Shui Qingying
13 Published Stories
Shui Qingying's Books and Stories
Reborn to Reject You
Romance I woke up with a gasp, my head pounding, in Ethan Reed's opulent penthouse. Another one of his infamous parties, and he was slumped, reeking of alcohol, calling out someone else' s name.
Then he mumbled, "Call… call my angel. Call Chloe." My blood ran cold. This was it. The exact moment. The one I' d lived and died to escape.
In my first life, my stupid, desperate love for him – my guardian – led me to seize his drunken vulnerability. That night, I "comforted" him. It led to a scandalous pregnancy, a forced marriage, and his true love' s death in a car crash on our wedding day. Ethan blamed me for everything. He transformed into a monster, and when I went into labor, he watched me bleed out, whispering hateful words as I died. "This is for Chloe," he' d hissed.
I spent my entire previous life trapped, tormented, and discarded for a love that was a lie. How could I have been so blind, so foolish? The injustice of it burned.
But this time, I was lucid. This time, I had my memories. My hands were steady as I reached for my phone, found Chloe Vance's number, and pressed call. This time, I wouldn't seek his love. I would shatter his perfect life and gain my own freedom. Framed By Love, Unleashed By Vengeance
Modern I was a top patent lawyer until my husband and his lover framed me, destroyed my career, and sent me to prison. For seven years after, I was presumed dead, living as a ghost in a warehouse.
Then, they found me. My ex-husband, Edgar, and our son, Kody, showed up, shocked to see me alive.
They lured me to Kody' s 18th birthday party, but it was a lie. The party was a surprise engagement celebration for Edgar and Celena, the very woman who ruined my life.
In front of everyone, Edgar told me to "let go."
My own son even begged me.
"Mom, please," he cried. "Just say you're sorry."
Sorry? For what? For surviving the car crash they orchestrated to kill me?
I looked at the boy I once loved more than life itself. In the sudden silence of the ballroom, I smiled and asked, "Kody, do you remember the night Celena asked you to slash my tires?" A Compass, A Betrayal, A Life
Romance The first sign was a hotel receipt I didn' t recognize, crumpled in my husband' s suit pocket, for an "Ocean View Suite" for two. He was supposed to be at a tech conference that night.
The next evening, I followed him. He left his office building with a woman, his new assistant, Chloe Davis. They were laughing, and his hand was on the small of her back as they entered a fancy downtown restaurant.
I watched them inside, looking like a couple in love. When I stumbled and dropped my purse outside, I heard Chloe say, "She' ll never find out, Mark. She' s too trusting." And Mark replied, "I know. But Ava… she' s sensitive."
"Sensitive." The word felt like a slap. I confronted them, only for Mark to defend Chloe, who feigned illness and leaned on him. Then I saw it: my fifth-anniversary gift, an architect' s compass, dangling from Chloe' s neck. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I was three months pregnant.
Mark chose her, shielding her as if I were the threat. I collapsed, blood pooling on the pavement, my baby gone. He had killed our child. Yet, in the hospital, he sided with Chloe again, letting her lie about her miscarriage, then using my dog, Daisy, to force my apology.
Why did he abandon me so utterly, so cruelly? How could the man I loved destroy everything we had built, and then blame me? I was lost, but a new resolve sparked within me. I was not alone. My loyal Daisy, waiting at home, was my last pure comfort. I called my lawyer and asked for divorce papers. Contaminated Love, A Wife's Escape
Romance For five years, I chased my husband Liam' s love, a tech mogul I deeply adored.
Then, after three incredible nights where I finally felt like his wife, I stumbled upon a chat on his computer.
It was with my sister, Chloe, and it revealed a horrifying truth: those intimate moments were a cruel setup.
Liam recorded them, sent them to Chloe, and messaged, "This way she' ll finally leave me alone. Don' t worry, Chloe, I' d rather die than touch her. You' re the only one I love."
My world shattered.
An audio file played Chloe' s sweet voice, "Oh, Liam, I' m so touched! You found so many people to mess with her just to protect my reputation?"
So many people?
Liam' s reply sickened me: "She' s so loose, it' s a blessing anyone would touch her. Besides, I have all the compromising photos and videos, so she can' t blame anyone even if she knows."
The man who held me for three days wasn' t Liam.
He sent strangers.
I fled, my body screaming contamination, only to have Chloe, wearing Liam' s shirt, block my entry back home.
