Mo Yufei
16 Published Stories
Mo Yufei's Books and Stories
His Pregnant Wife's Billionaire Retribution
Modern My husband tore my ultrasound report to shreds at a gala, publicly declaring me barren to protect his mistress. I was visibly pregnant, but he erased me, our child, and my truth with a single, cruel lie. So I faked my death and disappeared.
Five years later, I returned, no longer a fragile wife but a hardened salvage expert with a fortune.
I walked into a high-stakes auction where Emerson was the top bidder.
I let my son, his spitting image, make the first move.
Then, I stepped from the shadows and calmly raised my paddle.
"Seven hundred fifty million." Reborn Heiress: I Won't Love Again
Modern I sat in a private hospital suite that cost more than a luxury car, watching the green line on my daughter’s heart monitor struggle to climb.
Everything shattered when a hospital administrator accidentally dropped a folder, revealing a document with my husband’s unmistakable signature. Darius Brandt had personally authorized the "reallocation" of our daughter’s donor kidney to his mistress’s son just to secure a multi-million dollar corporate merger.
When I confronted him, Darius didn't even blink, calling our daughter's life a "liquidated asset" before offering me a five-million-dollar settlement for my silence. In a blind rage, I set our penthouse on fire, choosing to burn with the proof of his betrayal rather than live another day as his puppet.
As the flames consumed the room, I couldn't understand how a father could put a price tag on his own child’s life. How could he look at our dying daughter and see nothing but a resource to be traded for a European distribution network?
But the heat suddenly vanished, replaced by the scent of expensive perfume and the muffled sound of a string quartet.
I opened my eyes to find myself staring into a gold-framed mirror at the Brandt Charity Gala, exactly eight years in the past.
It was the night my nightmare first began, the night I was framed and forced into a marriage that would eventually kill my child.
"I see you, Darius," I whispered to my reflection as I applied a coat of blood-red lipstick.
"And this time, I’m not the prey." I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret
Mafia I was naked in the bed of the most dangerous Capo in New York when I heard his mind whisper the name of the woman he actually wanted.
It wasn't me.
My husband, Dante, moved over me with cold precision, but his thoughts were screaming for Sofia, a soldier's widow he claimed to protect out of "honor."
I possess a secret that makes me a freak: I can hear the thoughts of men.
And Dante’s mind was a torture chamber of devotion to another woman.
I found the deed to a luxury penthouse he bought for her.
I watched her parade around in a dress he bought for me, hearing her mental triumph as she thought about rubbing her scent all over it.
Refusing to be a placeholder in my own marriage, I left my wedding ring on his desk and fled to Las Vegas to build my own empire.
I thought I had escaped.
Until the divorce papers arrived in the mail, signed by him.
I stood in my shop, heartbroken, believing he had finally discarded me to be with his true love.
But then the phone rang.
"Dante didn't sign those papers, Elena. He’s in the ICU."
My blood ran cold.
"He took two bullets to the chest. He started a war to distract the enemy from finding you."
He hadn't chosen her. He was dying for me.
I tore up the papers and booked a private jet.
If the Grim Reaper wanted my husband, he would have to get through me first. The Blind Wife's Return: Rising From Ashes
Modern I went to the Department of Vital Records to pick up my four-year-old son's death certificate, but I left with a birth certificate for my husband's illegitimate child.
The date of birth was August 14th. My son, Leo, had drowned in October.
While I was choosing a casket for our child, Eli had been holding his newborn with another woman.
I tried to confront him at a charity gala, but his mistress walked in holding their son's hand.
The boy pointed at Eli and innocently asked if they were playing the "game" again—the same game they were playing in the bedroom while Leo wandered into the pool and drowned.
The truth shattered me.
I screamed, lunging at the monsters who let my son die.
But Eli didn't comfort me. He shoved me off the stage to protect his mistress, breaking my leg in front of everyone.
