Qing Cha
11 Published Stories
Qing Cha's Books and Stories
I Resign: The Mafia Boss's Unwanted Wife
Mafia I was gasping for air on the cold marble floor of the Syndicate Ball, my lungs seizing in a familiar, lethal rhythm.
My inhaler was just five feet away, but it might as well have been miles.
Dante Moretti, the man who bought my life with his blood eight years ago, looked right at me.
He saw my panic. He saw the weakness he despised.
Then, he turned his back on me to continue waltzing with his mistress.
That betrayal was just the beginning.
When the elevator trapped us days later, the lights flickering and the air growing thin, Dante didn't hesitate.
He pried the doors open and carried Sofia out like a fragile bride.
He left me—his wife with a diagnosed respiratory condition—alone in the suffocating dark to die.
He missed my birthday dinner to comfort her on a Ferris Wheel, leaving me to celebrate with a single candle on a slice of toast.
I finally realized that to him, I wasn't a wife to be cherished. I was just property to be owned.
Something inside me didn't just break; it clicked into place.
I stopped waiting for him to come home.
I left my wedding ring on the table, blocked his number, and walked out into the night.
Now, Dante is tearing the city apart to find me, claiming he realizes his mistake.
But he's too late.
Because the man standing beside me now isn't offering me a diamond ring or empty promises.
He just handed me a loaded Glock and asked if I wanted to be his Queen. He Chose His Secret Son Over Our Unborn Pup
Romance I thought my five-year marriage to tech CEO Emilio was perfect. I was the architect of our beautiful life, putting my own prestigious career on hold to support his rise to the top.
That illusion shattered when an email flashed on his screen: an invitation to the christening of his son. A son I never knew existed, with a social media influencer as the mother.
The affair became public at a gala thrown in my honor. The little boy ran to Emilio, calling him "Daddy" and accusing me of trying to steal him away. To protect his son, Emilio shoved me. I fell, hit my head, and woke up in a hospital bed to the news that I had miscarried the baby I had just discovered I was carrying.
He never came. He left me bleeding on the floor to comfort his son and mistress, abandoning me, our marriage, and the child we lost without a second glance.
Days later, his mistress sent men to finish the job. They pushed me from a cliff into the churning water below. But I survived. I let the world believe I was dead as I accepted a prestigious architectural fellowship in Zurich. It was time for Elana Thomas to die, so I could finally live. Rejected Love, Contracted Life
Romance My 22nd birthday was supposed to be perfect, the night I finally confessed my love to Ethan Vance, my guardian and the only family I had left.
I found him in his study, surrounded by the familiar scent of old books and leather, but his smile vanished as I told him, "I want you, Ethan. Not as a guardian. Not as a father figure. I'm in love with you."
His words, sharp and dismissive, cut me deeper than any knife: "Don't be ridiculous, Ava. You're my ward. You're a child. I raised you! To even think of me that way is… inappropriate. It's wrong."
He then called in his fiancée, Brittany, a woman who seemed to glide in on a cloud of malice, and announced their engagement, telling me, "Brittany's room has the best morning light. I'm sure Ava won't mind moving to one of the guest suites."
My sanctuary, my home where I poured my dreams into jewelry designs, was being given away, just like that.
How could the man who promised to protect me, who cheered my every success, betray me so cruelly?
Left with nothing but the echoes of his rejection, fueled by humiliation and a desperate need for escape, I pulled out my phone and texted a man I barely knew: "Mr. Hayes, is your offer for a contract marriage still on the table? I'm ready." The Monster I Once Married And Loved
Horror My life was a fairy tale.
At twenty-five, I had it all: a loving husband, Liam, my childhood sweetheart, a beautiful home, massive success, and our two perfect children, Leo and Lily.
They were our everything.
The night before their third birthday, I tucked them in, their excited giggles filling the room.
Just half an hour past bedtime.
But when Liam walked in, his face was a mask of cold fury.
He dragged Leo and Lily from their beds, out into the raging blizzard, for the sin of staying up late.
"They need to be punished," he said, his voice flat, his eyes empty.
I screamed, pleaded, grabbed his arm, but he flung me away, locking me in the basement while my babies wailed outside.