"Liam was just adding my face to the system, and I think I accidentally deleted yours. My bad," she smirked.
Liam emerged, his voice flat, "Chloe needs this room. It' s closer to me."
He ordered me to a distant guest room, then handed me a pill.
"Take this. I' m not ready for kids yet."
It hit me: he worried I' d get pregnant with a stranger's child-a child he' d arranged.
Later, listening to their laughter from the master bedroom, rage simmered.
Then Chloe, wearing Liam' s sacred bracelet, whispered close, "Every month, he spends a week with me at a secluded resort. That' s our special time… He even says he feels sick when he sees you at home."
Before I could react, she scratched my arm, drawing blood.
"Ava, you bitch, stop pretending! I hate your pitiful act! I want to take everything from you!"
She shoved me, a vase shattered, leaving a gaping wound on my arm.
Liam rushed down, sweeping Chloe into his arms.
"Chloe, does it hurt? I' ll take you to the hospital."
He saw her nails' marks but blamed me.
"Ava, you' re still so manipulative! You' ve always framed Chloe!" he roared.
"Go to the basement tonight. Don' t come out until you' ve copied a hundred books!"
He stepped over my prostrate body, crushing my arm.
Bleeding, broken, I crawled to the ER.
"No anesthesia," I told the doctor.
"I want to remember this. I want to remember the pain."
I needed every stitch to burn away my foolish love.
I signed the divorce papers.
Back in the mansion, trapped in the basement, I heard fireworks.
Liam was celebrating Chloe' s "recovery."
Five days later, Chloe feigned reconciliation, offering me tea. Liam forced my mouth open and poured the scalding liquid down my throat. My flesh screamed.
I woke in a hospital, my throat ruined, my face Liam' s only concern.
"Don' t worry," he told me, "Your face won' t scar."
My face. Not my voice. Not the agony.
I croaked, "Let me go."
He hung up, leaving me to call my lawyer: Deliver the papers.
Relief washed over Liam when I handed him two documents.
He quickly signed, thinking I wanted property, not realizing the divorce agreement lay beneath.
My phone rang moments after he left for Chloe.
A headline screamed, "Socialite Scandal: Architect Ava Miller' s Wild Lifestyle Exposed, Intimate Photos Leaked."
My private photos.
My voice raw, I called 911.
The IP address traced to Chloe.
Liam' s call came, "Ava, are you crazy? Chloe was just messing around, it didn' t even hurt you. Do you have to be so petty?"
He still thought I didn' t know the truth.
He warned, "I' ve already had the case dropped. No one in this city will take your case now."
My mother called, screaming, "You' ve disgraced our entire family! If you don' t apologize to her immediately, you are no longer our daughter!"
"I won' t be your daughter anymore," I replied, then hung up.
At the airport, Liam messaged: "I' ll give you a child."
I sent him the signed divorce agreement.
"Liam, I won' t bother you anymore. I' ll make way for you two."
I boarded the plane, leaving him, my family, and my shattered past behind. The Code Monkey's Revenge
Modern I poured five years of my life into Nexus, the social media giant, building its very soul from lines of code in my quiet apartment.
The world knew my live-in boyfriend, Mark Davis, as the CEO of ConnectCorp, the charismatic face of our success, but they didn't know I was the genius behind the curtain.
On the eve of our IPO, a critical server failure threatened to derail everything, which I, Ava Chen, single-handedly fixed, only for the doorbell to ring.
It was Chloe Miller, my college rival and Mark' s new Head of Product, who sauntered in uninvited, her smile as sharp as her designer suit, to tell me my contract was "terminated, effective immediately."
Fired? It was impossible, I was Nexus, the very heart of the company.
My call to Mark rang once, then Chloe answered on another phone, locking eyes with me as she faked distress for her "call with Mark," accusing me of aggression.
"You' re his mistress," the horrifying realization hit me with the force of a physical blow, confirmed by her cruel smirk and the photo of Mark and me she turned face down.
Outside, a crowd of ConnectCorp employees gathered, pointing and whispering, eager witnesses to my public humiliation, confirming my worst fears.
Then Mark' s car screeched up, and he stormed out, ignoring me to pull Chloe into a theatrical embrace before yelling, "What the hell did you do, Ava?"
Before I could explain, his hand flew through the air, connecting with my cheek, the crack echoing through the silent street.
