Min Xiaoxi
13 Published Stories
Min Xiaoxi's Books and Stories
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. The Secretary's Fake Rockstar Husband
Modern For twelve years, Cora lived in silent agony, loving her boss Bennett Hodges while serving as his perfect, invisible secretary.
But after one night of drunken despair, she woke up in a stranger's penthouse. The man, an indie musician named Callum, showed her viral paparazzi photos of her ripping his shirt off and demanded a fake marriage to save his career.
Cora immediately agreed, desperately needing a legal shield. Bennett had just ordered her to attend a gala as the personal date of a billionaire known for sending women to the ER. When Cora refused and showed Bennett her marriage certificate, he thought it was a pathetic bluff. To force her submission, Bennett froze her entire savings, permanently denied her hard-earned department transfer, and watched with a smug smile as his sister humiliated Cora for being the "maid's daughter." He wanted to completely destroy her life until she crawled back begging.
Looking at her ruined design portfolio scattered on the floor, Cora felt her heart turn to ice. She had dedicated her entire youth to a man who saw her as nothing more than a piece of furniture that knew its place. How could she have blindly loved such a cruel, controlling monster for so long?
The violent shaking in her hands stopped, replaced by a terrifying calm.
"I have documented every single abusive directive from this office."
She flashed the massive diamond her new fake husband had given her, threatened to burn Bennett's pristine reputation to the ground, and finally walked away. 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 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. 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
Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
Zi Ya The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me." Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
William Jafferson My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger.
During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience.
I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants.
My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure.
Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn.
Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery.
"Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever.
I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined. The Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
Dong Lier For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire.
But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters.
For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions.
He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage?
He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk.
"Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn." No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns
Ela Osaretin "Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything."
For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'.
While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time.
He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree.
"Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free."
The submissive Amelia is dead.
The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me.
The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me.
The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me.
I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path.
When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees.
"They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."
Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
TESS WHITE I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground. His Accidental Cure: The Runaway Contract Wife
Norrra I was drugged and sent to a hotel room to be compromised, but I ended up in the presidential suite with a stranger.
I didn't know the man I clung to in my hallucinogenic haze was my own husband, Devaughn Winters, a man I hadn't spoken to in a year.
When I woke up the next morning, the terror of what I’d done hit me like a physical blow. I fled, leaving behind nothing but a shredded dress and a lingering sense of dread.
I thought I’d finally escaped the cold, suffocating contract of our marriage when I signed the divorce papers, but I was wrong.
My mother-in-law arrived at my apartment, freezing my sick mother’s medical funds and threatening to ruin me for the "infidelity" she claimed I’d committed.
She dragged my secrets into the light, leaving me with no choice but to fight back with a knife in my hand and a 911 call on speaker.
But just as I thought I was free, the man I’d spent the night with—the man who was supposed to be my stranger—tore up our divorce papers and declared that I was his to keep.
I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, trapped between a ruthless father who wanted to sell me for corporate secrets and a husband who demanded I belong to him in life and in death.
How did he not know who I was that night, and why is he suddenly claiming me as his own?
I’m done being a victim, and if he thinks he can own me, he’s about to find out exactly what happens when a cornered woman decides to burn it all down. I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle
Haley I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent—regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family’s shareholders.
But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked.
I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint.
The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I’d crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment.
I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever.
The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom—Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration.
"Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me." Too Late For Regret: My Dying Breath
Breeze Harlow had stage IV lung cancer and only three months left to live. Her only hope was for her billionaire ex, Ezra, to take in their deaf four-year-old daughter.
But Ezra despised her. Five years ago, Harlow's sister Katherine framed her for corporate theft, sending her to a brutal state prison. Ezra believed the lies completely.
To him, little Clementine was just another man's bastard. When Harlow knelt on his floor begging for a DNA test, he looked at her with pure disgust. On the day the results were revealed in front of both their families, Harlow thought the truth would finally save her child.
Instead, Ezra threw the lab report at her. Secretly manipulated by Katherine's wealth, the paper stated Ezra was excluded as the biological father.
"You are a lying, manipulative parasite, and you are done!" Ezra screamed.
Katherine offered her a fake pity check, while Harlow's own father cursed her as a shameless stain on their legacy.
Harlow stared at the forged paper, her world spinning. She couldn't understand how her own family could be so monstrous, or how Ezra could be so blindly cruel to watch his true daughter be thrown into the streets.
The suffocating despair violently ruptured her diseased lungs. A horrific spray of dark blood erupted from her mouth, soaking the fake DNA report and Ezra's crisp white shirt, before she collapsed lifelessly at his feet. 
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