Qing Shui
12 Published Stories
Qing Shui's Books and Stories
The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband
Modern I sat in the gray, airless room of the New York State Department of Corrections, my knuckles white as the Warden delivered the news.
"Parole denied."
My father, Howard Sterling, had forged new evidence of financial crimes to keep me behind bars. He walked into the room, smelling of expensive cologne, and tossed a black folder onto the steel table. It was a marriage contract for Lucas Kensington, a billionaire currently lying in a vegetative state in the ICU.
"Sign it. You walk out today."
I laughed at the idea of being sold to a "corpse" until Howard slid a grainy photo toward me. It showed a toddler with a crescent-moon birthmark—the son Howard told me had died in an incubator five years ago. He smiled and told me the boy's safety depended entirely on my cooperation.
I was thrust into the Kensington estate, where the family treated me like a "drowned rat." They dressed me in mothball-scented rags and mocked my status, unaware that I was monitoring their every move. I watched the cousin, Julian, openly waiting for Lucas to die to inherit the empire, while the doctors prepared to sign the death certificate.
I didn't understand why my father would lie about my son’s death for years, or what kind of monsters would use a child as a bargaining chip. The injustice of it burned in my chest as I realized I was just a pawn in a game of old money and blood.
As the monitors began to flatline and the family started to celebrate their inheritance, I locked the door and reached into the hem of my dress. I pulled out the sharpened silver wires I’d fashioned in the prison workshop. They thought they bought a submissive convict, but they actually invited "The Saint"—the world’s most dangerous underground surgeon—into their home.
"Wake up, Lucas. You owe me a life."
I wasn't there to be a bride; I was there to wake the dead and burn their empire to the ground. Shattered Vows: The Mob Wife's Revenge
Mafia My husband was the Don of New York, and for ten years, I was his perfect trophy wife. I designed his buildings, kept his secrets, and stood by his side as the envy of the city.
But the moment his mistress marched into my casino with a secret son, my decade of loyalty meant nothing.
The boy demanded my grandmother's bracelet—which was dangling from his wrist. When I reached to take back what was mine, Emilio didn't defend me.
He shoved me.
Hard.
I crashed backward into a wall of shattered glass. While I lay bleeding on the marble floor I had hand-picked, losing our unborn child, he didn't even look at me.
He was on his knees, wrapping his suit jacket around another woman's son to shield him from the debris.
In the hospital, the cruelty only worsened.
"It was an accident, Elana. Leo was scared."
He dismissed the death of our baby as collateral damage. He had given my family heirloom to his bastard child and chose them over me without hesitation.
I realized then that the Omertà—our sacred code of silence—was a lie. He had built a warm, loving shadow family while I was just a useful decoration waiting in a cold mansion.
He wanted to bury me in that life forever. So, I decided to give him a funeral.
I staged my suicide off the cliffs of the estate, letting the freezing ocean swallow Elana Thomas.
Now, everyone thinks the Don's wife is dead.
But in Zurich, a new woman named Elena is very much alive, and she’s coming back to burn his empire to the ground. Billionaire's Fake Savior: Unmasking The Truth
Modern I was a disgraced heiress hiding as a dishwasher in a high-end club, scrubbing lipstick off glasses until my fingers went numb. One night, I was forced to deliver a bottle of vintage whiskey to the penthouse, only to find the tech billionaire Kenan Cervantes collapsing from a lethal neural storm. I used my surgeon’s training to save his life, holding him in the dark until his fever finally broke.
The next morning, the world I knew shattered. My coworker Tiffany, who hadn't even stepped foot in the room, claimed my identity as the savior. She signed a non-disclosure agreement and walked away with a $200,000 check, while I was accused of stealing the whiskey and had my entire month's wages forfeited as punishment.
While Tiffany was flaunting Chanel suits and posting photos from his balcony, I was being shoved into the mud by my abusive foster father in a dark alley. I watched from the shadows as Kenan stepped into his luxury car, looking right through me with nothing but cold distaste. To him, I was just "street trash" cluttering the sidewalk, while the imposter was the "angel" who had stabilized his heart.
The injustice felt like a physical weight. I had quieted the noise in his brain and kept him from the brink of death, yet I was the one facing eviction and hunger. I didn't understand how he could be a genius and still be so blind to the truth, rewarding a thief while I rotted in the basement.
Everything reached a breaking point when Tiffany forced me to sneak into his penthouse to help her maintain the lie. But Kenan returned from Tokyo early, finding me on the terrace with his military-grade protection dog. The beast that had tried to bite Tiffany was now resting its head in my lap, protecting me from its own master.
Kenan dropped his briefcase, his eyes locking onto mine as the fragmented memories of the storm finally clicked into place.
"You," he whispered. The Architect Who Rose Anew
Modern A magazine cover celebrated me as "The Architect Who Built an Empire." It was supposed to be a triumph for me and my husband, Axel. Instead, it was the beginning of our end.
His adoration turned to ice overnight. He demanded I hand over my life's work-my museum project-to Bryn, a young intern he had suddenly taken under his wing.