Darkness enveloped me, and their terrified screams were swallowed by the storm.
I pounded on the door, begging, promising anything, until his icy voice pierced the wood: "This isn' t about you, Ava. It' s about your parents."
He unleashed a horrifying tale of my family supposedly destroying his, a twisted vendetta culminating in my children' s lives for his father' s death.
It was a lie, a monstrous fabrication, but the next morning, as I pushed past his mother and burst outside, the silence was deafening.
On the porch, curled together, lay Leo and Lily, pristine and still under a thin dusting of snow, their faces blue, their lips purple, like two broken dolls.
They were gone.
The world went black. Not a Fiancée, a Resource
Romance "What is this, Liam?" My voice trembled, my hands shaking as I held up my phone, a text exchange between my fiancé, Liam, and a nurse flashing on the screen. It screamed, "Proceed with the 400cc draw. Chloe\'s vitals can handle it. Ethan needs it."
My stomach lurched. Ethan, my beloved, sat there pale, while Liam, his best friend, dismissed my terror. "Chloe, you\'re overreacting," Liam\'s smooth voice oozed, "Ethan\'s condition is fragile. It\'s better to be safe than sorry." Safe for who? Not for me.
Suddenly, years of quiet sacrifice became a crushing weight. The dizzy spells, the constant fatigue I' d blamed on stress – it wasn' t from wedding planning. It was them. My life had been systematically drained, not by love, but by parasitic manipulation.
Then, a new text from Liam, meant for Ethan\'s mother, buzzed on my phone. "Don\'t worry, I\'ll make sure Chloe provides enough blood for the pre-wedding \'health buffer.\' We can\'t have Ethan looking anything less than perfect on his big day." A health buffer. My blood, my very essence, reduced to a cosmetic accessory for his wedding photos. I was a walking blood bag, not a fiancée.
Just as the humiliation burned, Ethan texted from the other room, unaffected: "Liam just told me I\'m feeling faint again... One more small donation before the wedding... Can you come to the hospital tomorrow?" The audacity was breathtaking.
The room spun. Black spots danced. My phone slipped, clattering to the floor. The last thing I heard was my name being called as darkness swallowed me whole. I woke to sterile white walls, a nurse informing me I was severely anemic. "You can\'t donate blood again for a very long time, if ever." It was a death sentence for my old life. And a declaration of war for a new one. I picked up my phone, ignored their frantic calls, and dialed my friend. "I'm going to find a new boyfriend." Aethelgard's Divorce
Romance The divorce papers felt heavy in my hands, a final weight after three years.
I had sacrificed everything to be the perfect wife to Liam Hayes, a genius in game design but a recluse crippled by anxiety.
I was his shield, his planner, his entire support system, ensuring every detail of his life was seamless so he could create.
But at the launch party for his groundbreaking new game, "Aethelgard's Echo," he took the stage and thanked his "muse," Olivia, the graphic designer.
He beamed at her, she blew him a kiss, and I, his wife, stood frozen in the wings, my name never mentioned.
Three years of sleepless nights, managing his panic attacks, and organizing his entire life were erased in that single spotlight.
He didn't just forget me; he publicly replaced me, reducing me to nothing more than hired help.
My face burned with a fresh wave of humiliation as whispers and pitying glances followed me.
I walked out, and no one, especially not Liam, even noticed I was gone.
I had become Eleanor Hayes, the wife of a genius, but I had lost Eleanor Vance, the architect, the person I was supposed to be.
My decision was made: I needed to be free.
Yet, when I presented Liam with the divorce papers, expecting relief, he refused to sign.
He looked at me with raw, pure panic, not love or affection, but the desperate fear of losing his unpaid, live-in assistant, his "system."
My anger snapped, but even as he violently punched a wall, breaking his hand, my conditioned reflex was to care for him.
The final, brutal blow came later when I saw him treat Olivia's tiny paper cut with more care and tenderness than he had ever shown my own shattered heart.
That was it.
The last chord of hope, the final flicker of duty, snapped.
No longer would I be his punching bag; no longer would I be invisible.
I packed the single, worn suitcase I had arrived with three years ago.
