Xin Zhi
14 Published Stories
Xin Zhi's Books and Stories
Trapped By My Sister's Billionaire Fiance
Billionaires I am a struggling ballet dancer drowning in medical debt to keep my comatose mentor alive.
To save my career, I was forced to attend a private VIP club to appease a wealthy donor who had assaulted me, but when he tried to humiliate me, I desperately begged a mysterious billionaire in the shadows for help.
He saved me, only to lock me in his Maybach and declare that I was now his prey. I barely escaped into the rain that night. But the nightmare had just begun. The next day, I discovered this ruthless tycoon, Cornell Knight, was actually engaged to my estranged sister. When I visited her penthouse, he secretly dug his foot into my injured ankle under the coffee table while playing the perfect fiancé. Later, he cornered me in the elevator, threatening to unplug my mentor's ventilator and ruin my sister's life if I exposed him. He cloned my phone, isolated me, and even bought a Michelin-star restaurant just to watch me suffer from his private suite.
"You're my prey, little swan, and I always collect my debts."
I was suffocating under his absolute control. Why was a man who had the entire world at his fingertips so obsessed with torturing a penniless dancer?
Looking up at the mirrored ceiling where I knew he was watching, I finally stopped shaking. Since running away was impossible, I had to find a way to destroy him first. Unwanted Wife: Dancing With The Blackwell Devil
Modern I was the invisible daughter of the Graves family, a living ghost in a house of gold. On the morning of my half-sister Brittny’s wedding to the terrifying Elliot Blackwell, I watched from the shadows as she escaped, leaving behind a ruined reputation and a bankrupt legacy.
The panic in the foyer was a masterpiece of dysfunction. My father and stepmother realized their social ladder was burning to ash, and they only had one card left to play to save their fortune.
"We promised them a bride," my stepmother whispered, her eyes settling on me like a butcher assessing a spare piece of meat.
They didn't just want to sell me to the Blackwells; they planned to trigger a legal clause to steal my late mother’s multi-million dollar trust fund the moment I said "I do." I was being traded like a commodity to cover my father’s gambling debts, forced to marry a man the world whispered was a cold-blooded monster.
To them, I was a sacrificial lamb, a spare part used to fix a broken machine. I stood there, listening to them plot my ruin, and I realized that in this house, blood wasn't thicker than water—it was just another currency.
How could my own father sign away my life for a merger? Why did they think I would go quietly into the arms of a man who looked like he had just walked off a battlefield?
But they didn't know I was the one who orchestrated Brittny's escape. As the armored Blackwell motorcade smashed through our front gates like a strike team, I didn't cry. I walked into the parlor with a transfer protocol of my own, forcing my father to return every cent of my inheritance before I ever touched that white silk dress.
Elliot Blackwell didn't come for a wedding; he came for a head. When he gripped my chin, his eyes dark with a terrifying, predator-like clarity, I didn't flinch.
"You're not the bride I paid for," he growled.
"I'm the one you're getting," I whispered back. The game was just beginning, and for the first time in my life, I was playing for keeps. Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: Now Shine
Modern My mother was dying, her last wish to see the man I'd secretly married three years ago. But as I frantically called his phone, which went straight to voicemail, he was busy marrying my childhood rival in a lavish ceremony right outside the hospital.
He publicly denied knowing me, his wife of three years, the secret benefactor who built his entire tech empire from the ground up.
To humiliate me further, he allowed his new bride to broadcast a video of my deepest, most private trauma to all their wedding guests, dismissing my pain as "gossip."
My mother died heartbroken from his betrayal.
But they made a fatal mistake. They thought I was just a poor, pathetic wife they could discard.
They didn't know I was the anonymous, globally feared tech mogul they'd been trying to impress all along. And I just gave my second-in-command a single order: "Burn it all down." His Faked Infertility, My Sweet Revenge
Romance I made my husband, Damian, the youngest Chief of Surgery in the country. I built his career from scratch, defying my own family to marry him.
Then, he asked me to give our au pair a six-figure salary and a company car.
