Shi Huatu
12 Published Stories
Shi Huatu's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Secret Midnight Obsession
Modern I was a broke freelance copywriter, tortured for three sleepless nights by an impossible corporate client.
Needing to vent, I typed out a wild, highly inappropriate rant mocking the brand's stiff heritage.
But in my exhausted, sleep-deprived blur, I accidentally sent the massive block of text to the wrong chat.
The recipient wasn't my friend. It was Emerson Beard, the elite, ruthless brand consultant I was supposed to desperately network with.
I waited for the professional execution, terrified of the massive five-figure penalty fee hanging over my head.
Instead, he didn't block me. He critiqued my unhinged draft.
He saved my career through late-night, encrypted phone calls, his deep, commanding voice becoming my only lifeline.
But when I heard a woman with a sultry French accent knocking on his hotel door during our call, my ugly jealousy flared.
I yelled at him and hung up, completely humiliating myself.
I thought I was just a pathetic, annoying workaholic interrupting his romantic getaway.
But he texted back to clarify he was entirely single, and in the process, realized I was actually twenty-five, not a fresh-out-of-school teenager like he had assumed.
The cold, distant mentor instantly vanished.
In his place was a man radiating a raw, aggressive, and predatory energy that bled right through the screen.
"Texting is too inefficient. The full integration requires face-to-face communication."
He dropped a location pin for an ultra-exclusive Manhattan club, demanding I meet him to save my contract.
Wearing a desperately bought emerald silk dress, I pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping right into the trap of a man who had just taken off his leash. A Contract Marriage With My Nemesis
Romance My fiancé always told me he loved me. But not long after our engagement, I woke up suffocating in the dark.
He was pressing a pillow over my face, his eyes cold and dead, while my half-sister stood by watching with fake pity.
They had orchestrated everything just to steal my trust fund.
It all started with a massive hotel scandal. They had drugged me, thrown a cheap escort into my bed, and brought a mob of paparazzi to ruin my reputation.
When my fiancé broke through the crowd, playing the heartbroken victim, he knelt down with a massive diamond ring.
"I know things have been hard, but I love you. If you come home with me, I will forgive all of this."
In my past life, I cried tears of gratitude and let him slide that ring onto my finger.
That ring sealed my death warrant. I lost my company, my dignity, and eventually, my life.
Until my lungs burned and my heart stopped, I didn't understand.
How could the people I trusted most plot my murder so ruthlessly?
Why did they have to tear my entire life apart?
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the hotel scandal, exactly one year ago.
But the man lying bare-backed in my bed wasn't a random escort.
It was Johnathan Chase, my family's biggest corporate rival and the most ruthless predator on Wall Street.
Listening to the paparazzi pounding on the door, I smiled coldly. Rejected Princess, Rising From The Ashes
Werewolf For three years, I scrubbed tables as a "wolfless runt," hiding my identity as the Lycan King's daughter.
It was a test for my fiancé, Alpha Connor. I wanted to see if he loved the girl, or just the crown.
He failed spectacularly tonight.
His mistress, Jaden, deliberately knocked a tray of drinks onto me during the dinner rush.
The liquid wasn't alcohol. It was concentrated silver.
My flesh hissed and bubbled as the poison ate through my skin, blocking any ability to heal.
I fell to the floor, clutching my melting hand, while Jaden faked tears and claimed I attacked her.
When Connor finally answered the video call, he saw my mangled hand. He smelled the burning flesh. He knew it was silver.
But he didn't help me.
He looked at his watch, annoyed that I was interrupting his business meeting with investors.
"Apologize to Jaden," he ordered, using his Alpha Command to crush me into submission.
"On your knees. Now."
The pain was blinding, but the betrayal cut deeper. He was forcing his Fated Mate to bow to the woman who tried to maim her.
My knees bent under the pressure, but my Royal blood refused to break.
I looked straight into the camera lens.
"No," I whispered.
I reached into my apron, bypassing the notepad, and pulled out a black satellite phone I hadn't touched in years.
"Code Black," I said to the King on the other end. "Send the Guard."
Connor thought he was disciplining a waitress.
He didn't know he just declared war on the Royal Family. The Secretary He Rejected Is The Alpha King's Daughter
Werewolf For seven years, I suppressed my Alpha aura and took sickening drugs to pass as a human secretary.
