Mei Piaoxiang
12 Published Stories
Mei Piaoxiang's Books and Stories
Broken Doll No More: Her Ruthless Revenge
Mafia I stood before the heavy oak door with a positive pregnancy test burning a hole in my pocket, ready to tell the Underboss, Anthony Holden, that his legacy was secured.
But before I could turn the handle, I heard his twin brother laughing from inside.
"She screams your name, not mine. It is a little insulting, brother," Emmanuel mocked.
"Three years of celibacy for the alliance while you play with my toy," Anthony sighed. "I deserve a medal."
My world shattered. For three years, I thought I was the exception to their violence, but I had been sleeping with a monster in the dark.
When I kicked the door open, Bianca House—my high school tormentor—was sitting there like a queen.
"Happy anniversary, Erica," she sneered. "You were just a placeholder for the territory deal."
They didn't stop there. They took my dignity, and then they took my life.
At a dinner intended to show unity, they watched me choke on peanuts. Anthony looked me in the eye and used my EpiPen on Bianca’s fake faint while I suffocated on the floor.
They threw my grandmother’s ashes off a balcony just to watch me scream. They pushed me into traffic to ensure I’d be a compliant prop for their wedding.
They killed the baby in my womb.
They thought they had broken me. They thought I was just a nurse, a civilian, a loose end.
But on the day of the wedding, I wasn't in the pews.
I was on a bus out of state, hacking the church's livestream.
As the priest began to speak, I replaced the image of the cross with the video of their confession.
I watched their empire crumble from a cracked phone screen, leaving the monsters behind to find a man who would actually burn the world for me. When Love Became a Nightmare
Romance The text message from Mark, "Trip extended. Don' t wait up. Love you," was the first crack in the facade of my four-year marriage, a hollow echo of affection on our anniversary. Then, discovering him with his assistant, Olivia Stone, in his office, their intimacy a brutal slap, confirmed my deepest fears.
But his words cut deeper than the sight: "Ever since she got pregnant, she' s become… unbearable. Clingy. Emotional. It' s not the woman I married." In that instant, a searing pain shot through my abdomen, and a choked gasp escaped me, a prelude to the nightmare that followed.
He pushed me down the stairs. My body hit the cold steps over and over. I lay in a heap, bleeding, losing our baby. Yet, he rushed past me to comfort Olivia, asking, "Are you okay? Did she scare you?" He chose her, leaving me broken and bleeding on the floor. At the hospital, he confirmed the devastating loss and then blamed me, twisting reality.
As if summoned, Olivia appeared, feigning sorrow, while he comforted her, bringing her to my room where our child's life had just ended. He pushed me back onto the bed, furious at my screams, and then escorted her out, murmuring soothing words, leaving me utterly alone with the ghost of our child.
His cruelty knew no bounds. He threw my beloved dog, Buddy, out into a raging storm, then forced me to apologize to Olivia for upsetting HER, threatening Buddy's life if I refused. I knelt, humiliating myself, whispering apologies I didn't mean, all for Buddy.
How could he be so monstrous? He remembered nothing of the man I loved, only this cruel stranger. Yet, the question of what he truly remembered, what he was capable of, hung heavy in the air.
That night, alone after my performative apology, I called my lawyer. My decision was solid, unchangeable. The marriage was a festering wound, and the only way to survive was to cut it out completely. Her Pain, His Ultimate Regret
Romance My team lead looked at my termination letter, unable to meet my eyes. He said it came from the top, nothing he could do. I was the scapegoat for a supposed error, fired from the company because Chloe Davis, Nathan Hayes' s high school sweetheart and co-founder, was back.
Suddenly, I saw Nathan get out of his car, holding the door for Chloe with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in ages. Our eyes met, a flicker of something in his expression before it was gone, and he walked right past me without a word, leaving a sharp pain in my chest. I hailed a cab and went to his penthouse, the place I called home, for now. I cooked his favorite meal, sent him a picture, and waited, but he never replied.
Days passed. Nathan didn't contact me. I'd been to the hospital three times, my doctor pressing for treatment options, but I kept them hidden. He finally came home, his tension easing when I told him I just had a cold. He pulled my hand to his face, a familiar, intimate gesture, reminding me how easily I mistook habit for affection.
