Xiao Song Shu
10 Published Stories
Xiao Song Shu's Books and Stories
Revenge for Mom: Destroying His Mafia World
Mafia My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me.
But when my mother was dying in the hospital, he chose a ski trip with another woman.
It was that woman's dog that attacked my mother, but when I called him, shaking, he was annoyed. He was in Aspen with Isabella, and I could hear her laughing in the background. He dismissed my mother's injuries as a "minor scrape" and told me not to "make a big deal out of this."
While my mother's fever spiked, he ignored my desperate pleas. Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram post of him and Isabella smiling by a fireplace, sipping hot chocolate.
My mother slipped into septic shock. That picture was a public declaration, a judgment on my mother's worth, and my own. A cold fury burned away every last bit of love I had for him.
She died at 3:17 a.m. I held her hand until it was cold, then walked out of the hospital and called the one number I was never supposed to use—the number for my father.
"She's dead," I said. "I'm coming to Chicago. I'm leaving this life, and I'm going to burn his world to the ground." Emma Russell: The Woman Reborn
Modern My anniversary dinner ended not with a kiss, but with my husband Cole cheating on me with my cousin, Britney.
He kicked me out of our home, the one my father helped us buy, and banished me to the guest house. But when I arrived, Britney was already there, wearing my favorite silk robe, smirking as she told me I'd be staying in the damp basement apartment instead.
Down in the cold, musty cellar, I found what my father left me: proof that Cole hadn't just married me. He had orchestrated the hostile takeover that destroyed my father's company, drove him to his death, and then married me to steal everything that was left, including my life's work, a project called "Aura."
He had me committed to a psychiatric facility, telling everyone I was unstable. He thought he had buried me, but my childhood friend Eric helped me fake my death in a staged car crash.
Now, years later, I've returned.
Under a new name, Iris, I've created a new masterpiece that has the tech world buzzing, and it's about to bring Cole's empire to its knees.
He thinks Emma Russell is dead. He has no idea she's about to destroy him. Her Regret, My Revenge: A New Beginning
Young Adult The air in the Peterson' s mansion was thick with the smell of money and expensive perfume, a suffocating celebration for Tiffany Peterson, the valedictorian with a perfect SAT score of 1600. I stood in the shadows, a ghost at a party I knew too well.
This scene had played out before, exactly-the same party, the same banner, the same lie. Because in my first life, this perfect party started a downward spiral.
After the SAT scores were released and Tiffany' s supposed 1600 was revealed to be a mere 480, she blamed me. Her cyberbullying campaign, accusing me of hacking her score and obsession, turned my life into a living hell. "Cheater," "Ugly snake," "You should kill yourself" echoed through my phone and town. My family suffered, my parents were tormented, and one week later, unable to bear the crushing weight, I swallowed every pill in the medicine cabinet.
I didn't understand why the world believed her over me. Why was her twisted narrative so easily accepted?
But now, I' m back. I' m not the old Sarah, the one who tried to be kind and then died of shame. This time, I' m here to watch Tiffany burn, armed with the truth and a genius hacker by my side. Unwanted Wife: The Mafia Boss's Regret
Mafia I warmed the Underboss’s bed for five years, only to be discarded the moment my twin sister returned.
Haleigh claimed she was dying of terminal cancer.
She was the golden child, the tragic heroine. I was just Bailey—the spare, the placeholder, the glitch in their perfect reunion.
To secure her place, Haleigh framed me with a venomous spider and a deepfake video, turning the men I loved into my executioners.
My own brothers whipped me in the basement while Jameson watched in cold silence.
When I caught fire on the family yacht, they ignored my screams to tend to Haleigh’s scratched knee.
The final blow came on the cliffs of Dead Man’s Drop.
Accusing me of pushing her, Jameson ordered my brother to dangle me over the raging ocean by my ankles to "teach me a lesson."
They waited for me to beg for my life.
