Qin Wei
8 Published Stories
Qin Wei's Books and Stories
Contract Marriage With The Genius Heiress
Modern Alysia lay on the freezing operating table, moments away from donating her kidney to her brother's fiancée.
But as the anesthesia set in, a violent shock tore through her brain, awakening agonizing memories of a thousand brutal deaths across a thousand past lifetimes.
She suddenly realized her family's true plan. Her brother and his fiancée weren't just taking her organ; they were secretly plotting to declare her mentally unfit post-surgery to steal her entire trust fund.
When Alysia abruptly stopped the procedure and exposed the fiancée's kidney failure as the result of severe drug abuse, her family's reaction was chilling.
Her father didn't care about the truth or the law. He ordered his bodyguards to lock Alysia up until she agreed to the surgery, while her brother threatened to freeze her assets and seize her late mother's penthouse.
"You have no heart, Alysia. You don't deserve the Kent name," her aunt spat in disgust.
For lifetimes, she had kept her head down, taking the blame and sacrificing everything for a family that viewed her as nothing more than a disposable blood bag and a financial pawn.
The resignation that had clouded her eyes for so long vanished, replaced by the absolute, zero-degree cold of a glacier.
Ripping the IV from her hand and leaving her family in stunned silence, Alysia walked straight out of the hospital.
She had exactly forty-six hours to find a husband to secure her inheritance, and she knew exactly which ruthless billionaire CEO to target to help her burn the Kent family to the ground. From Rejected Omega to the Supreme Alpha's Queen
Werewolf I stood before a polished black headstone, tracing the gold letters of my own name.
Five years ago, my Fated Mate, Clayton, rejected me in a blizzard because I was a "useless Omega" who couldn't shift. He left me to freeze to death so he could mate with my sister, Ainsley, claiming it was necessary for the pack's genetics.
Now, Clayton stood behind me, trembling as he dropped a bouquet of wilted lilies.
He thought I was a ghost. But when he realized I was alive, the shock turned into arrogance. He tried to use his Alpha Command to force me to my knees.
My family was even worse. When I walked into the pack house, my father accused me of treason for "faking my death." My aunt tried to slap me for being disrespectful. They demanded I donate my blood to save my father's life, still treating me like a disposable resource.
They didn't realize that the pressure crushing the room wasn't coming from them—it was coming from me.
They had thrown away a Royal White Wolf to keep a human pretending to be a shifter. The irony was suffocating.
I didn't flinch when they threatened me. I just smiled and let my true aura explode, turning the air to ice.
"You rejected me for being weak," I whispered, my eyes flashing silver.
Then, the doors blew off their hinges. My husband, the Supreme Alpha, walked in and grabbed the elders by the throat.
"You just declared war on the Blood Moon Pack." Beyond the Script: My Own Path
Fantasy The dull throb behind my eyes was just the beginning. I blinked, and golden text shimmered in the air: "Divorce Day! The classic starting point for the wife-chasing crematorium!" I was Ethan Miller, a tech entrepreneur who' d just coded for 36 hours straight. But the man in the mirror was Liam Stone, a cold CEO infamous for mistreating his wife, Olivia.
A divorce agreement lay before me. The words weren't just floating text; a flood of Liam's memories poured into my mind. This man, driven by obsession for a manipulative ex, Sarah Jenkins, was destined for a miserable end. The toxic story was supposed to lead to Olivia's humiliation and suffering.
Hovering comments confirmed it: "He' s definitely thinking about his precious Sarah right now." They expected me to act like the jerk Liam was, to prolong Olivia' s pain, and then spend 200 chapters groveling. They wanted the "crematorium."
But I wasn't Liam. I wouldn't live his pathetic life. With a decisive flick of my wrist, I signed the divorce papers. "It's done. You're free." The floating comments flickered, then vanished.
The plot was broken. My phone buzzed with a call from Sarah Jenkins. The "white moonlight." I didn't answer. I blocked her number. Then I fired the head of marketing for embezzling company funds to pay for Sarah's lavish lifestyle.
My father, Richard Stone, confronted me, demanding I beg Olivia for forgiveness and threatening disinheritance. His words were harsh: "You will not see another penny from this family or this company."
