Min Xiaoxi
11 Published Stories
Min Xiaoxi's Books and Stories
The Day I Was Reborn
Modern On the day my son died, I was reborn.
The morning light of Chicago streamed through the blinds, just like before, a painful echo of a day I never wanted to live again.
My son, Leo, was supposed to have his scholarship interview at Northwestern today, a full ride, his entire future.
In my previous life, that future ended with the sound of his body hitting the pavement.
Then they came for me.
My husband, Mark, told the cameras I was a monster, a controlling mother who drove her son to suicide.
My best friend, Chloe, Leo' s godmother, provided the proof, a doctored video of me ranting, shoving papers, painting me as crazed.
The police found "abusive" scratches on Leo's arm matching a gardening accident on my hands.
My career, my name, my entire life were destroyed by their fabricated narrative.
I ended it all in a cold, empty apartment, the media' s condemnation a constant ringing in my ears.
To my dying breath, I couldn't comprehend the depth of their betrayal, swallowed by an unjust accusation from the people I loved most.
But now, I was back, sitting up in bed, my heart a steady, cold drum.
Everything was the same, except for me.
This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would expose every single one of their monstrous lies. Service Was Mediocre: Reviewing My Billionaire Lover
Billionaires I woke up in a luxury penthouse with a blinding headache and bruises on my thighs, staring at the man who was about to ruin my life. Cullen Hunter, the most dangerous billionaire in Los Angeles, was stepping out of the shower, ready to discard me with a signed check and a cold look of disdain.
Then the memories hit me like a physical blow. I realized I had woken up in the "Death Flag" scene of a script—this was the exact morning Avery Hall was supposed to be kicked out, humiliated, and started her downward spiral into a tragic death.
The nightmare escalated within minutes. My own brother, Ernest, called to tell me I was no longer a member of the family, freezing my trust fund and evicting me from my apartment. He believed the lies of our "perfect" adopted sister, Cheslie, who had leaked her own private photos and framed me for it just to gain sympathy. Even my fiancé, Preston, couldn't wait to dump me in public, calling me a "crazy bitch" before running straight into Cheslie’s waiting arms.
I was suddenly homeless, bankrupt, and the most hated woman in the city. My family wanted me to crawl back and apologize on my knees for a crime I didn't commit, while the man I had just spent the night with watched my destruction with boredom.
I didn't understand how they could all turn on me so fast, or how I was expected to survive in a world where the script was literally written for my failure.
"Avery, don't make this difficult," Cullen warned, waiting for the tears he thought were coming.
But I refused to play the victim. I pulled three hundred dollars of my last bits of cash, slapped them onto Cullen’s nightstand, and told him the service was mediocre. I wasn't going to beg for love or mercy anymore; I was going to rewrite the ending of this story and become the most dangerous femme fatale Hollywood had ever seen. The Savior He Rejected For Her Evil Sister
Werewolf For years, I was nothing but a biological spare part for my sister, Isabella. My bone marrow kept her vibrant while I withered in the attic.
I thought my mate, Alpha Dante, would eventually see me. I was the one who saved him from the blizzard years ago, not her.
But when a neon sign crashed down outside the jazz club, Dante didn't look at me.
He tackled Isabella, shielding her pristine body, while I was crushed beneath burning silver-plated metal.
I woke up in agony, only to find Isabella accusing me of trying to kill her.
Dante didn't smell the lies. He only saw his "traumatized" fiancée.
"Fifty lashes," he ordered, his eyes cold. "Use the Wolfsbane whip."
I hung from the dungeon ceiling, the poison searing my bones, watching the man I loved cover Isabella's eyes to spare her the sight of my blood.
The final straw came during a car crash days later. Trapped and bleeding internally, I begged for his help.
He looked at the fire licking my legs, then at Isabella's scratched arm. He picked her up and walked away, leaving me to burn.
That night, the bond in my heart died.
I didn't beg anymore. I left a single cassette tape on his desk—the recording of me singing to him in that blizzard—and vanished.
By the time he realized he had tortured his true savior, I was already gone. Leaving The Billionaire Who Loved His Ex
Modern My father was dying on a hospital bed, and I was frantically calling my husband, Ethan.