After a night of desperate passion, he whispered, "Ava, you're not mad I fired you, are you?" I wasn't. Three years ago, he paid off my mother's gambling debts, turning me into his "kept woman." I was dutiful, obedient, supportive, asking for nothing. He called me his "beautiful bird in a golden cage," the one who could never leave him.
Then, Chloe's best friend, Brenda Smith, confronted me, throwing my desperate texts to Nathan in my face. "You're a pathetic homewrecker," she sneered, slapping me hard across the cheek. I ended up in the hospital with a concussion. Nathan came back, but his main concern was Chloe's reputation. "Ava, Chloe is different from you to me," he said, touching my bruised cheek. "Just be good, okay?"
The pain was suffocating. I didn't understand how he could be so cruelly indifferent. I closed my eyes, and a single tear escaped. He didn't wipe it away. Our three years together meant nothing. It was all a ghost compared to his "white knight."
"Let's break up, Nathan." His jaw tightened. "Ava, break up? Haven't you forgotten our agreement? Unless one of us dies, I am the one who decides when we part ways." I finally understood. To be free, I had to die for him to let me go. His Shadow, Her Betrayal, His Rise
Modern The blinding white of the hospital ceiling.
My ears registered the monotonous beep of a machine, my body a dull ache radiating from my chest, but my mind was replaying a lifetime.
A lifetime I didn't swerve, didn't fight, a life where I gave everything for her, for Sarah Miller.
I saw myself hollowed out, unfulfilled, alone, a footnote in her brilliant biography, my own child a ghost.
Then the blinding clarity: this wasn't just a brush with death, it was a preview of the life I was about to lose myself in.
My gaze drifted-Sarah, impeccable as always, on her phone, brow furrowed.
And next to her, Alex, murmuring, his hand on her arm, a gesture far too familiar.
They were a perfect, closed circuit.
I was the outsider.
A cold certainty settled in my chest, more real than the pain from my injuries: I would not let that life happen.
My hands trembled, not from weakness, but from a newfound resolve.
I called my boss.
"Mike! I heard about the accident. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
"I'm okay, Mark," I said, my voice raspy. "But I'm calling to resign."
"Resign? Mike, what are you talking about? You're our top young talent. We were just about to put you on the downtown high-rise project."
"I don't want the high-rise," I said, with surprising strength. "I want the sustainable community project. The one in Oak Creek. I know it's a pay cut. I know it's in the middle of nowhere. I'll take it. I need to do it."
A weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lifted from my shoulders.
It felt incredible.
This was my second chance.
My life wasn't going to be a footnote in Sarah Miller's biography.
It was going to be my own story.
Starting now. Divorce Papers, A Woman Reborn
Modern My record label was a empire, built on grit and an uncanny ear for talent.
But that morning, standing in my sanctuary, Studio A, the controlled chaos I expected was replaced by a scene that froze my blood: a girl I didn't know, holding "The Nightingale," Liam's one-of-a-kind microphone.
It wasn't just any mic. It was our mic, a silver emblem of our shared career, engraved with "E+L"-a symbol of a sacred promise he made years ago, that only his voice would ever touch it. And this girl, Ava, with her sickly sweet smile, was singing into it, her cheap perfume clinging to the pop filter, her fingers wrapped right over our initials. My sound engineer paled and cut the audio.
"Hi, Ms. Reed. I'm Ava. Liam said I could warm up with this one." Her voice was pure saccharine.
Liam, the man of principles, who preached loyalty and integrity, had let her use it, had broken his promise for her. He walked in later, carefree, carrying coffees, asking, "Where's Ava?" as if it were nothing. Blithely admitting he told her she could use his mic.
Why did he dismiss our vow so easily? Why was this girl, a stranger, allowed to hold something so intimate, so symbolic of us? And why did Liam act like my feelings were an overreaction, just something he needed to manage?
I sent her home, but the real fight had just begun. Too Late, Mr. Thompson: Your Script is Burned
Fantasy Three months pregnant, my life with Mark, a rising tech CEO, in our beautiful Charleston home, felt truly perfect.