I was leaving, and this time, I wasn't coming back. You Can't Afford My Happiness Now
Romance My wedding day.
The music swelled at the Boston Yacht Club.
I stood at the altar, eyes fixed on the aisle, waiting for Sarah, my fiancée.
The woman I' d built my tech career around.
The doors opened.
There she was, beautiful, but her face was a hard mask I didn' t recognize.
She took the microphone from the officiant.
"Ethan," she announced, her voice amplified for everyone to hear.
"I can' t marry you today."
The silence was physical.
"I' m pregnant," she continued, a small, triumphant smile on her lips.
"And the baby isn' t yours, Ethan. It' s Mark' s."
Mark. Her high-school boyfriend.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd.
"But don' t worry," she added, her voice dropping intimatel, yet still heard by all.
"You' re a good man. I need that for my child. So, you wait for me. I' ll have the baby, Mark and I will get this out of our systems, and then, once my child has a stable home-your home-I' ll marry you."
She was using my love as a weapon, demanding I be her reliable wallet after she was done playing house with the man she actually wanted.
She was humiliating me in front of everyone, assuming I was that weak.
That I was that devoted.
The all-consuming fire of my love was extinguished, replaced by a profound, chilling emptiness.
I turned, walked past the shocked faces, and didn' t look back.
Hours later, a powerful man and his brilliant daughter made me an insane offer.
Marry her.
A cold, calculated business transaction to erase my public disgrace.
It was exactly what I needed. Their Love Was Poison: My Revenge Was Sweet
Modern My own mother, Brenda, killed my infant daughter using a hot dog.
What followed was unthinkable: my father, my brother, and Brenda herself spun a tale, blaming me.
They labeled me hysterical, a drama queen, an overprotective new mom with 'new-fangled nonsense.'
Brenda sobbed to the police, playing the role of a grieving grandmother, and the world swallowed her lies.
I lost my career, my life was shattered, and my husband' s desperate pleas for truth were ignored.
Drowning in despair, I sought an escape from the pain they inflicted, a final, desperate act.
How could my own family turn on me so completely?
How could their twisted 'love' and suffocating control culminate in such monstrous injustice, leaving me utterly broken and voiceless?
The betrayal was suffocating, the blame unbearable.
But then, I woke up.
Lily' s piercing cry from the baby monitor was a miracle.
She was alive, and the calendar had reset, weeks before the DUI, months before the hot dog incident.
This wasn't a replay of my nightmare; it was a terrifying, second chance.
They destroyed me once by their rules.
Now, I remember every manipulative word, every insidious act of 'care' that reeked of control.
This time, I' m playing by my rules.
And I' m coming for justice they' ll never see coming. The Price of a Pinky: A Vegas Tale
Romance Our wedding was just days away, and the $50,000 down payment for our dream home, a generous gift from my parents, was safely secured for our future.
But that tranquil vision shattered the moment I found my fiancé, Mike, in our Vegas hotel suite, his raw voice mumbling the unthinkable: "The money, Sarah. It's gone."
Every cent, wiped out in a rigged poker game set up by Rick, Mike’s own best man.
Mike was a broken man, convinced he’d ruined everything, ready to call off our wedding indefinitely.
Yet, the anger I expected never came; instead, a cold, hard resolve settled deep within me.
This wasn't just about lost money; it was a calculated betrayal, a predatory scheme against our trust and future, by someone who was supposed to be family.
How could Mike’s best friend so cruelly fleece him, seemingly out of nowhere?
He didn't know the woman now staring down her desperate groom, pulling out her high-limit emergency credit card.
I looked him dead in the eye and declared, "It's our mess now, Mike, and I'm going to deal with Rick."
Tonight, he would witness a dangerous side of me he never imagined, as a deeper, long-suppressed past resurfaced to reclaim what was ours. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." Burned by Poison, Saved by the Devil
Gale Kaaya My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit
Elisha Plasket I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra.
But the man beside me—Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York—had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right.
She wasn't his fiancée. I was.
The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up."
He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush.
To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture—a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting.
So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home.
I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet.
On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war."
By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life. My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. 
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