Shangyou Fusu
11 Published Stories
Shangyou Fusu's Books and Stories
Rejected While Pregnant, I Reclaimed My Power
Mafia While I was pregnant, my husband held a party downstairs for another woman's son.
Through a hidden mental link, I overheard my husband, Don Dante Rossi, tell his consigliere he was going to publicly reject me tomorrow. He planned to make his mistress, Serena, his new mate.
An act forbidden by ancient law while I carried his heir.
Later, Serena cornered me, her smile venomous. When Dante appeared, she shrieked, clawing her own arm and blaming me for the attack.
Dante didn't even look at me. He snarled a command that froze my body and stole my voice, ordering me from his sight as he cradled her.
He moved her and her son into our master suite. I was demoted to the guest room at the end of the hall.
Passing her open door, I saw him rocking her baby, humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me.
I heard him promise her, "Soon, my love. I'll sever the bond and give you the life you deserve."
The love I felt for him, the power I'd hidden for four years to protect his fragile ego, all turned to ice.
He thought I was a weak, powerless wife he could discard. He was about to find out that the woman he betrayed was Alessia De Luca, princess of the most powerful family on the continent.
And I was finally going home. Pampered By The Cold Panther Alpha
Sci-fi I survived ten years of a brutal, flesh-tearing apocalypse on Earth, only to wake up in a damp, alien jungle.
Before I could even catch my breath, a squad of heavily armed men ripped the glowing core out of a truck-sized mantis monster.
Then, one of them shifted into a massive, two-headed black hound and cornered me against a tree.
My energy reserves were completely dry. Facing a team of elite, beast-shifting predators, a direct fight was absolute suicide.
So, I suppressed every ounce of my S-class killing intent, huddled in the dirt, and forced my eyes to well up with terrified tears.
I expected to be interrogated or killed on the spot.
Instead, the moment they caught my scent, the ruthless killers froze in utter shock, their hostility vanishing into thin air.
"A wild female..."
They whispered the words like I was a priceless, fragile artifact.
I quickly learned the absurd truth of this universe: females were incredibly rare, powerless treasures worshipped and protected by powerful beast-men.
Without missing a beat, I clutched my head and faked a flawless case of amnesia.
I played the helpless victim, letting their terrifying, notoriously untouchable alpha leader carry me to his starship, secure my legal citizenship, and hand me the keys to a luxury villa along with a hundred million credits.
After a decade of fighting for scraps, I finally had a ticket to a perfect, pampered life.
Now, I just have to make sure these overprotective men never find out about the world-destroying power dormant inside me. The Untouchable Widow's Ruthless Vengeance
Billionaires I spent three years keeping the Baldwin tech empire from crumbling after my husband died. But his nephew, Haden, despised me, convinced I was just a gold-digging widow who stole his inheritance.
The breaking point came when our biggest rival stormed into my executive office. His daughter slapped a sonogram on my desk, claiming she was pregnant with Haden's baby to force a hostile corporate merger.
Instead of denying the obvious trap, Haden used the moment to completely humiliate me. He pointed down at his expensive leather shoe right in front of our worst enemies.
"Come tie it for me. Auntie."
After forcing me to kneel, he dragged me to his penthouse in a psychotic fit of jealousy, tore my silk shirt open, and violently accused me of carrying his dead uncle's bastard. Meanwhile, our rivals threatened to tank our stock and ruin the family name if I didn't approve the marriage contract in three days.
They all thought I was completely cornered. They thought my cold silence meant I was a fragile woman finally broken by their ruthless power plays. They didn't know I had already spotted the doctored pixels on their cheap, fake ultrasound.
I smiled and agreed to their three-day deadline.
They thought I was preparing a press release for a Wall Street wedding. They had no idea I was preparing a superyacht, a heavy-duty crane, and a bucket of bloody chum to feed the fake bride's real lover to the Great Whites on a live broadcast. Sweet Revenge Of The Stolen Heiress
Fantasy I was only three and a half years old, living in a damp basement and beaten daily by Enoch Pruitt with a heavy leather whip.
"Get up, you useless waste of space!"
He always told me I was a stray he had picked out of the garbage.
But during one brutal beating that nearly stopped my heart, time froze, and a glowing figure called The Chronicler appeared.
"You are not an abandoned orphan, Clare. You carry the blood of the highest gods."
He revealed that I was the stolen daughter of the ultra-wealthy Barrett family.
Then, he showed me the horrific ending of my previous life.
