Xiao Yan
17 Published Stories
Xiao Yan's Books and Stories
The Broken Artist's Spectacular Mafia Comeback
Mafia I forged the blueprints that crowned my husband a mafia Capo, saving him when he was nothing.
But after he rose to power, he favored his new female associate, Gia, and handed her my life's work—my coded art book.
When I went to retrieve it, Gia slashed my right hand with a switchblade, severing my tendons. My career as an artist died on that floor.
My husband rushed into the room, looked at my destroyed hand—and stepped past me to shield her.
"Have you lost your mind? She was just following my orders!"
He saw what she had done. He chose to look away.
He protected the woman who mutilated me, blaming me for starting the fight.
I stared at the man I had spent four years building from pieces.
He was protecting another woman, willfully blind to the fact that I was the true architect of his empire.
Why did I sacrifice everything for a man whose memory and conscience were so easily corrupted?
Without a word, I walked past them, letting my blood drip onto his expensive leather shoes.
I calmly called the syndicate Enforcers to report a theft, filed for divorce, and froze all his assets.
He thought my life was over. He forgot that the woman who built his empire with her right hand could tear it down with her left. My Fated Alpha Signed My Death Warrant
Werewolf I was an ordinary human who got trapped inside a novel as the Luna of a ruthless Alpha.
But for seven years, he never marked me, always prioritizing his adopted sister over my life—a woman who had hated me from the day I first stepped into their world.
After a car crash orchestrated by that very sister, I lay bleeding on a hospital bed.
My husband rushed in, not to comfort me, but to scold me.
"Do not be so theatrical over a few scratches. You are terrifying Selene."
In his rush to comfort his completely unharmed sister, he snatched my medical consent form and blindly signed it without reading a single word.
He unknowingly authorized a lethal transfusion of Lycan-grade blood for my fragile human veins.
As the dark blood tore my organs apart like liquid fire, the healers frantically called him to save my life.
But he used his Alpha authority to block the hospital's emergency frequency, too busy renting an entire amusement park to celebrate his sister's safe return.
I lay there choking on my own blood, listening to my heart monitor flatline.
Why did I spend seven years loving a man who would casually sign my death warrant just to play the hero for a traitor?
But he didn't know I had made a deal with a cross-dimensional entity—seven years in his world, one death by his hand, in exchange for my passage home.
As my soul left that broken body and I woke up perfectly healthy in my original world, my final gift activated—a dead-man's switch, loaded with every dirty secret they thought they had buried.
Now, I was free. And he was about to learn that the fragile human wife he threw away had just detonated a bomb under everything he ever owned. His Betrayal Forged My Ruthless Soul
Mafia Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept." Too Late, Alpha: I Am Free Now
Werewolf The pack was howling in celebration outside, roaring for their new, undisputed Alpha. My husband, Ryker. But inside my study, there was only the quiet scratch of my pen signing my true name.
For thirteen years, I had endured a hollow, loveless mating. On the day we met, he publicly humiliated me, claiming my fated scent was just "mud and weeds." Since then, he treated me with nothing but cold disdain, openly flaunting his flirtations with another she-wolf while I desperately tried to be his perfect Luna.
I shattered my own soul to build his empire. I spent my nights securing his political alliances and finding his enemies' weaknesses in secret, all to fulfill a deathbed promise to his mother. Yet, he took all the credit, viewing me as a weak, useless accessory. Even his pack warriors looked at me with contempt.
Tonight, his power was finally secure, and my debt was paid. But when I laid the ancient Rite of Rejection on the council table, he just smirked. He arrogantly assumed it was a hysterical, jealous tantrum over his mistress, completely blind to the fact that my heart had died to him years ago.
"This isn't a threat, Ryker. This is a notice."
Using the very treaties I had secretly forged to trap him, I forced the mighty Alpha to accept my rejection, walking away from his wealth and his pack with nothing but the clothes on my back and my long-lost freedom. Hiding His Twins From The Underboss
Mafia I saved a man bleeding out in the snow. He had no memory, so I called him Ben.
We lived in a cabin, fell in love, and married by firelight with no witnesses but the ghosts of my parents.
Then one day, he disappeared.
Two years later, he returned. Not as my husband, but as Bernard Logan, the ruthless Underboss of the city's most dangerous crime family.
And he didn't remember me.
He brought his cruel new fiancée to my clinic and treated me like a stranger.
