Xie Huan
14 Published Stories
Xie Huan's Books and Stories
Ten Years a Lie
Billionaires My husband, David, and I had been married for ten years, a perfect New York power couple on the outside, a carefully constructed lie within. I used his money, he had his affairs, even a secret child. Our lives ran on parallel tracks, never interfering. It was a cold, silent agreement.
Then the school called. An accident. Acid. My son, Liam.
I rushed to the nurse's office. Liam was pale, a raw burn on his cheek and neck. Another woman, impeccably dressed, stood there, bored. Olivia Chen, socialite extraordinaire. David's mistress. She offered me a check. "My Leo said it was an accident. Boys will be boys. This should be enough to cover the medical bills and keep you quiet." Then her phone rang. It was David. "Yes, I' m handling the other boy' s mother now," she cooed. My husband was concerned for his mistress and their illegitimate son, not ours.
The bracelet on Olivia's wrist, an emerald-studded Miller family heirloom, meant for David's wife, for me, shimmered mockingly. My hand went to my phone. David's voicemail. Again. Nothing. My son was hurt, and my husband wouldn't answer.
This wasn't anger; it was a cold, hard hatred. A rage that had simmered for a decade, now boiling over. My family, almost ruined. The Millers saved them, but the price was my marriage to David. He didn't want me; he wanted the inheritance clause in the Miller family trust. His firstborn child would control the bulk of the fortune on their tenth birthday.
Liam' s tenth birthday was in three days. In three days, the trust would activate. Liam would be in control. I looked from my son's pained face to the arrogant woman wearing my legacy. A cold calm settled over me. Let them have their moment. Their last three days of freedom. Choosing Peace: My True Love
Romance The screech of tires, the violent crush of metal-that' s how it ended.
Next to me, my husband David, dying, whispered: "I… I wish I'd never met you."
Ten years of my life, a decade of one-sided love, erased by his final, brutal regret, echoing a ghost named Emily White.
Then, darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke up on a university lawn, young again, dressed in a simple white dress I hadn't seen in a decade.
And there he was: David Chen, proposing, the king of campus, holding that familiar velvet box.
My heart, once soaring at this moment, was now a block of ice.
I closed my architecture textbook with a soft snap.
"No," I said, the word cutting through the expectant air.
His smile froze. "What did you say?"
"I said no, David. I won't marry you."
I walked away, straight toward Michael Thorne, the quiet, kind engineering student I had been too blind to see.
"Michael," I told him, "I know this is sudden. But I want to be with you."
Later, a hand grabbed my arm-David. He knew. He'd remembered our past life.
"You're punishing me for what I said, aren't you?" he hissed, his eyes burning with familiar fury.
He called me a monster, a liar, and swore Emily had saved him from a falling bookshelf, not me. He was wrong.
He threw the ring box at my feet, storming away, convinced I was the villain.
But for the first time, I felt a strange peace; this time, his story wasn't mine.
I knew my second chance had just begun. When Friends Become Your Cruelest Foes
Young Adult "Lily, you should do it," Tiffany Hayes purred, her eyes fixed on me in the art academy' s lounge. As the scholarship student, managing our class' s two-million-dollar art fund seemed like a twisted honor, a responsibility the elite kids conveniently dodged.
Three years later, at our graduation exhibition-the night my life' s work was finally displayed-my childhood friend, Mark Miller, seized the microphone. "Our class art fund has been mismanaged," he announced, his gaze piercing me. "One point eight million dollars is missing."
The dreams I had meticulously built shattered. Every eye in the buzzing gallery turned to me, judging, accusing. Tiffany, Mark' s girlfriend, stood by his side, her feigned sympathy a cold knife twisting inside me. They stripped me bare, painting me a thief, a public spectacle.
"I have records of everything," I insisted. "Every dollar is accounted for!" But the projection screen behind him flashed a balance of $1,250.34, sealing my fate. "Just tell us what you did with the money," Tiffany cooed, trying to lure out a confession. "We were friends."
Friends? Their betrayal burned hotter than any accusation. They had done this. Set me up. Framed me. The rage and humiliation were suffocating, but a cold resolve began to crystallize within me. They thought they had broken me, but they had just ignited a fire.
I walked out of the gallery that night, not in defeat, but with a fierce determination. I would find the truth. I would expose them. And they would pay. The Secret Life She Hid
Romance My six-year marriage to Sarah was supposed to be a picture of perfect bliss. We were planning an anniversary trip, discussing a future with children, a life built on solid ground.
Then, a child' s drawing hidden in her car, labeled "Mommy," shattered my world. It depicted a woman with my wife's long brown hair, and two children named Leo and Mia. Children we didn't have.
