Mu Xiaoai
12 Published Stories
Mu Xiaoai's Books and Stories
Bound By Lies: Marrying The Strict Colonel
Modern I borrowed my wealthy best friend's identity to seduce Colonel Ethan Christensen. He was the powerful uncle of my ex-boyfriend, Kayden, who had brutally dumped me for a rich heiress.
My revenge plan worked too well. Ethan fell deeply in love with my fake persona and proposed. But then he handed me a thick envelope: a top-secret military background check requiring fingerprints and ten years of history.
My fake identity was about to be shattered. I faced federal fraud charges and prison time. More than that, the guilt was eating me alive. Ethan wasn't a pawn; he was a genuinely honorable man who promised to protect me. Terrified and exhausted by the lies, I typed out a full confession, ready to tell him everything and walk away.
But right before I hit send, Kayden's new fiancée called to gloat about their engagement. Through the phone, I heard Kayden's voice, lazily mocking my low status.
"Tell her to stay home. Tell her to find someone on her own level in the gutter."
The rage burned away all my guilt. Why should I be the bigger person while they destroyed my life without a second thought?
I deleted the confession and called my friend to hire a black-market hacker. I needed a flawless, forged background in forty-eight hours. I am going to marry Ethan Christensen, and I am going to smile when Kayden is forced to call me "Aunt." Mated To My Dead Husband's Twin
Romance I thought marrying into the Barrett dynasty would be my fairy tale, but my wedding day felt more like a business merger. My husband, Jarret, didn't even look at me as he checked his watch at the altar, treating our marriage like a political chore.
Two months later, the world shattered when Jarret's diplomatic convoy was bombed. The news reported him dead, with his twin brother Jayden as the sole survivor.
When "Jayden" returned to the estate limping on a cane, the house became a tomb. My mother-in-law and our cousin Cristine immediately moved to freeze my bank accounts and strip me of my rights, calling me a "greedy climber." I was a widow in a house of wolves, but the real nightmare started when I saw "Jayden" drop his cane and passionately kiss Jarret's mistress in the dark.
I crept to the study and heard the bone-chilling truth: Jarret wasn't the one who died. He had murdered his own brother in the blast to steal his identity and become a "surviving hero." Even worse, he was already planning my "accidental" overdose once I signed over the family trust.
My blood ran cold as I realized the gentle, calloused hands that touched me on my wedding night hadn't belonged to my husband at all. I had fallen in love with Jayden, the man Jarret had just vaporized for a promotion.
I tried to escape, but they caught me and forced a sedative into my arm. When I woke up, the family doctor was standing over me with a predatory smile.
"Congratulations, Elise. You're ten weeks pregnant."
Jarret leaned over my bed, his eyes cold and victorious. They aren't going to kill me anymore. They've turned me into an incubator for an heir, trapped in a golden cage with the monster who murdered the father of my child. Discarded Wife: The Shadow Strategist Returns
Mafia I stood in the center of the ballroom, watching my husband accept credit for the massacre I had meticulously planned.
To the underworld, Craig Snyder was the King, a strategic genius who had crippled the Russian mafia.
To me, he was the man who had just re-gifted my anniversary present—a Patek Philippe watch—to match the diamond bracelet dangling from his mistress’s wrist.
The Senator’s daughter, Chanel, laughed at a joke only he could hear, wearing a red dress and a look of naive adoration that used to be mine.
When I confronted him, expecting an apology, Craig didn't just dismiss me.
He slapped me across the face in front of the city's elite, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
He yanked the wedding ring off my finger, drawing blood, and placed it into Chanel’s palm, calling me a hysterical, barren relic.
Later, I found the forged documents. He had signed my name to transfer every asset we built together into his sole possession, leaving me with nothing but a hush-money check.
He thought I was just a scorned wife. He forgot that I was the architect of his empire.
So, I drove my car off a bridge.
I let the world believe I was dead. I let him mourn the woman he destroyed while I watched from the shadows, erasing his existence from my accounts.
