Xi Yue
8 Published Stories
Xi Yue's Books and Stories
Her Choice, My Freedom
Mafia The last thing I remembered from that life was the metallic taste of blood.
Mark' s fists felt like concrete blocks, crushing my ribs with every blow.
Through the haze of pain, I saw Sarah by the warehouse door, holding her son.
She watched me die, her beautiful face blank, her eyes cold and empty.
She had chosen him, the gangster, the man now beating me to death, over me.
After twenty years of trying to save her, sacrificing everything, her betrayal was the final, most painful blow.
Then, nothing, until a phone started ringing.
I snapped awake in my childhood bedroom not aching, not broken.
My old flip phone flashed a familiar name: Sarah' s Mom.
I knew this call. This was the night Sarah got into trouble with Mark.
The night her parents begged me to use my college savings to bail her out.
Last time, I' d said yes, draining my account and giving up my dream school.
This time, I took a steadying breath.
"No."
The line went silent.
"What? Alex, what do you mean, no? This is Sarah we' re talking about."
"She made her choices. She needs to face the consequences. I' m not getting involved."
A weight I didn' t know I was carrying for two decades lifted.
"I have my own life to think about. I' m sorry."
I hung up, staring at my unbroken hands, the hands of an eighteen-year-old with a future I was taking back. Free From His Shadow
Romance The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Ballroom reflected in the champagne, but the light felt cold.
My husband, Mark, was across the room, his eyes fixed on Lily, the young intern who had become his entire world.
I walked towards them, the whispers of the crowd following me.
He handed me a pre-prepared divorce settlement.
"I\'m going to marry Lily," he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear.
Then, with a cruel twist of his lips, he added, "Consider our partnership terminated. Effective immediately."
In the weeks that followed, Mark systematically dismantled my family' s business.
He orchestrated a public scandal, leaking fabricated documents that implicated my father in fraud.
My father had a heart attack.
My mother aged a decade overnight.
I sat by my father' s hospital bed, watching the news report on Mark and Lily' s engagement.
That' s when I truly broke.
Then, a blinding flash of light.
A gut-wrenching pull.
I gasped, my eyes flying open.
The date on my phone was October 12th.
The day I found Lily' s photo on his computer.
The day the nightmare began.
I was back.
The memory of my parents' ruined faces, of my father in that hospital bed, was burned into my mind.
It was not a dream.
It was a warning.
I had a second chance.
Not for revenge.
Not to win him back.
For survival. The Billionaire's Retribution
Modern The searing pain was the last thing I knew.
A sharp, cold metal plunging into my belly, again and again.
My best friend, Tara, was screaming, a twisted rage on her face I' d never seen before, "Why couldn't it have been you?
You have everything!"
Her husband, Brian, held the knife, his eyes empty.
I watched my own blood pool on my marble floor as they staged a home invasion, taking over my life, my home, my wealth.
I watched my husband, shattered by grief, take his own life.
My baby, my husband, me – all of it, gone.
I died, clutching to the injustice of it all, wondering how the people I loved most could betray me so absolutely.
Why did they hate me so much just for having what they wanted?
Then I woke up, alive, in my Silicon Valley home, my hand resting on my still-pregnant belly.
And the front door opened, revealing Tara and Brian, suitcases in hand, their smiles dripping with false sweetness. My Family, My Fortune, Their Lie
Billionaires I had just closed a nine-figure deal, the kind that sets your family up for generations.
But when I got home, exhausted and suffering a heart attack, my wife and daughter were too busy recording TikToks and live streams to even notice.
As I collapsed, gasping for breath, my wife told me my "negative energy was messing with her aura."
I had to dial 911 myself, my family completely oblivious, leaving me to die on the floor.
Waking up alone in the hospital, I found not concerned calls, but credit card alerts for lavish shopping sprees.
They weren't worried; they were celebrating.
Then, at Malibu, I saw my wife with her "life coach" lover as she handed me divorce papers, and my daughter told me he was more of a father than I ever was.
My world shattered, I saw the truth: every sacrifice for them had been a lie.
I had given my life, my fortune, all of it, to people who only saw me as an ATM.
But the real shock came with a sealed envelope: 0.00% paternity.
The daughter I had raised for seventeen years wasn't mine.
The pain burned away the old me, leaving behind a cold, calculating resolve.
I froze their accounts, repossessed their luxuries, and hired a PI to expose the "life coach" as a low-level con artist with massive gambling debts.