"Okay," I said. "You can have the company. You can have the family inheritance. I don't want it." I walked away from everything, the chorus of confused comments a soundtrack to my liberation.
Later, at a charity gala, I watched them circle: Sarah, Mark Davies (her accomplice), and Olivia. The original story slated this night for Olivia's ultimate downfall. They had conspired to plant false rumors and even faked an accident that led to Olivia' s miscarriage.
But I had other plans. With a tap on my phone, security footage of Sarah and Mark' s damning conversation, detailing their schemes including the "accident" that caused Olivia' s miscarriage, filled the screens. "You were so quick to believe the worst of me. You never once questioned your 'best friend'. You never once used your own judgment. You let them play you like a fiddle."
I left the chaos behind. My father called, begging for forgiveness now that the truth was out. Olivia, too, whispered apologies. But my answer was cold: "The man you married, the Liam Stone who was obsessed with Sarah and cruel to you, that man is dead. He was killed by you, by Sarah, by Mark, by my father. You all had a hand in it. So don't talk to me about the past."
A few days later, Olivia showed up at my new penthouse. She wanted to understand. "My tragedy was being born as Liam Stone in the first place." I told her. "I have no love for you, Olivia...You are a stranger to me. And I'd like you to leave my home now."
I wanted peace. I wanted to build. And I would. Destined Hearts: From Contract To Love
Romance Ava Hayes, a celebrated star, was on top of the world.
Her life was a meticulously managed canvas of sold-out concerts and acclaimed films.
But one quiet family dinner shattered her carefully constructed reality.
Her parents, with somber faces, dropped a bombshell: an arranged marriage.
Not just any marriage, but a binding promise made generations ago, tying her to the powerful Grayson family.
It felt like a bizarre relic from a bygone era, an unexpected contract in an already public life.
Despite her confusion, Ava agreed, pragmatic as always; her love life wasn't a priority anyway.
She soon found herself inexplicably drawn to Liam Grayson, the strikingly handsome and intensely private CEO she was suddenly married to.
His thoughtful gestures and quiet care slowly began to chip away at her composure, making her question everything she thought she knew about their "arrangement."
Yet, doubts festered.
Liam's tenacious ex-admirer and the media's relentless speculation about her own professional ties ignited a fierce jealousy within her.
Why did it sting so much to see him with another woman? Why did she care?
Was this just a contract, or was something far more complicated-and terrifyingly real-unfolding?
Then came the bungee jump, a terrifying plunge that unexpectedly revealed the terrifying truth: Liam was her anchor, her safe harbor in a chaotic world.
His protective fury over her fabricated scandal and injury, his raw, unadulterated jealousy, finally ripped away the facade.
It was time for Ava to stop pretending, to acknowledge the undeniable force that had taken hold, and for both of them to claim their love-on their own terms. The Husband Who Threw Me Away
Billionaires I was Elara, an orphaned girl embraced by foster parents, now the wife of Julian Vance.
Our marriage, two years strong, coincided with a miraculous turnaround in Julian's health and fortune, earning me the quiet title of the family' s 'lucky charm' .
But then, my estranged half-sister, Chloe – the one my wealthy biological family kept – dramatically reappeared.
She accused me, with theatrical tears, of manipulating everyone and driving her away.
Julian, without a moment's hesitation or a single glance at my visibly rounded stomach, cast me aside, his face a mask of cold fury.
I was banished to a desolate 'wellness retreat,' a euphemism for a hellhole where public humiliation was daily bread and I endured three years of unspeakable degradation.
There, alone on a cold floor, I tragically lost our unborn baby.
Upon my return, a mere husk, I overheard Julian dismiss me as a discarded 'rabbit's foot,' and shortly after, Chloe set fire to the boathouse where she'd confined me, intending to burn me alive.
The crushing weight of their betrayal hit harder than any physical blow: I was never Julian' s wife, never family; just a disposable vessel for their 'luck,' discarded once my purpose was seemingly served.
How could Julian, my own husband, be so blind, so callous?
And what kind of monster actively orchestrates another's living hell, then tries to erase them entirely?
But I refused to be extinguished.
Pulled from the literal and metaphorical ashes by my loving foster parents, the naive victim they knew perished that night.