Instead, I pulled a switchblade from my boot.
I didn't cut my brother. I cut my own laces.
I plummeted into the icy black water without a sound, choosing death over their cruelty.
It wasn't until they found my hidden diary—and proof that Haleigh never had cancer—that the monsters realized what they had done.
Now Jameson is tearing the world apart to find his "innocent" Bailey.
But he’s looking for a ghost.
The woman who loved him died the moment she hit the water. Her Violin, His Vengeance
Romance Annabelle Owen, a violin prodigy, found her world in Jack Hyde, a tech billionaire who promised her everything. He shielded her, showered her with gifts, and became her entire universe.
But then, his half-sister, Everly, moved in, and everything changed. Everly, a manipulative whisper in Jack's ear, slowly poisoned their relationship, turning him against Annabelle.
Annabelle, pregnant with their child, discovered Jack's betrayal on their anniversary. He chose Everly, humiliating Annabelle, forcing her to change her dress because it "upset" Everly. He then denied her pregnancy, forced her to donate blood to Everly, and later, in a fit of rage, beat her, causing her to lose their baby.
Jack, blinded by Everly's lies, believed Annabelle had cheated. He tortured and humiliated Annabelle, stripping her of everything he had given her, even her grandfather's violin, which Everly deliberately destroyed. Annabelle, broken and desperate, faked her own death by walking into a fire, hoping to escape the nightmare.
Jack, consumed by grief and rage, was manipulated by Everly into believing Annabelle was a cheating liar. He sought brutal revenge on Everly, but the truth about Annabelle's innocence and Everly's deceit eventually came to light.
Annabelle, meanwhile, had found refuge with her brother, Adan, and entered into a marriage of convenience with Julian Cordova, a war hero in a coma. She nursed him back to health, and they fell deeply in love, building a new life free from Jack's shadow.
When Jack discovered Annabelle was alive and marrying Julian, he crashed the wedding, begging for forgiveness. But Annabelle, hardened by his cruelty, coldly rejected him, choosing her new life and love with Julian, leaving Jack to face the consequences of his actions alone. He Wanted My All, I Took His
Modern I was scrolling through a local forum, a mindless habit, when a post titled "A Warning to a Woman in Tech" caught my eye.
It described two people plotting at a cafe I knew: a man complaining about his "tech executive" girlfriend, and a woman suggesting they "get her to relax" by putting something in her drink.
They wanted her money, her inheritance, planning to stage an "accident."
My fingers went cold, but the nausea passed-it was too generic. Then, the final detail: "The man… wore a very distinctive watch, a vintage chronograph with a dark green face."
My phone clattered to the floor. Not Liam. Not the watch I bought him for our anniversary.
The man who brought me soup when I was sick, who supported my career, who spoke of being my equal. He was a lie. All of it.
Every sweet gesture replayed, tainted, a calculated part of his long con. The anger, hot and sharp, consumed me.
Chloe Davies. Liam's old acquaintance, openly jealous of my success. I remembered him dismissing her, "Don't worry about her. You're the only one that matters to me."
I believed him. The realization hit like a physical blow: the man I loved, and the woman I distrusted, were partners in a plot to destroy me.
His parents, with their sickeningly sweet talk of "making it official," had been part of it too.
My father' s ironclad prenup-that was the wall he couldn't climb. It wasn' t just a legal document; it was the trigger. They wanted to ruin me, stage an "accident," for him to inherit.
The venomous greed took my breath away. They weren' t just after my money; they were after my life.
But they had miscalculated. They had no idea who they were dealing with.
Liam Parker wanted a war. I would give him one. No Second Chance, Mr. CEO
Billionaires I pretended to be a gold-digger, a clever social climber who snagged the CEO.
But I was hiding a secret: I engineered our entire relationship to save Ethan' s life.
My family' s foundation held the only cure for his rare disease, and the price was simple: he had to be family.