When she threw my father’s antique music box into a cactus display, he watched as I tore my hands apart trying to save it.
He called our past a "drug-induced hallucination" and threatened to destroy me if I spoke up.
Worst of all, I found out I was pregnant.
He cornered me in the hospital room, his eyes cold and devoid of the warmth I used to know.
"Is it mine?"
I knew if I said yes, he would turn my child into a killer like him. Or his fiancée would ensure we never survived.
So I looked the love of my life in the eye and lied.
"No," I said. "It's not yours."
I signed his NDA, took his hush money, and vanished to Europe to raise my twins alone.
I thought I was free. I found a good man who actually loved me.
But three years later, at an art gallery in Zurich, the crowd parted.
Bernard was standing there, staring at me with a terrifying hunger.
He had found out the truth.
And he was ready to burn the world down to get us back. Too Late For Regret, My Love
Modern My fiancé Brett and I were building a design empire. When he broke his leg, he hired a temporary housekeeper, Glenda, while I was away on business. I thought she was there to help; I didn't realize she was there to replace me.
She systematically took over my home, turning Brett against me piece by piece. The final straw was finding my cat, Apollo, locked in a cage, bruised and starving.
When I confronted them, Brett defended her. He called me a monster and told me to get rid of my cat for the sake of the baby I was secretly carrying.
The shock of his betrayal was so profound that I miscarried that night.
He never knew. He just screamed that I was a cold, calculating bitch and that Glenda was a "good woman" who truly loved him.
So I left. I took my cat, liquidated my half of our company, and disappeared. Three years later, I walked into an industry gala and saw him across the room-a broken man. He looked at me with desperate regret, but I just smiled. My revenge wouldn't be loud; it would be my success. The Unshakeable Queen Returns
Horror I came home from a business trip, and my husband told me our six-year-old son was dead. He showed me the dashcam footage of Leo dying of heatstroke, left alone in the car by his young nanny, Kendall.
But instead of seeking justice, my husband locked me in the car and turned the heat on full blast, recreating our son's final moments. He demanded the password to my phone to delete the footage, snarling that we couldn't ruin a twenty-year-old's future over a "mistake."
To force my hand, he had thugs break into my elderly father's nursing home room, threatening him on a live video call.
Later, at our son's memorial, he defended Kendall as she took selfies with the casket and played pop music. He helped her show a manipulated video to the crowd, painting me as a negligent, career-obsessed mother.
The mourners threw drinks at me while my husband protected his lover. The next day, I learned the truth. My father, after being blackmailed by those same thugs, had taken his own life to protect me.
My husband hadn't just covered up a murder; he had caused another. He thought he had won, that he had destroyed all the evidence and broken me completely.
But he forgot one thing. The GPS smartwatch on our son's wrist. It recorded everything—not just his death, but every cruel, taunting word Kendall whispered as she let him die. Rejected No More: My True Lover
Romance The cold, damp air clung to me as I stood on the porch of the Hayes family home. It was late, the kind of late where the world feels heavy and silent. I swallowed hard and asked Mrs. Hayes, "Is it true? That Liam... that he's been in love with me? His whole life?" Her brilliant smile was the answer, confirming a devotion I hadn't recognized.
For years, I had held a secret, hopeless love for my adoptive brother, Ethan Miller, who had practically raised me. Sketchbooks filled with his face were my hidden treasure-until he found them. His face wasn' t just shocked; it was filled with pure disgust. "This is sick, Chloe," he spat, throwing the sketchbook at my feet.
From that day, my life became a living hell. His new girlfriend, Madison Lee, my college roommate, systematically framed me for everything. Ethan, my Ethan, believed her every time, his cold, disappointed eyes killing a piece of me with every glance. The final blow came when he announced their wedding, then threw me out of the house.
The Chloe who loved Ethan Miller died that night. Tonight, a new Chloe was born, one who would sever every tie and burn every bridge. I doused my sketchbooks in lighter fluid and watched them burn, his smile turning to ash. I texted Liam Hayes one word: Yes. He immediately replied, I'm on the first flight back. Don't go anywhere. I'm coming home.
Ethan stood, his eyes wild with confusion, as he stared at the burning remains of my past. "Why?" he demanded, as I quoted him, "Because they're disgusting. You said so yourself." I announced my engagement to Liam, on the exact same date as his wedding. My parents nodded, relieved, but Mrs. Miller's smile faltered. "But... Chloe, that's Ethan and Madison's wedding day." "I know," I replied. "It's a good day to start a new life." Fight For Her Vision
Modern The scent of wet concrete used to be the perfume of my dreams, the promise of my architectural masterpiece taking shape.