He called me a cold-hearted bitch when I refused, claiming she was a poor single mother of five. But I saw her wearing my missing diamond bracelet and carrying a Chanel bag worth more than my car.
He flaunted their affair at a professional conference, calling me a "worthless capitalist princess" while she played the victim.
For years, I'd spent a fortune trying to cure his infertility. It was our secret pain. Now, he was using it to justify his affair with a "hyper-fertile" woman he claimed could give him the sons I couldn't.
As he stood on stage for his keynote speech, ready to accept an award, I walked past him to the podium. I had my own presentation to share with the live-streamed global audience-a slideshow of their eight-year affair, complete with hotel receipts and bank transfers. Dying For Her Love, Again
Romance The funeral director droned on about casket options, but Ethan Miller' s gaze was fixed on a TV screen showing Olivia Hayes, his Olivia, preparing for a lavish wedding.
Just this morning, he' d been released from a clinical trial, given weeks to live-his body failing from experimental drugs.
He was planning his own funeral, while she was planning her perfect life with another man, Daniel Stone.
Three years ago, he' d shattered their world, staging a cruel breakup with a hired actress, making Olivia believe he was a gold-digger who never loved her.
He watched her drop his engagement ring into a glass of wine, her eyes burning with hate.
It had to be this way; he had to destroy their love to save her life, to force her to accept an organ transplant.
Now, broke and dying, he tried to sell a painting of her, a last desperate act to repay kindness, but instead, he was humiliated by Olivia and Daniel, accused of being a thief, and left bleeding on the lobby floor.
He was the villain in her story, despised for a secret sacrifice no one knew.
Olivia dragged him to her mansion, forcing him into a claustrophobic shed, taunting him, and making him toil as a servant at her engagement party.
He served champagne at the celebration of the life he' d given up for her, enduring the ultimate torture.
When she confronted him, he delivered the final blow, denying any love, cutting her completely free.
He sealed his fate, his death, making it his last gift to her.
But a car crash swiftly brought Olivia to the brink of death once more, her transplanted kidney failing.
With agonizing clarity, Ethan knew the horrifying truth: he was her perfect match, the ultimate price for the survival he' d signed away.
He raced to the hospital, his dying body fueled by a desperate surge of adrenaline.
"Use me," he rasped, his voice steady.
He whispered his desperate confession into her ear on the gurney beside her, a truth she might never wake to hear.
Olivia woke to whispers of an anonymous donor, Daniel' s lies, and a persistent unease.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place: his feigned cruelty, the shed, the rain, and his final whispered words.
Ethan wasn' t a monster; he was a martyr, and he had sacrificed everything for her.
Fueled by grief and rage, Olivia exposed the corrupt pharmaceutical CEO who orchestrated Ethan' s fate.
But the victory was hollow; it wouldn't bring Ethan back.
She stood at their dream cottage, the deed in her hand, the truth a crushing weight.
"My death. Now we' re even."
His words, echoing in her mind, ignited a stark realization.
With tears streaming, she made her final choice: to join him, completing their tragic love story on her own terms. Her Betrayal, My Freedom
Modern My wife, Sarah, started acting strange about a week ago.
She was walking on eggshells, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.
Then came dinner, where she sprung it on me: "I was looking online and found a great clinic that does comprehensive health check-ups. They have a couples' package."
It sounded reasonable, but the forced casualness in her voice made my stomach tighten. We were both in perfect health.
I looked at her, really looked at her, and saw not concern, but a desperate, calculating fear.
"Sarah, what' s this really about?" I asked, and the pretense of a normal dinner shattered.
She confessed, not with words, but with a flinch: this was about Mark, her childhood sweetheart, who was dying and needed a kidney.
The "comprehensive health check-up" was a screening – for me.
"He' s not my ex-boyfriend!" she cried. "He' s my friend! And I' m just asking you to get tested. That' s all. It' s just a blood test. It' s not a big deal."
Not a big deal? My body, my organ, reduced to a spare part.
Then came the ultimate bargaining chip: "If you' re a match… and if you decide to do it… I' ll do anything. We can finally start our family. We can have a baby, just like you' ve always wanted."