The man I loved, the man I built an empire for, had just publicly slapped me for his mistress.
"You' re just the code monkey who got replaced," he sneered, joining Chloe' s cruel laugh as the crowd cheered my downfall.
It was in that moment, stripped of everything, that a cold, hard resolve solidified within me.
When Mark, attempting a final insult, offered me our old, dilapidated apartment as severance, I grasped the USB holding Nexus' s un-uploaded core.
"There' s your data," I declared, throwing the drive to their feet, forcing them to scramble like dogs.
Then I walked out, leaving the life I built behind, burning it all down for a chance at true liberation. The Road of A Unwanted Wife To Her True Home
Romance The first time I saw proof of my husband' s affair, it wasn' t some hushed secret, but splashed across the internet for everyone to see.
Grainy paparazzi photos showed Ethan Carter, the formidable head of Carter Industries, at a parent-child carnival, dressed in a ridiculous bear mascot costume, holding a little boy' s hand and smiling at the woman beside him. That woman was Isabella, his ex-fiancée, and the boy was their son, Leo. They looked like the perfect family.
My first instinct was to call my PR team to scrub the photos, but Ethan had already beaten me to it, making them vanish, a stark reminder that our marriage was nothing more than a strategic business merger.
Then, they arrived at my doorstep: Ethan, Isabella, and Leo-a picture-perfect trio, while I, his legal wife, stood an outsider in my own home.
Leo, a three-year-old, kicked my shin and shrieked, "You stole my dad!" Ethan, instead of chastising his son, turned his icy gaze on me and declared, "He' s just a child. Besides, Isabella raised him alone all these years. I owe her."
His words cut deeper than any physical blow.
In three years of marriage, he had never once scolded me, yet now, he defended his ex-fiancée and her child against me, his wife, with a chilling coldness.
That night, Isabella, with a triumphant smirk, flaunted a hickey, whispering, "As long as Leo is around, Ethan and I can never truly be cut apart. Give him back to me."
My composure cracked, replaced by a cold, searing rage. Love? For people like us, it was the most insignificant thing in the world.
Three strikes, Ethan. You' re out. Phoenix Project: Her True Self
Romance The date of my father' s funeral, circled in red on the kitchen calendar, also marked the day I decided to leave Mark.
The decision settled into me with a cold, hollow certainty as I washed dishes, my hands immersed in warm water but my soul feeling frozen.
Then, a black government car pulled up, out stepped General Sterling, my father' s commanding officer and once mine, now the only one who checked in on me.
He sat in my living room, explaining the program needed me, that my name was at the top of the list for the elite "Phoenix" project.
I, Elara Vance, once an expert pilot, a national hero who saved lives, now spent my days scrubbing floors, my hands chapped and unpolished.
Just as the General tried to remind me of the woman I used to be, the front door burst open.
My son, Leo, raced in with Julia, our neighbor, and her son Cody, excitedly showing off an expensive drone Julia had bought for him, a replacement for one Mark had claimed was "falling apart."
Mark, my husband, walked in right behind them, beaming, ruffling Leo's hair, completely ignoring me and the uniformed General in our living room.
He looked right past me, telling me to "make some snacks for the boys" as if I were a servant, a humiliation that burned, a decorated officer reduced to fetching food in my own home.
Julia gave me a sweet, pitying smile, while my son cheered as Mark replaced my framed picture in my flight suit with the drone box on the mantel.
Mark then cruelly asserted that my dead father and my past meant nothing, that I was "weak" and had "gotten soft," while Julia suggested I was unwell and should "lie down."
Then, Leo, my own son, shoved me.
I fell, hitting the coffee table, a blinding pain shooting through me; through the agony, I saw Leo's triumphant face and Cody's subtle thumbs-up-they had planned it.
Lying in the hospital, my hip throbbing, I overheard Cody and Leo gloating about their plan: my injury meant I' d "go away for a long time," and Julia could replace me, becoming Leo' s new mother.
My son, my own flesh and blood, had been turned against me, wishing I was "more like your mom," echoing Mark' s casual cruelty and Julia' s saccharine poison, shattering the last fragments of hope for my family.
In that sterile, silent room, a cold, hard clarity descended: the lie I' d been living was over, and the bond with them was severed.
The medical staff then revealed Julia needed a directed blood donation, as I was a match for her rare type.
