Shu Yu
12 Published Stories
Shu Yu's Books and Stories
My Ex-Husband's Regret, My Freedom
Mafia I'd lived as a mafia queen, ruling with quiet strength, only to discover my entire life was a lie. My husband, Dante, secretly divorced me three years ago, then married our timid nanny. I wasn't just betrayed; I was a dead ex-wife walking, a ghost in my own home.
A mafia daughter, I expected routine at Rossi's law firm. But Rossi, pale and sweating, handed me an envelope: Dante's divorce judgment, signed three years ago, and his marriage certificate to Gia, our nanny.
Truth slammed me: Gia poisoned me for years, causing infertility, making her bastard son the sole heir. Hidden, I watched her force Dante, the Underboss, to kneel, drink hallucinogenic tea, and profess devotion. She smirked.
This was calculated murder: my existence, my legacy. Rage burned, but clarity struck: disappear, or vanish into the Long Island Sound.
From a hidden phone, I called Luca, the underworld's elite cleaner. "I need a top-tier scrub. Target is myself," I commanded. "Get me out of this hell. I'd rather die than be his taxidermy specimen." The Unwanted Luna: Claimed By The True Alpha King
Werewolf For seven years, I was the barren, wolf-less Luna, tolerating my husband's coldness and his "friendship" with Haven.
I thought I was defective.
Until I found the papers transferring our pack's wealth to Haven's son—a boy with Aiden's eyes.
When I tried to leave, Haven framed me for kidnapping the child.
Aiden didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't check the tracker that proved my innocence.
He let them drag me to a warehouse, bound in silver chains that burned my skin.
Drugged into a feral state, my own mate beat me until my ribs shattered, believing I was a rogue enemy.
Through the haze of pain, I heard Haven's voice over the intercom, laughing.
"She thinks she donated a kidney to you, Aiden. She doesn't know we drained her Wolf Essence to boost your power."
My weakness wasn't a sickness. It was a theft. They had cannibalized my soul to build his throne.
I was supposed to die there.
But as Aiden walked away, leaving me in a pool of blood, a power I thought was lost ignited in my veins.
I dragged myself to the wall and wrote with trembling, bloody fingers:
"I REJECT YOU."
The bond severed with a crack like thunder.
They thought they were burying a dog.
They didn't realize they were waking a Phoenix. Beyond Betrayal: A Billionaire's Fall
Modern I was an artist who gave up my career for my tech CEO husband, Jakob. Pregnant with our child, I believed our life was a perfect dream built on his genius.
That dream shattered when I discovered his genius was a lie, built on stolen code. Then I overheard his real plan: to drug me, publicly ruin me, and auction off my body after murdering our unborn child.
At our anniversary gala, he forced drugged champagne into my hand. I watched him destroy my art-my last dream-before I collapsed, losing our baby on the cold museum floor.
They left me for dead, having taken everything-my love, my art, my dignity, and my child.
After I survived, I walked into the interrogation room where he was being held. I showed him a fabricated DNA report proving the baby was his, alongside a real document proving he'd had a secret vasectomy.
He broke down, believing he'd murdered the son he never knew he could have. "I'll do anything," he sobbed.
"Then sign these," I said calmly, pushing the divorce papers and a full transfer of his billion-dollar empire across the table. The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir
Mafia I stood alone at the center of my art gallery opening, clutching a glass of warm champagne, while the guests whispered behind their hands.
My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, wasn't there.
A breaking news alert on my phone explained why.
It was a high-definition photo of Dante shielding his mistress, Isabella, from the rain. He was touching her with a protective possessiveness he had never once shown me.
Then came his text:
"Isabella needed me. Go home."
That was the moment the cage door unlocked. I didn't go home to cry. I went to his office the next morning with a stack of papers disguised as "gallery insurance forms."
While Isabella sat on his desk, mocking me for being a boring housewife, Dante was too annoyed to read the fine print.
He just wanted me gone so he could get back to her.
He signed the divorce decree.
He signed the asset dissolution.
Most importantly, without looking, he signed the irrevocable relinquishment of parental rights.
I walked out with my freedom, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. That night, I stared at a positive pregnancy test.
I was carrying the Sovrano heir he had always demanded.