The baby I wanted so desperately was now a reward for donating my kidney to the man she truly loved.
In that moment, I saw her with soul-crushing clarity. Her priority wasn' t me. It was him.
My parents, her unwitting accomplices, had already been brought in. My mother, trembling, begged me to go. My father simply said, "Son, listen to your wife."
I was trapped, but I refused to be just a means to an end.
When I signed that non-disclosure agreement, forced by threats against my aging father, I was bleeding, desperate, and completely broken.
But when I saw Sarah and Mark, pregnant, together in the hospital hallway, something cold and clear ignited within me.
They thought they had won. They thought I was broken and silent.
They were wrong. Goodbye, Brother, Forever
Romance My whole life, I believed in a quiet promise: that the boy my parents took in, Daniel, the brother I never had, would one day be my husband.
I spent years capturing his every moment through my camera lens, building a portfolio that was less art and more a diary of a love I thought was undeniably mutual.
That belief shattered the moment he walked in with Sarah, a woman who radiated polished beauty that instantly made me feel clumsy and plain.
"Ellie, meet Sarah," he beamed, a joy I'd never seen directed at me, "my fiancée. Your future sister-in-law."
Sister-in-law. The word seared into me, branding a permanent boundary on the future I'd painstakingly built brick by brick.
He was my protector, yes, but I realized too late he was protecting a sister, not a future wife.
The ice spread through my veins, but the worst was yet to come.
Sarah, sweet as syrup, accused me of assault, even tearing our childhood photo, a treasured irreplaceable, right in front of Daniel.
He didn't hesitate; he chose her, his face a mask of cold disappointment as he told me, "Maybe this shouldn't be your home."
My world fractured, yet in the wreckage, a chilling clarity emerged: I wouldn't fight for a love that didn't see me, or a home that no longer welcomed me.
I would leave, taking my photography and my broken heart to Europe, to build a future that was entirely my own, a life without him. Decade Long Project and Her Revenge
Modern For ten years, I poured my life, my youth, and every cent into building a tech empire with Alex. My desk, once beside his in the CEO' s office, was now a cramped corner, and my new job? Fetching coffee for his pregnant fiancée, Emily, who' d been with the company barely six months.
Then came the brutal blow: Alex announced their engagement, glowing beside Emily, never once meeting my eyes. The next day, I was demoted to "Executive Assistant." My core designs for our decade-long project were presented to the board, but I wasn' t invited. Emily emerged, feigning sympathy, telling me Alex found my work "amateurish" and that the project had "evolved under her direction."
That night, I quit, taking my secret AI chip blueprints with me, the ones Alex knew nothing about. He scoffed, "She\'s nothing without me. She\'ll be back begging in a week." He had no idea what was coming.
Weeks later, at the annual tech gala, Alex cornered me, demanding the blueprints, accusing me of theft. Emily, ever the victim, tried to orchestrate a severe allergic reaction to humiliate me, but in a twist of fate, she triggered it on herself. As chaos erupted, security stormed in, targeting Alex' s company, and a chandelier crashed. Alex, with Emily in tow, fled, leaving me for dead.
Injured and abandoned, I limped out, but Alex reappeared, cradling Emily, his eyes alight with murderous rage. He ordered his men to strip me in front of hundreds, exposing every scar from the battles I' d fought for him. As Emily feigned a worsening condition, he ordered my rare blood type to be forcibly harvested, seeing me not as a person, but a walking blood bag. I blacked out, believing he'd finally succeeded in destroying me.
But the real story was just beginning. I woke up, not broken, but reborn, ready to claim a future where Alex was nothing but a painful, distant memory. When the Angel Sings Again
Fantasy On our tenth wedding anniversary, I believed I would finally become a true wife to Pastor Caleb Hughes, the man I dedicated my life and my "Voice of an Angel" to.
But as I approached his study door, I heard voices that shattered my world.
His mistress, Maria, demanded my voice for her unborn child, and Caleb agreed to steal it through a "medical procedure" after a staged accident.
