Ming Yue
12 Published Stories
Ming Yue's Books and Stories
From Discarded Wife To Scent Queen
Mafia My husband, the ruthless Underboss of the Ewing crime family, was terrified of one thing: his dead fiancée’s memory.
Or rather, her living sister, Ivana, who used that memory to turn my life into a living hell.
To "apologize" for humiliating me at a gala, Corbett brought me a peace offering: a green macaron.
"Pistachio," he promised. "Your favorite."
I took one bite, and my throat instantly seized. It felt like barbed wire tightening around my windpipe.
It wasn't pistachio. It was almond paste.
Corbett knew I was deadly allergic. He used to carry my EpiPen on our first dates.
As I collapsed to the floor, wheezing and clawing at my neck, a scream ripped from the guest wing.
"Corbett! Help! They're posting mean comments about me again!"
Ivana.
Corbett looked down at me, his dying wife, and then looked toward the hallway where Ivana was crying over Instagram.
He hesitated for only a second.
Then he pulled his leg away from my grasping hand.
"I'll be right back," he said, turning his back on me. "Just... use your pen."
He ran to comfort a healthy woman while I crawled across the carpet, vision tunneling, forcing the needle into my own thigh to restart my heart.
As I lay there shaking, listening to him soothe her, the last thread of love snapped.
I didn't call an ambulance.
I pulled a burner phone from behind the vanity mirror and texted the one man Corbett feared more than death—his rival, Don Kain Solomon.
"I accept. Get me out." Raising the Wolves
Modern My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Caspian Vance, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through.
That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Lyra—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister.
But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Ashworth Fellows talking in the library.
They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Caspian.
Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Lyra.
I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen.
This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Caspian over.
"No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Silas Blackwood." Muzzled by My Mate: Saved by the Supreme Alpha
Werewolf My husband brought his mistress into the care center and forced me to wash her feet.
He had forgotten everything about our marriage after an accident five years ago, treating me like a defective servant while doting on Jada.
But I endured it, hoping his memory would return.
Until Jada’s twin boys sprayed me with "water guns" filled with concentrated Wolfsbane acid.
As my skin sizzled and melted, Jada screamed that I was using witchcraft to curse her children.
Jake didn't check my wounds. He didn't ask for the truth.
He looked at me with cold, dead eyes and ordered the guards to bring the Silver Muzzle.
"This will teach you silence," he whispered.
He clamped the torture device onto my face. The silver spikes instantly fused to my burned skin, sealing my mouth shut in agony.
He then hung me from the ceiling, letting me swing there as a warning to the pack, while I bled out.
I looked down at him, my heart finally breaking.
How could the man who was once my soulmate torture me for a woman who smelled of rot and lies?
I closed my eyes and triggered the rejection bond.
*I reject you, Jake Foster.*
The moment the bond snapped, the front doors exploded inward.
A massive force of pure power crushed every wolf in the room to the floor.
The Supreme Alpha had arrived.
And he wasn't happy that someone had touched his Fated Mate. Divorce: Her New Beginning
Romance "Are you sure you packed the antique vase?" I asked my husband, David, my voice echoing in our half-empty living room, packed for our big move overseas. We were starting a new life, a new chapter.
But then, an email popped up on his laptop screen from a woman named Lisa Chang, a one-word subject line: "Congratulations." My heart hammered as I clicked it open. "Heard she signed everything. You' re finally free. Can' t wait to start our life together. The baby and I are so proud of you."
The baby. The words hit me like a punch. Lisa was pregnant. I was numb as I found my way to the bedroom, the silver locket David gave me on our first anniversary, now felt like a lie.
That evening, at a farewell dinner with David' s family, Lisa was there, seated right next to him. Eleanor, David's mother, raised her glass, triumph in her eyes: "A toast. To David, for all his success. And to new beginnings." She looked pointedly at Lisa.
I heard David and Lisa talking in a private alcove. "Is she suspicious?" Lisa asked. "No," David replied. "She has no idea. She signed the papers without a second thought. By the time the divorce is finalized, she' ll be on the other side of the world." "And the house?" "The lawyer said it' s all clean. The assets are protected. We' re set, Lisa. Just like we planned." Then, the final blow: "I felt the baby kick today."
My carefully constructed life had shattered. I had been played, every step of the way, just a pawn in their cruel game. I was nothing but a temporary placeholder, designed to be disposed of so they could begin their new life.
I wouldn' t let them win. I would fight back, not for revenge, but for myself. Discarded Husband, Rising Mogul
Modern Tonight was our tenth anniversary, wrapping up ten years of a meticulously kept contractual marriage.
For a decade, I, Ethan Lester, had been the silent architect behind my wife Sabrina Chadwick' s booming real estate empire.
I managed her entire life, a dutiful husband and housekeeper, all to repay her for saving my father' s life.
But then, she walked in, not alone, but with a smug-faced young man.