He hated me for it, fueled by his "sickly" ex, Jessica, who conveniently claimed a mugging left her with chronic pain-a lie that bound him with guilt.
Then a viral photo of Ethan and Jessica hit the gossip blogs.
His immediate accusation stabbed me: "Did you do this? You were jealous."
He systematically dismantled my career, stripping me of my key projects, forcing me to take the fall for Jessica' s colossal failures.
When I discovered I was pregnant, I rushed to tell him, only to find Jessica waiting.
She smirked, revealing her mugging was a drunken accident, then shoved me down a flight of stairs.
I lay bleeding, miscarrying our baby, as Ethan scooped up wailing Jessica and called me a "monster."
He walked away, leaving me to die.
The man I saved, the father of my lost child, abandoned me for a pathological liar.
The betrayal was absolute, the injustice unfathomable.
But my powerful family didn't let me die. They faked my death, spirited me away, and wiped me from existence.
Ethan, consumed by guilt once he discovered Jessica' s truth, frantically searched for a ghost.
Three years later, he crashed my wedding, desperate for a second chance.
He didn't know I orchestrated his presence, ready to deliver the final, devastating truth: our "marriage" was never legal.
And the watch that haunted his desperate search? I threw it in a dumpster months ago. Havenwood's Dark Blessing
Horror The Seattle rain washed away the dust of our suffocating hometown, Havenwood, as my sister Emily and I embraced college life, finally free.
Then Dad' s call came, urgent and raspy: Mom was gravely sick, and we had to come home.
But Havenwood wasn't sick, it was dead quiet, shrouded by the sinister "Harvest Maiden" festival, and we found Mom locked away, bruised, forced into a lie.
Our father, driven by his own failing health, was willingly sacrificing us, his daughters, to a ritual that wasn' t a blessing, but a monstrous con: a horrifying exchange where health was stolen from newborn babies, twisting life into grotesque old sickness.
Witnessing a "cured" mother gain youth as a healthy infant withered before our eyes, and hearing Pastor Thorne declare we were next, a chilling rage consumed me; trapped, we had to expose this unspeakable evil before it devoured us all. No Second Chances: My Empire, My Rules
Romance I stood at the Northwood University Alumni Gala, a successful architect, a wife, and a mother, years after I' d left everything behind.
Then, my ex, Ethan Hayes, stepped onto the stage, and the whole room hushed.
He finished his speech and, to my horror, dropped to one knee before me, publicly proposing marriage with the words, "Phoenix Rising."
Phoenix Rising.
The name ignited a searing pain, a brand from a past I' d buried years ago.
I remembered my senior year, my award-winning design stolen by Olivia Monroe, and Ethan, my then-boyfriend, standing by her side, calmly confirming her lie.
That betrayal led to my disqualification, academic dishonor, and blacklisting, forcing me to flee the US, utterly broken.
Stones in my gut, those words.
How could he, after everything, dare to invoke that name, that pain, for this grotesque public spectacle?
Did he think a grand gesture could erase the humiliation, the shattered dreams, the life I had to rebuild from nothing?
But this wasn't the shattered girl he remembered.
Before he could utter another word, my husband and daughter appeared, a living testament that I had not only survived but thrived.
My past was about to get a very clear message: I was no longer a victim; I was home, loved, and ready to close this painful chapter for good. 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. 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. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy
CHRISTINE ROBINSON I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.
Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.
"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."
I froze.
My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.
He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."
I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.
Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.
He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.
Then, he pushed me off the edge.
As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.
I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.
But he forgot that I knew his secrets.
I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.
"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt." Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband
Bei Ke On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family.
I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown.
But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic.
He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event.
"She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"You will give her whatever she needs."
I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm.
As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing.
"Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted.
Dominick didn't even turn around.
He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table.
I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic.
He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins.
He was wrong.
I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match.
I let the room burn.
By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London.
I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty.
He wanted a war? I would give him one. 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. 
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