My blood ran cold, realizing my decade-long marriage, my faith, my entire life, was a calculated lie to steal my sacred gift.
The next morning, humiliation became physical torment as Caleb paraded Maria as the "First Lady," giving her my mother's heirloom locket and watching impassively as my voice, my very essence, was brutally taken.
My loyal friend, Debra, rushed to help, only to be thrown against the marble stairs by Caleb' s guards, dying for trying to save me.
What monster plots such a betrayal, then callously lets my only friend die for it?
In my desperation, I signed divorce papers in my own blood and leaped from the bell tower, seeking an end to the unbearable pain.
But I didn't die; instead, I woke in a hidden convent, discovering my "angel voice" was actually a birthright, a divine power to heal and to judge.
Now, as the Matriarch of the ancient Cantors, I will return to claim justice and unleash my reborn voice upon those who stole everything from me. The Guardian of the Curse
Fantasy My family has a secret, a curse: our condemnations come true.
To protect everyone, I chose silence, living as a janitor, assumed to be mute.
My wife, Nicole, a ruthless pharmaceutical heiress, married me only because her superstitious grandfather believed a "silent man" would protect their fortune.
I accepted my humiliating role for my devout mother, who just wanted to see me settled.
Then, my mother, trying to help a pregnant Nicole, baked her a pecan pie-a seemingly innocent act.
But Matthew, a family protégé now Nicole' s lover, intercepted the pie, knowing he had a deadly nut allergy.
I tried to warn him, but my silent throat failed me as he took a bite, then collapsed in agonizing anaphylaxis.
Nicole screamed, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at my mother, who stood frozen with terror.
The next day, Nicole ordered my frail mother taken to a state nursing home with a dark reputation, dismissing my desperate plea as an accident.
When I confronted Nicole at Matthew' s hospital bedside, she scoffed, revealed my life was a charade based on a fortune teller's whim, and had her bodyguards brutally beat me.
As I lay broken, years of silence shattered, and a raw condemnation tore from my throat: "May you lose what you love most and live a life of bitter loneliness."
This curse, a power I had tried to bury, was now loose, and it was only the beginning of their downfall. My Husband's Funeral, My New Beginning
Modern My husband, Andrew, told me he was dying from an inoperable brain tumor, then drove his car off a pier, a grand gesture to spare me, his unassuming librarian wife, from a long, painful goodbye.
In my first life, I believed him.
I jumped into the freezing bay, screaming my secret – I' d just won ten million dollars in the Powerball, enough to save him.
But his eyes met mine in the dark water, cold and calculating, utterly devoid of hope.
He didn't swim to the surface; he swam to me, his charming smile replaced by a grimace of pure greed.
He held my head under the water, stealing my life and my fortune as my lungs burned.
Then, I woke up.
I was back on the pier, the screech of tires echoing, Andrew' s car once again sailing into the bay.
It was happening again, but this time, I knew.
My love for him had drowned, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.
He wasn't taking anything from me ever again.
This time, I was the one in control, and I started to scream, not from grief, but from a white-hot rage ready to burn down everything they had built. The 100th Goodbye
Romance Ethan Miller, a meticulously dedicated executive assistant, harbored a quiet, consuming love for his brilliant, cold CEO, Seraphina Croft, for a decade, meticulously executing their long-standing, seemingly playful pact: he would propose 99 times, and on the monumental 100th attempt, she promised to finally say yes.
On the highly anticipated 100th proposal day, standing hopeful and alone on the iconic steps of the New York Public Library, Ethan didn't receive a message from Seraphina; instead, his phone exploded with viral images showing her radiant and passionately kissing her trendy fitness influencer boyfriend, Chase Dubois, at a Silicon Valley gala.
Left utterly humiliated and publicly scorned, Ethan became an overnight internet sensation, dubbed "The Library Groom," a pitiful figure against the grand facade as speculation, pity, and cruel mockery flooded online forums about the woman who had so callously stood him up.
His heart, which had swelled with unwavering hope through countless rejections, now reeled from the brutal reality: was his decade of silent devotion and tireless support nothing more than a convenient tool for her public image, a disposable accessory to her soaring career?