Six months later, at the Global Crime Summit, Craig stood up with a diamond ring, ready to beg my memory for forgiveness.
But the doors opened, and I didn't walk in alone.
I walked onto the stage holding the hand of his deadliest rival, Felix Tyson.
I wasn't there to take him back. I was there to take his kingdom. My Mafia Husband's Deadly Secret
Mafia For years, I was the perfect, quiet wife to Dante Moretti, the most feared Mafia Don in New York. I mistook his lavish gifts for affection and his cold protection for care.
The ninety-ninth time I asked for a divorce, he laughed. An hour later, his mistress, Isabella, called him.
"Get out," he ordered, leaving me on a dark street corner in the pouring rain so he could rush to her side.
As I watched his armored car vanish, I finally understood the truth. Our marriage was a transaction, a pact made to settle my father's debts. I was just a placeholder, a substitute living a life designed for Isabella. Every gift, every gesture, was an echo of her tastes.
He never saw me. To him, I wasn't his wife; I was a possession. An obligation he could discard at will. He thought I was too weak, too dependent to ever fight back. He believed I couldn't survive without him.
He thought I would just run and hide. He was wrong.
You don't escape a man like Dante Moretti. He would hunt you to the ends of the earth, not out of love, but out of pride. To break a pact with a Don, you can't just run. You have to be prepared for war. And standing there, drenched and abandoned, I made a new vow: I wouldn't just leave him. I would burn his entire world to ash. Beyond Repair: A New Beginning
Romance The system overload alarm shrieked, sparks flying, monitors flickering.
My own algorithm, my miracle cure, was dying, and it was taking me with it.
Liam Thorne, facing me, declared, "Bring her back, Ava! You said your algorithm could heal anything!" His face a mask of cold fury over his lost love, Chloe.
"It can fix systems, Liam, not resurrect data that's been corrupted for a year!" I cried, tears streaming, a sharp pain shooting through my chest.
His voice, a low growl devoid of warmth, accused, "You ruined everything. If it weren't for you, Chloe would have finished her AI, and we would have built an empire. You owe me this."
He' d forced me to push my healing algorithm past its limits for a ghost project of Chloe' s, a project she had sabotaged out of jealousy due to an archaic Thorne family tradition: whoever fixed Liam's paralyzed system had to marry him.
I had fixed it, naive, desperate for validation, eager to prove my genius. It became my prison.
The final alarm blared, screens went black, and darkness consumed me as the pain in my chest exploded.
Then, I gasped. My eyes shot open.
I wasn' t in my lab. I was in a lavish room, all white leather and chrome, sunlight streaming through a floor-to-ceiling window. Liam Thorne sat in a high-tech wheelchair, younger, but still etched with frustration.
I knew this day. This was the day it all began. The day the Thorne family brought me here, the brilliant reclusive tech genius, to fix Liam\'s critically damaged mobility system.
In my past life, I would have felt a thrill of challenge. This time, I looked at Liam, the man who would watch me die without remorse, and a faint, knowing smile touched my lips.
"Your system is beyond repair," I stated, my voice clear and steady. An Atonement of Love
Romance My world shattered the day Liam Sterling, the man I'd loved since childhood, turned into my fiercest accuser.
His father, my beloved mentor, was dead, and Liam, blinded by grief, believed my own innocent father was a criminal, the cause of his despair.
He looked at me, not with love, but with chilling hatred.
He threw the engagement ring—our symbol of forever—onto the marble floor, its clatter echoing the definitive punctuation mark on our shared history.
He cast me out, suffering from bone cancer I hadn't revealed, believing it yet another one of my family's lies.
Now homeless and destitute, my father, falsely imprisoned for embezzlement, suffered a heart attack behind bars.
Liam, despite my desperate pleas, denied him bail, sealing his fate.
Soon after, the brutal news came: my father died in prison.
The cruelty escalated.
Liam paraded me at a gala, forcing a grotesque performance of the dutiful fiancée, only to publicly destroy a cherished gift—my bronzed ballet slippers—a relic of my mother and my dreams.
