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Xia Yingxi

12 Published Stories

Xia Yingxi's Books and Stories

The Reborn Heiress: Betting On Chaos

The Reborn Heiress: Betting On Chaos

Modern
5.0
I woke up gasping for air, my fingers clawing at a neck that was smooth instead of bruised. The air smelled of lavender and expensive starch, not the metallic tang of blood and the mold of the basement where I had just died. A text flashed on my phone from Derrick, the man I thought was the love of my life: "Good morning, my angel. I can't wait to see you tonight." The heart emoji mocked me, a remnant of a girl who was once stupid, blind, and pathetically in love. In my past life, I was the perfect, submissive fiancée. I didn't realize the "vitamins" Derrick gave me were actually a cocktail of drugs designed to keep me foggy and compliant while he and my own uncle dismantled my father’s company. I stood by him as my parents died in a "car accident" that I now know was a murder he orchestrated. By the time I realized I was married to the devil, he had already stripped me of my wealth, my family, and finally, my breath. I stared at the gold-embossed calendar on the vanity: June 12, 2014. The day of our engagement party. The day I originally signed my life away to a monster who saw me as nothing more than a bank account to be drained. I felt a cold, sharp rage replace the terror. I wasn't going to be the victim this time. I wasn't going to take his pills or wear the modest, pastel dress he chose to make me look like a saint. "I need a match," I whispered to the most dangerous man in the city, Branch Brewer, as I gripped his tie in a hotel hallway. "I want to spend your money until Derrick chokes on it. I want to watch his empire crack." Reborn on the morning of the gala, I’ve traded my white lace for black silk. The guest list is set, the press is waiting, and Derrick thinks he’s about to win it all. He has no idea that the "fragile" girl he murdered is back to burn his world to the ground.
Online Shame, Real-Life Victory

Online Shame, Real-Life Victory

Modern
5.0
The lines of code glowed, green and satisfying. It was almost 11 PM, and I, Sarah, a data analyst by trade and a numbers person by nature, was finally done for the day. Then, a trending video popped up. My face, my building, and a headline: "Dedicated Employee or Work-Life Imbalance?" My stomach clenched. Comments flooded in, a digital deluge of pity and objectification. "Wow, she looks so plain." "Probably single. A guy could just walk up to her and she'd probably be grateful." It was disgusting. I felt watched, assessed, categorized by strangers. Unsafe. My brothers were on their way, a familiar comfort. But then, he walked in. Chad. A self-proclaimed "Good Samaritan" challenge participant, selfie stick in hand, beaming that too-perfect smile. He wanted me to be his content. I refused, but he ignored it, flicking my nose with a condescending playfulness. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be frowning." Rage exploded inside me. I stood, demandmg he leave. With a dramatic sigh, he walked away, still filming. My phone, my lifeline, flickered and died. Just as relief washed over me, the glass doors slid open again. Chad was back. And he had a huge bouquet of roses. A sickly-sweet smell. Dizziness. He was trying to drug me. I fought, screamed, and pepper-sprayed him. But the sedative was working. I collapsed, only to see him standing there again when the elevator doors chimed open. He'd circled back. Then the security guard, Tom, appeared. Chad, with chilling precision, recited my personal details, painting me as a dramatic girlfriend in a "lover's quarrel." Tom bought it. The world went dark as I fell, not to the floor, but into Chad's arms. He whispered in my ear: "Your colleague Mark sends his regards. He didn't appreciate you reporting him to HR."
His Last Regret, My New Life