Mark, accompanied by Julia, demanded I give blood to the woman who conspired against me, showing more concern for her than for his injured wife.
"No," I said, looking at him with pity.
General Sterling reappeared, revealing Julia's anemia was chronic and had disqualified her from military service years ago.
Understanding the game, I agreed to the donation, knowing it would lull them into a false sense of security, a final act before destroying their carefully constructed world.
Drained and alone after the donation, Leo visited, offering a wilted flower, murmuring that Cody said I' d be mad and "probably won\'t come home."
Watching him walk away, every flicker of maternal instinct died; he was theirs, and I was finally, blessedly free.
Two days later, discharged, I returned to a house reeking of Julia' s perfume, my photo gone, and Julia directing a cleaning lady in my kitchen.
When Mark, irritated, said I was "in no position to make demands" and tried to physically escort me to my room, something snapped.
In one fluid motion, I sidestepped his grab, used his momentum against him, and pinned him face-down on the living room carpet in a compliance hold.
"You are mistaken," I whispered, my voice that of Commander Vance, of Phoenix. "I am not weak. I am not your patient. And this is not your house."
I ordered Julia out, then walked out myself, leaving Mark and Julia in the ruins of the life they thought they controlled, ready to reclaim my own. The Wife He Couldn't Afford
Romance The organ music swelled, a majestic sound meant to signal joy, but all I felt was a cold dread seeping into my bones.
Amidst Savannah' s elite, I, Annabel Anderson, stood in my custom-made wedding gown, a perfect Southern belle about to secure a vital political alliance.
My fiancé, Wesley Scott, was arrogant and entitled, and I didn't love him, but this was my path.
Just as the wedding march was about to begin, a bridesmaid burst in, gasping, "Annabel, it' s Gabrielle! They found her in her room. Pills." My younger half-sister, the constant reminder of my father' s scandal, had attempted suicide. The wedding halted.
At the hospital, Gabrielle, frail and tearful, clutched Wesley' s hand. "I couldn' t bear seeing you marry her," she whispered, then delivered her masterstroke: a fabricated story of sacrificing her fertility to save him, twisting his misguided honor. Wesley, his arrogance gone, turned to me, "Annabel, she is your sister. We can make it work. She can be my wife, and you… you can be her sister-wife."
The suggestion hung in the air, a scandalous, barbaric insult to my family' s honor. How could he ask the Senator' s daughter to share a husband, to become a party to public disgrace?
Was he truly this manipulated, this blind?
Standing in the chaos, I looked at Gabrielle's triumphant eyes. She thought she had won. I took a deep breath. There would be no accommodation. This was my chance not just to escape, but to rewrite the narrative. Hunted By The Ones I Loved: A PMC's Reckoning
Romance My name was Alex Mason, a PMC operator, and I thought I had it all: a thriving career, a top-tier team, and a beautiful fiancée, Sophia.
But a mission gone sideways, thanks to my boss's arrogant son, ripped my world apart.
The day after I reported it, my entire identity, every safe house, my very existence, was auctioned off on the dark web for pocket change.
I went to Sophia, aching and bleeding, seeking refuge, only to overhear her on the phone, casually selling my real-time GPS coordinates and psychological profile like a cheap side hustle.
My blood ran cold, but the true horror was yet to come.
Weeks later, I woke up in a public hospital, a John Doe, my body broken.
Sophia and her brother Derek stood by my bed, feigning concern, after they had drugged me, delivered me to my enemies, and filmed my brutal public beating to sell for $9.99 online.
The woman I loved had not only betrayed me but profited from my utter humiliation.
Stripped of everything, my dignity shattered, I was utterly broken.
How could someone I was going to marry orchestrate such a monstrous act?
Why did she want me destroyed, broadcasted for the world to see?
They wanted Alex Mason dead, and that' s exactly what happened.
My true identity buried, I emerged from the ashes of my old life.
Under a new name, Ben Carter, I' m building a life I never thought possible, and this time, I won't just survive; I'll reclaim everything they stole. Building My Own Empire
Romance The Travis County Courthouse air felt thick with possibility, or maybe just anticipation.
I stood beside Eleanor, ready to get our marriage license, imagining a new life, our life, about to begin.
Then her phone buzzed, an email cracking her perfectly calm facade.