He stole my project, publicly shamed me, and threatened to destroy my career. He sided with her lies, even as I lay bleeding on the floor of a gala while he chose to save her from a falling chandelier.
The final blow came when I miscarried our child. He dragged me from my hospital bed, accused me of faking it for sympathy, and abandoned me in a cold, derelict warehouse.
This was the man who once swore he'd always champion my dreams. He had become a monster, and I was left with nothing but the ashes of the life we built.
But as I fled the city with nothing but a single bag, a new resolve hardened within me. They thought they had broken me. They had no idea what they had just unleashed. Second Chance, Deadly Trap
Fantasy One moment, I was just Sarah, pulling weeds from my tomato patch under the hot Nebraska sun, living the quiet farm life I' d painstakingly built.
The next, a chilling wave of memory, raw and horrifying, washed over me – memories of another life, a past I' d lived and died.
And with that horrific clarity, I saw him again: Mark, my husband, the man who disappeared seven years ago, now limping up our driveway, playing the pathetic, broken-down prodigal son.
My heart didn't leap; it solidified into a cold, hard stone, because I remembered everything he'd done in that other life.
I remembered how we' d welcomed him in, how my in-laws had drained their life savings, how I'd sold my mother's last keepsakes, all out of love and misguided pity.
I remembered how he' d squandered every penny on his secret city wife and her gambling debts, then, when the money ran out, tried to sell our farm out from under us.
I remembered the barn burning, the livestock screaming, the loan sharks he brought to our door, leaving us with nothing but ashes, debt, and the bitter taste of his laughter as he drove away.
None of us survived that first time.
Now, he was back, with the same tattered clothes and the same practiced look of sorrow, mouthing the same fake emotions: "Sarah, I finally made it home."
My blood ran cold with the memory of starving in the winter, of seeing my mother-in-law cry, of the life he had so casually incinerated.
I would not let it happen again.
This time, I would not be the same naive country wife; I would make sure he walked into a trap of his own making, a trap from which he would never escape. Digital Detox Survival Challenge
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold, not from the biting wind in the remote forest, but the icy grip of utter betrayal.
My own family, my sister Ashley, my parents, stood by a luxury RV, watching me.
Ashley screamed for the camera, a performance of feigned terror, then shoved me hard, sending me stumbling towards the grim-faced survivalists waiting in the shadows.
I later learned, in the brief, hellish time before I died, that the video of my "accident" went viral.
Ashley' s follower count exploded, millions celebrating my demise, fueled by my family's lies about my supposed tech addiction and instability.
They raked in donations and sponsorship deals, building a life of grotesque luxury upon my very corpse.
Then, there was only crushing darkness.
Until now.
My eyes snapped open to the familiar white ceiling of my bedroom.
My heart hammered, a trapped bird, but there were no wounds, no lingering chill of death.
Frantically, I grabbed my phone, and the date glowed back, October 12th-the very day they coerced me into the "digital detox survival challenge."
I was back.
A hysterical laugh bubbled from my throat, a wild, unhinged sound.
"You' re finally awake, Ashley has the most wonderful idea," my mother, Brenda, cooed, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.
Ashley appeared, phone already rolling, a predatory smile on her face.
"Sissy! We need a family trip, a real bonding experience!"
They stood there, these soulless monsters who profited from my murder, smiling.
Last time, I fought, I pleaded, I was worn down by their emotional blackmail, used for my skills, then discarded.
But this time would be different.
A slow, chilling smile spread across my face, one that didn't reach my eyes.
"That sounds like a fantastic idea," I said, my voice smooth as glass.
I would play my part, be the compliant daughter, the sister who had finally seen the light.
And then, deep in the wilderness, far from any help, I would make them pay.
I would give them the authentic survival content they craved, just not in the way they expected.
The hunt was on. The Bullet I Took For You
Romance For five blissful years, I poured my heart and soul into saving Ethan Lester, the tragic hero from a TV show, now the man I loved.
Our wedding was just seven days away, my mission 99% complete, a lifetime of happiness within reach.
Then, his voice, thick with emotion, echoed from the guesthouse.
"Annie, I never stopped loving you."
He declared I was just "static," background noise to his enduring love for Annabel, his wealthy ex-fiancée.
The woman whose family destroyed him.
The woman for whom he promised to still take a bullet.
That promise felt like a bullet through my own heart, erasing my entire existence, my sacrifice of literally taking a bullet for him.
How could he betray me so completely, after all we had built, after the life I gave him back?
I yanked out my phone, contact the program, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands: "I want to pull the plug. I' m going home." Unraveling Fifty Years of Silence
Romance At seventy, my body failed, but my mind was sharp with the bitterness of a fifty-year marriage to a woman I was certain never loved me back.
My final words, a rasping confession of lifelong regret, were, "If I could do it all over again, I would never love you."
Then, darkness, a profound silence, and suddenly, light flooded my vision as I shot awake, an eighteen-year-old in my childhood bedroom, strong and healthy.
This was my second chance, and I vowed to rewrite my bitter past, starting with Jocelyn Anderson, the ice queen who had unknowingly broken my heart for half a century.
I meticulously planned to shun her, using my knowledge of the future to build an empire, while deliberately acting aloof and uninterested, pushing her away at every turn.