The whispers I overheard later-Sarah and her mother, talking about "five years" of deceit, a man named David, and those kids-confirmed my worst fears. My beloved wife had a whole other life, a secret family I was unwittingly funding. The "business trips," the late nights, the unexplained cash withdrawals… it all clicked into place, painting me as the delusional fool.
The man I thought I was, the life I believed in, crumbled into ash. How could I have been so blind, so utterly duped by the woman I adored? How could someone I trusted completely orchestrate such a monstrous lie? Every cherished memory turned into a new, agonizing layer of betrayal.
With nothing left but a cold, burning rage and a profound sense of injustice, I decided: Ethan Patterson had to die. But not in reality. I would disappear, erase myself, and leave her to face the wreckage of the life she had so meticulously built on my unsuspecting heart. Beyond the Script
Romance The news of Dr. Seraphina Vance' s divorce from Dr. Julian Hayes hit the scientific community like a shockwave.
For me, Chloe, Elias Thorne' s hidden partner for seven years, it was a death sentence to the life I had painstakingly built with him.
Suddenly, I was faced with a new, brutal mission from the system that brought me here: ensure Elias and Seraphina, the true protagonists, achieve their "happy ending," even if it meant destroying my own.
I had to orchestrate their reunion, push the man I loved into another woman's arms, and watch him embrace the woman he was "destined" for, while systematically erasing myself from his life.
Worst of all, when Seraphina framed me, manipulating Elias into believing I was incompetent-or worse, malicious-he chose her. He watched me, gasping for air from a severe allergic reaction she triggered, and walked away, choosing his "show" over my life.
How could he believe her fabricated lies over the seven years we shared, over the evidence of his own eyes?
Now, after sacrificing everything, manipulating events, and nearly dying to fulfill this twisted destiny, I found myself standing on a rooftop, preparing to step off and finally go home, to my real life.
But as I looked down, I saw Elias, pure panic on his face, finally understanding. This wasn't a game. It was my final act of self-sacrifice, forcing him to confront the truth of what he' d lost. He Broke My Hands, I Broke His Empire
Billionaires Caleb, my brilliant partner and fiancé, stroked my hand.
"One more month, Gabby," he whispered, "and you'll officially be the COO of Aura. My queen."
We were celebrating our empire, the tech company I architected from our dorm room.
I thought we were building a kingdom together.
That was the last clear thing I remembered before waking up to shattering pain.
My hands, once capable of flying across a keyboard, were broken, mangled.
Rough voices laughed from beyond a thin wall: "Caleb paid good money... said to make sure her hands were unusable."
My world imploded.
It was Caleb.
All of it.
He "rescued" me, a perfect performance for the world.
But in the ambulance, he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.
"You should have just been happy with what you had. Now, you have nothing."
My hospital room became a gilded cage.
I listened as he plotted with his intern, Molly, to take my COO position, mocking my nerve damage, certain I was finished.
He even sabotaged my surgery, ensuring permanent injury.
The humiliation peaked when he wheeled me onto a stage, only for me to "accidentally" fall, exposed and vulnerable, to the world.
The "Shark of Silicon Valley" became "Poor Gabby Johns," a tragic spectacle.
Every condescending word, every false show of concern, was a fresh wound.
He thought he'd broken me, reduced me to a pitiful charity case.
He had no idea.
While he celebrated his victory, believing I was defeated, a hidden message whispered into an encrypted tablet ignited a plan.
I pretended to surrender, buying myself time.
He just made his biggest mistake: underestimating the woman he tried to bury.
I was re-arming, and the real war was about to begin. A Mother's Cold Revenge
Modern I was dying of colon cancer in a hospice, all my $150,000 savings for retirement and my son, Ethan, almost gone.
Ethan cried, telling me his girlfriend, Chloe, stole every penny for a luxury condo. I believed him completely.
My hatred for that "gold-digger" burned hotter than my cancer. In my final hours, I called the police, determined to ruin Chloe for letting me die disgraced.
I died filled with pure, unadulterated hate.
My last thought was of her painful demise. How could she betray a dying woman so cruelly? The injustice was unbearable.
Then I gasped, not in the hospice, but in my own living room, alive and whole. The doorbell chimed-the day I first met Chloe. And as she entered, I heard her innermost thoughts: "I hope she likes this locket; Ethan said she only respects expensive brands."
