Xing Bao
16 Published Stories
Xing Bao's Books and Stories
From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress
Modern I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother’s snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real.
But when I went to the City Clerk’s office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity.
"There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married."
The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster’s mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster’s exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner.
I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife—I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go.
He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune.
While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail.
"Let's get to work," I said. The Villain's Popular Apocalyptic Bride
Sci-fi Julia was anchored to the freezing concrete floor, forced to watch the man beside her get his head blown off.
The mechanical system in her head announced she had transmigrated into the apocalyptic novel Wasteland Frenzy-right at the villain's execution phase.
A tall figure in an immaculate black suit stepped through the blood. Byron Serrano, the man the original host had tormented for years, grabbed her jaw with an ice-cold leather glove.
"My dear fiancée, now, it is your turn."
His henchman pulled out a rusted skinning knife, aiming the serrated edge directly at Julia's right eye.
The system blared a fatal crisis warning. She was going to be brutally tortured, skinned, and murdered to pay for the sadistic games of the body's previous owner. The agonizing phantom pain and the suffocating stench of rotting meat paralyzed her.
She screamed internally, cursing the chains and the unfairness of it all. Why did she have to die for a vicious persona she never chose?
Just as the blade touched her skin, the system triggered a time rewind.
Julia gasped, waking up in a luxurious bed exactly three months before the apocalypse outbreak.
The system immediately ordered her to take a bloody whip and punish the heavily injured Byron downstairs to maintain the plot.
Julia coldly refused.
Instead, she sold her fifty-million-dollar inheritance for five million in immediate cash, bought an underground doomsday bunker, and secretly bandaged the bleeding villain's wounds in the dead of night.
This time, she would survive her own way. Rejected No More: The Exiled Princess Returns
Fantasy Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack. Too Late Mr CEO: Watch Me Reign
Romance For three years, Felicity lived in the shadows as Ellsworth's secret lover, even offering herself as a marriage pawn to secure his corporate empire.
But the moment his fragile "savior," Camila, returned, Ellsworth shredded Felicity's proposal without a second thought. He dragged her to an underground clinic, intending to forcibly drain her rare golden blood for Camila's surgery.
He stripped her of her dignity, evicted her into a freezing storm, and even offered her to a Wall Street predator.
When Felicity was secretly drugged and nearly assaulted at a club, Ellsworth didn't save her. Blinded by twisted jealousy, he believed she was willingly cheating.
He locked her in his estate's freezing cellar, chained her wrists, and brutally whipped her with a riding crop before violating her on the cold concrete floor.
The extreme physical trauma caused massive internal hemorrhaging.
Waking up in the hospital, the doctor delivered the final, crushing blow: her uterus was irreversibly damaged. She would never be a mother.
She had given him her youth, her blood, and her absolute loyalty, only to be butchered for a manipulative fraud who faked her illness.
As Camila stood outside her ward gloating over her barrenness, the last fragile thread of Felicity's humanity snapped.
She ripped the IV from her bleeding arm and walked out.
"From this day forward, I will burn his empire to the ground!"
She picked up her phone and dialed his deadliest Wall Street rival. The Price Of His Double Life
Modern After seven years, my fiancé Elias and I were a month away from our wedding. I' d just been laid off from my architecture firm, but he promised to take care of me, calling me his queen. He was my rock, my future.
Then, a single Instagram post shattered my world: a picture of a man's hand with a bandage exactly like the one Elias had, holding the hand of an influencer bragging about her rich, married "sugar daddy."
The more I scrolled, the worse it got. He hadn't just cheated; he had orchestrated my firing, calling it "budget cuts," so his mistress could take my place. He even used the engagement party invitations I helped design for their future.
He called me his "plain Jane architect," a boring fiancée he was escaping from. For six months, he had been living a double life, all while planning our wedding and systematically destroying mine.