But then, she inexplicably transferred to my school, sat next to me in class, and shockingly appeared on the football field with Gatorade.
My carefully constructed aversion shattered as I accused her of loving another, blinded by the phantom pain of my first life's perceived betrayal.
Just as I walked away, broken-hearted and accepting my fate, her trembling voice hit me like a physical blow: "You think you're the only one who remembers?"
"You were my husband for fifty years, Ethan," she whispered, her words confirming the impossible.
But then Wesley Fowler, whom I believed was her lover, arrived, pulling her away and reigniting the crushing certainty that she was still lying, still choosing him.
How could this be happening again, even with a second chance, even with her claiming to remember?
The universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke, ensuring my sorrow spanned two lifetimes, leaving me with an agonizing question: if we both remembered, why was she still choosing him, still living the lie that destroyed us?
I fled, seeking escape in Maine, only for her to follow, confronting me with a truth so profound it would either heal my soul or shatter it completely, forcing me to confront the fifty-year misunderstanding that defined my existence. His Unwanted Wife: The Queen of Comebacks
Romance My mother, the CEO of a media empire, gave me a choice between two men for a strategic marriage: my charming Yale tutor or my stoic head of security.
But I'd already lived this life, and I knew the truth: my tutor, Professor Blakely, was conspiring with the "sweet" intern, Sabrina, while my trusted security chief, Andrew Scott, was blindly devoted to her.
In my past life, they plotted against me, framed me for incompetence, and even delivered a laxative-laced energy drink to publicly humiliate me during a major charity gala.
Their betrayal extended to a staged kidnapping, a fabricated "dead" security guard, and a corporate scheme designed to destroy my family's empire, turning my supposed allies into my worst enemies.
Why did they hate me so much, and why would the men I once thought I loved sacrifice everything to elevate a conniving intern?
This time, reborn to the exact moment of choice, I knew I wouldn't fall for their traps; instead, I'd marry the family's shadowy, emotionless "fixer," Wesley Hughes, turning him into my ultimate weapon. The Comeback Heiress
Billionaires My eyes flew open, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
This wasn't just a nightmare; it was a horrifying memory-a visceral replay of my own brutal death.
My inherited room was familiar, luxurious, yet the images flickering behind my eyelids were stark and terrifyingly real: a twisted metal car wreck, my own choked screams echoing in a silent void.
Before that, the faces of those who had meticulously orchestrated my demise flashed into view.
Izzy Vance, my father's "charity case," who wore my family's legacy and my triumphs like her own skin.
Channing "Chad" Astor III, my indifferent fiancé, his eyes dismissing me as a mere stepping stone.
Even my own brother, Harrison, looking right through me, his ruthless ambition a cold, sharp blade that cut me down.
They hadn't just killed me; they had systematically dismantled my life, piece by hateful piece, before ending it all in a fiery crash that was no accident, but a calculated murder.
And now, inexplicably, I was back.
21 again.
On the precise day my public downfall began in that wretched past life.
The day of the infamous "Starlight Seraph" necklace incident, the manufactured tantrum, and tailored narrative that branded me as jealous and unstable.
The memory of their insidious treachery, of being utterly played, burned with an acidic clarity.
Why was I sent back to this cruel inflection point?
How could I have been so blind?
The injustice was a suffocating shroud, but beneath it, a freezing rage began to ignite.
But no.
Not this time.
This time, there would be no tears, no agonizing screams.
This time, I would not just survive.
This time, I would utterly win. His First Love, My Last Hope
Romance My marriage to Ethan was a practical arrangement, but I secretly longed for true love. When I unexpectedly discovered I was pregnant, a fragile hope blossomed-perhaps this baby would finally forge a real family.
That hope shattered instantly. Outside the clinic, I found Ethan tending to his college sweetheart, Chloe Vanderbilt, dramatically faking a migraine. He dismissed me entirely, ordering me to run errands for her, treating me like an errand girl, not his wife. Chloe's return was a relentless, calculated campaign.
Her carefully curated social media posts, featuring Ethan's relaxed smiles and comforting embraces with her, became a constant public humiliation.
He'd rationalize his growing closeness, always prioritizing her "fragility" over my very existence. The final blow came via a video: my husband, kissing her deeply at a gala I was told I was "too tired" to attend.
Overwhelmed, I confronted him, signing the divorce papers he' d pre-signed years ago. But Chloe wasn't done. She set a vicious trap, coercing a former friend to falsely accuse me of plotting against her. Ethan, blinded by Chloe's performance, instantly believed I was capable of malice, dismissing my desperate pleas.
The ultimate devastation struck: Chloe deliberately pushed me down the stairs, resulting in a brutal, agonizing miscarriage.
Ethan, finding us, rushed to Chloe's side, cradling her fabricated injuries, utterly abandoning me as I lay bleeding, my child slipping away.
In that harrowing moment, all love and hope died, replaced by an unyielding resolve to uncover the truth and finally, irrevocably, reclaim my life from their poisonous lies. You might like
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. 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 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!" 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. 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." 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 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." The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." 
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