And he had just legally signed away his right to ever know his child.
I fled to the Swiss Alps, vanishing into the snow to raise my baby away from his world of blood and bullets.
I thought I was safe, until six months later.
Dante hadn't just sent men to look for me.
He had burned his own shipping empire to the ground, destroying his status as King, just to prove he would trade it all for the wife he threw away. My Stolen Daughter, My Shattered Life
Modern I am Joanna Haney, heiress to a New York real estate empire. I had a perfect life with my husband, Brad, and our three-year-old daughter, Chloe.
Then, a single sentence from a doctor shattered my world.
"Chloe isn't your daughter."
The truth was a nightmare. My husband and my best friend, Carla, had swapped our babies at birth. My real daughter was abandoned while I unknowingly raised theirs.
They plotted to have me declared insane and locked away. At Chloe's birthday party, they publicly humiliated me, turning the child I raised against me until she screamed that she wished Carla was her mother.
My husband and best friend saw me as nothing more than an obstacle to be permanently removed.
But they underestimated me. With the secret help of Brad's own mother, I orchestrated my escape to Paris. Now, I will find my real daughter, and they will pay for every single lie. A Mother's Vengeful Heart
Modern The world turned into a twisted metal scream. One moment, I was humming along in the car with my son, Ethan, in the back. The next, a violent jolt, a blinding pain, and then - silence. Too much silence. My son was gone.
My husband, David, pulled me from the wreck, a mask of panic on his face. But in the emergency room, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, his voice from the hallway cut through the fog: "Just make sure it' s done. No loose ends. The problem is solved. Now I can finally move forward without any… distractions."
A distraction? Was our son just a problem to him? The man I loved, the father of my child, had orchestrated his death. And when I woke from surgery, he delivered another cruel blow, a lie that ripped away my ability to ever be a mother again. He buried Ethan without me, dismissed his toys, and called my love for our child an "obsession."
The grief I felt became a chilling clarity. He hadn't just lost our son; he had murdered him. And then, at night, I found his hidden life-another woman, Victoria, and another son, Alex. An email from David, dated the day Ethan was born, called my son an "error."
How could he have done this? How could his hate run so deep? Every moment, every memory, was re-framed by this horrific betrayal. The man I married was a monster, his grief a sickening performance.
My son's last drawing, a simple wish for his daddy to play catch, solidified my purpose. I was no longer a grieving mother; I was an instrument of justice. My work was just beginning. When Her Secret Son Blew Up My Life
Romance I waited three long years for Jen, my fiancée, to return from her "deep cover assignment," dreaming of the wedding we' d planned.
Then, I overheard her icy voice in my own home office, admitting she' d hidden a pregnancy and given birth to a two-year-old son during her so-called mission, all while plotting to use me to secure a future for her family.
The next morning, Jen and her accomplice, Drew, shamelessly brought her son to my house, maintaining their elaborate lie, while Drew set me up for a malicious scheme involving the boy' s severe allergy.
Jen watched as I was unjustly accused, choosing to believe Drew over me, and then abandoned me, leaving me injured and alone on my kitchen floor.
Drowning in her betrayal and the crushing weight of being a fool, a desperate coldness settled over me.
That' s when I picked up the phone, calling my powerful grandfather, ready to accept the arranged marriage offer I' d always rejected, a contract that promised a way out, no matter the cost. A Bitter Pill Called Regret
Romance My head throbbed as I cooked Marcus's favorite meal.
It was our tenth anniversary, a milestone I' d hoped would bring some semblance of peace to a decade marred by his growing distance.
But Marcus never came home.
Instead, an Instagram notification flashed: Skyler Reed, beaming beside my husband, champagne in hand, captioned: "Celebrating new beginnings with Mr. T!"
When I finally reached him, his voice was dismissive, cold: "You've let yourself go, Ellie. Skyler's a breath of fresh air."
The casual cruelty was a physical blow, leaving me reeling, a sudden nosebleed staining the anniversary tablecloth I' d prepared for a dinner that would never happen.
Who was this woman I had become, a ghost of my former self, constantly tired, always bleeding?
Why did I allow myself to be chipped away, humiliated, while he flaunted his affair so brazenly?
Then, the final, devastating cut: my only comfort, my loyal dog Gus, brutally run down after Skyler maliciously kicked him into the street.