So at our lavish engagement party, when he abandoned me mid-celebration for his mistress's fake emergency, I didn't cry.
I took the microphone, canceled the wedding, and played every single screenshot of his betrayal on the ballroom's giant screen for our hundreds of guests to see. Her Choice, My New Beginning
Romance On our fifth anniversary, I waited alone at "La Lune," the restaurant of our first date, a single white rose and a velvet proposal box in my pocket. But she never showed. No text, no call, just a creeping coldness in my chest. This wasn't like Sophia.
Then I saw it on Instagram: a flashy video from a tech expo. My girlfriend, Sophia Chen, laughing, handing a birthday cake to her new assistant, Leo Davis. The caption: "#BestBossEver." She hadn't forgotten; she'd chosen to celebrate him.
Anger, hot and sharp, burned through me. She rented an entire expo hall for him, but for me, not even a text. My world stopped. The rose, the ring, everything felt stupid. I walked out, leaving the rose, dropping the ring into a trash can.
The feeling of loss was immense, but a hard resolve replaced it. This wasn't a mistake; it was her choice. Now, I would make mine. I remembered all the red flags I'd ignored. Her growing admiration for Leo, the son of a rumored tech mogul. Her late nights, her defensiveness, her distant voice.
The jealousy, the arguments, the feeling of being an obstacle to her success, not a partner. Each incident, each public display of her and Leo's "teamwork" while I was relegated to the sidelines, gnawed at me. She never corrected them. She just let the narrative build.
"You're obsessed with feelings, Ethan," she once said. "Success isn't about feelings. It's about power. It's about winning. It's a shame you'll never understand that." She chose what she thought was status and power over five years of my love and sacrifice.
Overwhelmed, I packed a bag. Just as I zipped it shut, she walked in, cheerful and oblivious. "Ethan? You're still up?" she asked. I delivered my final blow: "Happy anniversary, Sophia." Her face went pale. On her phone, a notification from Leo flashed: "Tonight was amazing. Can't wait for our next 'celebration.' ;) You're the best, Soph." The winking emoji sealed my fate.
I made the call. "Dad," I said, my voice steady. "Is the offer still on the table? The one concerning Olivia Hayes? Yes. The arranged marriage. I accept." Betrayed Vows, Unfulfilled Wishes
Romance My mother was dying, her last wish for me to be settled, to be married. I rushed to my girlfriend, Olivia, the woman I' d loved for six years. "Let's get married. Now," I pleaded. For twenty-seven agonizing days, I begged, each day met with a new excuse.
On the twenty-seventh day, she finally agreed. I waited at the courthouse, a bouquet of my mother' s favorite flowers in hand, hope surging through me. Then my phone buzzed. An Instagram notification. A picture of Olivia, grinning, a marriage certificate held high, Noah Peterson's arm possessively around her. The date on the certificate? The very first day I had started begging her.
My world shattered. My phone rang again. It was the hospital. My mother was gone. She had died alone, her last wish unfulfilled, while I was waiting for a woman who had been lying to me for a month, already secretly married to her childhood friend, Noah.
The betrayal was absolute. The casual intimacy between Olivia and Noah, the excuses, the constant prioritization of his fabricated problems over my dying mother' s last days-it all flooded my mind. I was a fool, blind to the truth that had been hiding in plain sight.
I pulled out my phone, typed a single, final message, "Olivia, never again," and blocked her. I left the city, cutting off everything, ready to rebuild my life, honor my mother, and finally, honor myself. The Poisonous Marriage's Final Breath
Modern My grandfather, Arthur, was a poison. He sucked the air out of every room he entered, leaving a trail of broken people, including my grandmother whose heart gave out too soon, and my father and aunt, constantly torn down by his biting criticism.
At his 80th birthday party, despite my optimistic efforts-a magnificent cake and a thoughtful gift-he publicly humiliated me, sneering at my bakery and calling me a "cripple," then physically shoved me to the floor, injuring my arm.