I had died right here on this bloody dirt floor.
My real parents and three brothers went completely insane with grief, turning into ruthless monsters who destroyed themselves and the entire world to avenge me.
Meanwhile, the Pruitt family kept torturing me, locking me in a woodshed and feeding me moldy bread.
The memory of my bones breaking and my real mother's agonizing screams crushed my chest.
Why did I have to suffer like an animal while my true family tore the world apart looking for me?
This time, I refused to die in the mud.
I accepted my divine blood, my eyes glowing gold as I summoned a bolt of purple lightning to strike my abuser.
I just needed to survive the night.
Because my real father's heavily armed convoy was already tearing up the mountain, ready to burn this hell to the ground. Married To A Five-Year Deception
Romance My husband, Jackson, was holding hands with a dead woman.
For five years, I believed my adoptive sister, Scarlett, had died in a fiery car crash. My perfect, blissful marriage was built on her ashes.
But tonight, at a charity gala, I saw her hidden in the shadows with him. She was alive, and beside them stood a little boy with my husband’s dark, curly hair. I overheard everything. My family had faked her death, destroyed evidence to save her from prison, and set her up in a beautiful new life.
My marriage wasn't love. It was a five-year "penance," a sacrifice Jackson made to keep me from asking questions while he, my parents, and my "dead" sister lived as a secret family.
My phone buzzed. A text from her, taunting me.
“You should come see all the beautiful things my family has given me.”
When Jackson found me moments later, his face a mask of fake concern, the urge to scream was a physical force inside me.
But I swallowed it down. I looked into the eyes of the man who had demolished my world, forced a smile, and pulled him into an embrace that felt colder than the grave Scarlett was supposed to be in. The White Wolf's Pregnant Mate, Marked For A Second Chance
Werewolf The Healer told me I was finally pregnant. After two years of doubt, I was carrying the heir to the Blackstone Pack. This pup was supposed to be the key to our future, solidifying my place as the Alpha's Luna.
But just as the joy set in, a Mind-Link from my best friend shattered my world. It was an image of my mate, Damien, pressing another woman against a wall, his mouth devouring hers.
When I confronted him, he dismissed it as "blowing off steam," blaming the pressure of needing an heir.
But the real blow came when I overheard his mother praising his mistress, Seraphina. She was six months pregnant with what they called a "true Blackstone heir."
While I, his fated mate, was just an "empty shell."
Fifteen years of love and loyalty, all for nothing. The business empire I built for our pack was just a tool. Our pup, the miracle I was cherishing, was worthless to them. I was just a political necessity with a weak bloodline, waiting to be replaced.
That night, at the Full Moon Celebration, I was supposed to announce my pregnancy and beg for their acceptance.
Instead, I walked onto the stage, looked Damien in the eye, and spoke the ancient words of severance.
Then, I opened a private channel to the one man who could help me burn it all to the ground.
"Kaelan," I sent. "I agree to your plan." The Tycoon's Daughter: A Bitter Inheritance
Billionaires My mother' s hand, fragile as a bird' s wing, tightened around mine.
For eighteen years, she' d sacrificed everything, her hands chapped and sore from cleaning houses, all so I could go to Northwood University.
But with her dying breath, she whispered a secret that shattered my world: "Your father… Richard Thompson."
Richard Thompson. The tech mogul whose face graced magazine covers. My father. It was impossible. A fever dream.
"He has to matter now," she rasped, revealing a promise he' d made to care for me.
The last thing she said before the flatlining monitor screamed her final moments was, "He will hate it. He will hate you. But he will do it. Make him keep his promise."
I walked out of that hospital an orphan, holding a crumpled number that was both lifeline and curse.
When the sleek black car pulled up to my crumbling apartment, I knew my life was over-and just beginning.
My new home felt like a museum, or a very expensive prison.
My half-siblings, Emily and Ben Thompson, greeted me with icy disdain.
"Stay in your lane," Ben sneered, "The one you came from."
I was a ghost in their pristine mansion, eating alone, walking on tiptoes, a cheap paperback thrown in the trash when I dared leave a trace.
Then came the university lecture, taught in French, which I couldn't understand.
My scholarship, my mother' s sacrifice, felt meaningless.
Just as panic swelled, Ben, still with closed eyes, slid his tablet onto my desk.
Real-time translation, a silent lifeline, an unexpected act of protection.
"Don' t fall behind. It' s embarrassing," he grunted.