All to win a bet with my father, the Alpha King, that Dante loved me for my soul, not my bloodline.
But tonight, Dante proved me wrong in the most public way possible.
While I sat in a taxi, a Times Square billboard lit up with his face. He wasn't working late as he claimed.
He was holding a waitress named Lola, announcing her as his future Luna because she could "breed strong pups" and I was just a "useful tool."
When I arrived at the office to confront them, Lola didn't just mock me. She slapped my face and smashed my mother's silver locket under her heel.
She laughed, thinking she had destroyed a cheap trinket belonging to a weak human.
"You are prey, Seraphina," she sneered. "And you are trespassing in the wolf's den."
She didn't realize that the locket wasn't protecting me from them. It was protecting them from *me*.
With the seal broken, the air in the room instantly dropped twenty degrees. My eyes shifted from brown to glowing liquid silver.
They thought they were discarding a broken secretary. They had no idea they had just declared war on the Royal Family.
I picked up the phone and dialed the most feared number in the werewolf world.
"Papa," I said, stepping over the shattered silver.
"The masquerade is over. Bring the helicopters." The Transactional Marriage: Her Bitter Ascent
Modern The first time my husband, Gregory, chose a billion-dollar deal over my father' s funeral, I knew our marriage was a transaction. But when he started canceling meetings for an actress named Kennedy, I realized he was capable of love-just not for me.
Then came the whispers of his devotion: buying her a theater, brawling with a director who criticized her. My investigation led to a "warning"-a hit-and-run that left me hospitalized. His assistant's message was chilling: "Accidents do happen."
At the police station, after he'd been in another fight for her, Kennedy pointed at me and wailed, "Make her kneel! Make her apologize for breathing the same air as us!"
Gregory' s cold eyes met mine.
"Christie," he commanded, his voice deadly quiet. "Kneel." Shattered Vows: The Don's Runaway Queen
Mafia I was the Queen of New York, the untouchable wife of the city's most feared Mafia Don, Liam Goldstein.
But my throne was built on quicksand.
It started with a photo of a hotel receipt and a tangle of lingerie sent to my phone. It ended with a listening device I planted, hearing my husband tell his mistress that I was just a "decoration" while she would bear his heir.
The humiliation reached its peak at the charity gala.
His mistress, Ava, marched in wearing my jewelry, claiming my husband in front of the city's elite.
When I tried to leave, Liam grabbed me. I fell.
I hit the floor hard, and the pain in my stomach was blinding.
I lay there on the ballroom parquet, bleeding out in my white gown, losing the unborn son Liam claimed he wanted more than anything.
But he didn't kneel to help me.
Terrified of a scandal, he shielded his mistress from the paparazzi and walked away, leaving me to die amidst the champagne and diamonds.
I woke up in a hospital bed with an empty womb and a "sorry" check from his lawyer.
He thought money could fix a dead child. He thought I would just go back to being his ornament.
He was wrong.
That night, I initiated the Phoenix Plan.
I planted my DNA in a car wreck, drove it to the docks, and watched it explode into a fireball.
To the world, and to Liam, Maya Goldstein is dead.
But I’m very much alive. And I’m going to burn his empire to the ground. My Heart, His Spare Part
Modern My bodyguard, Grant, took the full force of a speeding car meant for me. In that moment, I realized I loved him. He was my protector, and I thought his fierce devotion was mine alone.
But in the hospital, I overheard the truth. He hadn't saved me; he'd saved my kidney.
I wasn't the woman he loved. I was just the "best option" for his sick sister's transplant.
Every tender gesture, every watchful glance, was a lie designed to keep his organ donor safe and compliant. The man I adored saw me as nothing more than a collection of spare parts.
The love I thought we shared was a carefully constructed trap, and I had been the fool who walked right in.
The girl who believed in fairy tales died in that sterile hospital hallway. I picked up my phone, my hand steady.
"Dad," I said, my voice cold as ice. "I'm ready to consider the alliance with the Powell family." Betrayal's Scars, A New Beginning
Romance Today was my ninth wedding anniversary, and I lay in a hospital bed, recovering from a hysterectomy.
My husband, Mark, sent a diamond necklace, but instead of him, a young woman' s voice answered his phone.
"This is Emily. Please, don' t do this to Mark."
Her tearful plea implied she had picked out my anniversary gift with him.