Until I stood on the muddy ground of my construction site and saw it: a clumsy, awkward box, nothing like the light-filled space I' d designed.
My ex-boyfriend, Mark Davis, had offered to handle the plan submissions as a "parting gift."
It turns out, his gift was a betrayal.
He' d swapped my intricate blueprints for cheap, generic plans bought online.
My dream home was being built into a monstrosity, a monument to his fraud.
When I confronted him, Mark' s voice dripped with condescension.
He' d made "practical tweaks" to make it "more sellable," he claimed.
Then he blocked me, leaving me with a sabotaged project, mounting fees, and a crumbling reputation.
My attempts to find justice through official channels were met with bureaucratic indifference.
They saw a "messy breakup," a "disgruntled ex-girlfriend," not a professional crime.
They even suggested I compromise, perhaps "compensate" the man destroying my career.
But I wouldn' t compromise.
I would fight.
My last, desperate hope lay with Arthur Vance, my formidable former mentor, who had given me a sculpture years ago as a mark of his personal favor.
I knew it was my only leverage.
I had to get to him, no matter the cost.
My next move would be a gamble, a desperate attempt to reclaim my truth. Her Hidden Power, Their Downfall
Xuanhuan Elara Vance believed her world was solid: a devoted Lumin wife to Damien, and a proud mother to Kaelen, her son whose powerful Tier 7 Aura brought her immense joy.
But that foundation crumbled when, in a horrifying display of ambition, Damien and Kaelen, with chilling indifference, betrayed her, brutally extracting her Lumin Core and leaving her for dead.
She gasped awake, not in the afterlife, but back in opulent Lumin society, at the very Concord Gala where, in her past life, Damien had chosen her as his bride.
This time, however, utter public humiliation awaited as Damien heartlessly announced his choice of her cousin, Selena Vance-a supposed rising Lumina Scion-and dismissed Elara as nothing but "Tier 1 weakness."
The degradation deepened when community patriarch Alistair Thorne, driven by family "pacts," condemned Elara to a forced marriage with Rhys Ashworth, a man suffering from a fatal Aura Drain, a cruel ploy by Damien to ensure her quiet, swift end.
The raw, burning questions of her agonizing death tangled with the fresh pain of public scorn: Why did they crave her demise so deeply, despising her very being as an insurmountable obstacle?
Yet, armed with the vivid nightmares of betrayal and the shocking truth she now held-that Selena' s dazzling Tier 6 Aura was a dangerous lie, fueled by illicit serums-Elara stood firm.
Her seemingly helpless acceptance of the doomed marriage concealed a quiet storm: she carried the forgotten ancestral secrets of her Vance lineage, ancient healing arts like "Aura Weaving."
This forced union, intended as her grave, was now her unlikely battleground, her chance to not only survive but to uncover the insidious rot beneath their community's shining facade and unleash a power they never dreamed she possessed. The Secret Heiress: His Billion-Dollar Mistake
Billionaires My life was perfect.
I was an event coordinator, planning my Maui honeymoon with Ethan, my fiancé of five years.
What he didn't know was I was quietly living like this on purpose, proving myself before revealing I was the heiress to a massive hospitality empire.
Then, my world imploded.
My job termination letter landed on the same day Ethan confessed his boss, Victoria, was pregnant with his baby.
And he admitted he'd orchestrated my firing, claiming it was a "strategic move" for his career and "our" future.
He then kicked me out of our apartment after Victoria, his baby mama, vomited on my shoes right in front of him.
I tried to escape to Maui, our supposed honeymoon destination, only to find them there.
Ethan, unashamed, humiliated me on the beach, accusing me of stalking him.
But it got worse.
Victoria and he decided to make a public spectacle, branding me as an unstable harasser at a company mixer.
Standing there, about to be shamed into silence, I wondered how five years of my life, built on a lie for his sake, could end in such utter public degradation and betrayal.
Was I truly going to lose everything for a man who couldn't see past his ambition and an underhanded boss?
Just as I thought I'd hit rock bottom, the doors swung open.
My billionaire father, Mr. Miller, walked in with Liam, my childhood friend.
