Luo Xi
16 Published Stories
Luo Xi's Books and Stories
Served Scraps By My Cruel Husband
Modern I was once the CEO of a pharmaceutical empire, but now I was a ghost in my own kitchen, forced to serve the husband who stole my life.
Bolden didn't just take my company and frame me as insane; he sat with his mistress, Kandace, and forced me to eat their table scraps like a dog.
They poisoned my father to seize his legacy, gaslit the world into believing I was unstable, and made me scrub floors until my hands were raw and bleeding.
Every day was a performance of submission, a calculated risk to protect my infant son, Leo, from their cruelty.
They thought my silence was defeat.
They believed the drugs had turned me into a hollow shell, unaware that I had been faking taking them for weeks.
When they bulldozed my childhood home and desecrated my father' s grave, the last ember of my old life died-and a cold, ruthless resolve took its place.
Tonight, I' m not just escaping with my son.
I' m taking the evidence of their murders and fraud with me, and I won't stop until their stolen empire burns to ash. From Broken Trophy To Unstoppable Queen
Modern "You could have hurt the baby," my husband snarled, shoving me onto the cold marble floor of the Met Museum.
He didn't check if I was bleeding. He was too busy cradling Alya, the twenty-two-year-old intern I had hired two weeks ago.
Bennett Calloway, the ruthless King of New York, was parading his mistress in front of the city's elite while treating me, his loyal wife of fifteen years, like a clumsy nuisance.
He thought he was teaching me a lesson in obedience.
I later overheard him telling his men, "Kelsey needs to be broken. When she hits rock bottom, she'll come crawling back. That's how you train a wife."
He gave her my vintage Hermès scarf. He let her wear my family diamonds. He stood by as she mocked my infertility, claiming she carried the heir I never could.
He waited for the tears. He waited for the screaming, the begging, the jealousy.
But I didn't cry.
I simply went to our bedroom, took the sketch of the nursery we had planned fifteen years ago, and lit a match.
I watched the dream turn to ash in the wastebasket.
Then, I signed the asset separation agreement, deleted my social media accounts, and threw my SIM card into a sewer grate.
Bennett thought he was breaking a horse. He didn't realize he was freeing a prisoner.
By the time he realized his mistake and tore the world apart looking for me, I was already in Paris, learning that love isn't supposed to hurt. The Pink Car of Betrayal
Modern My husband unveiled a custom pink car on live TV, calling it a "tribute to our love."
The internet hailed him as the perfect man.
But I knew the truth.
That car was the exact place he cheated on me with his VP, Keri.
And the lipstick stain on the passenger seat wasn't mine.
He thought I was at home, waiting to celebrate his success.
Instead, I was at a clinic, signing a waiver to surgically remove my memories.
I aborted the child he desperately wanted.
I smashed the jade locket he claimed bound our souls together.
I burned my passport, my license, and every photo of us in the kitchen sink.
When he finally came home, he found nothing but an empty house and a gift box containing the remains of our unborn child.
A year later, he crashed my engagement party in Charleston, falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness.
I looked down at the weeping billionaire and felt absolutely nothing.
"I'm sorry, sir," I said calmly.
"But do I know you?" Reborn For His Savage Love
Billionaires On my wedding day, the giant screen in the ballroom was supposed to show a romantic video of my fiancé and me.
Instead, it played a sordid deepfake video of me with another man.
My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, pointed at me in front of New York’s high society.
“Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace.”
My own father then stepped forward, not to defend me, but to condemn me. He publicly disowned me, announcing he had another, kinder daughter who would take my rightful place.
He gestured to the side, and my illegitimate half-sister, Dara Chase, stepped out, looking innocent and fragile.
Betrayed by the two men I loved most, I fled the ballroom in shame. As I ran into the street, a car hit me with horrific force.
As I died, I floated above my own broken body. I watched as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But then I saw him. Josiah Craft, a guest at the wedding, fell to his knees beside me, his face crumbling into raw, animalistic grief.
I opened my eyes again. I was back in my penthouse, just days before the wedding that was supposed to be my end. Betrayed Love, Unbroken Melody
Young Adult The silence in the practice room was where my future unfolded, a shared dream with my quartet: Juilliard, then the NYC Philharmonic. Ethan, my secret love; Chloe, my stepsister; and Noah, our steady violist.
But the night before my scholarship audition, the dream shattered. Hidden on the stairs, I heard them-Chloe' s sharp voice, "She gets everything. It' s my turn." Then Ethan, the boy I adored, "Avery' s good, but she holds us back with all that… emotional playing."
Betrayal twisted in my gut as I watched my future, a beautiful melody, curdle into a horrifying, dissonant chord. He didn' t love me; they weren' t my friends.
