Mo Moqi
14 Published Stories
Mo Moqi's Books and Stories
The Perfect Wife's Unwritten Past
Romance For five years, I was the perfect, amnesiac wife to the tech mogul who "rescued" me from a helicopter crash.
Then, a video from his mistress shattered the lie. It wasn't just her ultrasound; it was a news clip showing my real fiancé, Caleb, had survived the crash. My memory came flooding back.
When I confronted their affair by setting fire to the vineyard he built for her, he chose to save his pregnant mistress over me.
At the hospital, surrounded by reporters she had called, he publicly disowned me to protect her.
"My wife has been unwell for some time," he announced, his words a final, cold betrayal.
But they mistook my silence for defeat. Facing the cameras, I traced a secret symbol over my heart-a message only one man would understand.
I leaned into the microphone, turning my humiliation into a call to arms. "Caleb," I whispered. "It's time to come home." She Jumped: The Mafia King's Eternal Regret
Mafia I spent five years protecting Grafton Mcleod, the ruthless King of Chicago. Not because I loved him, but because I swore a blood oath to his dying brother to keep him alive.
On the day my contract ended, I placed my resignation on his desk.
Grafton didn't just refuse it; he laughed.
"You don't resign, Cayla. You belong to me."
He thought I was a jealous, obsessed assistant in love with him. He let his cruel fiancée, Cherrelle, torment me daily.
He forced me to drain my own blood to save her after she faked an accident.
He threw me into a freezing fountain when she lied about me pushing her.
But the final straw came when he dragged me to a syndicate gala. He didn't take me as a guest. He put me on stage, in a silk dress and a collar, and sold me to his enemy for five million dollars.
"This is what happens to property that misbehaves," he sneered as the gavel came down.
I escaped that night, but I didn't run away. I drove to the bridge where his brother died.
I left my phone on the railing and let the icy water take me, finally free of my debt.
It was only when Grafton stood on that bridge, holding my cracked phone, that he learned the truth.
He unlocked it and saw my wallpaper. It wasn't him. It was his dead brother.
And the diary inside revealed that the woman he was about to marry was the one who had ordered the hit that killed him. From Pantry To MIT: Their Regret
Romance My parents left me to freeze to death on a mountain just to save their adopted daughter.
When I dragged my broken body back home days later, my father didn't hug me.
Instead, he frowned and asked why I was making such a scene over a "simple accident."
For eighteen years, I was the Corbett family's dirty secret.
Despite being their biological child, I slept in a pantry and scrubbed their floors while Angelique, their "chosen" one, lived like a princess.
They erased my existence, starved me, and when I finally packed my bags to leave forever, they accused me of being an ungrateful gold-digger.
Even my childhood protector, Asher, looked at me with disgust, claiming my survival was hurting "delicate" Angelique.
I severed all ties, but they wouldn't let me go.
When they cornered me at my new school to save their plummeting stock prices, I didn't cower.
I exposed every scar, every unpaid bill, and every crime to the principal, getting them banned from campus.
Now, as I head to MIT on a full ride, the Corbett empire is burning to the ground.
And I' m the one holding the match. He Murdered My Father For Her
Modern My fiancé, Archer, left me at the altar 98 times for the same woman, Kennedy. Each time, she'd orchestrate a new disaster, and he'd rush to her side, leaving me in a wedding dress to face the humiliation alone.
But I always forgave him. Years ago, when I was a bullied college student on the verge of jumping off a bridge, he saved me. He became my hero, my protector, the man I owed my life to.
Tonight, I overheard the truth. "You used her," Kennedy said. "You orchestrated her father's 'accident' to get me his liver."
Archer's reply shattered my world. "She was just a means to an end. It was always you."
He didn't just use me; he murdered my father for her. Then, to appease Kennedy's jealousy, he tried to kill me with a seafood allergy, kicked me off a cliff, and left me for dead.
But I survived. Rescued by my former mentor, I erased my identity and became a top scientist on a deep-space mission. Four years later, I'm back, and this time, I won't be a pawn in their game. I'll be the one who ends it. Beyond the Eyes: A Wife's Escape
Romance The phone rang, shattering the silence. It was the hospital. My husband, David, was in the ER. He'd been in a severe accident, his injuries particularly bad to his face and eyes.
