Xiao Xiaosu
13 Published Stories
Xiao Xiaosu's Books and Stories
No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Modern I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. His Secret Heir In Her Arms
Modern I returned to New York with a broken suitcase and exactly three hundred and forty-two dollars in my bank account. My mother was dying in a public hospital, and the only treatment that could save her required a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit I didn't have.
While I was pleading with the billing department, I ran into my billionaire ex, Gannon Sharpe, and his cruel fiancée, Aleta. Without a second thought, Aleta slapped me so hard my lip split, kicking my belongings across the floor and calling me a gold-digging thief in front of the entire staff.
I looked at Gannon, the man I once loved more than my own life, hoping for a shred of mercy. Instead, he looked at me with pure revulsion and told me I belonged in the gutter. He believed the lies his grandfather told him—that I had abandoned him after his car crash and vanished with millions.
He had no idea I was the one who actually pulled him from that burning wreckage, or that I was currently skipping meals in a moldy motel just so our secret son could have formula. He called me "disgusting" and walked away, leaving me to rot.
I wanted to scream that I was the genius scientist who wrote his company’s core algorithms, and that the child he didn’t know existed was shivering with a fever only blocks away. But the ironclad NDA I signed to save my family kept me silent, even as Gannon looked at me like I was something he’d stepped in.
Desperate for health insurance to save my mother and son, I took a bottom-tier data entry job in the basement of Gannon’s own tower, intending to stay invisible. But when a billion-dollar error threatened to bankrupt his empire, I couldn't stop myself from hacking the system to fix the code.
Now, the man who hates me is standing in my cubicle, demanding to know how a "dropout" knows his most guarded secrets. Gannon is finally digging into my past, and he’s about to find out exactly what—and who—I’ve been hiding for the last four years. He Chose His Mistress: The Pregnant Luna's Escape
Werewolf I was four months pregnant with the Alpha's heir, and I had given up everything for Michael.
I hid my identity as the daughter of the powerful Alpha Hayes, stripped away my inheritance, and poured my personal fortune into building his pack.
I thought we were the golden couple.
But one rainy night, Michael came home smelling of vanilla and deception.
Exhausted, his mental barriers slipped, and I heard his thoughts project through our Mind-Link to his mistress, Serena.
"She is just a vessel," his internal voice sneered.
"Once the pup is born, we take the child and reject her. I only need the Hayes money a little longer."
My world shattered. I wasn't his mate; I was a bank account with a pulse.
The cruelty escalated when a waiter tripped at dinner, sending boiling soup flying toward our table.
Michael didn't reach for me or his unborn child.
He lunged to shield Serena, leaving me to take the scalding liquid full force on my pregnant belly.
While I lay in the hospital with burns, he told the doctors to prioritize Serena's "shock" over my injuries.
He thought I was broken. He thought I was trapped.
He was wrong.
I bribed the nurse to write two words on my chart: "Spontaneous Abortion."
Then I froze every asset in the pack, signed the divorce papers, and vanished.
Michael wanted a future without me?
He’s about to find out exactly what that costs. Discarded Wife, Legal Legend Rises
Romance For three years, I gave up my life as "Nemesis," the undefeated lawyer, to be the perfect wife for LA's star prosecutor, Keith Sampson. I traded my legal briefs for cookbooks, believing I could heal the man I loved.
On our anniversary, he came home drunk, kissed me desperately, and whispered another woman's name.
"Holly," he breathed. "I knew you'd come back to me."
But the final verdict on our marriage came at a restaurant. When a waiter spilled a pot of scalding coffee, Keith didn't hesitate. He lunged to shield his ex-girlfriend, Holly, from a few drops.
The rest of the pot splashed onto my arm, causing second-degree burns. He panicked over the minor red marks on Holly's hand, rushing her to a private clinic.
He never even looked at my blistering skin. He just handed me his credit card.
"Take a cab to urgent care," he said. "I'll call you later."
That was the moment the devoted wife died. I walked out and never looked back. Three months later, I stood across from him in a courtroom, representing the man he was prosecuting in the biggest case of his career.