And then Jessica, the girl I thought was a friend, outed me in the cafeteria.
"So you' re the tech mogul' s bastard daughter," she announced, her voice dripping with venom.
She mocked my mother, sneered at my attempts to belong, and shoved me, my lunch tray clattering to the floor.
I saw red.
Something inside me snapped. I lunged, my fist connecting with her nose.
Blood, screams, chaos. Expulsion loomed.
But my father didn' t come. He sent his assistant, who bought off Jessica' s family with a briefcase full of cash.
Another message: I was worthless, easily bought, and completely alone.
The bullying escalated. Vandalized lockers, spilled books, tripping hazards.
No one would sit with me. I ate lunch in a bathroom stall, enduring it all in silence.
Until one afternoon, in a deserted alley, Jessica and her friends cornered me.
"No one' s here to save you now," she gloated, "Your rich daddy doesn' t care, and your fake siblings hate you."
Just as the football players moved in, a black Audron screeched around the corner.
Ben and Emily emerged, their faces cold and menacing.
Ben punched a football player, breaking his nose.
Emily slammed Jessica' s head against a brick wall, dragging her whimpering form before me.
"You touched our sister," Emily' s voice was dangerously quiet. "She is a Thompson. Now you know the rule."
Back at the mansion, in the aftermath, Ben explained their silent contempt.
"We hate you, but you' re our problem. And we don' t let anyone else mess with our problems."
Then, in the sterile bathroom, with Emily bandaging my cuts, they revealed their mother' s tragic death, her art destroyed by Richard.
And how their own dreams had been crushed by his iron will.
My gift, the glass butterfly, had not been an offering. It had been a ghost.
My tears, long held back, finally fell.
"He' s trying to break you," I whispered to Ben in the cold, dark basement where Richard had imprisoned us.
"He wants obedient successors," Ben replied, recounting his dreams of game development, his mother' s art, all crushed by Richard' s ambition.
"I hate him," Ben confessed, his voice raw.
"Me too," I whispered back, a cold, hard rage solidifying within me.
Then, Emily' s studio, a vibrant space of creation, was a scene of methodical, vicious destruction.
Her hands, tools of her trade, wrapped in bandages, tendons severed.
"He cut her," Maria, the maid, sobbed. "She will never… sew again."
My fear burned away, replaced by a cold, clarifying rage.
"You' re the only one he can' t break," Emily said, her empty eyes burning with desperate intensity.
"You have to be our shield, Sarah. You have to be our weapon. Get strong. Get smart. You have to be the one to break him."
"Okay," I said, my voice steady and clear. "I will." Her Betrayal, His New Horizon
Romance "I need you to be understanding, Ethan." Chloe' s voice barely registered as she packed, her thumb flying across her phone screen. My girlfriend of three years, who I' d poured my heart and soul, and every penny I earned, into building her company, was leaving.
Not for a business trip, but for her ex-boyfriend, Jake. His father had just passed away, and apparently, only Chloe truly understood him. "He needs me," she' d said, as if that explained everything.
I sat on the edge of our shared bed, the words like a physical blow. Then came the kicker. "And my dad," she continued, "You know his health is fragile. He needs to see that I'm with a man who is supportive and understanding." This wasn' t just about Jake' s grief; it was a twisted test for me to prove my worth by financing her emotional affair.
My money was good enough for her father' s exorbitant medical bills, my time good enough to build her empire, but my feelings? An inconvenience to be suppressed. A cold clarity settled in my gut: it was over.
She didn't even say thank you when I handed her all the cash I had and the keys to my car-the car she demanded, along with money for Jake' s "funeral expenses." "I knew you'd understand," she' d said, just before walking out the door, leaving me in the sudden silence of the apartment I paid for, heading to comfort another man.
The second the door clicked shut, I moved. Not with anger or hurt, but with a cold, clear purpose. I packed my work, my clothes, everything I owned-leaving behind every trace of her. Then, I canceled every payment to her and her demanding father.
"It' s over, Chloe. Don' t come back to the apartment. You are on your own." I blocked her number, her social media. I felt only profound relief. For the first time in a long time, my future was mine. The Billionaire's Calculated Comeback
Billionaires The harsh fluorescent lights of the ER flickered over Sylvia' s pale face, her party dress torn, mascara smudged.
She was my vibrant, wild fiancée-to-be, now fragile and broken from a "roofie" incident.
I knelt at her gurney, proposing in that sterile room, promising to be her anchor, to always keep her safe.