Later, to silence me forever, his family had me beaten and dumped under a bridge, leaving me blind and broken in the freezing rain.
They thought I was dead. They thought they had won.
But I survived.
I found a doctor who could perform a radical procedure: Targeted Memory Suppression.
I chose to surgically excise Eli Stark from my mind completely.
Six months later, I stood on stage as a celebrated neuroscientist, my sight restored and my life reclaimed.
A haggard, weeping man approached me with a massive diamond ring, begging for a second chance.
I looked at him with clear, unrecognizing eyes and asked, "Excuse me, do I know you?" The Substitute Wife's Silent Scream
Romance I was the substitute bride, the secret illegitimate daughter forced to marry the billionaire Fletcher Dillon when my perfect half-sister ran away.
My life was a quiet hell of his cruelty and control. Then, my sister Aislinn came back.
At a party, she pushed us both into the bay. As I struggled for air, I watched Fletcher dive in and save her, leaving me to drown.
When I found out I was pregnant, he dragged me to a hospital to "get rid of the obstacle." The procedure nearly killed me.
Then Aislinn framed me for theft, and Fletcher had me whipped until I bled on the marble floor.
He told me my life belonged to him, that I was a toy he could break and repair as he pleased. I was nothing more than a cheap replacement for the woman he truly wanted.
So when kidnappers forced him to choose between saving Aislinn or me, he sacrificed me without hesitation. As they dragged me away, I saw him comforting her, his back turned to me. This was my chance. I broke free and plunged into the ocean as a bullet grazed my skin. It was time for everyone to believe I was dead. A Marriage Built On Lies
Romance I thought marrying Noah Harrison was my fairytale. He gave up everything for me – his family, his fortune. He said, "You're all that matters."
Then his older brother died, and Noah became the sole heir. His family dragged him back, and I watched as he was molded into a stranger. A stranger whose intimacy was now shared with his widowed sister-in-law, Olivia, in the library, whispers of an heir filling the air.
His mother, Mrs. Harrison, began my "training," each lesson a cut, reminding me of my "humble origins." When I found myself pregnant, a secret joy amidst the cruelty, I thought it would save us. I was so wrong. I overheard Mrs. Harrison whisper, "A child from her would be a stain on the family line. We must handle it." After a forced cup of tea, I miscarried violently in a cold hospital room.
Then, a chilling clarity broke through my medicated haze. I heard the doctors, talking to Noah outside my room. "A hysterectomy is the only way to prevent future complications." Noah' s voice was firm, "Do it. Whatever it takes to protect her." I believed him.
But then I found his locked journal. The pages laid out a truth colder than ice: the miscarriage was orchestrated, the surgery was not to save my life, but to ensure I could never bear a child, never challenge Olivia's secret pregnancy. He had ordered the removal of my uterus to secure his inheritance, to keep me a barren, placid wife.
The man who sacrificed everything for me had sacrificed me for everything. The naive girl was gone. Now, only escape remained. I would fake my own death, and it would be spectacular. When Family Turns To Cruelty
Young Adult The last thing I remember was the gnawing hunger, locked in the shed by my parents who believed my adopted sister' s outrageous lie.
"I'm a time-traveler!" Britney had shrieked, claiming I'd ruined our family in a past life and killed them.
My own parents, without a single question, bought her story, seeing her as a savior and me, their biological child, as a monster.
They bound me, broke my limbs, and left me for dead in our dark, dank basement, all to ensure Britney got everything I had worked for.
How could they be so blind, so cruel, so willing to believe a fantasy over their own daughter?
Then, I opened my eyes to sunlight, my body whole, only to hear Britney' s cheerful voice from downstairs, alive, on the very day she claimed to be a time-traveler. Dog Knows Best: A Wedding Unraveled
Werewolf The organ music swelled, sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows, painting colored patterns on the white roses lining the aisle.