This act finally broke my father' s decades of suppressed rage. He roared, sent my carefully baked cake flying against the wall, and vowed to kill Arthur if he ever touched me again. The family, witnessing his monstrous cruelty, finally united against him, with Aunt Carol sobbing and calling him a monster, especially after he cruelly mocked the memory of Uncle David, who died saving Arthur' s life.
I was stunned, then enraged, watching his self-pitying performance. How could a man so toxic, so utterly devoid of empathy, continue to inflict such pain on the people who were supposed to love him?
With nothing left to lose, we cut him off entirely, expecting his retaliation. What we didn' t expect was for him to take his malice public on a livestream, only to be exposed by an unexpected truth-teller, leading to his swift, ironic downfall. Betrayed By Love, Reborn in Vengeance
Billionaires The warehouse air bit deep, the night before my engagement party. I was Noah Miller, a tech prodigy, about to marry Emily Stone. Now, I lay broken on a frozen concrete floor, limbs shattered, a final blow to my head fading the world to red and black.
Men sent by my own fiancée did this. Left for dead, I survived on frozen concrete, only to find myself in a hospital with my mother, Susan Miller, CEO of Miller Corp, vowing revenge. But her words turned arctic as I overheard her: "He and his father were getting too ambitious. They were a threat to Alex' s position."
Alex, my adopted brother. The son she truly cherished. They plotted to install Alex as my replacement, to marry Emily and take over the company. My mother casually dismissed my critical injuries, stating my ability to have children was "irrelevant" since I wouldn' t inherit anyway. She chose to let me be crippled.
The family I thought I had was a snake pit. The devastating truth hit me - my own mother orchestrated this, all for Alex, and for his biological father, Robert Davis, the man who swapped us at birth. She knew the truth, yet embraced the lie, denying me the love and privilege that should have been mine.
My life was a lie. My future, gone. What was the point of surviving? My very existence became a testament to their cruelty.
But somewhere deep inside, a flicker of outrage ignited. A hidden phone, a forgotten contact-Leo, a ghost from my street past. He picked up. "I need your help," I rasped. This wasn't about hope. It was a cold, hard promise of revenge. Beyond Her Cruelest Lie
Modern The "Dreamland Adventures" carousel flashed, a stark contrast to the bruised purple sky. It was my twins' fifth birthday, a day meant for joy, but dread tightened in my stomach with every distant thunder roll.
Sophia, my neurodivergent daughter, pointed at the Ferris wheel, her voice pure happiness: "Daddy, look! Can we go on that one next? Please?"
Leo, always more sensitive, clutched my hand. "It' s getting loud, Daddy."
My wife, Olivia, a busy CEO, had insisted on this flashy park, then vanished. This was her grand gesture, now she was nowhere. My tenth call finally connected.
"What, Ethan?" Olivia' s voice was sharp, impatient, a loud cocktail party behind her. Mark Jenkins, her ex, laughed nearby.
I pleaded, "Olivia, where are you? The storm is getting worse, the park is shutting down rides. The kids are scared."
"Don' t be so dramatic. It' s just a little rain." Her lie, so blatant, left me breathless.
"I can' t just leave, Ethan. Mark is having an emergency. His father is ill. I need to be here for him."
I held Sophia' s hopeful gaze. Olivia' s dismissive sigh echoed: "Sophia will be fine. You' re there, aren' t you? That' s your job. Just take them on one more ride to shut them up and then go home."
My heart screamed no, but her words pushed me into a corner. "Okay, sweetie," I said, my voice tight. "One last ride."
"This is the best birthday ever!" Sophia shouted as the Cosmic Rocket lurched upward. It was the last thing I ever heard her say.
The ride groaned, a metallic screech ripped the air, and her car detached. It just… fell. My world ended.
Hours later, on the wet pavement, I received a notification. Olivia' s social media: a picture of her and Mark, champagne glasses raised. "To new beginnings and rekindling old flames! Best night ever."