When I begged him to believe my terminal diagnosis, he scoffed, accusing me of faking illness.
Then his assistant, Chloe Davis, fabricated a monstrous lie: a miscarriage, claiming I was responsible.
Liam believed her, swearing vengeance on me for killing a child that never existed.
How could he be so blind?
How could the man who promised to protect me become this cruel stranger, actively destroying my life?
I was accused of harassment and threats, my cancer dismissed as an elaborate trick, and finally, condemned to a psychiatric facility.
My mother, consumed by grief and shock over my father's death and my arrest, died shortly after.
Alone, broken, and dying, I found myself trapped, unable to prove my innocence, questioning if the love we shared was ever real.
But deep down, a flicker of defiance remained—a silent promise that the truth, however brutal, would eventually surface. My Wife, The Murderer
Modern My life was perfect, or so I thought. I was Ethan, a former architect, now a devoted stay-at-home dad, happily supporting my ambitious wife, Nicole, a rising city councilwoman, as she chased her mayoral dreams. Our beautiful daughter, Lily, was celebrating her sixth birthday at what was deceptively also a high-stakes political fundraiser in the dream home I designed.
Then, the world shattered. A deafening explosion ripped through our home, and in an instant, the smoke and flames consumed everything, including my little Lily. Days later, I woke up in a hospital, horrifically burned, only to hear Nicole, my wife, coldly order the surgeon to perform a vasectomy during my skin graft surgery, not for medical reasons, but to ensure "my real son, Caleb" was the sole heir.
As I lay there, paralyzed and helpless, slipping in and out of consciousness, I overheard the monstrous truth. Nicole hadn't just allowed Lily to die; she meticulously planned the "gas leak" explosion with a hitman. Our daughter, her own child, was a "political liability," an "obstacle" to Caleb's inheritance. Lily was merely a "tragic story" to secure her election.
My physical pain was a dull ache compared to the pure, hellish agony ripping through my soul. How could the woman I loved, the mother of my child, be such a cold-blooded monster? What kind of twisted ambition sacrifices an innocent life for power?
But my shattered world was not the end; it was the beginning. In the silent, agonizing nights, the architect's mind that built structures began to deconstruct, to plan, to plot. I swallowed my screams, feigned unconsciousness, and made a silent vow: she had taken everything from me, and now, I would take everything from her. Justice for Lily, no matter the cost. The Bride Who Rose from Ashes
Modern Days before my picture-perfect wedding to Kevin Davenport, a man as beloved in our tight-knit town as his prominent family, my life stretched before me, an unblemished canvas.
But a late-night stroll turned into a nightmare when I was savagely attacked, leaving me battered, disfigured, and my future hanging by a thread.
Waking in the sterile hospital room, amidst the beeping machines, the true horror unfolded: my own father and brother, the very men who vowed to protect me, were the architects of my suffering.
I overheard them celebrating, their voices chillingly calm, about how my "unfortunate accident" cleared the path for Dad's ambitious intern, Jessica Evans, to become a Davenport in my stead.
They deliberately stalled my reconstructive surgery, allowing my severe injuries to worsen, while simultaneously unleashing a venomous smear campaign across social media, painting me as the villain.
And then came the doctor's quiet confession: the brutal assault and subsequent neglect meant I might never be able to have children.
The ultimate blow landed when Jessica herself glided into my room in my wedding dress, her triumphant smile twisting as she leaned in to whisper that she'd paid the attackers extra to ensure my visible "unforgettable" disfigurement.
My father and brother watched, their faces hard with approval, ready to silence my pain.
How could the family I loved, the people who should have protected me, orchestrate such a monstrous betrayal, sacrificing my body, my future, and my very identity for their ambition?
The physical agony paled in comparison to the searing rage and profound despair that ignited within me, consuming every last shred of my old life.
They thought they had broken me irrevocably, that I was a defeated, silenced doll in their cruel game.