"So this is the famous kept man," Caleb sneered, his words echoing through our Manhattan penthouse lobby.
Sabrina, my wife, my partner of ten years, pulled him towards the elevator, her expression chillingly indifferent, utterly ignoring me.
She didn' t care that her protégé was publicly humiliating me.
She didn' t care what I felt when I overheard them that night, or the next morning when she ordered me to make them breakfast.
I had been nothing but a loyal servant, and now, even that seemed to be beneath her consideration.
I was left on a gurney in a crowded hospital hallway with a broken ankle after a car crash SHE forced me into, while she pampered Caleb over a scratch.
That was the moment I realized the ultimate insult: I was just a possession, easily discarded.
When the doctor asked for my family contacts, I looked him dead in the eye and said, "I have no family. Take her name off."
I had been a fool to ever think love could bloom from a bargain, or that I could ever truly matter to her.
Now, instead of cleaning her mess, I' m building my own empire.
She desperately wants me back, but she has no idea what' s coming. Ohio Betrayal: A Legacy Undone
Modern Our life in suburban Ohio looked perfect on the outside, a picture-perfect marriage that lasted five years.
But inside, I was suffocating, especially after losing our first baby.
When I finally got pregnant again, I believed hope was blooming.
Then I found my husband had bought baby supplies.
They weren't for us.
They were for his pregnant mistress, Bree.
He claimed she could give him the "heir" I couldn't.
He coldly stated it was "practical," about "legacy," accusing me of being a "faulty machine."
When I confronted them, his thuggish security shove, leading to another devastating miscarriage.
He shockingly called it "faking it."
Then, to punish me for wanting a divorce, he methodically shredded my grandmother's cherished quilt.
It was the only solace I had left.
My spirit was hollowed out.
I was left with nothing but the brutal memory of his words and actions.
How could someone claim to love you, then orchestrate such a calculated demise of your every hope and dream?
Then, a phone call from a fertility clinic, a call he received, made him believe I was still carrying his precious heir.
He came back, oozing fake repentance, painting a perfect future.
But the cold D&C report I held in my hand was the real legacy I had for him.
It was a testament to the life he' d destroyed.
This signaled the true turning point of our story. When My Savior Became My Destroyer
Romance My life belonged to Julian Vance.
He saved me at sixteen, a lost girl from the system, giving me a Manhattan apartment, Juilliard lessons, and paying for my dying sister Mia's severe cystic fibrosis care.
Mia was my world; Julian kept her alive, so I believed I loved him.
Then Julian met Chloe Raine, an indie folk singer.
He became obsessed, claiming it was a "game" to expose her "integrity."
"You're my queen. Always," he' d insist, but his eyes glowed with dangerous fascination, and a cold knot formed in my stomach.
He started neglecting me for Chloe.
One bitter Hamptons night, he dragged me onto our balcony in a rage.
When I refused to confess, he pulled out his phone, showing Mia's sterile room, her ventilator alarm blaring.
He calmly threatened her life, unless I confessed what I' d said.
My heart froze.
Mia, my only family, was a mere tool to him, her life leverage.
The man who swore to protect me was a monster.
I was his possession, my emotions irrelevant, my existence dictated by his whims and new obsessions.
I gave him the lie, but the humiliation was absolute.
My unplanned pregnancy ended in miscarriage, which he blamed on my "disobedience."
But the ultimate breaking point was Mia.
He allowed his security to remove my dying sister's life support as I screamed.
Mia died. My baby was gone. My love for Julian died with them.
He was my destroyer. I had to escape. The Girl They Blamed
Modern I was just sixteen when Hurricane Haven swept away everything, leaving me an orphan clinging to wreckage.
Then, with kind hands, Ethan Harrison pulled me from the churning water, and his family became my beacon, my home.
For four years, they rebuilt my world, filling it with a love I hadn’t known since my own mother died, a future with Ethan by my side.
He gave me a compass necklace, promising, “So you always find your way. Our way.”
But that same night, our future shattered.
The Harrison house, once filled with light, became a tomb for thirteen souls, brutally murdered.
And they said Sarah Miller did it. Me. The girl they saved, the daughter they adopted.
The accusation was a physical blow, stealing my breath, my voice, my hope.
The town that had embraced me now bayed for my blood, branding me a monster.
Trapped in a cold cell, I endured a year of relentless interrogations and public scorn, my silence misinterpreted as guilt.
How could the man I loved, the one who saved me, believe I could commit such an atrocity?
How could they all be so wrong, so blind to the truth of what I sacrificed?
What was there to say, when the world had already decided my fate?
Now, strapped to a cold chair, electrodes tracing my thoughts, they’re forcing me into a dangerous experiment: "Traumatic Memory Unveiling."
They want answers.