He then agreed to a divorce-eagerly, relieved-hanging up before I could speak.
He never showed up at the courthouse.
He promised to meet me. He broke that promise.
Two months later, he stumbled home, drunk, offering me a luxury watch as if it could erase his betrayal.
"A divorce? We' re not getting a divorce," he slurred.
I saw him days later, laughing intimately with Emily at a café, while I was dealing with more than just a broken marriage.
"I have uterine cancer."
The words were out, shattering the fragile peace.
"You have cancer and you' re telling me now? How could you keep that from me?" he shouted, not out of concern, but anger at how it looked.
He raged about losing control, about how this affected him, not once asking about my pain.
I had been alone in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery, while he was at a gala with Emily, the "close companion," the night of my surgery.
He thought I was making a scene, when he was the one who had brought Emily to his parents' home, to Lily' s birthday party.
His mother praised Emily, who' d planned my daughter' s party.
They all stood there, a united front: Mark, his parents, and his mistress, making me the villain.
His cruelty was breathtaking.
"She' s just bitter," he announced to the silent room. "She' s bitter because she' s not a complete woman anymore. She had to have a hysterectomy. She has cancer. She can' t have any more children. She' s broken."
He had taken my deepest vulnerability, my illness, and used it as a weapon to humiliate me publicly.
Something inside me snapped.
I slapped him, hard, the sound echoing through the stunned silence.
Emily shrieked and lunged, but I sidestepped, and she crashed into a table.
"It' s all yours," I said, my voice ringing with finality. "You can have him. You can have this whole rotten family. We' re done."
I walked out, hand in hand with my daughter, leaving the wreckage behind. Reborn Wife: Choosing Love Anew
Sci-fi The grand hall reeked of old money and lilies, a scent that now made my stomach clench. This was it: Dad' s insane "heir selection ceremony."
He called it securing the family legacy, but it was just another bizarre power play. My twin sister, Emily, and I stood before him while he gestured to two men.
One, Alex, was a struggling startup founder, awkward but kind. The other, Liam, was a tech prodigy, brilliant but comatose, hooked up to humming machines.
The rules were simple, and savagely unfair: One of us would marry Alex, and the other, Liam. Emily, as always, got to choose first.
I watched her, my perfect, ambitious twin. She didn' t hesitate, and a painful echo resonated deep within me.
I' d lived this before. In my first life, Emily snatched Alex, leaving me with the silent man in the bed, scoffing, "Sarah' s quiet enough for him."
Her life with Alex was a gilded cage of public performance. Mine, a shadow empire under Liam' s thumb. He wasn't comatose; he was awake, a spider spinning a web of illegal projects, and I was his hostage. I became rich beyond imagination, but I was living a nightmare.
Emily, blinded by envy, saw only my wealth. She couldn' t bear my "success" while her own life crumbled under the weight of society's expectations. Her jealousy consumed her, driving her to orchestrate my ruin, ultimately leading to her own dramatic, fatal car crash.
I woke up, back in this hall, the scent of lilies suffocating me. It was the heir selection ceremony, the day it all began again.
Emily, glowing with confidence, looked between Alex and Liam, then at me. A predatory smile, so unlike her first-life triumph, spread across her face.
"Sister," she purred, her voice sweet as poison, "It' s my turn to enjoy the good life now."
She turned to our father, chin high. "I choose Liam."
A stunned silence fell.
She thought she was taking my power, my secret. She thought she had found the path to immense wealth.
She had no idea. She had just chosen the monster. And in doing so, she had set me free. The System’s Cruel Canvas
Romance The antiseptic smell wasn't new; my head always throbbed. I, Chloe Reed, once a promising artist, was now the "evil stepsister," a role forced upon me by a parasitic System.
A year ago, my adoptive brother Alex, the boy I secretly loved, lay dying. The System offered a cure: become the villain, push Alex into Sarah Jenkins' s arms, and then get a new life. I said yes. How could I not? It was for Alex.
The System' s predictions were chillingly accurate. Alex healed, and Sarah, a ray of manufactured sunshine, entered our lives. My existence became a calculated hell, designed to make Alex despise me. Every humiliation, every cruel word from him, was orchestrated. He looked at me with cold loathing, seeing only the monster I was forced to be.