During my audition, my A-string was loose, buzzing horribly. I saw Chloe' s triumphant smile, Ethan staring at the floor. My dream was over, stolen by those I trusted most. My own family echoed their cruelties, my mother accepting the lie that I had "choked."
Then, they tried to take the silver locket, my father' s last gift. Ethan held me, Noah pried my fingers, and Chloe snapped the chain, kicking me as I clutched the broken silver. "What did you do?" Ethan asked Chloe, but it was too late.
In the shattering pain, a cold resolve formed. I would not be broken. When my mentor offered a chance at the Royal Academy of Music, I seized it, a secret spark of hope in the suffocating darkness. My escape began. His Sacrifice, Her Freedom
Romance The acceptance letter for architecture school abroad felt like my escape, a tangible sign I was finally putting myself first after years of playing a role.
I was Ava Green, once a vibrant art history student, who threw it all away to become the devoted caretaker for Liam Hayes, the brilliant tech mogul who lost his sight in a devastating accident.
His family, grateful for my endless devotion, "helped" my grandmother with her medical bills, creating a silent, crushing obligation that bound me to them and to Liam, for years.
I became his eyes, his anchor, abandoning my own dreams to stitch his shattered life back together, believing our shared trauma forged an unbreakable love.
But then Chloe Davis, his ex-fiancée, a glamorous concert pianist from his "real" world, returned, and I watched his affection fracture, then shift entirely.
At his company' s gala, I saw Liam laugh with Chloe, a genuine, unguarded sound I hadn' t heard in months, a brutal reminder that I was just a placeholder.
Later, I overheard Chloe tell Liam that I couldn' t be his partner, "not really," and his silence was all the answer I needed.
My heart shattered, the realization hitting me: I was a glorified nurse, easily discarded the moment his true equal returned.
The public humiliation came swiftly at a charity gala, when Liam' s sister, Sarah, cruelly exposed me as a "charity case" and publicly shamed me, dousing me in wine, while Liam, lost in Chloe' s orbit, remained oblivious.
Why didn' t he see me? Why did he let them do this to me after everything I sacrificed?
That night, packing my bags, I knew I had to escape this gilded cage; I would reclaim my life, pay back every cent, and build a future where I was seen, for myself. Auctioned: A Husband's Comeback
Romance My name is Caleb Duncan, "The Architect" of D.C., and I built my wife, Nicole Hewitt, into a political powerhouse. We were the ultimate power couple, our lives a seamless blend of ambition and strategy, all focused on her rise to the Senate.
But on my birthday, a seemingly innocent Instagram post from a young mentee, Wesley Clark-a kid Nicole and I were putting through college-showed my wife, laughing intimately with him at our old diner, with a caption hinting at stolen moments.
When confronted, Nicole feigned innocence, then dismissed my concerns with cold contempt, revealing a side of her I hadn't known. Just weeks later, at her biggest campaign gala, she projected photos of me on a giant screen, then publicly branded me a "whore" who slept his way through D.C., attempting to auction me off to donors like a piece of meat.
The woman I had loved, built, and trusted more than anyone had orchestrated my public humiliation, my complete professional and personal destruction. How could she do this? Why this level of calculated cruelty?
Drugged and cornered, I saw no escape, until a familiar face, my wife' s fiercest rival, Gabrielle Johns, pulled me from the jaws of despair, ready to help me fight back and burn her world to the ground. The Wife Who Knew Too Much
Modern My father, the most honorable man I knew, was slipping away, but hope glimmered-a lung transplant. Sitting by his hospital bed, holding his hand, I told him we had so much time left.
I stepped out for a moment, and returned to a nightmare. Masked men stood over my father. A phone blinked red, livestreaming. They slammed me against the wall, forcing me to watch as they tore at my clothes and my father, horrified, coded.
The world exploded. The livestream of my humiliation was everywhere, twisted to paint me as a party girl responsible for my father' s death. Ethan, my perfect fiancé, abandoned me. The hospital sued me. Then my mother, broken and blaming me, took her own life.
I was utterly alone, an outcast, haunted by a question that screamed in my mind: Why? Why us? Why me? What unimaginable darkness could orchestrate such public, brutal destruction?
Five years later, a man I thought was my savior, my loving husband, delivered the chilling answer that shattered my entire reality. I was a fool, but being a fool had just become my greatest weapon. The Governor's Daughter: Reborn to Reign
Modern I woke up in my luxurious bedroom at the Governor' s mansion, silk sheets, sunlit, on the eve of my debutante ball. This wasn't the cold, damp room where I' d breathed my last. But then, the memories slammed into me, a tidal wave of betrayal.