But the truth hidden within my shattered memories is far more terrifying, a story of loyalty, betrayal, and a sinister conspiracy I kept silent to protect them—a silence that might just kill me. I Was the Monster, They Were the Lie
Horror The splintered wood of the floorboards pressed into my cheek. Another girlfriend gone, another brutal beating from my father. Each woman I brought home to Redwood Creek, to seek the “blessing” at our family’s Pioneer’s Home, emerged twisted with rage, screaming that I was filth. My step-brothers found happy marriages after their girls went inside; I was almost thirty and still a pariah.
My father, Jedidiah Thorne, the town’s esteemed mayor, finally showed me why. He strapped me into a chair in a hidden room beneath the Pioneer’s Home, then played a horrifying video. On screen, a figure with my very face, my movements, was brutally torturing animals, then attacking my terrified girlfriends. He confirmed it was me, every single time.
My world shattered. I was a monster, a broken thing deserving only death. I sought release in the old quarry, a plunge like my mother’s alleged accident. I survived, but the narrative was set: Ethan Thorne, unstable, suicidal. My father reinforced it, holding me captive, ever-monitored. I faked insanity to finally be institutionalized.
Numbed by medication, I accepted my cage, a safely contained monster.
Until one grey day in the drab yard, I saw her. Sarah. My first love. The girl I was told I’d killed years ago. She was undeniably alive. And her eyes held a fierce, angry truth that ripped through the fog, promising to expose a horror far greater than I could ever imagine. My Best Friends, My Worst Enemies
Young Adult The last thing I remembered was Chloe's voice, sharp and gleeful, slicing through the haze of my headache: "They never loved you, Ava. Not Liam, not Noah. It was always me."
Her words were a hammer blow, each one a nail in the coffin of my life, a searing supernova of agony that exploded behind my eyes before everything faded to black.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my childhood bed, my unlined hands proof of a terrifying truth: I was back, the calendar on my desk screaming September 5th, senior year, before the nightmare truly began.
The reel of my first life rewound in fast-forward: Stanford, the calculated betrayals by Liam and Noah, Chloe's venomous strings, the engineered vasectomies, my promising career systematically destroyed, and the aneurysm that ended it all.
This was impossible, a future I'd already lived, a death I'd already died, yet the worn duvet felt real, the scent of my mother's pancakes too vibrant—a second chance, if I dared to seize it, to change everything.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, deleting Stanford from my early college applications and replacing it with MIT—my true dream, the one they had ruthlessly crushed.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and through the frosted glass, I saw them: Liam Walker, Noah Chen, and Chloe Jenkins, the architects of my past ruin, their bright smiles and feigned innocence an instant surge of cold dread. You might like
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. 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. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband
Bei Ke On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family.
I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown.
But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic.
He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event.
"She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"You will give her whatever she needs."
I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm.
As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing.
"Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted.
Dominick didn't even turn around.
He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table.
I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic.
He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins.
He was wrong.
I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match.
I let the room burn.
By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London.
I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty.
He wanted a war? I would give him one. 
/1/104838/coverorgin.jpg?v=35c4b4a3589163ba536bd4a7bfb93a45&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103283/coverorgin.jpg?v=57a47c26ef56aa778dde2e9501b883a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103196/coverorgin.jpg?v=fbf288185f33eaaca1c06266c7149068&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86779/coverorgin.jpg?v=3aeb4789c462405a705503affebc23ff&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84042/coverorgin.jpg?v=c85755dc4aec82e52ec3770e62693339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81879/coverorgin.jpg?v=274aad74c7b0d1e4bf6d26e8e150fccc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81242/coverorgin.jpg?v=bda15e341301cf3c37e7f06911d5f9c4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80678/coverorgin.jpg?v=dc956b4f02042a32c7d034cb4d21862b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80405/coverorgin.jpg?v=00020fbeaf8ea1c45afe50a437d74b94&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79745/coverorgin.jpg?v=038df07c6a113f7f656a819535e48e32&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18689/coverorgin.jpg?v=fe1be3f1be3793a5cdb62d04aef98f8c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18685/coverorgin.jpg?v=ed04e08050cfecf7e18081e30c8e33f3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106734/coverorgin.jpg?v=c7ef0ae7a01b8941d249a96e5d9ca057&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/100248/coverorgin.jpg?v=b1dec4753a5c9ea677f050c0b517bc01&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104523/coverorgin.jpg?v=7719b1d28102636322258cb433c8fe50&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104843/coverorgin.jpg?v=3c60e31b25c3507535767491f6bf894e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/100385/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2377f2e89744f564e672d62cce9c375&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104479/coverorgin.jpg?v=96b08700bb860257b3b14ca84fd299f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104851/coverorgin.jpg?v=078a0928f2d792fd2e0b557965a2d816&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104516/coverorgin.jpg?v=695762d7f669fe295cdc0620e8a99576&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104544/coverorgin.jpg?v=26ef0bf83d2e61fa75b0006ea049ca2b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104849/coverorgin.jpg?v=ba4dad43e6fe2cf0fd6dedca121fa7b1&imageMogr2/format/webp)