She was celebrating. While our daughter lay dead and our son was broken, she was celebrating. A black, icy rage washed over me. It wasn't an accident. It was the direct result of her choice.
Sophia is dead.
"Ethan, this is not the time for your melodrama. I told you I' m dealing with something serious. Stop trying to get my attention."
Her phone call followed, syrupy and annoyed: "Honestly, Ethan, you need to grow up. I have a real crisis on my hands. Just handle the kids. I' ll send you some money. Buy them something nice." Then, muffled, "Sorry, honey. Just Ethan being needy again."
Needy. For telling her our child was gone.
My father-in-law, Richard Hayes, arrived, crumpled and old. "My little Sophia."
I showed him Olivia' s texts. He heard the voice note. His face shifted from grief to disbelief, then to a deep, terrible fury. "That… woman. She is no daughter of mine."
He looked at me, eyes clearing. "I' m so sorry, Ethan. I' m sorry I ever let you marry her. I was a fool."
The doctor' s words echoed: "He' s not speaking, Mr. Davis. Selective mutism." Olivia hadn' t just abandoned them. She had destroyed them both.
In that sterile hallway, my decision was made. Not about grief, but justice. "I want a divorce. She will never see Leo again."
Richard nodded. "Whatever it takes. I' m with you." The Woman Who Stole Everything
Modern The old house felt wrong, but we still visited my husband' s stroke-stricken mother, Susan, every Sunday.
Then, a new caregiver, Olivia, appeared – too young, too perfect, her presence immediately unsettling.
My father-in-law, Robert, was completely smitten, fawning over her while she brazenly blocked us from seeing Susan, claiming doctor' s orders.
The condescension, the hidden glances between them, and the cloying perfume in my mother-in-law' s house twisted my gut.
What was really happening behind the closed doors of Susan' s room?
A few days later, a faint thud and a low moan from Susan' s window sent a chill down my spine, confirming my darkest fears.
They were hiding something, hurting her.
My husband, David, furious, brought home a tiny nanny cam disguised as a USB charger.
Our desperate plan was set: on Sunday, during a staged argument, I would sneak into Susan' s room and plug it in.
The live feed was horrifying: Robert, his wife paralyzed in bed, was canoodling with Olivia, calling Susan "useless."
Then Olivia dropped a bombshell: "I'm pregnant."
David was incandescent with rage.
We stormed back to the house, bursting in on their cozy scene.
"I know everything," David roared, confronting his father.
Olivia, playing the victim, announced her pregnancy, but a weak, guttural sound from Susan' s room shifted David' s focus.
He shoved his father aside and rushed in, only to discover Susan neglected, abused, and terrified.
Blinded by fury, David lunged at Robert, and in the chaos, Olivia feigned a dramatic fall, screaming, "My baby!"
The police arrived, called by Robert, and David was arrested for assault, leaving me alone in the wreckage.
Susan' s rasping whisper, "Snow… fake," confirmed my worst suspicions: Olivia was a fraud.
With David jailed and Olivia claiming a miscarriage, I was drowning, but my mother' s firm voice cut through the despair.
"She's done this before, Sarah. This is a professional operation."
My despair turned to a cold, hard resolve: Olivia had overplayed her hand.
Justice for Susan was now my only goal. Love's Disgrace: A Family's Cruelty
Modern My name is Liam Turner, and for three years, I was Northwood High' s academic golden boy.
Every award, every scholarship, every path to an Ivy League dream was mine.
Until my step-brother, Ethan Hayes, stepped into the spotlight and stole it all.
"And the award for Academic Excellence… goes to… Ethan Hayes!"
That was just the beginning.
The next day, as I studied my meticulously organized notes in the library, Principal Thompson's voice boomed: "Liam Turner, stand up."
Ethan, feigning concern, held up a crumpled sheet from my own notes.