Then came the art gala. Painting, my soul' s refuge, was to be sacrificed. Alex, the boy who once said my art was magic, demanded I create something to make Sarah' s work shine by comparison. He wanted me to lose, publicly, to prove I could do something for someone else.
The System buzzed with approval, promising freedom. I agreed, the word tasting like ash. The night of the gala, I unveiled "Hopeless," a canvas of chaos. Sarah presented "Hope," a field of vibrant flowers. Her victory was thunderous. Then Alex' s icy words: "You took something beautiful and made it ugly, just for attention. You are truly pathetic."
His words shattered me, more than any blow. I fled into the cold night, gasping, calling the only person I could think of for a panic attack. I was utterly alone.
The next morning, Alex burst into my hospital room, not worried, but furious. The System took over, lashing out with cold, mocking defiance. "Why do you care? I did what you wanted. Sarah won. Isn' t that all that matters?"
His rage became chilling. He showed me a wooden bird, a gift I' d carved for him, claiming Sarah had made it. Then the real blow: Sarah needed a kidney-my kidney. "It' s you," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. You will do this. You will give Sarah your kidney, and maybe, just maybe, you will have redeemed yourself for a fraction of the pain you' ve caused."
I signed the forms in a numb haze. The surgery was a violation, draining me literally and figuratively. Days later, Sarah came to my apartment, radiant, vibrant, full of life. My life. She gloated, then faked an injury, shrieking I' d pushed her. Alex appeared, a mask of primal fury. He didn' t ask. He slapped me, sending me crashing against the wall. "You monster," he snarled. "I am done with you. Stay away from us. Stay away from my family."
I was empty, nothing left to take. My phone buzzed. A text from Alex. "My office. Now." It was another task, another demand. But as I sat in his office, I saw it-my mother' s journal, thought lost forever. Sarah walked in, and with a cruel smirk, she took it. Alex, with a mere hesitation, gave it to her. She "accidentally" dropped it into a coffee, ruining the last piece of my mother. As the world went black, a single, horrifying thought screamed in my mind: I cannot escape. Woke Up A Stranger, Found My Love
Romance I woke up in a hospital, my past a blank beyond my 18th year.
The doctor said I was 27, even a talented architect, and married.
But the woman they introduced as my wife, Sophia, was a cold, stunning stranger.
She looked at me with thinly veiled contempt.
She spoke of my nine lost years as a descent into breakdowns and "pathetic" dependence.
My supposed best friend, Ethan Vance, was her true confidante, a smirking rival.
Disgust curdled in my gut.
This wasn't me.
My 18-year-old self, full of ambition and drive, recoiled from this emasculated shadow of a man they described.
How could I have become a "kept man," constantly ridiculed, chasing the approval of an ice queen?
The humiliation was palpable, preserved in flashed cameras and casual insults.
But this amnesia, this blank slate, felt like a gift.
It stripped away the years of self-erasure, leaving behind only the core of who I was.
And that core wanted nothing to do with this suffocating, demeaning life.
"I want a divorce," I told her, my voice surprisingly firm.
"The me I know wouldn't be married to someone who calls him pathetic."
This was no act, no episode.
This was me, fighting to reclaim a life I didn't remember.
A life free from the woman who claimed to be my wife and the rival who wanted me utterly destroyed.
Little did I know, the fight for my true identity would lead to a bloody confrontation and a shocking revelation that would change everything. You might like
The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" 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. Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle
Ming Yue Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.
I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.
I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he’d dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family’s land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.
I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.
"If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned.
So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell—the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.
Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I’ve suspended Hugh’s executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I’m just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout.
But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back. 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." 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. 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. 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!" 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." Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire
Ruby Stone When I called my husband while trapped in a kidnapper's warehouse, he laughed. "Stop faking," he said, "my delicate mistress needs her sleep." He hung up. I signed the divorce papers drenched in my own blood, giving up everything just to escape the monster I married.
His mother threw a broken umbrella at me in the rain. I had nothing-no money, no identity, no hope.
But the moment I turned away, eight black Escalades encircled the street. A man in a tailored suit stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, shielding me with an umbrella. In his hand was a DNA test-and twenty-three years of relentless search.
"Your last name isn't Smith," he said, wiping blood from my wrist with his handkerchief. "It's Wilder. The Wilder family. And the man who left you to die?" He smiled, icy. "He owes us nine billion dollars." 
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