My rage short-circuited. Ethan had lied. My son was the monster. I was back, with a chilling chance to make him pay. A Second Sight of Vengeance
Modern Ten years. That' s how long I' d navigated a world painted by touch and sound. My hands, once destined for university papers, now kneaded muscles as a Licensed Massage Therapist. It wasn' t the life I planned after the mysterious incident that stole my sight, but it was a life.
Until today. The afternoon rush ended, and the clinic settled. Then, loud, careless voices drifted from the waiting area. Kevin Miller, an old student from that last proctored exam, bragged. But it was the other voice, smooth and arrogant-Ethan Vance-that chilled me. He chimed in, "The real reason that TA went dark? The culprit was right there in the exam room with him. I' d know." My breath caught. They were talking about my blindness.
A chilling certainty settled in my gut. Barely had I finished my last client when Ethan Vance ambushed me. A hand clamped over my mouth, a cold, sharp object pressed against my side. "You heard too much, Mr. Davis," Ethan' s voice whispered, colder, devoid of smoothness. A searing pain. Then, darkness, deeper than any blindness I had known. He murdered me.
But then, a gasp tore from my throat. My eyes flew open. Light. Blinding, painful light. I could see. Fluorescent lights. Desks. Students. It was the exam hall. Ten years ago. I was back. My vision, crystal clear, a painful paradox after a decade of blindness and the fresh memory of my murder.
Ethan Vance. He was here, in this room. The killer. The "culprit" who, in mere minutes, was about to destroy my life. He thought he' d silenced me, but now I was back. The clock on the wall showed 8:58 AM. Two minutes until my world went black in my first life. I had to stop it. This time, everything would be different. The Kidney He Stole: Ava's Reckoning
Horror Ava Miller, co-founder of AuraSynch and devoted partner to Ethan Reed, believed she had it all.
Her decade building their tech empire seemed a testament to enduring love.
Then, a latte from Ethan clouded her mind, initiating a nightmare.
Trapped, Ava overheard him arranging to harvest her kidney for his ex, Chloe Vance.
Frantic whispers revealed Ethan had also forced her to abort their child years ago, all for Chloe.
Her world collapsed, realizing the calculated exploitation of her body and love.
Ethan' s cold disregard, his abandonment for Chloe' s whims, and Chloe' s taunts highlighted Ava' s utter worthlessness.
Even after Ethan intentionally sacrificed her as bait on a bridge, his monstrous cruelty remained.
How could the man she loved see her as a disposable resource?
The crushing realization ignited an unwavering resolve, extinguishing her foolish affection.
Severing all ties, she erased him from her life, resigning and clearing their shared home.
With icy determination, Ava made a single call to Ethan' s fiercest rival, launching a shocking new chapter.
She emerged not as a victim, but a force ready for public revenge. Thanksgiving of Lies
Billionaires Thanksgiving at our Palo Alto mansion always felt like a picture-perfect scene.
My five-year-old son, Leo, innocently reached for a cookie offered by Chloe, my husband Ethan' s glowing, pregnant sister-in-law.
Then, horrifyingly, Leo started gasping for air, his small face turning a terrifying shade of blue.
He was deathly allergic to peanuts, and Chloe' s feigned shock, "Oh my god, I had no idea!" was chilling.
Ethan, my powerful tech mogul husband, immediately turned his furious gaze on me.
"Sarah, how could you be so careless? You know about his allergy!" he roared, for all our wealthy guests to hear.
At the hospital, while Leo fought for his life, Ethan comforted a tearful Chloe outside.
He sneered at me, "Amelia would have been a better mother," then forced me to endure an invasive stem cell donation for Chloe' s high-risk pregnancy.
I woke up, groggy and sore, just in time to hear the doctor confirm I' d likely never conceive again, followed by Ethan' s chilling response: "Good. She doesn' t deserve more children."
"Good." That word ignited a cold, sharp fury in my veins, extinguishing any remaining hope or loyalty.
Was I merely a disposable placeholder in this gilded cage, forced to sacrifice my body for the very people who had deliberately harmed my son?
The injustice burned hotter than any physical wound.
They thought I was broken, that I' d crawl back.
They were wrong.
My wedding ring felt like a brand, not a bond, as I slipped it off and handed Ethan the divorce papers.
My escape, meticulously planned, had just begun, and the world was about to see what happens when a broken woman rebuilds herself, stronger and utterly ruthless. The Scholarship Scammer's Downfall
Young Adult I had worked my entire life for this.
The Starlight Innovators Scholarship—a full ride to MIT—was finally mine, and the principal had just called my name.
But as I stood to accept, a shrill voice cut through the applause.
My father's mistress, Brenda Sullivan, publicly railed that her son deserved it, claiming my "generous" father had funded the school.