When the doctor told me his corneas were beyond repair, a strange sense of peace washed over me. The very reason I'd married him - the eyes that had once belonged to Alex, the love of my life - were now destroyed.
I walked out of the hospital and called my lawyer. "Draw up the divorce papers," I said. "I'm done." My marriage wasn't real; it was a cage I'd built. For five years, I' d endured his insults, his coldness, his affairs, all to keep Alex's eyes in my life.
He'd even taught our son, Leo, to despise me, to call me names, to see me with his father' s contempt. The day before his accident, I' d threatened divorce if he went on a reckless trip with his mistress. He' d scoffed, certain I' d crawl back.
But now, the corneas were gone. The last piece of Alex was gone. My reason for staying, my obsession, my penance-it was all over.
He wouldn't see me at the hospital, telling the nurse his fiancée, Emily, was his only family. That was fine. It made this cleaner. I was finally free. When Love Dies, Truth Emerges
Fantasy My body was cold. I knew I was dead, a helpless spirit hovering above my own corpse in a cheap apartment. It was Christmas Eve, a day meant for warmth and family, but I died alone.
Three days later, my six-year-old son, Leo, finally stopped thinking I was just sleeping. He called his billionaire father, Ethan Miller, begging for help.
Instead of concern, Ethan' s voice was sharp and impatient, cutting through the silence. "What? Why are you calling me? Where's your mother?" He laughed harshly when Leo said I wouldn't wake up. "She's always sleeping. Or complaining. Tell her to stop being so dramatic."
Leo pleaded, "No, Daddy, it's different. She's cold." But Ethan, fueled by his mistress Sarah's whispers, twisted his words into an accusation about money and a heating bill. He hung up, demanding I apologize to him myself.
My son, heartbroken but determined, remembered Ethan's "magic feather pen" he believed could wake me. He braved the freezing city, walking for hours to his father's mansion, only to see Ethan with Sarah and her daughter, Chloe-a new, perfect family.
Sarah, seeing Leo, poured scorn on him, calling me a "pathetic woman" and a "leech." When Leo defended me, calling her a "monster," she shoved him, causing him to hit his head and bleed. Then, she forced him to crawl through a doggy door, humiliating him, recording it on her phone.
Ethan, manipulated by Sarah, saw not a hurt child, but a pawn I supposedly sent to make him feel guilty. When Leo stammered, "The pen... the one you use to wake Mommy up," Ethan was confused, but Sarah quickly steered him away, making him believe Leo was trying to steal her phone.
Blind with rage, Ethan ripped off Leo's sweater, found nothing, and dragged him outside. "You will kneel there," he snarled, throwing my son into a snowdrift. "You will not get up until you tell me where the phone is and apologize for your lies." The feather pen, Leo' s only hope, was held hostage. My brave boy, shivering and bleeding, silently knelt in the snow as Ethan closed the curtains, returning to his party with Sarah. Married to Escape Her Grasp
Romance For five years, the hum of servers was the only soundtrack to my quiet exile in Havenwood.
I' d traded city lights for a beige cubicle in a tech support call center, a far cry from the life I once knew, after a spectacular fall from grace orchestrated by my ex-fiancée, Sophia Davis.
I found a strange peace, a quiet contentment, building a new life from the wreckage of the old.
Then, Sophia, flanked by her new fiancé, Mark, waltzed into my office, their expensive city clothes a stark violation of my humble world. She sneered at my surroundings, then offered me a "chance" to return to the city-as her pet project, if I' d just apologize.
The entire office fell silent, my colleagues watching, seeing my only escape.
I finally looked up, calm, and delivered the blow: "I'm married."
Sophia froze, her face contorting in rage, shrieking about me lying, about who I could possibly marry in "this wasteland." Mark mocked my hypothetical wife, suggesting some "desperate single mom."
My jaw tightened. "You don't get to talk about my wife," I growled, standing to tower over him.
Sophia, furious, spotted a box of clumsy friendship bracelets my colleagues' children had made for my wife, and deliberately stomped on them, grinding them into the dirty floor. "Pathetic," she spat, her vicious satisfaction palpable.