He had no idea the quiet housewife he'd discarded was the legal legend known as Nemesis. And I was about to destroy his perfect, undefeated record. A Wife's Undeniable Scars
Romance After seven years of marriage and a heartbreaking miscarriage, the two pink lines on the pregnancy test felt like a miracle. I couldn't wait to tell my husband, Drake, the man who had held me through every painful infertility treatment.
On my way to find him, I saw him in a park with a woman and a little boy. The boy, who looked just like him, ran up and shouted, "Daddy."
The woman was Kiana, the crazy stalker who'd "accidentally" pushed me down the stairs five years ago, causing my first miscarriage.
The son was four years old.
My entire marriage, all the nights he held me while I cried over our lost child—it was all a lie. He had a secret family with the very woman who caused our pain.
I couldn't understand. Why put me through seven years of hell trying for a baby he already had? He called me "stupidly in love," a fool he could easily deceive while he lived his double life.
But the truth was far worse. When his mistress staged her own kidnapping and blamed me, he had me abducted and beaten, thinking I was a stranger.
As I lay bound on a warehouse floor, he kicked me in the stomach, killing our unborn child.
He had no idea it was me. His Loss, Her Love
Romance My world shattered when Liam, the boy I' d loved my entire life, brought home a vapid social media influencer as his girlfriend. His parents, who always treated me like a daughter, saw my heartbreak and offered to adopt me, to cut the cord of hope that was strangling me.
I agreed to be adopted, planning to start a new life in London. But Liam, convinced I was just playing hard to get, staged a humiliating public proposal to his new girlfriend, Brittany, specifically to get a reaction out of me.
At the party, he flaunted Brittany, showered her with affection, and even tried to provoke me by giving her the bouquet meant for me. Instead of crumbling, I clapped, then calmly announced to everyone that I was about to become Liam's sister.
His fury was immediate. He forced me into his car, subjected me to a degrading display of intimacy with Brittany, and then abandoned me on a deserted road. Just hours later, Liam was severely injured in a car crash, ironically while protecting Brittany, and his parents asked me to stay with him at the hospital.
When I found out he had been fed doctored chat logs, twisting my words to paint me as cold and manipulative, I realized his cruel game was all based on a lie. He believed it without question, destroying our 20 years of trust.
He then tried to violently force me to marry him, resulting in another car crash that left him with severe, irreversible brain damage, forever trapping him in the mind of a child.
But out of that darkness, I found light. In London, I met Ethan, a kind and sincere architect. We fell in love, built a life, and shared a beautiful, uncomplicated future that was more real than any dream Liam had ever promised. When Love Dies: A Family's Tragic End
Modern The first thing I felt was the splintering pain in my back, a sharp, ugly ache.
My art school interview, my one shot, was missed because a ladder slipped.
Instead of concern, my adoptive parents, the Davises, stood over me and my ruined canvases, their faces masks of fury.
"Stealing Emily's scholarship spot wasn't enough," my mother shrieked, "now you've sabotaged her art career? We never should have adopted you!"
My father grabbed me, hauling me up despite my cry of pain, and dragged me to the attic, slamming the door shut with a deafening metallic click.
The familiar dread of claustrophobia seized me.
"Please," I gasped, pounding a weak fist against the door, "Please, don't. I can't… I can't breathe."
But their footsteps faded, her words echoing: "She's just being dramatic."
They left me there, trapped and forgotten, my pleas turning into choked sobs no one would hear.
Days later, they discussed plans for Emily during their European vacation, dismissing the growing, sweet stench in the house as my mess.
They never thought of me again, not for seven days, not until it was too late. When The Housewife Bites Back
Romance My son, Caleb, stood in my home office doorway demanding a graduation trip to Hawaii, acting as entitled as ever.
I told him to ask his father for the money because I was divorcing Matthew-his reaction, laughing and saying, "Guys cheat, Mom. It's not a big deal," shattered me.
The next text message, from an unknown number, linked to a Reddit post by "UnrulySon" – a private photo of me, labeled by Caleb: "My mom was a total party girl back in the day. Bet you wouldn' t guess it now."
Scrolling further, I found his horrifying comments calling me "the warden" and revealing how "Aunt Nicole," my husband' s mistress, had groomed him for years to spread lies about me online, even twisting a moment I saved his life into a calculated performance.
