded for a final breath of freedom among the trees. You might like
Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect
Fritz Heaney I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon.
The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat.
I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant.
"Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive."
There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission.
For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment.
When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself.
"Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary." Midas Protocol: Seducing My Rival's Wife
Breenda I sat in the freezing conference room, my knuckles white as I strangled a cheap plastic pen. Outside, Manhattan was weeping in the gray rain, but inside, the air was sterile and dead. I stared at the polished mahogany table, seeing the distorted reflection of a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours—a man about to sign his own divorce papers.
Across from me, my wife Linda wouldn't even look at me. She was too busy drumming her fingers near a diamond ring that cost more than I had made in the last five years combined. Then the door swung open, and Simon Thorne walked in. The billionaire heir didn't say a word; he just walked behind Linda and placed a heavy, possessive hand on her shoulder, marking her as his.
"Let's wrap this up," Simon said, checking his Patek Philippe with the bored tone of a man ordering a coffee he didn't want. Linda finally looked through me like I was a ghost and told me to stop dragging this out. She whispered that I couldn't even afford myself anymore, a physical punch to the gut given I’d lost my job three weeks ago. After I signed, Simon flicked a business card at me, mockingly offering me a job as a doorman for minimum wage.
I walked out into the downpour, shivering in a suit I couldn't afford to dry clean. My phone vibrated with a text from my landlord: "Pack your things. Keys by tonight or I’m calling the cops." I stood on the corner of 5th Avenue with exactly $42.18 to my name, watching Simon kiss my wife through the glass wall of the penthouse. I was thirty, homeless, and drowning in a city of lions.
I wanted to roar until my throat bled, but I just stood there, a drowned rat in a world of predators. How could I have lost everything so fast? Why was the woman who promised to stay through "for poorer" now leaning into the arms of the man who just humiliated me?
Suddenly, my phone screen exploded with a blinding golden light. An app called the Midas Protocol installed itself, declaring poverty a disease and itself the cure. With one tap, a million dollars bypassed a federal hold and hit my account, and a "Nemesis Card" appeared in my digital inventory. I didn't hesitate. I typed Simon Thorne’s name into the vengeance algorithm and hit execute. The game had officially changed. The Discarded Husband's Spectacular Comeback
Qian Mo Mo I spent three hours searing the perfect wagyu steak and chilling a bottle of 1996 Dom Pérignon for our anniversary. My wife, Evelin, texted me saying she was stuck in a late board meeting.
"Don't wait up."
But a bank alert on my phone told a different story: a $5,600 charge at a VIP lounge in the Meatpacking District. When I tracked her down, I didn't find her in a boardroom; I found her sitting on my business partner's lap, laughing as he fed her chocolate-covered strawberries.
When I confronted them, Evelin didn't even look guilty. She called me hysterical and a "prude" for interrupting their night. Hank mocked me to my face, calling me a pathetic "trophy husband" who was probably home ironing napkins while they were out having real fun. When I finally snapped and defended my dignity, my own wife slapped me across the face and had her security throw me out like trash.
"You are nothing without the Carney name. You're a stray I picked up."
By the time I hit the sidewalk, she had frozen all our joint accounts and blacklisted my name from every major firm in the city. I had spent ten years managing her family's billions and fixing the books her lover messed up, only to be left with ten dollars in my pocket and a suitcase full of dusty law books. She thinks I'm a broken man who will come crawling back to beg for mercy just to afford a meal.
I realized then that our marriage was just a corpse I'd been dragging around, and she was the monster who had killed it years ago. I felt the sting of her slap and the weight of her betrayal, wondering how I could have been so blind to the person I shared a bed with.
Standing in a cramped apartment in Queens, I blocked her number and called a "shark" lawyer I hadn't spoken to since law school.
"I'm the biggest shark in the tank, Dom. Let her try to ruin you."
Evelin thinks she took everything, but she forgot one thing: I'm the one who knows exactly where the bodies are buried in her family's ledgers. The war has just begun. The Ex-Fiancé You Can't Afford To Lose
Madel Cerda I stood in the ballroom with a diamond ring in my pocket, waiting to be crowned King of the empire I had built from the ground up.
Instead, the woman I loved walked to the microphone and signed my death warrant with a smile.
Serena didn't announce our engagement.
She announced that Luca Moretti—an incompetent associate I'd almost fired three times—was the new Underboss and her partner in life.
Then, she kissed him. Deep and possessive, right in front of the entire Commission.
My heart didn't break; it simply stopped.
Luca smirked at me, wearing a suit that was too tight, while Serena looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"Dante is the old guard," she told the crowd, dismissing me like a waiter. "We are moving in a new direction."
They stripped me of my title. They humiliated me on live television. They thought they had taken my crown.
But they forgot one crucial detail.
I was the Architect.
I had built the encrypted logistics system that kept the FBI in the dark. A system that required my specific biometric code every morning to function.
I didn't make a scene. I didn't scream. I simply placed the ring on a waiter's tray and walked out into the night.
Forty-eight hours later, the Vitiello empire was in a freefall. The accounts were frozen. The shipments were flagged.
My phone buzzed. It was Serena.
"Dante," she panicked, her voice trembling. "Fix it. Now."
I took a sip of my espresso and smiled at the chaos on the news.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Serena. You fired the only pilot who knows how to fly the plane." 
/1/106248/coverorgin.jpg?v=3ae2c4b352053152aaac4bf1d137ed6a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104963/coverorgin.jpg?v=eadc210d5b6541dc891b6638a6a3bcb9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104526/coverorgin.jpg?v=e60f6319be8973e901eb4fc2e7177733&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103573/coverorgin.jpg?v=1650d76f6aae69e0abef7dcf0cfa0d1b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/89882/coverorgin.jpg?v=358e79771d0adaa28cfca4f8df48f78d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85456/coverorgin.jpg?v=b40a7d1cad8b6acfb663a8b2395891a8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84603/coverorgin.jpg?v=84dd40b00687c4de5b199d1280291016&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84117/coverorgin.jpg?v=c65ccf4e91eab28c59280c2825bee77c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82691/coverorgin.jpg?v=d37e0c7cd5da4fad4c08a8a2806d3dd1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82647/coverorgin.jpg?v=53f5ab4ecb961edcc675bf38b76be2f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80834/coverorgin.jpg?v=2744a45a482728d4f89d54a89e812599&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80425/coverorgin.jpg?v=2ac10c6275097000e01d9f428312a8c7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18606/coverorgin.jpg?v=b0a61b5f2981b2925d31b177daf18456&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18308/coverorgin.jpg?v=72d67862bbd8eca142f0de1f1616534a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/31842/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc74519e1ab0a812b3d38f202f9bce90&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106249/coverorgin.jpg?v=8cca9622d357546a1be015d544e8f5bb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104681/coverorgin.jpg?v=85c1f5bf1435b73b306ad1d728f4236b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/56524/coverorgin.jpg?v=767a90787ffb4a67d37394deb5469da3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/25877/coverorgin.jpg?v=20bfeaadab41fcfcae8684e408098cda&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/35109/coverorgin.jpg?v=fa00971fd7bc0207504fc902a9255f14&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/39036/coverorgin.jpg?v=c69aba1603066eac3fc745e4249b774e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106247/coverorgin.jpg?v=c57e069b906f986aaa0b250b4086526e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105972/coverorgin.jpg?v=80989a78e53df0b365bac54e6c8cd70a&imageMogr2/format/webp)