We were college sweethearts, five years married-a fairy tale come true.
Then Mark arrived holding a cheap, wilted rose. Above his head, impossible words flickered like captions only I could see: `"The 'side piece' got the fresh bouquet, the 'starter wife' gets a pity rose?"` More chillingly: `"Only 4 more months until the 'first wife' is written off. Classic tragic exit."` My perfect world shattered.
The comments exposed his long-term affair with his intern, Brit, and my role as a disposable "plot device."
When I confronted them, Brit shoved me. I fell. I woke with an agonizing void-my baby gone.
Mark, feigning remorse, still used our funds to protect his mistress.
His hypocrisy infuriated me. The comments confirmed his manipulative strategy.
Then, the ultimate blow: Mark declared Brit was pregnant, calling it "our second chance." He even offered to make her abort that baby if I'd take him back, proving him utterly depraved.
I refused to be written off. My baby was gone, but I was still here.
The tragic script they wrote for me was now totally ablaze. I chose to fight. "No mercy," I told my lawyer.
I would dismantle his empire, reclaim my life, and write my own powerful, uncompromised ending. The Love Story Passed Nineteen Again
Romance I woke up nineteen again, in my familiar 80s room, recalling a seventy-year marriage with Mark.
He was my soulmate, my golden love story, and I believed this time, we could make it even more perfect.
But this new, young Mark was shockingly different.
He was ambitious, driven, and then, at the Fourth of July picnic, he publicly asked Tiffany Anderson, the town' s popular golden girl, to be his girlfriend.
My seventy-year love story, my perfect reunion dream, shattered into a million pieces.
I watched my past, present, and future fall apart before my eyes.
Every shared milestone, every tender moment, was now seen through a horrifying lens of betrayal.
He' d never been truly with me; he was always just chasing her.
Mark himself confirmed my deepest fears, treating me with open disdain, trying to sabotage my music.
How could the man I loved for a lifetime treat me like this?
My heart screamed, "Did you ever, in all those seventy years, actually love me?"
His answer was a cold, brutal laugh: "Love you? Don't be stupid. It was convenient. It was always Tiffany."
My entire past life, a carefully constructed illusion, imploded.
But in that moment of utter devastation, a fierce, new resolve ignited within me.
The very sabotage meant to break me instead opened an unexpected door.
A city music promoter, impressed by my raw performance, offered me a way out-a chance to become truly myself, finally free from his shadow. From Nerd To NovaCorp Heir
Young Adult I was just Ethan Miller, the quiet coder, dreaming of a tech internship and a shot with Brittany Hayes.
Then the internship list dropped. Her boyfriend Chad made it, I didn't.
Hours later, the school' s social media lit up: a "Loser List" poll, and I was "Biggest Nerd," number one.
My private DMs, every awkward, hopeful word asking Brittany to prom, were instantly plastered school-wide.
Laughter and pointed fingers followed me, the burning humiliation a public execution of my dignity.
Brittany had orchestrated it all.
She' d played me for a fool, then falsely accused me of hacking, costing me my dream CS program and a suspension.
The "Future Innovator" scholarship I was promised went to Chad.
Why did she hate me so much, actively ruining my life and now targeting Sarah Jenkins, an innocent outcast I' d tried to help?
But at prom, as Brittany "accidentally" spilled a drink on Sarah' s dress, something inside me snapped.
The chauffeur opened the Maybach' s door; I stepped out in a custom Tom Ford tuxedo, my family' s security detail and stylist flanking me.
"I'm Mark Miller's son," I whispered to a stunned Sarah. "NovaCorp. Time for an upgrade." Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: Her Sacrifice Burned Away
Modern Ava Miller, terminally ill with ALS, fled a brutal five-year imprisonment in a mental health facility.
Her desperate wish was a final act of control: a pre-arranged full-body donation for complete disintegration, leaving no trace behind.
But her carefully planned escape shattered when she collided with Liam Donovan, her former fiancé and the man who believed she was responsible for his beloved sister' s tragic death.