My own brother, Harrison, my fiancé, Brent Astor, and Chloe, my father' s orphaned campaign manager' s daughter we' d taken in, had conspired to destroy me. Chloe, in my special gown, stealing my moment. Their public smear campaign, framed as a 'charity initiative,' was a front for an offshore nightmare that meticulously ruined my name.
My father's health mysteriously deteriorated, he died, and Harrison ascended to Governor. I, Savi, died alone, my reputation in tatters, branded for 'mistreating' sweet, innocent Chloe. The phantom pain of my last breath still haunted me.
How could my closest family members unleash such malevolent destruction, assassinating my character and ultimately my life, all while posing as heroes? Why was I, the victim, painted as the villain?
I looked at the calendar: it was that day. The debutante ball. I was back. A fierce, cold rage extinguished the fear. This time, things would be different. Chloe wouldn' t steal anything. Harrison and Brent would pay, dearly. And my father' s honorable legacy? I would secure it, no matter the cost. My Fiancée and My Betrayal
Romance Sarah Miles, a passionate journalist, was just days away from her dream: a prestigious UN Human Rights Correspondent Fellowship in war-torn Lendu and a wedding to her devoted fiancé, Ethan.
Her life, meticulously built, felt like it was finally ascending.
Then, a sudden, insidious message shattered everything.
Anonymous photos and videos flooded her phone, revealing Ethan, naked, with Chloe Hayes – Sarah' s own half-sister.
The man who had relentlessly pursued and championed her ambitions was a brutal liar, caught in a sickening affair.
His desperate excuses and attempts to manipulate the situation only deepened the agonizing wound.
Adding insult to unspeakable injury, Chloe' s chillingly cruel taunts made it clear this wasn't mere infidelity; it was a calculated act of destruction.
How could the man she loved betray her with her own family?
Why would Chloe, whom she was just beginning to connect with, orchestrate such pain?
The sheer audacity and inexplicable malice left Sarah reeling, grappling with a profound sense of injustice and a world turned utterly upside down.
With her meticulously planned future in ashes and her heart irrevocably broken, Sarah made a defiant choice.
The fellowship in Lendu transformed from a career ambition into a desperate, immediate escape.
She systematically dismantled her entire life, prepared to plunge into the chaos of a war zone, determined to find a future free from her shattered past, even if it meant confronting unthinkable dangers alone. My Ex's "C" Was Never Me
Billionaires Another wire transfer pinged.
It was another "apology payment" from Victoria Sterling, my girlfriend of five years.
This one was different: $500,000.
Far more than her usual fifty thousand, a sum that had already made me secretly rich.
I' d played the role of the devoted, slightly naive boyfriend perfectly for too long.
But this unprecedented amount felt less like an apology and more like a severance.
Then, a video message arrived from Dylan Price, from Vicky' s social circle.
It showed Vicky at a party, her arms wrapped around a young man, kissing him deeply.
He looked unsettlingly like me, a younger, perhaps less worn version.
Dylan' s text followed: "That' s Caleb Vance. Her childhood flame. Guess who\'s back?"
Suddenly, Vicky' s pet name, "My C," and her online handles like "ForeverC," made a sickening kind of sense.
I was never "C" for Ethan.
I was a stand-in.
A sharp pang of genuine hurt hit my chest.
I remembered being a scholarship kid from Appalachia, chasing her, believing she saw something in me.
Her friends had called me a "charity case."
I later found her hidden love letters to Caleb, recently signed, calling me "just a boy, a distraction."
When I finally confronted her during our breakup, she exploded.
"You don\'t break up with me, Ethan. I decide when this is over! You belong to me!"
I was shocked by the raw possessiveness in her voice.
Her absolute conviction that she owned me, body and soul.
She saw me as nothing more than an expensive pet, a compliant placeholder.
How could I have been so blind, so foolishly naive for five years?
But that immediate hurt quickly turned cold, pragmatic.
If I was a substitute, I was a well-paid one.
That $500,000 wasn't severance; it was a bonus for a long-term performance.
With millions now in my accounts, I was financially independent.
It was time to leave Vicky and her gilded cage behind. The OAX Murders
Horror Sarah Miller always felt like an outsider among her Omega Alpha Chi sorority sisters, yearning for a place at the heart of their tight circle. One fateful night, after a typical bonding party, she woke to an unspeakable horror: all five of her friends lay dead, victims of acute poisoning. Sarah was the sole survivor.
Instantly, the spotlight of suspicion turned to her. The police presented a chilling web of evidence: a panicked audio recording from Chloe' s phone, capturing her sisters' dying pleas, "Sarah, wake up!"; records showing Sarah's key fob used when she claimed to be sound asleep; and a disturbing handwritten note in her own script, confessing a desire for peace if "they were gone."