It was my wedding day, perfectly planned for over a year, and I was walking down the aisle to marry Mark, the perfect fiancé.
But as I reached the altar, a cold knot formed in my stomach, not the rush of love I expected.
When the priest asked, "Do you, Sarah Miller, take this man, Mark Davis, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" I could only think of Betsy, my golden retriever.
Then the word slipped out. "No."
The church erupted in gasps. My mother' s handkerchief fell. Mark' s smile froze. This was because Betsy, my wise, old dog, had refused to come with me this morning. She just sat in the yard and wouldn' t move.
"She knows," I told Mark, pulling my hands from his. "She's always been my sign. Her refusing to come here... it means this is wrong. This marriage is wrong."
The murmuring turned to outright condemnation. "Crazy." "Unbelievable." Mark hissed, "You're calling off our wedding because your dog had a weird morning?"
My father grabbed my arm, threatening, "You are going back in there and finishing this ceremony." I lunged, screaming, "Don't you touch her!"
In that moment, everything changed. I knew I had to act, not just for myself, but for the intuition Betsy represented.
My decision was clear: this wedding was off, and I was walking away from everything I thought I knew. Six Years a Nameless Husband
Romance For six years, I' ve been Alex Miller in name only, living as an invisible servant and punching bag in my own home, a twisted marriage forced upon me to save my family.
One seemingly normal day, red wine (the same vintage they toasted their anniversary with) shattered on the marble, a glass "accidentally" knocked by Damien, my wife Vivian' s lover.
"Clean it up," Vivian sneered, not even looking at me. She then demanded I use my shirt, not my hands, so I wouldn' t scratch her precious floor, while Damien purred fake sympathy, asking if I even remembered what it was like to be a man.
The familiar humiliation, a cloak I' d worn for 2,190 days, tightened around me. Why did I endure this daily torment from the wife who saw me as her cage, and her cruel co-conspirator?
Then, a quiet call from the hospital delivered a gut punch: my father was dying, and his last wish was to see me free. That spark wasn' t hope, but something sharper. It was rebellion. The Unbreakable Widow
Xuanhuan The last thing I remember is the cold, seeping into my bones as I froze to death in an abandoned barn.
But then, I heard weeping, and snapped my eyes open to find myself sitting on a hard wooden pew, at Andrew' s funeral.
My mother-in-law, Debra Chadwick, was there, sobbing about how they' d take care of me and Molly, just as she did twenty years ago.
The exact same false promise that had shackled me for two decades, turning me into their live-in nurse and servant until they threw me out to die.
The sheer audacity of it, of being brought back only to face the same manipulative lies, surged through me with a hot, sharp rage.
Not grief, not confusion, but pure, unadulterated fury.
This time, I wouldn't take her sedatives.
This time, I shoved her arm off me. This time, everything would be different. Breaking Glass, Finding Light
Romance My whole life revolved around Liam, my best friend, the boy I loved. We had a shared dream: journalism, Northwestern, forever.
Then, at our graduation party, I overheard him call me "suffocating" and "clingy," admitting he' d lied about our future just to "keep me on a leash."
My world shattered. I cut him out, enrolled in NYU alone, and rebuilt my life, finding success and even a supportive, loving boyfriend, Marcus. But Liam, the boy who promised me forever, became a relentless shadow, creeping back into my life, whispering apologies and making desperate, unhinged claims of love.
How could someone claim to love you while actively trying to destroy you? What kind of twisted affection drives a person to such lengths?
I learned the dark truth: he hadn' t just been cruel, he' d sabotaged my career and then, on my wedding day, drugged and kidnapped me, holding me captive in a glass house overlooking the Pacific. I needed to escape, to prove my unwavering strength, and make him truly understand. The Medal of Honor: A Daughter's Reckoning
Mafia My younger brother, David, clutched his art scholarship, his face beaming with the promise of a future. Our small, cramped apartment, usually filled with textbooks and art supplies, felt like a palace that night. He was seventeen, brilliant, and on the cusp of his dreams.