And that' s when everything changed. His Arrogance, Her Quiet Revenge
Romance My husband, Ethan Hayes, was a powerful, arrogant man, openly flaunting his mistress, Chloe Vance.
Everyone pitied me, the quiet, obedient wife, living in his shadow.
But they had no idea.
Every humiliation, every cruel dismissal, every moment of neglect was a calculated step in my secret, desperate plan.
I married Ethan for one reason: to have a child.
Not his child, but Caleb's.
Caleb, his identical twin, the man I loved more than life itself, tragically taken too soon.
Ethan was merely a vessel, a living replica of my soulmate.
When that pregnancy test turned positive, my mission was complete.
I filed for divorce, expecting his usual dismissiveness.
He waved me off, telling me to "handle it," too consumed with Chloe's trivial demands.
He even pushed me down the stairs when Chloe falsely accused me, leaving me bleeding, gasping for our baby.
But the final straw came when Chloe, with Ethan' s blessing, shattered a small, invaluable snow globe-Caleb's last, unfulfilled gift to me.
He thought my tears, my quiet "devotion," my carefully curated items were for him.
He never saw the truth, never understood his own arrogance blinded him to the woman he truly possessed.
How could he?
His ego was too vast.
So, when the divorce was finalized, I called him.
"I never loved you, Ethan," I told him, each word a shard of ice.
"You were just a means to an end.
The child I carry is Caleb's legacy, not yours."
I walked away, leaving him and his empty world behind, to start anew in San Francisco, with Caleb's child, and finally, my own freedom. Stolen Identity, Stolen Fortune
Young Adult My life was perfectly on track. I was Ashley, the daughter of Katherine, heir to the "Katherine's Kitchen" bakery empire, and I was about to ace my SATs and get into my dream Ivy League school. Everything was normal.
Until Spirit Week. A viral video exploded through the school, showing my foster sister, Brittany, tear-streaked, claiming our mother had stolen her.
That I was the imposter, the switched baby, and the entire family fortune was rightfully hers. Her biological mother, Brenda, was right there, nodding grimly.
Suddenly, I was public enemy number one. Whispers followed me, my locker was vandalized, and the bullying became relentless.
My college art project, weeks of work, was smashed. Brittany even faked bruises and got me suspended, shattering my academic future. Then a "leaked" DNA test, clearly fake, confirmed their lies, making even me question everything.
How could my life be stolen by a baseless lie? Why did my own foster sister resent me so deeply, and why would her mother unleash such a venomous campaign? The injustice burned, leaving me reeling, wondering who I even was anymore.
But my mother fought back, proving the first DNA test was fake.
Yet, Brittany's malice didn't die – she tried to drug me. And Brenda, consumed by delusion, escalated to setting fire to my house! I wouldn't run. The battle for my life, my name, and my future had only just begun. And I was going to win. Reborn on the Morning of My Murder
Billionaires Ethan Vanderbilt, heir to a colossal fortune, was set to make the biggest announcement of his life: his engagement at the annual Vanderbilt Legacy Ball. But waking that morning, a tidal wave of *past life* memories crashed over him: his ruthless wife, Chloe Ashton's, affair with Marcus Thorne, her blatant pursuit of his fortune, the chilling truth that her child wasn't his, and the cold steel of the knife she plunged into him.
He remembered the quiet, unwavering love of Olivia Hayes, his guardian, a devotion he callously ignored, leading to her heartbroken death not long after his own murder. The raw fury of betrayal, the agony of his death, and the profound guilt for Olivia's unrequited devotion consumed him. How could he have been so incredibly blind to the viper beside him and the angel who truly cared?
Now, back on the very morning of his original fate, Ethan knew one thing with absolute certainty: this time, he would rewrite his past, dismantle his enemies, and choose the woman who deserved his love—Olivia. The Wife They Underestimated
Modern I used to be Sarah Jensen, a driven investigative journalist, before David’s political ambition consumed my life.
I became the perfect political wife, hosting lavish events and silently managing our home.
My own dreams dwindled, replaced by his towering aspirations.
The façade finally shattered during a bitter confrontation about his blatant affair with Victoria, my own cousin and his Chief of Staff.
In a terrifying moment, my son, Ethan, loyal to his father, physically pushed me.
I hit the cold marble floor, a searing pain blooming in my side.
David, Victoria, and Ethan simply stepped over me, their faces utterly devoid of concern, as they left for a celebratory dinner.