My world went black, only to be replaced by the harsh hospital lights and a grim diagnosis: glioblastoma.
Marcus, now belatedly awake to his ruin, would beg me to fight.
Yet, the profound irony was a bitter pill: his decade of calculated cruelty had left me with no fight left.
But though I was dying, this story was far from over-just not in the way anyone expected. The Underestimated Genius: A National Asset
Young Adult Alex Thompson, the quiet academic decathlon captain, just wanted to escape the loud, lavish graduation party.
Surrounded by kids flaunting their Ivy League acceptances, he felt the sting of unspoken judgment.
Mark O' Connell, the tech mogul's son, and his popular girlfriend, Brittany, singled him out.
They mocked his "empty hands," implying he was a "total bust" with no college acceptance.
The taunts escalated quickly, Mark blocking his exit and offering him a hundred dollars to admit he was a "failure."
Brittany gloated, waving her USC acceptance, while others showcased their prestigious university logos.
Tired of it, Alex quietly presented a small, unassuming metallic medallion.
The popular crowd erupted in laughter, dismissing it as a "cheap keychain" or a "weird D&D guild pin."
Mark, enjoying his power, then ordered his jock friends to "teach him some manners" and force him out.
Why was Alex so unnervingly calm, even as the jocks moved in?
What was this mysterious medallion that caused such ridicule, yet held him so composed?
Their cruelty was palpable; his quiet dignity hinted at a secret they couldn' t possibly comprehend.
Just as they reached for him, Alex's phone buzzed with an urgent, blocked call.
"Reroute transport to O'Connell Innovations," he calmly requested.
Mark scoffed about his "imaginary escort service," until a convoy of black, federal-looking SUVs suddenly pulled up outside.
A sharp woman in a suit, Ms. Hayes, emerged, immediately addressing Alex: "Mr. Thompson, we were expecting you."
With icy precision, she revealed his true designation: "The Prometheus Fellowship is a matter of national priority."
The party instantly fell silent.
Mark and his father, their faces drained of color, realized their petty bullying had just triggered a national incident.
Alex, the perceived "loser," calmly walked out, leaving their shattered world behind. When Charity Turns Deadly
Young Adult The last thing I saw was the Chicago skyline rushing up to meet me.
Then, merciful darkness.
Now, blinding sunlight streamed through a window, hitting my face as I lay in my university dorm room.
My head throbbed with a pain far deeper than a physical fall.
It was the brutal, horrifying memory of my parents, David and Susan Miller.
Their kind faces, now hauntingly overlaid with images of their blood on the polished floors of our beautiful Chicago home.
They were murdered.
And the architect of that devastation?
Brittany Evans, the very scholarship student my generous parents had taken under their wing, hailed as their "charity case."
Her smile, so sickeningly sweet and fake, her boyfriend Spike's cruel, calculating eyes, haunted my every waking thought.
She had meticulously orchestrated their downfall: the forged will, the baseless accusations leveled against me.
I endured the looks of disgust, the complete abandonment from everyone I had ever known.
The crushing despair consumed me, pushing me to the desperate, final leap.
How could such an act of profound kindness be repaid with such heinous betrayal and wanton violence?
How could I have been utterly blind, so incredibly naive, to allow my entire family, my entire life, to be so mercilessly dismantled, ending in that horrific, unjust way for all of us?
The injustice burned.
But then, I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air.
My hands flew to my throat, my chest.
I was whole.
Alive.
It was the first week of freshman year.
Again.
I had been granted a second chance, and this time, a cold, unyielding rage, something I' d never felt in my first, naive life, settled deep in my bones.
Brittany Evans would not win. The Night I Hunted a Killer, They Hunted Me
Horror At East Coast University, being Valedictorian wasn't an honor; it was a death sentence.
Every year, the top graduate met a horrific end, fueling whispers of a chilling campus curse.
Three years ago, my brilliant sister, Claire, delivered her valedictory speech, radiating hope and promising to break this very curse.
But just a week later, she was found dead, an alleged suicide, leaving behind a cold, printed note: "Allie, never pursue peak glory."
Claire always called me "Allie-cat," never just "Allie;" I knew instantly the note was a fake, a twisted cover-up for her murder.