Liam, consumed by grief and rage, dragged Ava into a new nightmare, intent on making her pay for Chloe' s loss.
Despite her rapidly worsening illness and broken body, Ava shielded a secret that would exonerate her but destroy Chloe' s memory, embracing Liam' s abuse as penance.
She endured public degradation, horrific assaults, and even a forced bone marrow donation that left her paralyzed, all to uphold her silent promise.
How could the man she still desperately loved be so cruelly blind to her innocence and suffering, allowing his hatred to consume her?
Why did she choose to sacrifice every shred of dignity for a truth she couldn't speak, leaving her stripped of everything but oblivion?
Her final agonizing moments came in a fire he implicitly condoned, prompting Liam to slowly unravel her devastating sacrifice through hidden clues long after she was gone.
Now, haunted by the profound truth of Ava's unwavering love and innocent torment, Liam is forced to confront the monstrous depths of his own actions, embarking on a brutal journey for redemption, only to discover some truths come too late for forgiveness. The Day I Chose My Own Destiny
Romance My blood was a rare gift, able to heal any wound and mend broken bodies.
In my first wretched life, it bound me to Ethan Vanderbilt, who saw my power as his sole property.
But my gift couldn't bring back the dead, a truth Ethan refused to accept when his "true love," Veronica, lay lifeless before him.
Consumed by a twisted grief not for me, he cruelly watched as my own life bled out from a wound he inflicted.
I died a slow, agonizing death, powerless against his vengeful madness.
As darkness claimed me, a maid's faint whisper revealed a chilling secret: Veronica wasn’t where they claimed; her death wasn't an accident.
"Another man… his wife found out."
My entire torment, my very death, was built on a monstrous lie.
The utter injustice of it burned, even as I faded.
Then, I gasped, whole and alive, in a hospital room.
The calendar date confirmed it: I was back to the very day Ethan first summoned me.
This time, I wouldn't be his victim.
This time, I had a choice.
This was my second chance. If He Dies, He Dies
Modern I poured my life, my health, into Vicky Sterling's startup.
Now she's a celebrated CEO, and I’m just a recovering patient, battling Crohn’s.
Her "conceptual artist" lover, Julian, fills our home with his presence.
One evening, Julian, knowing my strict diet, offered me a rich, forbidden pasta.
Under his watchful smirk, I took a bite.
Within the hour, internal fire consumed me.
I crawled to Vicky, begging for the hospital, but she dismissed my agony.
She called me "dramatic," prioritized Julian's fake illness, and brutally kicked my surgical scars.
Her assistant Brenda then locked me in my room, where Julian's venomous brown recluse bit me.
When paramedics arrived, Vicky blocked the ambulance, chillingly stating, "If he dies, he dies!"
How could the woman I loved, the one I sacrificed everything for, actively ensure my agonizing death?
Was I just a burden to be eliminated, a mere inconvenience?
As darkness encroached, I used my last ounce of strength, not to call 911 again, but the one man who could truly help: Uncle Frank.
My story wasn't ending; it was just beginning. 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. The Ugly Substitute Bride of the Mafia King
Finn Mercer My adoptive family, the Castillos, treated their biological children like royalty, but used me as a disposable pawn.
To secure a mafia alliance, they forced me to take my beautiful sister's place and marry Don Damien Moretti, a man rumored to be a ruthless, bloodthirsty monster.
They thought they were sending me to my execution. At our engagement banquet, my mother and sister deliberately gifted me a cheap, counterfeit gown to humiliate me in front of New York's elite.
When I publicly exposed their lie, my father demanded I apologize. My mother even raised her hand to slap me in front of everyone.
"You are a vicious curse! You ruin everything!"
They eagerly waited for the Don to execute me on the spot for embarrassing them.
I had spent years secretly saving their company from bankruptcy and supplying the underground experimental drugs that kept my brother's mafia career alive.
Yet, they threw me to the wolves without a second thought, disgusted by my very existence.
But they didn't know that just an hour before the banquet, I had saved a bleeding, masked stranger in a dark alley-who turned out to be Damien Moretti himself. The Enforcer's Jilted Princess
Bone Possolo Tomorrow was my wedding day to Jason Brennan, the heir to a powerful Mafia family.
