Xia Yingxi
10 Published Stories
Xia Yingxi's Books and Stories
From Tortured Wife To Mafia Queen
Mafia I posted a photo of baby shoes to celebrate my pregnancy. Two hours later, my husband was holding jumper cables.
Kaeden, the Mafia Capo who swore to protect me, stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the basement.
He didn't look like the man who brought me vanilla lattes. He looked like a monster.
His "fragile" childhood friend, Clemmie, had convinced him that my innocent post was a signal to our enemies.
"Discipline," Kaeden muttered, refusing to look at my weeping face. "She needs to learn the cost of her voice."
He ordered low voltage—just enough to scare me.
But the moment he walked out the door, unable to watch, Clemmie smiled.
"He's not coming back for you," she whispered.
She cranked the dial all the way to the right.
She didn't just want to teach me a lesson. She wanted to stop my heart so she could harvest it for herself.
And my husband had already signed the release forms.
But they made one mistake. They left the cleanup to Alois, the family's most ruthless Enforcer.
He didn't bury me. He saved me.
Now, while Kaeden cries over a fake grave, consumed by guilt, I am watching from the shadows.
Daria Burris died in that chair.
The woman who survived is coming for blood. Three Years, One Cruel Lie
Modern For three years, my fiancé Jaxon kept me in a top Swiss clinic, helping me recover from the PTSD that shattered my life. When I was finally accepted into Juilliard, I booked a one-way ticket to New York, ready to surprise him and start our future.
But as I was signing my discharge papers, the receptionist handed me an official certificate of recovery. It was dated a full year ago.
She explained that my "medication" for the last twelve months had been nothing but vitamin supplements. I had been perfectly healthy, a prisoner held captive by forged medical reports and lies.
I flew home and went straight to his private club, only to overhear him laughing with his friends. He was married. He had been for the entire three years I was locked away.
"I've been handling Alina," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "A few tweaked reports, the right 'medication' to keep her foggy. It bought me the time I needed to secure my marriage to Krystal."
The man who swore to protect me, the man I worshipped, had orchestrated my imprisonment. My love story was just a footnote in his.
Later that night, his mother slid a check across the table. "Take this and disappear," she ordered.
Three years ago, I had thrown a similar check in her face, declaring my love wasn't for sale. This time, I picked it up.
"Alright," I said, my voice hollow. "I'll leave. After my father's death anniversary, Jaxon Francis will never find me again." Online Shame, Real-Life Victory
Modern 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
Romance 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. His Secret Billionaire Game
Billionaires My name is Ethan Lester, and for five years, I' ve been living a lie. The world knows me as the "trophy husband" to Hollywood mogul Jocelyn Lind, a stay-at-home dad ridiculed, mocked, and paid millions for my public humiliation. What they don't know? My wife' s contemptuous family, who forced this contractual marriage, is unknowingly bleeding money to my secret FinTech company, Apex Innovations.
Then, the unthinkable happened. My children vanished from school.
The kidnappers demanded $100 million in untraceable crypto. Before the shock could even register, Jocelyn's own brothers called, feigning concern, only to demand she sign over her controlling media shares as "collateral" for the ransom. They were vultures, using the kidnapping of their own niece and nephew as a twisted power play.
I watched Jocelyn' s face crumble in despair, the full, sickening weight of their betrayal hitting her. My mind reeled. How could family be so monstrous? How could they weaponize our children for a corporate takeover?
But their greed unveiled a truth they never saw coming. With a single, chilling word, I refused their "help," and placed a call. They just made the gravest mistake of their lives. My Sacrifice, Her Deception
Romance 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
Romance 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. The Betrayer's Inheritance
Modern Scarlett Hayes, from a once-proud Southern family now teetering on ruin, arrived at the exclusive Kentucky Derby Charity Gala, hoping a connection with the influential Blackwood family could be her salvation.
Instead, she became the unwitting target of a cruel "auction" by the arrogant Blackwood sons, culminating in Charlie Blackwood Jr. publicly humiliating her by announcing his engagement to her stepsister, Brittany, revealing it was all a sadistic game to "put her in her place."
The ultimate betrayal came days later: drugged and waking up disoriented in a cheap motel, photos of her disheveled state instantly ruined her reputation, leaving her father shattered and her own future a devastating, inescapable void.
The crushing despair of her ruined life, filled with unanswered questions and profound betrayal, became an unbearable weight, dragging her into an abyss she couldn't escape, leaving her soul utterly broken.
Then, with a jolt, she woke up in her bed-it was the morning of the Kentucky Derby Gala again, a second chance born from the ashes of her humiliation, ready to wage a ruthless war against the dynasty that destroyed her. The Hidden Founder's Fury
Modern My daughter, Lily, just won the Grand Prize at the California State Youth Tech Challenge, securing a coveted spot at MIT’s summer program.
Pure joy lit up her face after years of dedication to her "Eco-Clean Bot."
But the applause died instantly as a woman, Jessica Hayes, announced her intention to buy the award for her son with a $500,000 donation.
The organizer, citing a "sponsor’s priority clause," surprisingly agreed.
Jessica and her smug son, Brandon, mocked Lily, sneering that her hard work was useless against their family’s money.
Then, the man I trusted, Mark Olsen, CEO of *my* company and Lily’s father, brazenly sided with them.
He publicly declared Jessica the "love of his life" and abandoned us, choosing his mistress over his daughter’s dream.
My heart shattered watching Lily’s face crumple, seeing her future stolen by this betrayal.
How could the man whose career I built, using my own money, so cruelly humiliate us both?
But as he sealed his fate, denying his own family, I knew this charade had served its purpose.
The time for the true power behind Nova Dynamics to step into the light, and exact a cold, precise vengeance, had arrived. 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. 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. 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. 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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