My life as a simple craft brewery manager felt real with her, far from the corporate schemes of my wealthy family.
But the night before our engagement party, rushing to find her, I found her apartment door slightly ajar.
Then I heard it: "Wasn't the fake roofie stunt enough? This isn't fair to Caleb!" and her callous response, "Caleb's just too... vanilla. I have needs."
The 'roofie'-a performance. My devotion, my comfort, my entire world built on her calculated lie for "content."
The woman I loved, mocked me, played me for a fool, shamelessly indulging in an illicit party with her sleazy manager.
Every word of sincerity, every act of tenderness I gave her, was met with cold, manipulative mockery.
How could the woman I was ready to marry be so utterly fake, so greedily hollow, so ruthlessly cruel?
My world collapsed, but in the ruins, a new, chilling clarity emerged.
I pulled out my phone, scrolled past her name, and dialed a number I hadn't touched in a year.
"Dad. About that merger... I'm in."
She thought she was playing games with a vanilla brewery manager. She had no idea she was messing with Caleb Wright, the heir to Wright Oil.
The game was far from over. It had just begun. The Wife Who Walked Away
Modern For thirty years, I lovingly maintained our family home, a legacy from my parents.
Now, in my late fifties, a promise resonated: the Italy trip my husband, David, made me under wedding fireworks.
When I finally brought up that cherished dream, he scoffed, "Too old for that."
Days later, on his laptop, I saw it: five plane tickets to Rome and Florence.
For David, our son Mike, his wife Jessica, our grandson Leo.
And my sister, Emily.
Not for me.
My dream trip, his very promise, was given to everyone else—especially Emily, whom David openly admired.
This wasn't an oversight; it was a deliberate, casual cruelty.
I drove them to the airport, listening to their excited chatter.
At the curb, David publicly humiliated me over a "lost" passport, grabbing my arm.
Even after it was found, he didn't apologize.
They just rushed to the gate, leaving me alone.
No one looked back.
The humiliation burned, hotter than anything before.
My family, my entire life, simply walked away, discarding me.
Thirty years of giving, of being taken for granted, culminated in this brutal moment.
This was my reward.
I watched them disappear, then turned and walked out of the airport for good.
I drove straight to a real estate agent, listing the house—my house, inherited and solely in my name.
Then, I booked my own one-way ticket: Paris, France.
My flight was in three days, the same day they were due in Rome.
My old life was over. You might like
Betrayed by My Boyfriend, Claimed by the Mafia Boss
Krystal Catherine loved Marco with all her heart.
Until she discovered that he had betrayed her with her own sister.
Instead of defending Catherine, her family blamed her for standing in the way of their happiness. To them, she was nothing more than an unwanted daughter who had ruined the love story between Marco and the sister they had always favored.
So Catherine gave them exactly what they wanted.
She gave up Marco. She gave up the family that had never truly seen her as one of their own. Just when she thought her life couldn't get any worse, her parents sold her for twenty thousand dollars to an old, ugly man who had already been married once.
Catherine thought her life was over.
Then a stranger appeared and offered her a way out.
His name was Lorenzo.
He offered Catherine a contract marriage.
He needed a wife.
She needed protection.
It seemed like a simple arrangement, and Catherine never expected it to change her life forever.Because she didn't know who Lorenzo really was.
To the world, Lorenzo was a ruthless billionaire and the heir to one of the country's most powerful business empires.
Behind closed doors, he was far more dangerous.
He was the heir to a Mafia dynasty, a man who controlled an empire built on blood, fear, and absolute power.
When Lorenzo offered Catherine a marriage of convenience, she accepted without hesitation.
He needed a wife.
She needed protection.
Neither of them wanted love.
At least, that was what they told themselves.
But after Catherine became Mrs. Romano, Lorenzo's rules began to change. He wanted to know where she went, who she spoke to, and which man dared look at her for too long. The more Catherine tried to keep their marriage strictly business, the more possessive Lorenzo became.
He no longer wanted a temporary wife.
He wanted Catherine completely.
Then Marco finally realized he had made the biggest mistake of his life and came back for her. He expected Catherine to still be the woman who waited for him, forgave him, and accepted whatever affection he was willing to offer.
But Catherine was no longer that woman.
The daughter her family discarded had become the wife of the most dangerous man in the underworld.
And Lorenzo Romano would burn the world down before he let anyone take his wife away. 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.
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. 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. From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." 
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