When they came begging, I showed them the paternity test and his criminal record, then I called 911 on him for kidnapping them-his desperate attempt for ransom money.
I set up a small trust for Molly, enough only for community college, sealing off my past.
Then, I sold my company, bought a muscle car, and drove cross-country, ready to finally live for myself.
I didn't seek revenge; I orchestrated justice. The Unwanted Heiress: A Billion-Dollar Reckoning
Billionaires The day of my SATs, my first step toward freedom, began with a slap.
Our Texas ranch was a river of mud, and the testing center was twenty miles away.
My father, a self-made oil tycoon, didn' t even look up as I begged for fifty dollars.
"Fifty dollars? Do you think money grows on trees, Gabrielle?" he sneered.
Then came the slap, hard and fast, echoing through our cavernous living room.
"Lazy and entitled," he spat, stealing the seventeen dollars I' d painstakingly saved.
He kicked me out into the storm, telling me not to return until I'd learned the value of a dollar.
My brother, Andrew, stood by, his face a mask of indifference.
My mother was upstairs, oblivious, probably admiring a new diamond.
As I trudged through the mud, a news report on our giant billboard flashed.
It showed my family smiling on a stage, celebrating a one-million-dollar donation to an arts program in honor of my adopted sister, Molly.
Her achievement? A C+ in art.
They had just slapped me and thrown me out for a fifty-dollar ride to the most important exam of my life.
The image of their smiling faces burned into my mind, washing away the tears I didn' t even realize I was crying.
Defeated, I reached the testing center, only to find the doors locked.
I tore my soggy admission ticket into tiny pieces, letting the rain carry them away.
Something inside me broke. Or maybe, it finally healed. They Never Saw Me
Modern Ethan Miller always felt like a ghost, invisible in his own home. He yearned for his biological parents' love, but their affection, their very sight, was reserved for his adopted brother, Kyle – the golden boy who perfectly filled the void Ethan had left.
Then, terror struck. He was kidnapped, brutally tormented. A desperate call reached his FBI profiler father, who, in Ethan' s darkest hour, dismissed him as a mere nuisance: "Your brother's debate is what matters today!"
Days later, Ethan's body was found, brutally murdered. His own parents-an FBI agent and a medical examiner-worked the scene, professionally examining the unrecognizable remains. They handled his personal effects, his ruined clothing, utterly blind to the son they held in their hands, prioritizing another' s success over his very life.
How could they not see him? How could he be so utterly erased, dismissed even in death, by the people who gave him life? The gut-wrenching irony was an agony even for a ghost.
But the truth couldn't stay buried forever. A small receipt and security footage would shatter their denial, forcing them to confront the unrecognizable horror. And when the kidnapper' s chilling confession revealed Kyle' s calculated betrayal as the mastermind, their perfect family would finally, explosively, unravel before the world. The Final Goodbye to the Past
Sci-fi It was Valentine's Day, also my daughter Lily's fifth birthday, and our San Francisco house buzzed with her party.
Her innocent wish, spoken in perfect French, shattered my world: "I wish Mommy and Daddy would divorce, and Uncle Julian could be my new daddy."
My wife Izzy confirmed her chilling desire, and the subsequent divorce papers, the mere fifty-million-dollar check, and pervasive public humiliation felt like the final blows.
Every person I cared for-my wife, my daughter, my very own parents-echoed the same brutal sentiment: I was nothing but a convenience, easily discarded.
Years of devotion, of caring for Izzy during her coma and raising Lily, yielded only cold dismissals and public scorn.
My heart, already weakened by a secret chronic illness, shattered repeatedly, leaving me hollowed out and completely unvalued.
Was my loyalty a curse?
Had I truly been nothing but a 'placeholder'?
With nothing left but bitter pain, a mysterious entity offered an 'exit'-a chance to leave this life behind.
But death, it seemed, was merely a new beginning.
I awoke to a reality where I was reborn, the highly respected screenwriter Ethan Cole, cured of my past ailments.
Until a ghost from my previous life, my ex-wife and daughter, appeared, ready to 'reconquer' me.
This time, the game was on my terms. You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Moria Anninger I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia.
The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast.
That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water.
He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard.
But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead.
I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival.
On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone.
"I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city." The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother
EVA PINK I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.
"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."
His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.
For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.
But then I found the truth.
I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.
"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."
He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.
He was wrong.
I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.
"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.
"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's." Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. 
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