My father, Richard, who just lived off my mom's untold fortune, beamed beside her as they tried to snatch my future, painting me as ordinary.
I exposed their first lie: my reclusive genius mom, Eleanor Vance, was NovaCore's actual founder and the *real* donor.
Yet they didn't stop; they launched a vicious online smear campaign and my father even physically attacked my professor at MIT.
How could my own father, this charlatan, repeatedly try to sabotage my life with such brazen lies?
Why did they relentlessly pursue me, twisting truths and resorting to violence, just to protect their crumbling fabricated world?
But they underestimated me.
I was done being their victim.
When Kevin, in a desperate rage, broke into my dorm with a knife, I knew it was time to ensure their web of deceit collapsed—not just online, but for good. One Act of Kindness, One Blacklist
Modern Fresh out of grad school with a hefty education degree and crushing student loans.
I tweaked my resume, dropping the master's, just to get a job as a domestic.
My first gig was for the ultra-rich Davis family.
I quickly discovered their nine-year-old daughter, Chloe, wasn't a "terror" but a traumatized child, neglected and abused.
Her parents, especially her mother, ignored her cries for help, then punished her for every slight.
I couldn't stand by.
I protected Chloe, showed her kindness, and slowly, a bond formed.
But the moment their cruel matriarch caught wind of it, she used my falsified resume as an excuse to destroy me.
I was fired, blacklisted from every wealthy family in the city, and left penniless, deemed a liar and a troublemaker.
How could showing a suffering child an ounce of compassion lead to me losing everything?
I was stranded, my career shattered, all for daring to care where others wouldn't.
The injustice burned, leaving me with nothing but despair.
Just when I thought this was the end, Chloe, the very girl I was accused of "manipulating," ran away from her gilded cage and found me.
Clinging to me as her last hope, she whispered, "I have a plan." You might like
Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle — the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street — elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
“Call her Aunt.” Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
William Jafferson My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger.
During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience.
I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants.
My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure.
Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn.
Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery.
"Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever.
I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined. The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
Zi Ya The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me." The Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
Dong Lier For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire.
But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters.
For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions.
He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage?
He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk.
"Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn." No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns
Ela Osaretin "Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything."
For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'.
While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time.
He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree.
"Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free."
The submissive Amelia is dead.
The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me.
The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me.
The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me.
I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path.
When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees.
"They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."
My Accidental Billionaire husband
Favor V April They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, mine didn't.
I came back with a marriage certificate bearing a stranger's name, a ring worth more than my parents' love ever was, and a son whose father I've never seen, never known, never remembered.
I went to Vegas for a racing competition. I won. I celebrated. And somewhere between the victory and the sunrise, my life changed forever.
For six years, I've lived with the consequences of one reckless night. I built an empire. I raised my son. And I searched for the man who changed my life without even knowing it.
Then fate laughed in my face.
My sister married my ex-fiancé-the man I was promised to since childhood. The man I was supposed to become Mrs. Windsor for. The man who now wears my family name... and looks far too much like my child.
Every time I'm near him, the past presses closer. Every glance feels like a question I'm terrified to ask. I shouldn't notice him. I shouldn't feel anything. He is my sister's husband.
But some secrets refuse to stay buried.
Because the truth about Vegas isn't just in the ring on my finger or the child in my arms.
It's standing right in front of me.
And when it finally comes out, it won't just destroy a marriage, it will burn an empire to the ground.
Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle
Haley I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent—regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family’s shareholders.
But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked.
I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint.
The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I’d crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment.
I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever.
The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom—Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration.
"Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me." Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
TESS WHITE I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground. I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. No More Submission: The Heiress Strikes Back
Bing Xialuo I spent five years acting as the perfect, invisible caretaker for my wealthy family, meticulously managing their health and social standing while they treated me like a ghost.
Then, my nightmare became reality when my brother Alon shoved me out of bed, forcing me to apologize to our adopted sister, Fallon, for a jealousy I never felt.
My parents and brother stood over me, their eyes filled with unfiltered disgust, demanding I play the servant to a girl who was actively plotting my social destruction.
They froze my accounts, stripped me of my dignity, and mocked my existence, fully expecting me to crawl back to them in tears like I did in my other, broken life.
I stared at their entitled faces, feeling a cold, sharp clarity wash over me; they were so obsessed with status that they didn't realize they had just handed the keys to their own ruin to a complete amateur.
Why was I still playing the martyr for people who would watch me burn without blinking?
I stood up, walked away from their chaos, and cut the final tie, leaving them to face the ruthless social elite with a liability they couldn't control. 
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