Sarah vehemently denied everything, desperate to believe she was asleep, but her memories were a terrifying blur. How could she be involved in such a monstrous act? The pieces didn't fit, adding to her dread: a pre-death text about a "prank" targeting her, and Danielle's chilling journal entry stating, "That wasn't Sarah."
Then came the devastating truth: a forgotten psychiatric history, revealing Dissociative Identity Disorder. And the final, grainy footage – "another Sarah," calmly exiting the room after the murders, a faint, chilling smile on her face. Now confined, Sarah lives in an inescapable nightmare, realizing the horrifying killer is not outside, but an integral, malevolent part of herself, waiting to re-emerge. The Video's Twisted Lie
Young Adult I was nineteen, trapped in a nightmare, living in a house where my mother' s fists were a constant presence, leaving me bruised and broken.
My father was my only hope, a beacon of normal in the chaos, though often conveniently absent.
One day, my boyfriend Ethan, witnessing another brutal attack, finally called 911, but a mysterious video my mother showed him twisted his concern into chilling disgust in an instant.
He walked out, abandoning me, branding me "sick" and "dangerous."
Before him, my own grandparents, the very people who once hugged me tight, had turned their backs after seeing that same hidden footage.
My father, who promised to protect me, also saw the video and joined the silent chorus of condemnation, leaving me utterly alone.
The beatings continued, escalating, my world shrinking to a painful, isolated cell.
What was on that damned video that could turn everyone I loved, every single person, against me, twisting their affection into hatred and judgment?
The injustice burned, the confusion was a constant ache, an unbearable mystery that defined my monstrous new reality.
Pushed to the brink of death in a final, savage assault, the truth finally surfaced: the horrifying secret the video held wasn't about me at all, but my own father' s unspeakable abuse of my sisters, and my mother' s twisted, monstrous attempt at protection.
I was just a pawn in their dark game, but now, finally, I knew their secret, and this time, everything would change. More Than Just Paper: The Degrees That Fought Back
Modern I stood on the polished stage of "Startup Goldrush," a triple-major Ivy League prodigy, ready to pitch myself and make my working-class family proud.
Then, Victoria Sterling, the lead judge, unleashed her attack: dismissing my credentials as "just paper," demanding I decode her vague tech jargon, and insinuating my degrees were fake.
A 'technical glitch' conveniently wiped my digital proof, and then, in a staged "accident," she soaked my physical diplomas with sticky kombucha, smirking as they disintegrated into an illegible mess.
The lowest blow came when my own brother, manipulated backstage, walked out and publicly told me to apologize, demanding I stop embarrassing our family.
Betrayed and humiliated, my world crashed, and I crumpled to the floor in a panic attack on live television, branded an "Ivy League Imposter."
How could years of relentless hard work, incredible sacrifice, and genuine achievement be twisted into such a horrifying, public destruction?
They tried to bury me, but as I lay in the darkness, remembering my brother's calloused hands and unwavering belief, a furious resolve ignited – I wouldn't just survive this, I would fight back.
I opened my laptop, my fingers trembling but firm, and began drafting an email to Dean Thompson, Harvard University, ready to expose their lies. You might like
No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." The Cold CEO's Unwanted Genius Wife
Meng Xinyu I stood in the darkest corner of the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, my cheap polyester dress itching against my skin while my wristband buzzed with a DARPA Priority Red alert.
In front of the city’s elite, my fiancé Bryce Calloway took the stage, not to toast our future, but to publicly end our engagement and announce he was with my sister, Chloe.
The room turned on me instantly, a hundred pairs of eyes pinning me down with pity and disgust as they physically backed away like I was contagious.
When I returned home, my mother shattered a crystal vase at my feet, screaming that I was a humiliation and a "dropout" who didn't deserve a cent of the family fortune.
Chloe and Bryce mocked me, laughing when I told them I had a mission with the National Security Agency, convinced I was either a pathological liar or a low-level criminal.
They watched in horror as a black, unmarked military helicopter descended on our backyard to extract me, yet they still chose to believe I was being arrested for drug trafficking.
They saw a pathetic girl who couldn't even parallel park, never realizing I was Dr. Nova Vance, the lead physicist behind the world's first successful fusion reactor.
To secure funding for my research and gain a "fortress" of a name, I signed a thirty-day marriage contract with the arrogant billionaire Roman Knight.
He treats me like a fraud, convinced I’m a gold-digger who failed out of college, while I quietly run global energy simulations from his guest bedroom.
He has no idea that the "loser" he’s forced to live with is the same anonymous grandmaster who has been ruthlessly crushing him in online strategy games for months.
"The contract is active," I told him, looking past his expensive suit.
"But don't expect me to be your maid." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." 
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