His Last Regret, My New Life

Romance
5.0
The grand hall of the Thompson estate. The scent of expensive flowers and a decade of my family' s fading name. Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, was the offering, a supposed "lucky charm" to merge our dying empire with the titans of the Thompson Corporation. But the truth was, I was just a broodmare, chosen to birth their legacy, just like in my first life. The memory wasn' t a dream; it was a brand etched into my soul. The cold concrete floor, the smell of dust and ozone. I was tied to a chair, my body weak from giving birth to my three children. Across the room, David, the man I was forced to marry, stood over three small, still forms on a steel table. "The offerings are ready," a scientist said, his voice flat. "The biological processors will give the AI an unparalleled learning curve." Biological processors. Offerings. No. I screamed, a ragged sound. "David, no! Please, not our children!" He grabbed my hair, back. "Our children? You manipulative witch! You tricked my mother into making me have these… abominations with you!" He gestured to a photo: Olivia Reed, "My Love." "You ruined everything! She was pregnant with my true heir! But you and your cursed luck forced my hand." He forced a bitter liquid down my throat. My world went black. And then, I woke up. Back in the Thompson' s grand hall, the scent of flowers choking me. Mrs. Thompson held my hand. David stood beside her, his eyes holding the same cold hatred. We were back. The day of our forced engagement. Before the nightmare could begin again, I pulled my hand from Mrs. Thompson' s grasp. My voice small, unsteady, I said, "Mrs. Thompson… I can' t accept." This time, he wanted Olivia. He believed her child was his key to power. I would hand him the shovel and watch him dig his own grave.
My Sacrifice, Her Deception

My Sacrifice, Her Deception

Romance
5.0
For five grueling years, my concert pianist hands knew only the grease and steel of a West Texas oil rig. I sweated, burned, and broke every bone in my body, all to pay off a half-million-dollar debt my girlfriend, Gabby, claimed her failed startup had accrued. My sacrifice was for her, to save the woman I loved. Finally, with the last payment in hand, I drove three hours to a Dallas steakhouse, anticipating our future. Instead, I walked into a private dining room and witnessed my entire world shatter. Gabby, impossibly elegant, was laughing with her childhood friend, Wesley, the man who supposedly owned her debt. My foreman and the debt collector were there too, fawning over her. I heard the foreman proudly declare I' d saved the half-million. Gabby, stroking Wesley' s hand, casually stated, "It' s fine. I' ll just sign another IOU for two million. Make sure he' s stuck on that rig for the rest of his life." Wesley leaned in, kissing her cheek, "Perfect. I just saw a vintage Porsche for a cool half-million." Ms. Fuller. Fuller Oil & Gas. The rig I' d bled on was hers. The debt was a lie. My sacrifice, a cruel game orchestrated to punish me for an abandonment that never happened-a narrative Wesley had twisted years ago after a caving accident, making her believe I' d left her for dead, even burning my musical future. My blood ran cold. The air left my lungs. How could the woman I loved, the one I crippled myself for, orchestrate such a monstrous betrayal? This wasn't just about money; it was about destroying my life, my spirit. But now, I had a choice. Reclaim my broken dream, or let this monstrous lie consume me. I turned to walk away, but then I stopped. I had one last, definitive move to make before I finally walked free.
Your Stolen Dreams, My Rebuilt Empire

Your Stolen Dreams, My Rebuilt Empire

Romance
5.0
I never thought I'd see David Miller again. For seven years, I' d been the ghost of Ash Carter, the once-promising architecture student whose dreams he' d stolen, whose career he' d sabotaged. Now, a single mom doing freelance drafting to pay the bills, I found myself in a children's museum, comforting my son Leo after a scraped knee. Then, his voice. Theatrically loud, cutting through the din. David, impeccably suited, with a preppy assistant clinging to his arm. He spotted me, his eyes lighting up with a sickening, triumphant gleam. Before a crowd of strangers and his colleagues, he pulled out our old university portfolio, the very project he' d claimed as his own. He draped himself in false sorrow, claiming he' d "never stopped thinking about what we had," implying Leo was his son. He gestured at my comfortable but simple jeans, offering to "help me get back on my feet." His colleagues watched, pitying him, scorning me as the woman who' d let a genius slip away. My past, his crime, was put on public display, twisted into a narrative of my failure and his magnanimity. A cold calm settled over me. How could he be this brazen? This utterly devoid of shame? He truly believed I was still pining for him, still broken by his betrayal. My heart ached for the injustice, for the years he' d condemned me to anonymity. But then, I lifted my hand. The art-deco sapphire ring glinted under the museum lights. "And I'm married," I stated, my voice clear and firm. His confidence wavered, but only for a second. "Ridiculous! Who would marry you?" he sneered. Just as his pitying gaze returned, a quiet voice cut through: "Is there a problem here, Ash?" My husband, Michael Vance, stepped forward, and David' s world began to unravel.