As she and Mark left, I stared at the crushed innocence, and for the first time in five years, a cold, hard anger began to burn.
How could I have let myself be so naive, to truly believe I had escaped her? From Shadows, I Rise
Modern The rejection email was just another polite "no" in a sea of them, a stark reminder that my art, full of abstract shapes and raw emotion, didn\'t sell. My studio apartment was small, the rent was late, and I was perpetually, painfully
broke.
Then my father died, and the will was read: everything, the grand house, the stock portfolio, the priceless art collection, all went to my older sister, Olivia. Not a single mention of me. It was a final, public dismissal, echoing a lifetime of being told I was a disappointment.
Even worse, Olivia and her slick fiancé, David, weren\'t just inheriting; they were erasing me. They were planning to auction off a collection of "newly discovered masterpieces" from my father\'s estate-masterpieces that were, in fact, my early college works, secretly bought by my father under a pseudonym because, as I would later discover, he actually believed in me.
My mother' s whispered call about a "surprise for you" before Olivia cut the line, then Arthur Sterling\'s revelation that my father had secretly collected my art for years, planning a grand exhibition for me, shattered my world. Every cold comment, every dismissal, every belief I held about my place in the family-all lies.
The truth fueled a rage so cold and sharp, it cut through the shock. This wasn\'t just about a broken heart; it was about art, legacy, and a fundamental theft. I looked at Mr. Sterling, the struggling, adrift artist gone. In her place, a woman fueled by a burning need for truth. "They\'re going to sell my art," I said, "As his." I would not let that happen. Wreckage of a Marriage
Romance The silence in our house became a tomb after Liam, my husband, returned a war hero.
But the man who sat across from me was a ghost, his eyes vacant, haunted by a wall only he could see.
Then Scarlett, his childhood friend turned trauma therapist, arrived, convinced only she could save him.
She systematically poisoned our marriage, each act a deliberate, insidious cut, turning Liam against me until he no longer saw me, only her, the broken bird he felt compelled to save.
When a horrific car crash left me bleeding and broken, Liam' s panic-filled voice screamed for Scarlett.
He chose her, again, leaving me in the wreckage, forcing me to sign divorce papers, sending me away like discarded trash.
I rebuilt my life 500 miles away, finding peace and even a flicker of new love with Ethan, but Scarlett wouldn' t let go.
She stalked me, attacked me, even kidnapped and tried to murder me in a fiery warehouse, always with Liam's complicity, his misplaced loyalty forcing me to bleed for her survival.
How could I comprehend a love so warped it enabled such cruelty, and a man so blind he couldn't see the monster he protected?
But the day Scarlett, in a final, insane act of rage, deliberately drove her car to kill me and Ethan, everything changed.
Ethan, my brave, kind Ethan, threw himself in front of me, taking the full impact, and in that horrifying moment, I found a strength I never knew I had. Unmade Choices: A Love Rebuilt
Romance The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the blinding pain – then, Isabella' s dying whisper: she' d run off with Julian, the starving artist, for a "real" life.
My world was ending on the Brooklyn Bridge, yet her last words were a bullet to the heart, proving every sacrifice I made for her had been for nothing.
The flash of emergency lights, the fading cold… and then I blinked.
I was back, tuxedo-clad, at our engagement party in the Hamptons. A year ago.
Julian, the artist, strode in, chaotic and loud, pointing dramatically at me, declaring my life a "golden cage."
Last time, Isabella had clung to me, mortified. This time, she looked at him, then at me, tears in her eyes, a strange resolve on her face.
She took off the diamond ring, letting it clink on a table, and walked straight to him, choosing him.
My parents were aghast, the guests gasped, but I felt no pain, no shock. Just a clear, potent understanding.
Life had given me a reset button, and I was done playing her game. This time, I' d make my own rules. His Federal Secret
Modern Michael Evans, just another face at his ten-year college reunion, pulled up in a dark grey SUV, instantly feeling the weight of his "boring government job" compared to the Porsches and McLarens lining the Newport Beach valet.