As a violent thunderstorm mirrored the turmoil within, and Seraphina then casually suggested a "101st proposal" purely to fix her tarnished PR, Ethan, finally seeing her true manipulative nature, made a decisive, life-altering choice: he severed all ties, resigned from AuraCorp, and vanished into the pouring rain, determined to build a new life from the ashes of his shattered love. The CEO Who Forgot His Savior
Romance Seven years ago, I secretly gave Michael, my then-boyfriend, a life-saving kidney.
I faked a cruel betrayal, vanishing to manage my deteriorating health and mounting medical debt, ensuring his future.
Now, I watch him, a celebrated CEO, accept an award on TV.
My old phone buzzes.
It's him.
"Seven years," he says, "you chose money over me. Any regrets?"
My bitter laugh is my only reply, as I clutch my $2000 overdue dialysis bill.
Weeks later, we collide at a clinic.
He's vibrant, with a new fiancée, Jessica.
I, frail and scarred, try to ask for a loan.
His fiancée, Jessica, stages a fall, scattering my medical reports at his feet.
He reads my kidney failure reports, sneering, convinced I'm faking for cash.
At a gala, he forces me to chug a bottle of whiskey for thirty grand.
I comply, knowing it's poison.
I collapse, vomiting blood, the room erupting.
Everyone sees the greedy ex getting her comeuppance.
The internet savages me, labeling me a gold-digger.
Yet, the vitality in his stride – that was my sacrifice.
The man I saved now believes I’m faking illness, mocking my pain.
As I lay dying, my best friend finally cracks, screaming the truth: "She gave you her kidney, you bastard! That anonymous donor? That was Emily!"
His face, once sneering, turned to horror.
But would this revelation be enough to save me, or would his ultimate atonement demand an even greater sacrifice? 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 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."
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." 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." 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.
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. 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. 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. 
/1/112886/coverorgin.jpg?v=f4941e2c46f5d7daf4ee1cf82e989dcf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113345/coverorgin.jpg?v=b97f4c85c89fbe6e6dc539b4ec796208&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/99381/coverorgin.jpg?v=4c1db5d4348cfbabc8ed3379ce1ead79&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/97679/coverorgin.jpg?v=c2e00d3ab683c526edbc3211e415e291&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86582/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106212021&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85728/coverorgin.jpg?v=55fb17b767c162c063fa6a38de6f6f5c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84824/coverorgin.jpg?v=c3498694ff51592247da0f54bac146ff&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84550/coverorgin.jpg?v=d696734573539147d3f80084ac93dbcd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84196/coverorgin.jpg?v=42ecd0c7559c526d91d829cda26990ed&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84106/coverorgin.jpg?v=c0327466130afe3cf8747610fee29703&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84107/coverorgin.jpg?v=1baef515c79e3bb77afc32bea58ace36&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81326/coverorgin.jpg?v=dff91609f4e104f3ee430ccc931f84f1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80524/coverorgin.jpg?v=1bd1912b6857613c2529d46ff75f39a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18805/coverorgin.jpg?v=20250117142028&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110451/coverorgin.jpg?v=b9c237080c57bae67ec71574a08083ca&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113090/coverorgin.jpg?v=022cc07114d8ffc014ac53d2889aeac4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112771/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cdc8f90c863fd179c7930683f5edc44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/95392/coverorgin.jpg?v=168c2636290e5625d64a748cd16703d8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113338/coverorgin.jpg?v=bca0d3ad477281cababf38dd09f47622&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107484/coverorgin.jpg?v=82bf8ac16f90870b0698cac2cb499583&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112007/coverorgin.jpg?v=a50eb2275df9d10a1189d151a3617521&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113254/coverorgin.jpg?v=1b2a39259b79fad549fa75c4dca9284b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82937/coverorgin.jpg?v=2907194aa510c647b04f7cba8770d5c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112787/coverorgin.jpg?v=bdd683d05c41c30b98bdff89f4642393&imageMogr2/format/webp)