He didn't answer. Later, he claimed his battery had died while he was on a crucial business trip.
But a photo sent by my best friend revealed the sickening truth. Ethan wasn't working. He was in a London café, looking at Olivia—the ex-girlfriend he swore he hadn't seen in five years—with pure desperation and love.
His phone was sitting right there on the table between them, face up and fully charged.
I swallowed the betrayal and played the perfect, grieving wife when he returned. But then I found the locked drawer in his study.
Inside wasn't just a shrine of photos of her; it was a journal. The ink was barely dry on the latest entry.
"I pray the child has Olivia's eyes. If it looks like her, I can pretend I didn't settle for the safe, boring option. Ava is a good placeholder, but she isn't Her."
He didn't want a family with me. He wanted to use my body to recreate a ghost of the woman he actually loved. He planned to turn our unborn child into a prop for his twisted obsession.
I wiped my tears. The next morning, I handed him a stack of documents to sign, hiding the divorce papers in the middle.
Then, while he was busy texting her under the table, I walked into a clinic to remove the only thing binding us together.
He thinks he is the mastermind. He has no idea he has already lost the game. Beyond the River's Edge
Modern The last thing I remembered was the freezing water closing over my head, Brittany' s triumphant smile the final image in my mind.
Then, a gasp. I shot up, coughing, not in the dark river, but in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window.
Had it all been a nightmare? The public shaming, getting fired, the whispers, the utter despair that drove me to that river' s edge?
A self-satisfied hum from the living room shattered the illusion. Brittany.
My heart hammered. This wasn' t a nightmare. It was a second chance.
Memories flooded back: my sweet, bubbly roommate turning into a viper. She started using my online identity, my photos, twisting them into something sordid.
When I confronted her, she just laughed, "Chloe, don' t be such a prude. They love it. It' s just a bit of fun."
I went to HR, but she got there first, twisting the story, painting me as a jealous, unstable friend. They believed her.
The photos became more explicit, sent from my work email. I was publicly humiliated, labeled an exhibitionist. My boss couldn' t look me in the eye.
The company fired me to "protect its image." My career, everything I' d worked for, was gone.
Brittany thrived. She took my job, my desk, my life. She stood on the ashes of my career and pretended she was a hero.
The final blow was the public scandal that nearly cost me my life. And then, it did.
As the current pulled me under, she had won. But now I was back.
The girl who died in that river took all my innocence with her. What was left was a cold, burning desire for revenge.
And as I lay there, listening to the clicks of her camera, I knew exactly how I was going to get it. Nine Divorces, One Last Stand
Romance Five years. Nine court dates. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days of a marriage on trial.
Today, my husband, Mark Thompson, filed for divorce for the ninth time.
As if his infidelity with Sarah Miller wasn' t enough, he stood in court, tears in his mistress' s eyes, dramatically presenting a positive pregnancy test and declared, "It's time for Chloe to let me go."
But I had proof. A grainy surveillance video from our living room, showing Mark, drunk, begging me not to leave, then savagely biting my earlobe in a desperate, animalistic act of possession.
The judge, clearly fed up with Mark' s theatrics, denied the petition. Mark, enraged, swore he' d keep fighting until I was out of his life for good.
His words rang true just three nights later. I was poisoned at a dinner, doubling over in searing pain, gasping for air.
Mark found me clutching my stomach, but instead of helping, he dismissed my agony, saying, "Stop faking it, Chloe. You' re just drunk."
Then he drove away, leaving me to bleed on the dark street, his chilling threat echoing in the night: "Just obey, or I' ll file for divorce again at the next hearing. I' ll make sure it' s the tenth and final one."
As his taillights vanished, a profound stillness settled over me. This wasn't just a physical wound; it was a soul-deep laceration, cauterized by his indifference.
Lying there, alone and abandoned, a decision formed in my mind, crystal clear and devoid of emotion.
I was done. His Final, Silent Gift
Romance Five years ago, I secretly donated my kidney to save my fiancée, Chloe.
I faked a scandalous breakup, making her believe I was a gold-digging traitor, so she wouldn't feel the burden of my sacrifice.
Now, my remaining kidney is failing, leaving me with only months to live, while she thrives as a tech CEO.