"He had these notes... hidden under his textbook. He was copying from them during yesterday's final exam."
My blood ran cold.
"That's a lie! Those are my study notes! You stole them from my room!"
But no one believed me.
"You are a disgrace to this institution," Principal Thompson declared, snatching my binder.
"Your scholarship is revoked. You are hereby expelled from Northwood High. Get out of my sight."
I was a cheater, a fraud, in an instant.
My own mother arrived, not to defend me, but to embrace Ethan, her "poor baby" who had bravely exposed my "betrayal."
My stepfather, Robert Hayes, didn't hesitate.
He slapped me across the face, the crack echoing through the stunned library.
"You have brought shame on this family," he hissed.
My mother' s words cut deeper: "Why would I ever believe you over Ethan? You've always been a disappointment."
They threw me out, leaving my shattered laptop and shredded notebooks on the driveway.
Ethan, with a knowing smirk, offered me a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
"Here," he sneered. "For the road."
I ran, the humiliation scorching my soul, but in the desolate quiet of a park bench, rage ignited into a cold, hard resolve.
They wanted me to fail, to disappear.
I would prove them wrong.
I would rise so high they would be forced to look up and see the man they had discarded.
My weapon?
The SATs. No Longer Love My Step-Brother, But My Contracted Husband
Romance "Yes, Dad. I agree." My voice was steady, my eyes fixed on a ceiling crack. My father needed a lifeline for his company, and I, Ava, was his duty, a merger by marriage.
But before I could even process the words, my stepbrother, Liam, snatched the phone from my hand, his grip crushing, his eyes blazing. "Who the hell are you marrying?" he snarled, a harsh laugh ripping through him when he learned of my defiance. "You live in my house, Ava. Everything you do is my business."
For a decade, I had silently loved him, only to be yanked back into his cruel games. Just last week, his drunken confession of "Maybe it's always been you" had sent my foolish heart soaring, before Chloe' s reappearance instantly turned him cold. He'd discarded my cherished birthday gift, a hand-carved bird with a broken wing, into the trash, a brutal symbol of his rejection. Then, Chloe vandalized the only photos I had of my deceased mother, and Liam let her. My world crumbled.
How could the boy who once swore to protect me become this monster? Dragged into public humiliation by Chloe's staged shopping fiasco, then publicly shamed by Liam online as an "obsessed stalker" to appease her. Abused physically, thrown into a sterile hospital room, forced into a procedure he believed would "solve his problem," all under the terrifying lie that I was pregnant to trap him. The utter violation, the betrayal of my trust and body, left me hollowed, a profound and sickening realization that I was merely a tool, a replacement for some lost love, Eleanor.
But their cruelty ignited something new within me. No more. I gathered the last remnants of my strength, my silent tears replaced by a chilling resolve. It was time to leave, to finally break free from this gilded cage, and reclaim myself. Beyond Their Gates: A Billionaire's Rise
Billionaires For seven years, I was a ghost in their sprawling estate, officially a husband but truly a glorified servant, burying my dreams to pay off their 'generosity.'
My own daughter, Molly, called me "Ethan" and saw me as just another part of the staff, while my wife and her parents constantly reminded me of my "place."
Then, after a late celebration for a minor promotion, I returned home only to find myself locked out, Nicole having changed the gate code as a petty power play.
I spent the night curled in my old pickup, staring at the grand house that was never my home, watching my own daughter look at me and walk away, leaving me to the cold.
How could I have so completely lost myself, and how could they be so utterly devoid of empathy for the man they claimed to have "saved"?
The next morning, I walked back into that house, handed her the divorce papers, and walked out of that life forever, ready to reclaim every single piece of myself they had stripped away. My Best Friend's Ex, My Career's End
Modern My NFL dream was within reach. I’d just led my team to a State Championship, and a scout from the Dallas Cowboys wanted to meet me. Life felt perfect.