But as they celebrated their victory, I reached for a hidden burner phone, dialing the number of a woman they had underestimated for years: my formidable, estranged mother, Eleanor Vance, a corporate lawyer in New York.
Let them think I was sedated and compliant. My real fight had just begun. My Stolen Life: The Billionaire\'s Revenge
Modern The black SUV pulled up to my childhood D.C. estate after ten years away.
I stepped out, expecting a quiet, perhaps strained, family dinner.
Instead, a lavish party was in full swing, music and laughter spilling from the open doors.
Then I saw her: my cousin, Chloe, wearing my dress, laughing with Julian Vance-my fiancé from a decade ago.
My research. My fellowship. She was claiming it all as her own, right in front of me.
Just as confusion ripped through me, my mother, Eleanor, appeared, her face hardening into an icy mask.
"Ava," she said, her voice a chilling whisper. "What are you doing here?"
Before I could demand an explanation, she cut me off, announcing Chloe' s engagement and achievements as if I didn't exist.
When I protested, claiming my stolen life, my own mother publicly declared me "unwell" and "confused," a danger under medical care.
My father, David, stood silent, then sided with her, allowing security to drag me away and lock me in a secluded wing of my own home.
Betrayal ripped through me, a suffocating blanket of disbelief.
How could my family do this? Erase me, steal my entire existence, and frame me as insane?
But then, my father returned, a tray with sedatives in hand, and a flicker in his eyes-a silent warning, a hidden promise.
This wasn't abandonment. This was a staged escape.
I took the pills, publicly "dying" as Ava, knowing I was about to be reborn. The Monster He Became
Fantasy The pills sealed my fate, but death wasn't freedom.
My spirit lingered, unseen, tethered to a world where my husband, Ethan, flaunted Jessie – the woman who'd driven me to my grave.
Three years of silent purgatory passed.
Then, Jessie's ambition required my 'skills,' subtly manipulating Ethan to desperately search for 'me.'
Ethan found my brother Mike, and his own mother, Eleanor, a woman I'd rescued.
But Jessie's lies-claiming I faked my death-twisted his mind.
I watched, helpless, as his rage exploded: he ordered my grave exhumed, shoved Eleanor to her death, then coldly ordered Mike shot.
My family annihilated, my grave desecrated-all fueled by a woman's ambition and a man's blind rage.
How could a son not recognize his own mother?
How could Jessie steal my heroism?
The injustice was a silent scream in my ethereal throat.
Yet, fragments of truth-a locket, my bones, a seashell-shattered Ethan' s delusion, exposing Jessie' s monstrous deceit and his complicity.
Consumed by cold fury, Ethan transformed into an avenger.
He plotted a fiery reckoning at his father's abandoned factory, luring them all to a final, cleansing inferno.
In that blaze, my tether would finally break. From scapegoat to king
Romance My world revolved around Brittany, so when her ex-boyfriend Chad messed up, I sacrificed everything, even my reputation, to take the fall for his hit-and-run.
Then came the call that fractured my reality: Brittany was pregnant, but she wanted to tell the world the baby was Chad's, and for his career, she wanted me to agree to a horrifying abortion.
I watched, numb and helpless, as she openly embraced Chad, planning a fake future with our unborn child while orchestrating my public humiliation, costing me my job and turning me into a national pariah.
I endured public assaults and relentless smears, branded a "cowardly drunk driver" and an "unstable stalker," while the woman I loved actively helped destroy everything I had.
How could the woman I'd built my simple life around so cruelly extinguish our future, betray our child, and conspire with the very man I covered for, all to ensure my utter ruin?
The love I clung to turned to ash, leaving me stripped bare of everything I knew, an empty shell staring at the indifferent Austin sky.
But reaching the absolute bottom ignited a forgotten flame.
With nothing left to lose, I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years, summoning Scarlett, the fierce heiress to a vast Texas oil fortune, ready to unleash the sleeping giant of my family's power.
It was time for the Walkers to remind everyone exactly who they were. You might like
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. Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. 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. His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." 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." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" 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." 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!" 
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