When our paths cross, she publicly humiliates me, treating me like dirt, and her new fiancé, Liam, brutally beats and frames me, systematiclly destroying my life.
I' m dying, slandered as a monstrous gold-digger, yet I still choose to protect the woman I secretly saved, even while she unknowingly destroys what little life I have left.
But when my best friend, Sarah, finally screams the truth, and Liam' s twisted confessions fully unravel, Chloe begins to see it all-the lies, the sacrifice, the undying love that led to my tragic demise. Will her agonizing realization come too late, or can she salvage a love story stained by an ultimate act of selfless devotion and enduring bitterness? The Price of Her Fame
Romance For seven years, I poured every ounce of my being-my savings, my career, my very essence-into Olivia Reed' s music career. I was the silent force behind her rise, the architect of her dream, believing her success was ours.
Then, at her album launch, the night she finally made it, she publicly declared her producer, Liam Hayes, her "soulmate" and kissed him passionately on stage.
My world shattered. When I confronted her, she dismissed me like a discarded tool, coldly telling me I was just a placeholder until Liam was ready. The humiliation was unbearable, amplified by the smug triumph in Liam' s eyes.
But the real shock came later: Olivia and Liam had a five-year-old son, a child they' d hidden from the world. And the chilling realization? Olivia had secretly taken my DNA, just to confirm the child wasn' t mine, fearing a "paternity scandal" would damage her brand.
What was I to her? A bank account? A convenient fool? The man who paid for her secret family, while she laughed behind my back? The betrayal cut deeper than any heartbreak.
No longer the naive architect, I decided then and there: Olivia Reed had built her empire on lies and my sacrifice. It was time to tear it all down. The Blinded Wife's Sweet Revenge
Romance The day I found out I was pregnant was the same day I lost my sight.
I woke up in a hospital, my world plunged into impenetrable darkness, but my fiancé, Ethan, was there, his hand in mine, murmuring reassurances.
Then, through the fog of pain, I heard another conversation - Ethan, whispering to the doctor.
He wasn't comforting me; he was ordering my future: a hysterectomy to ensure I couldn't have children, blaming it on the attack, all so he could bring his secret son with his old flame, Maria, into our home.
The man I loved, the one I' d selflessly saved years ago by arranging Maria' s bone marrow donation for his life-altering surgery, was systematically destroying mine to make way for his real family.
He' d taken my eyesight, my child, and my future, portraying me as a tragic victim while meticulously crafting a public narrative of his devotion.
He thought he had rendered me helpless, a blind, barren woman to pity and control, even bringing Maria and his son, Leo, to me under the guise of an adoption agency visit.
Maria, the very woman I had tracked down and compelled to save Ethan, relished in taunting me about my own secret act of heroism, twisting it into a weapon to reveal his ultimate betrayal.
But in the profound darkness he cast upon me, an icy clarity emerged, hardening my sorrow into something far more dangerous than despair: a meticulous plan for revenge.
He thought he was leading a lamb to the slaughter; he had no idea he was stepping into a trap of my own design, and I would burn his world to the ground. The Fiancée Who Died Twice
Romance The typical bright Texas morning was promising, another day of booming business for Hayes Corp, my family's oil and real estate empire.
My assistant's tight voice cut through the calm: "Mr. Hayes, there's... news. About Ms. Moreau."
Isabelle "Izzy" Moreau, my fiancée, was supposedly lost at sea in a tragic boating accident off the coast of Maine.
In my previous life, that phone call had shattered my world; I spent fifty years as a hollow shell, honoring her memory while her supposed grieving friends drained my company with their sob stories.
But then, at eighty, frail and tired, I found her alive and thriving at our "special place" in the Caribbean, dripping in jewels, laughing on the arm of Liam Vance, my former head of security.
Their children, their grandchildren, a grotesque dynasty built on my stolen life and stolen fortune.
The sheer, monumental betrayal stopped my heart, killing me on the spot.
Then I jolted awake, here, now, back on this exact Tuesday morning, the sun shining, the phone poised to deliver the same lie.
Only this time, the news didn't devastate me; it filled me with a cold, clear resolve.
I already knew. I had lived this day before, and I was reborn with a singular purpose.
The game was officially on, and this time, I would win. You might like
The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. 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!" 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." Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. 
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