Her voice thin, she announced her protégé David was in professional meltdown, demanding her immediate presence.
Just like that, she left me standing there, marriage license application in hand, and walked away.
Minutes later, a text arrived: a confession of an affair with David, a secret pregnancy, and her audacious offer to raise their child as ours.
But the humiliation deepened when I returned home to find them intimately entwined on our sofa.
As I packed my bags, a video arrived on my phone: Eleanor, with a sneering smile, calling me "unambitious" and "boring," a mere "means to an end."
The betrayal hit like a physical blow, curdling into hot, sharp rage.
Was this who she truly was?
Had our entire relationship been a calculated charade, and I, Michael Thompson, just a pawn in her ambitious scheme?
The depth of their cruelty was staggering.
Broken, humiliated, and operating on pure adrenaline, I scrolled through my phone, pausing on Sarah Chen's name.
"Marry me," I blurted, a desperate, defiant plea.
And in a surprising twist, she said yes, igniting an unexpected path forward. For My Legacy, I Was Thrown to the Sharks
Mafia I woke up in my penthouse suite, the morning sun streaming through the windows, glinting off crystal.
Today was my 25th birthday, the day I, Ava Corleone, was finally to be named the rightful heir of our powerful family.
Then a chilling memory flashed through my mind: the freezing Hudson River, water filling my lungs, the taste of betrayal.
My brother Marco, fiancé Alexander, and loyal protector Rick, all standing by as the maid, Katherine, wore my irreplaceable family tiara.
They'd told me I was a target, that Katherine was a decoy for my safety.
I’d believed their lies, only to discover their true alliance, their poisoned smiles, and the brutal order from my mother's most trusted man, Antonio Perez, to break my limbs, starve me, and cast me into the river.
The betrayal was absolute, a calculated move by those closest to me to seize my legacy.
How could they erase years of loyalty for a common maid?
My heart burned not with sorrow, but with a fierce, cold rage at the profound injustice.
But this time, I was back.
The same day, the same party, the same betrayal waiting.
I carried the full memory of their treachery, and I would not be fooled again.
As Rick reached to offer Katherine *my* ring, I launched a clean, powerful kick.
No. Not this time.
This time, I fight back. You might like
Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." 
/0/82948/coverorgin.jpg?v=504bae3ac95a6088910c219eb3f6c7bd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102833/coverorgin.jpg?v=59781e168ea4c25f4076a3bc48a14c50&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/94298/coverorgin.jpg?v=d51bcbfb8e028d9b17ef82095ae5dced&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86862/coverorgin.jpg?v=e0ff9f6a6e1568384cd225691e061983&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85706/coverorgin.jpg?v=776de45a9f31bac6d4640629e5db53ea&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85377/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e4c005a941efd7783bec91cbc49072e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85225/coverorgin.jpg?v=35d249ae3b7e3ccdae5da2219e4dbf2d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84816/coverorgin.jpg?v=71e5f3acdb276616bf82c4dbf703114c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83945/coverorgin.jpg?v=df5f4143e8ac4135933ef24ac44e7505&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82858/coverorgin.jpg?v=f29dbc4c9cd9e7d1781cfade69c52c2a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82581/coverorgin.jpg?v=0ef512a05020cf7a15dc0c1d2920bf75&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80413/coverorgin.jpg?v=732236b7e565144459e4a2563cf38f67&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18775/coverorgin.jpg?v=1dd743f5a79dffde8d9facdf5141561f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106591/coverorgin.jpg?v=60130d2fb865880aba4658a48f41a951&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102860/coverorgin.jpg?v=fd4279179a94dd229627ce7640bf190d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102856/coverorgin.jpg?v=ab447bb3dfea8a92331d6f2abd61bff7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105410/coverorgin.jpg?v=a5437111c15a40b1920987fddb1ddf34&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=46b8ac4ba2161e0b69a9b73304ac43c3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79054/coverorgin.jpg?v=248fd387f8a7ef06a95d551925555a22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106250/coverorgin.jpg?v=e4e3d94e67e6bc16aef1c6b8ac1afa18&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101927/coverorgin.jpg?v=51f6847b2406445f6142e9710ec1d533&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101926/coverorgin.jpg?v=368e7983714c1a0bd18be7d5ea10f6b7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101421/coverorgin.jpg?v=c057fb8d460e14f164780fa0f4313597&imageMogr2/format/webp)