As rage boiled over, I vowed to make them all pay, starting by uncovering every single one of Nicole' s manipulations and my husband' s financial schemes. Legacy of Lies
Modern My eyes shot open on October 12th, the day I lost everything in my last life.
My sister Stella was in mortal danger from a placental abruption, her business assets frozen by a lawsuit-the exact nightmare repeating itself.
Despite my desperate pleas not to, my brother-in-law Matthew called our father, Brian Clark, who was on his anniversary trip with his new wife, Debra.
Instead of help, Father's voice, devoid of care, coldly accused us of manufacturing drama, hanging up and abandoning his hemorrhaging daughter.
I watched, horrified, as paramedics wheeled Stella's gurney toward a public hospital, her life slipping away, while my father orchestrated betrayal, poisoning minds against us.
My father just wanted us to lose everything; he said, "I don't want daughters like you."
Then, a miracle: Anthony Hughes, a lawyer and old family friend, stepped in, saving Stella and exposing Debra's elaborate con to swindle my father.
The powerful man who once controlled our lives was humiliated, his empire crumbled, and in a final tragic act, he killed Debra and himself.
Now, holding my newborn nephew, Leo, baptized in the sunlight of a peaceful new chapter, I finally understood: the nightmare was over, and we were truly free. Sarah's Desperate Choice
Modern Michael Peterson had it all – a thriving architecture firm, a beautiful wife Sarah, and their miracle baby, Hope, due in months after years of IVF.
His life was perfect.
Then a single text shattered it: Sarah had terminated their much-longed-for pregnancy.
Not for medical reasons, but for Jules, her toxic college ex, who supposedly needed her after a minor motorcycle accident.
Michael raced to the hospital, finding Sarah caring for Jules, who had a mere broken leg.
He watched, horrified, as she defended Jules, even emptying their joint accounts to fund his 'comeback.'
The facade crumbled further when Michael discovered Jules was a drug addict, and Sarah, manipulated and coerced, had become addicted herself.
The abortion, he learned, was a desperate, misguided attempt to protect their baby from a drug-addicted life and Michael from criminal implications.
The true cost of this betrayal hit when his fierce, supportive sister, Emily, succumbed to stress-induced aneurysm while fighting to clear his name, leaving Michael utterly alone amidst financial ruin.
How could one man's insidious influence, fueled by his wife's twisted loyalty, unravel a life built on love and dreams, dragging everyone through such profound despair and ultimately claiming innocent lives?
With everything lost-family, fortune, and the very hope he once cherished-Michael is left facing total annihilation.
Now, stripped bare of his past, he wanders the vast, empty landscapes of America, searching for a path forward, or perhaps just a reason to keep driving.
His journey has just begun, but where will it lead? The Unseen Sister's Reckoning
Romance For ten years, I quietly loved Ethan Hayes, pouring my heart into him, always hoping. My vibrant sister, Veronica, lay in a coma, a silent, fragile presence in the hospital.
Then, outside her room, I heard Ethan's voice, raw with devotion. He’d marry me, not for love, but only to be closer to Veronica. I was a tool, a mere placeholder.
My world, like the coffee cup in my hand, shattered. Forced to save my bankrupt family and fund Veronica’s experimental treatment, I entered a cold pact: marry Marcus Thorne, a powerful, enigmatic billionaire rumored damaged. When Veronica awoke, she relentlessly sabotaged my life—my art, my future—leaving Ethan blindly defending her every cruel act.
How could the man I adored betray me so utterly, while the feared "monster" I was forced to marry showed me a startling, unexpected kindness? Was my fate to be forever shadowed, misunderstood, and discarded?
Yet, as Veronica’s manipulative facade crumbled and Ethan’s desperate actions turned tragic, I uncovered Marcus Thorne’s true self: a man with a hidden past linked to mine, not broken, but fiercely protective. Could this forced marriage be my unexpected path to reclaiming my life and finding a love beyond anything I’d imagined? You might like
The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. First Lady Out, Your Majesty In
Asher Wolfe For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back.
Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away.
On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess.
Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side.
Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like."
Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?"
Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music."
When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled.
It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake. Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." 
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