His old, arrogant classmate Chad, dripping with newfound wealth, and even forgotten acquaintances like Jessica, scoffed openly at his practical vehicle and "still working for the government."
The air crackled with their disdain, a tangible reminder of his perceived failure to "get rich."
The taunts escalated, Chad publicly demanding Michael kneel and "shine his shoes," eager sycophants snickering along.
When Michael attempted to leave, Chad, fueled by ego, ordered his security to trash Michael' s modest SUV, then grabbed a crowbar himself to finish the job.
Every word, every destructive swing, felt like a deliberate blow against Michael's quiet life and modest choices.
The humiliation wasn't just personal; it was an assault on professionalism, on the very idea of quiet dignity versus flashy excess.
How could they be so brazenly contemptuous, so convinced of their untouchable status, that they would destroy what they believed was a mere "clunker" as a public spectacle?
As Chad raised the crowbar for the final blow, utterly unaware, Michael, held fast but with an almost imperceptible flick of his thumb, silently activated a secure comms device, initiating a response that would shatter their world and unveil a truth far more powerful than any luxury car. My Billionaire Alliance: A Second Chance at Love
Romance The heavy scent of lilies usually meant a formal dinner, but today, they heralded my future.
My parents, William and Catherine Vance, sat across from me, ready to present three velvet boxes, each holding the name of a suitable husband.
This was the day they' d chosen my alliance, a fate pre-ordained by family honor and tradition.
But I' d lived this day before.
Three times, in fact.
Ethan Cole, Liam Hayes, Noah Miller-my past husbands-all secretly, desperately, loved just one person.
Chloe Davis, the meek and innocent estate manager' s daughter, was the true object of their affection, and I was merely a shield.
A convenient placeholder to protect their families from the scandal of marrying "beneath" them.
Each of my previous marriages had been a loveless charade, ending in tragedy and their deaths-all linked to Chloe' s endless dramas and manufactured crises.
I was discarded, neglected, and used, an unwilling participant in their twisted love story for another woman.
My family remained oblivious, pushing me towards another sacrificial alliance.
The cold fury of that realization was a bitter taste in my mouth.
How could I have been so blind?
So utterly disposable?
The pain was a familiar ache, but this time, it fueled a quiet resolve.
Not this time.
Not again.
With the knowledge of my past lives, I looked at the three boxes before me and declared, "No."
Then, I made my own choice: Blake Sterling, a self-made tech billionaire, an outsider who would be my alliance-and my freedom.
This life, I decided, would be different.
This time, I would choose my own future. Anna Smith: The Invisible Hunter
Romance Amelia Hayes Bishop had a perfect life: a successful career as an architect, a beautiful home, and a decade-long marriage to her college sweetheart, Ethan.
Their upcoming weekend at their Galveston beach house was meant to reignite their flagging romance.
But Amelia had secretly uncovered Ethan' s embezzlement of her family' s renovation funds and his affair with his ambitious PR assistant, Savi Carter.
The true horror struck just before their trip, when Amelia overheard Ethan chillingly plot her "tragic accident" at sea to secure her inheritance.
On the boat, amidst a manufactured squall, Ethan watched her succumb to the waves, making no move to save her.
Washed ashore miles down the coast, Amelia discovered the world believed her dead, and Ethan, feigning grief, publicly painted her as unstable.
Savi, his mistress, brazenly stood by his side as he swiftly moved to liquidate Amelia' s assets, erasing her very existence.
How could the man she loved be so monstrous?
How could he so expertly twist the narrative, making her the villain, while he and his mistress moved into her life, unburdened?
The injustice burned, transforming her grief into a chilling, unbreakable rage.
Recognizing the immediate danger of revealing herself, Amelia made a terrifying choice: she would remain "dead."
Adopting a new identity, Anna Smith, she vowed to meticulously dismantle Ethan's empire from the shadows, returning only when his carefully constructed world was ready to crumble.
This wasn't just survival; it was a resurrection fueled by a silent, deadly promise of reckoning. You might like
He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. After My Husband Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival
Rabbit The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost.
Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal.
This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline.
I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war. The 100-Point Divorce Plan
Valeria For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.
The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.
In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.
"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."
His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.
"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."
He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure. 
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