From the remnants of despair, a new Elara rose, transforming their small farm into 'Elara' s Harvest,' a thriving empire built on integrity and true strength – ready for vengeance, or perhaps, something far more satisfying. Not Just a Horse: The CEO's Unstoppable Revenge
Billionaires The quarterly board meeting was standard, a high-stakes, productive morning for me, Scarlett King, CEO of King Global. My phone vibrated discreetly on the mahogany, a text from my oldest friend, Maria, flashing urgently across the screen.
"Scarlett. Urgent. Check this link. I'm so sorry." The link opened an Instagram reel, and my blood ran ice cold. It was Desert Mirage, my champion Arabian stallion-a treasured legacy from my grandfather-terrified, his magnificent coat matted with cheap glitter. A woman, Tiffany Starr, brutally yanked his reins. Then, sickeningly, my husband Ethan's laugh echoed, encouraging her.
The caption seared: "Ethan says I can handle anything! Even this rich bitch's pony." My hands clenched. When I called, Ethan sounded annoyed. "Scarlett? Tiffany was just having fun. He's just a horse." He hung up, dismissing me as "uptight" to someone nearby, the line going dead.
"Just a horse." My horse. My legacy. He dismissed it. He dismissed me. He sided with her. This wasn't mere abuse; it was a public desecration of my soul's depth, my family's legacy. The humiliation was a raw, physical ache, hardening into cold, pure fury. This was more than betrayal; it was a declaration of war.
I didn't scream, I didn't cry. My mind honed to laser focus. I buzzed Marcus, my head of security. "Tiffany Starr is at the Chateau Marmont. Remove her. Publicly. Serve a restraining order. Revoke all King Global studio access." They wanted a war. They would get one they'd regret. Magical Romance: My Heart Beats To Love Rhythms
Romance The moment Wendy stepped into the wrong room, she fell into the hands of Jacob, a charming devil. What she didn't know was, he had been looking for her.
The first time Jacob set his eyes on Wendy in the bar, his heart skipped a beat. The next day, he hurriedly finished his work and went back there to see her again. But much to his dismay, she wasn't there anymore. Feeling disappointed, he walked back to the presidential suite that he booked. He was lying alone in the bed, but when he slowly turned around, she found a woman right next to him. He was in awe when he recognized that she was the woman he had been longing to see again. As his lips covered hers, he felt so sure that she was the one for him, and he was determined to make her his. You might like
Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." 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. 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. 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. 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!" The Cold CEO's Unwanted Genius Wife
Meng Xinyu I stood in the darkest corner of the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, my cheap polyester dress itching against my skin while my wristband buzzed with a DARPA Priority Red alert.
In front of the city’s elite, my fiancé Bryce Calloway took the stage, not to toast our future, but to publicly end our engagement and announce he was with my sister, Chloe.
The room turned on me instantly, a hundred pairs of eyes pinning me down with pity and disgust as they physically backed away like I was contagious.
When I returned home, my mother shattered a crystal vase at my feet, screaming that I was a humiliation and a "dropout" who didn't deserve a cent of the family fortune.
Chloe and Bryce mocked me, laughing when I told them I had a mission with the National Security Agency, convinced I was either a pathological liar or a low-level criminal.
They watched in horror as a black, unmarked military helicopter descended on our backyard to extract me, yet they still chose to believe I was being arrested for drug trafficking.
They saw a pathetic girl who couldn't even parallel park, never realizing I was Dr. Nova Vance, the lead physicist behind the world's first successful fusion reactor.
To secure funding for my research and gain a "fortress" of a name, I signed a thirty-day marriage contract with the arrogant billionaire Roman Knight.
He treats me like a fraud, convinced I’m a gold-digger who failed out of college, while I quietly run global energy simulations from his guest bedroom.
He has no idea that the "loser" he’s forced to live with is the same anonymous grandmaster who has been ruthlessly crushing him in online strategy games for months.
"The contract is active," I told him, looking past his expensive suit.
"But don't expect me to be your maid." 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." Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge
Xiao Hong Mao I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go.
The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside.
The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal.
I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate.
But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone.
"Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands."
The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak. 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. 
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