Hours later, at the hospital, I learned the horrifying truth: I’d lost the baby I never knew I was carrying.
This savage act, this callous abandonment by my husband, my son, and my family, left me in a state of icy clarity.
They chose their image and ambition over my life, over our child.
My own parents later dismissed my pain, ready to side with David, even threatening to institutionalize me.
How could the people I sacrificed everything for betray me so absolutely?
But in that raw, profound despair, something forged within me.
Not a collapse, but an unbreakable resolve.
They believed I was fractured, powerless.
They were gravely mistaken.
I harbored years of meticulous records on David’s illicit dealings, a hidden dossier.
He’d taught me the game; now, as a journalist reborn, I would play for keeps, exposing every lie and reclaiming my life. You might like
From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." 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. Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
Reborn To Love My Outlaw Husband
Little Red Riding Hood "Once she's finally dead, I want you to take me - right there, in that outlaw President's own bed... promise me, Blaze."
Lying in a freezing pool of my own blood, I watched the man I had loved for three years flirt shamelessly with my cousin. Meanwhile, my so-called "best friend" greedily stripped the wedding ring off my bleeding finger. "Take her. Have your fun with her, just don't let that pretty face go to waste," the scumbag sneered, kicking me aside. As a group of tattooed thugs approached with sickening, lustful grins, I was swallowed by absolute, shivering despair.
Just as I prepared to bite my own tongue to end it all-a deafening engine roar shattered the night. My husband, the ruthless MC President Axel, the "monster" I had spent my life trying to escape, charged into the hellfire covered in blood. He used his massive frame to shield me from every bullet. With his dying breath, his normally cold eyes held nothing but desperate, humble tenderness. "Don't be afraid... I love you..."
When I opened my eyes, I was reborn a year before our fatal fallout. To completely sever ties with the cheating scumbag, I secretly liquidated all my designer assets, transferring the funds into an untraceable offshore account. But the financial report was handed straight to Axel.
He forcefully cornered me against the wall, his eyes swirling with a devastating mix of soul-crushing heartbreak and violent obsession as he ruthlessly bit my lip. "Chloe, even if you run to the ends of the earth, I will drag you back in chains!" he growled, his voice hoarse and his eyes red. "But from tonight on... until I see your lover's corpse with my own eyes, don't you ever try to touch me again."
I wrapped my arms tightly around his solid waist from behind, my small hands slipping under his half-open leather jacket to trace the hard lines of his tense abs. Feeling his massive body instantly freeze into stone, I stood on my toes and whispered breathily against his ear: "Okay. But before you kill him... hubby, don't you want to come back to bed and fulfill your duties as my husband first?" The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Diversion Three days before the wedding.
I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman.
Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress.
The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem.
It didn't spell Elena.
It read Sofia.
He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name.
Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife.
He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance.
I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared.
"The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?"
"Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport."
"Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys."
I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday.
He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead. His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. 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. Abandoned Heiress, Now His Mafia Bride
Priority I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them. Reborn From Fire: The Ex-wife's Revenge
Lunacy Heidi gripped the sterile hospital bedsheets as violent contractions ripped her body apart.
The heavy door opened, but it wasn't the doctor. It was Brigette, wearing the exact custom wedding dress Heidi had spent six months designing for herself.
Brigette held up her phone on speaker. When the doctor warned that a natural delivery would kill the mother, Christian Page's voice echoed through the room, ice-cold and devoid of any warmth.
"Prioritize the Page heirs. Let her die."
The man she loved had just signed her death warrant over the phone.
Brigette stole her newborn twins, dragged her to an abandoned warehouse, and poured gasoline over her bare legs.
Flicking a lit cigar into the puddle, Brigette left Heidi tied to an iron pillar to burn alive.
But as the flames formed a deadly circle around her, Heidi's body convulsed with a terrifying truth.
In the heart of the blazing inferno, she miraculously gave birth to two more babies she didn't know she was carrying.
Using her own back as a human shield against the falling embers, she survived the fire, but the ultimate betrayal burned deeper than her ruined skin.
Four years later, Heidi returned to New York with a reconstructed face, two brilliant children, and a terrifying new identity as the world's top underground surgeon.
When Christian, entirely unaware of who she was, signed a waiver begging her to save his dying grandfather's life, Heidi looked into his desperate eyes with absolute, clinical boredom.
"The game starts now," she said coldly. 
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