Then Sophia called. Not to congratulate me, but to demand I attend her ex-fiancé, Lucas Sterling’s, "recovery party." He, a supposedly paralyzed race car driver, apparently needed my emotional support.
I missed the crucial Cowboys meeting. At that lavish party, Lucas, always the victim, publicly humiliated me, forcing a humiliating apology. He then "accidentally" ruined my championship jacket, a cherished symbol of years of dedication. Sophia just brushed it off, offering expensive gifts as "compensation."
I began logging every sacrifice, every forced compliance, in a personal ledger—a "debt" I owed Sophia for her family's help with my mother's experimental treatment. Each "gift" was just another painful tally of what I’d lost, from my father's treasured football to my dignity. Was my life just currency for them?
When the Jacksonville Jaguars offered a tryout, a second chance, Lucas orchestrated a horrific car crash, ending my career with a shattered arm. Sophia, fully aware, prioritized his theatrical injury, leaving me bleeding and broken. The 99th debt was paid, but I was done. I disappeared, leaving behind a life that had cost me everything. You might like
Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle
Ming Yue Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.
I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.
I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.
I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.
"If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned.
So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.
Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout.
But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back. The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Jilted Heiress: Marrying The Untouchable Tycoon
Piao Guo Allison Montgomery was waiting at the airport when an audio alert from her parked Range Rover flashed on her phone.
Assuming it was a break-in, she checked the live dashcam feed, only to see her fiancé, Finn, and her younger sister, Cheyanne, passionately making out in the backseat.
"Tell me I'm better than her," Cheyanne whispered. "Tell me I'm better than Allison."
"You are," Finn gasped. "God, you are."
When Allison confronted her family with the video, she expected justice.
Instead, her uncle and mother fiercely defended the cheaters.
They blamed Allison's "cold and frigid" nature for pushing Finn away, victim-blaming her in front of the entire household staff.
To protect their corporate alliance, her uncle ruthlessly announced that the engagement would be transferred to Cheyanne, and threatened to strip Allison of her inheritance.
Stripped of her fiancé, her family, and her dignity, Allison realized her pristine twenty-year life was a complete lie.
The people who were supposed to love her were actively protecting her abusers, leaving her utterly isolated and burning with a cold, protective rage.
Refusing to be their victim, Allison targeted Finn's ruthless, billionaire uncle, Adam Kensington, proposing a fake marriage to secure the capital needed to crush her family.
But when the notoriously untouchable Wall Street phantom not only accepted her proposal, but demanded she immediately move into his penthouse to raise his secret daughter, Allison realized she had just sold her soul to the devil. Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. The Jilted Ex-Wife Is A Zillionaire
Felix Turner Isabel returned to her penthouse after a grueling seventeen-hour flight, only to be greeted by the cloying scent of another woman's perfume.
Her husband of three years, Darius, sat waiting with divorce papers. He wanted to marry his mistress, Dove, and offered Isabel a measly one million dollars, treating her like a greedy charity case from the Rust Belt who should just take the payout and vanish.
But Isabel didn't want his pity. She demanded the four percent equity stake in his family's company that she rightfully owned—a stake worth 1.5 billion dollars. When she revealed this, the wealthy family turned vicious. They refused to acknowledge that she had secretly saved their empire from bankruptcy years ago. Instead, Darius and Dove orchestrated a brutal public execution. They ambushed her at a top law firm, spreading malicious lies that her investment money was stolen from a Ponzi scheme. They even hired a fake victim to scream at her in the lobby, successfully terrifying Isabel's lawyer into dropping her case on the spot.
She had quietly rescued their entire legacy, yet they were willing to frame her as a criminal and destroy her life just to keep her rightful billions.
As Darius and his mistress gloated over her absolute ruin, the most ruthless and feared lawyer in New York suddenly stepped in front of Isabel, his voice cutting through the dead silence.
"Your case, I'll take it." Bound To The Disabled Apocalyptic Tycoon
Star Cruiser Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse. 
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