My family, the Falcones, had even taken in an orphaned girl, Elena, treating her like my own sister.
But in my nightmare of a past life, I choked on my own blood, poisoned by the arsenic Elena slipped into my food every day.
As I lay agonizingly close to death, Jason stood over me with a cold laugh, holding Elena in his arms.
"We just needed the Falcone wealth, Bella. And the docks."
Then came the gunfire. I was forced to watch them slaughter my father and my brother, tearing my family out by the roots.
After my death, Elena even spread vicious rumors that I was a barren spinster, twisting their foul betrayal into a tragic tale of noble sacrifice to completely destroy my legacy.
The metallic tang of my own blood was so real I could still taste the ash.
I didn't understand why the girl my family sheltered for eight years would repay our charity with such venom.
And I understood even less how the man who swore to love me could orchestrate my brutal murder without a shred of hesitation.
Bolting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, I realized I had returned to the night before my wedding.
This time, I wouldn't just cancel the engagement. I would hand their treason directly to the Mafia's most terrifying Enforcer, and watch them burn. 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. 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, I Ruined Their Perfect Life
Priority I spent five years laundering my family's wealth and buying military-grade weapons to crown my husband, Alistair, the Don of the Chicago Mafia.
But the night before his coronation, he drove an Italian stiletto into my stomach.
He sneered that a Don needed a true Mafia Queen, and that was always meant to be his "fragile" friend, Kylie.
As I bled out on the Persian rug, he revealed the sickening truth.
The night I was found in a rival Irish boss's bed two years ago wasn't a setup by our enemies. Alistair had ordered his own mother and sister to drug and frame me.
He just needed me terrified enough to sign over my merchant trust fund to prove my loyalty.
My entire marriage, my sacrifices, and my stolen wealth were just stepping stones for him and his mistress.
I had bled for him and won him the city, only to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb so he could hand my empire to another woman.
Before the flames I started consumed us both, I swore I'd drag his entire family to hell.
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating smoke was gone, replaced by the scent of lavender and the bitter taste of chloral hydrate.
I was back on the exact night of the frame-up two years ago.
Outside the door, my sister-in-law was whispering, waiting for the Irish boss to arrive so they could ruin me.
This time, I was going to make sure she was the one in that bed. Married To My Mysterious Ex-Con Husband
Flying Free My father bailed a violent ex-con out of prison just to force me into a marriage with him. I stood in a filthy Bronx hallway, my Vera Wang gown dragging through the grime, knowing this was the price for my mother’s life. If I didn't marry the man behind the steel door, the wire transfer for her hospital ventilator wouldn't go through the next morning.
The man, a scarred giant named Dock, treated me with cold contempt, telling me he didn't touch things he didn't want—and he didn't want a "Jacobson." I thought I had hit rock bottom, tied to a criminal while my family lived in luxury. But the nightmare was just beginning.
When I tried to return my wedding dress to pay for rent, my sister Janie and stepmother found me. They laughed as security dragged me out of the boutique, calling me a "charity case." When I finally crawled back to our family manor to beg for the money my father had promised, Janie revealed the horrific truth. She had liquidated my mother’s medical trust to fund a waterfront real estate project.
"Get out and let your mother rot," she screamed, throwing a glass of ice water in my face before having guards dump me in the dirt. I knelt on the gravel, wet and bleeding, realizing my own flesh and blood had signed my mother's death warrant for a profit. I had nothing left—no money, no home, and a husband who was supposed to be a monster.
I didn't understand why they hated me so much, or how I would survive the night. But then, a black car screeched to a halt in front of me. Dock pulled me inside, his eyes burning with a lethal coldness I’d never seen in a common thug.
As he wiped the blood from my hands, he picked up a encrypted phone and gave a single command.
"Initiate Project Titan. I want the Jacobson Group insolvent by Friday."
I looked at the man I thought was a broke felon, realizing I hadn't just married a stranger—I had married the most dangerous man in the city, and he was about to burn my family's world to the ground. 
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