Consumed by grief and an unyielding desire for justice, I spent three years meticulously climbing the academic ladder, earning the top spot, becoming this year's Valedictorian to expose the truth and lure her real killer into the light.
The night before graduation, I went live online, publicly challenging the murderer, declaring Claire was slain and not the first victim of this academic reckoning.
But instead of catching *them*, the police stormed my dorm, arresting *me*, accusing me of being the serial killer responsible for all the other Valedictorian deaths.
Then my own mother, face masked and frantic, burst in, screaming a desperate confession, trying to take the fall for *my* alleged crimes, hinting at a horrifying family secret far deeper than I could ever comprehend.
How could I, the one tirelessly hunting the truth, suddenly become the monstrous subject of a nationwide witch hunt, framed as the cold, calculating killer I sought to unmask?
Shoved into the back of a police car, the only image seared into my mind was my mother's face—pale, terrified, a silent plea begging me to finally unravel the devastating truth she couldn't speak aloud.
Then, chaos erupted: a deliberate, violent car crash, my chance to escape the clutches of a corrupt system and dark accusations.
Now, on the run, I chase the elusive whispers of Mom’s hidden fears and a mysterious clue from my long-dead father’s past, determined to unearth the real answers that lie buried beneath the surface of my sister’s tragic death. 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. The Comatose Wife's Billionaire Family Comeback
William Jafferson I was trapped in a locked-in state for six months, fully conscious but unable to move a single muscle.
My step-family, Delma and Jazmyne, marched into my hospital room, forged a Do Not Resuscitate order, and yanked out my oxygen tube just to stop paying my medical bills.
When my three-year-old daughter, Amari, leaped out from under the bed to protect me, they beat her mercilessly.
They kicked my tiny girl in the stomach, smashed a heavy metal IV pole into her fragile shoulder, and dragged her out by her ankles.
They even tied her to a tree in their backyard and let a massive Rottweiler tear into her flesh, laughing as they recorded her agonizing screams.
I lay in that hospital bed, hearing every blow and every desperate cry.
I didn't understand why they had to torture an innocent toddler just because they thought I was a worthless piece of trash with amnesia.
A tidal wave of absolute fury crashed against the invisible walls of my paralyzed body, burning away the despair.
Gritting my teeth until my jaw popped, I forced my dead weight off the mattress and dragged my atrophied legs across the freezing floor to a landline.
With trembling, bloody fingers, I punched in a twelve-digit military-grade encrypted code.
It was time for my real family—the most powerful men in the country—to make these monsters pay. Reborn From Fire: The Ex-wife's Revenge
Lunacy Heidi gripped the sterile hospital bedsheets as violent contractions ripped her body apart.
The heavy door opened, but it wasn't the doctor. It was Brigette, wearing the exact custom wedding dress Heidi had spent six months designing for herself.
Brigette held up her phone on speaker. When the doctor warned that a natural delivery would kill the mother, Christian Page's voice echoed through the room, ice-cold and devoid of any warmth.
"Prioritize the Page heirs. Let her die."
The man she loved had just signed her death warrant over the phone.
Brigette stole her newborn twins, dragged her to an abandoned warehouse, and poured gasoline over her bare legs.
Flicking a lit cigar into the puddle, Brigette left Heidi tied to an iron pillar to burn alive.
But as the flames formed a deadly circle around her, Heidi's body convulsed with a terrifying truth.
In the heart of the blazing inferno, she miraculously gave birth to two more babies she didn't know she was carrying.
Using her own back as a human shield against the falling embers, she survived the fire, but the ultimate betrayal burned deeper than her ruined skin.
Four years later, Heidi returned to New York with a reconstructed face, two brilliant children, and a terrifying new identity as the world's top underground surgeon.
When Christian, entirely unaware of who she was, signed a waiver begging her to save his dying grandfather's life, Heidi looked into his desperate eyes with absolute, clinical boredom.
"The game starts now," she said coldly. The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen
Shore Tour I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire.
On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own.
"Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy."
My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry.
He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance.
I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever.
Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network.
The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun. Mafia Betrayal: Her Escape From Darkness
Meng Xinyu The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay. He Betrayed Me, Now He Begs
C.D 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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