Then, a hard knock on the door, not the friendly kind. Three brutal enforcers from the notorious Rizzo crime family burst in, smashing our world. They shoved me aside, seized David, and I heard screams, crashes, and my brother's desperate cry: "No! My portfolio!"
When they finally left, David lay bleeding, his drawing hand bent at a sickening angle, his scholarship certificate torn and stomped on. But the nightmare had only just begun. The police laughed me out of the station, dismissing it as "not clearly an assault." Lawyers turned pale at the Rizzo name, citing "conflict of interest." Our cries for justice were met with chilling threats, online smear campaigns, and my job loss. Frank Rizzo Sr. himself called, gloating, threatening to have David discharged from the hospital.
How could they be so powerful, so terrifyingly untouchable? Every avenue for help was blocked. We were just two kids against an powerful empire built on fear and corruption that seemingly owned our entire city. Were we truly fighting a losing battle against evil that had permeated every system?
They wanted me to feel utterly hopeless, to break me. But when I saw my Medal of Honor father' s torn uniform photograph amidst the wreckage, a desperate, crazy thought sparked. Washington D.C. The Pentagon. Could a dead hero's forgotten legacy still offer a chance at justice, even when all hope seemed lost in a world gone wrong? The Heiress's Loop: My Second Chance
Young Adult My head pounded, a familiar ache, as I slowly sat up in my dorm room, sunlight streaming through the window.
But something was terribly wrong; the last thing I remembered was my farewell party before London, a drink from Brianna, and then a confusing blank.
Now, my phone confirmed the impossible: September 5th, move-in day, the exact beginning of my freshman year.
A cold dread washed over me, stomach churning, as the door creaked open, revealing Brianna Evans, my new roommate.
She was slinging a cheap, shiny black jacket over her arm – a blatant, terrible knock-off of my AllSaints leather jacket, the one I had just worn in my real past.
It hit me then: I was trapped in a horrifying loop, forced to relive every cruel detail of the previous timeline.
I remembered her subtle digs, the stolen moments, the way she'd mimic me, then twist things until I looked like the villain, the prestigious internship I lost, the friendships she sabotaged, the reputation she systematically destroyed.
My blood ran cold, then hot with a fury born of knowing exactly what she was.
How could I be back here, forced to endure this slow-motion psychological torture all over again?
The sheer unfairness of facing her again, knowing the devastation she' d leave in her wake, was almost unbearable.
But deep within me, the old Ash – the one who was kind, accommodating, and always gave the benefit of the doubt – was gone, poisoned out of existence by Brianna's venom.
This time, things would be drastically different.
The game was on, and though she thought she held all the cards, I knew the rules now.
I had a lifetime of future knowledge, and this time, the winner wouldn't be Brianna.
My future was finally mine to reclaim. The Mother-in-Law's Poisoned Embrace
Horror My new beginning with Michael seemed perfect, especially with his doting mother, Susan, living right next door. She cooked me endless "special" meals and offered "optimal maternal wellness" vitamins, convinced I needed to be strong to start a family.
But soon, a persistent fatigue set in. I started feeling weaker, not stronger. Then, I overheard Susan discussing a chilling "plan" where my growing paleness was a "good sign."
The sweet meals became a source of dread, the vitamins a silent threat. Desperate, I faked a pregnancy to expose her, only for my husband Michael to confess a shocking secret orchestrated by his own mother: he was sterile. Susan, unfazed, then tried to make me drink a suspicious-looking "calming tea."
Why was she systematically poisoning my body and sabotaging my future? What sinister motive lay beneath her doting facade? Was my husband merely a puppet in a game I didn’t understand?
With my life and health on the line, I knew I had no choice but to uncover the full, horrifying truth, even if it meant tearing apart the family I thought I married into. You might like
Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." 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. The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. 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." 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." 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. The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. 
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