Yi Xiaoxin
9 Published Stories
Yi Xiaoxin's Books and Stories
The Thousand-Day Streak of Lies
Modern For ten years, I believed my long-distance relationship with my architect boyfriend, Griffith, was unbreakable. I was building a successful career, convinced our love was the one constant I could count on.
That illusion shattered the day I saw his phone. A thousand-day Snapchat streak wasn't with me. It was with his intern, a girl he called Kallie Sunshine.
His apology was a cold, duty-bound marriage proposal, followed by him taking the fall for her career-ending mistake at his firm.
In the middle of the chaotic company lobby, as he was sacrificing everything for her, she delivered the final blow.
"I'm pregnant with his baby!" she shrieked, a triumphant smirk on her face. "And you're just a bitter old hag who couldn't keep her man!"
Ten years of my life, my love, my future-all reduced to a humiliating public spectacle. He chose to protect his "little muse" while I was just collateral damage.
I slapped his face, threw the ring at his feet, and walked away. This time, I wasn't just going back to my apartment. I was leaving the country for good. Shattered Love, Deadly Revenge
Romance I used to believe my life with Liam Miller was a fairy tale, a future filled with hope and love.
Then, six months into my pregnancy, at a corporate party meant to celebrate our impending engagement, a video of our most intimate moment flashed across a giant screen, broadcast to hundreds.
My world didn' t just crumble; it exploded. My mother, in a frantic call after seeing an anonymous text exposing the horror, died in a car crash rushing to me. My father, seeing the shame and grief on my face, succumbed to a cerebral hemorrhage.
Why? All of it, a brutal revenge meticulously planned by the man I loved, fueled by a twisted lie about my mother' s past.
Five years later, stripping away my dignity as a cocktail waitress, I finally found the leverage I needed. My son, the last piece of my shattered heart, needed a miracle-a bone marrow transplant I couldn' t afford. Liam was a match. He would be my unwitting savior, or so I hoped. A Love Contract: Five Years
Romance For five years, I was her dog. Sarah Miller, the woman I once loved, owned me, reminding me of it daily. The contract, my reason for existence, was almost over.
Then, Alex Thorne, her COO, smirked, "Try again," smudging the glass I just polished. Her private office door opened; Sarah emerged, beautiful and cold. She walked past me without a glance, stopping at Alex. His hand on her waist, he boated, "I aim to please... in every department," his eyes locked on mine. She leaned into him, whispering, loud enough for me to hear, "I know I can always count on you."
The office watched, a daily performance. They saw me as a joke, the guy publicly dumped by the CEO, crawling back for a demeaning job. Sarah finally looked at me, "The conference room. I want to see the new ad campaign video. You'll run the projector." And with a cruel edge, "You will watch the whole thing. Every second. Don't look away."
My heart became a dead thing, beating but not feeling. I thought about the night it all began, the night I planned to propose, the night I destroyed everything to save her. I wondered, was it worth it?
The contract had only a few weeks left. This time, I' d be free. Six Years: A Betrayal Reborn
Modern Six years. That' s how long I counted every day they left me to rot, a sacrifice made for the woman I loved.
Chloe, my fiancée, the one I fought for and willingly swapped places with when gunmen burst into our engagement vacation villa.
I believed her promise: "I'll pay them anything! I'll get you back!"
Instead, six years later, I returned to find her a social media mogul, having built an empire on the very "tragic disappearance" she' d orchestrated with my best friend, Mark.
They wanted me gone-permanently.
Now, thanks to Victoria Thorne, I' m not just back, I' m wealthy, powerful. And she' s given me a choice: justice, Liam. Or retribution. My path is clear. The Mute Muse's Revenge
Fantasy For nine years, I lived as a ghost, tethered to Ethan Blackwood.
The art world knew me as "A.N.", the mute artist madly in love with the city's most renowned and arrogant art critic, a story they all enjoyed.
They didn't know the truth: nine years ago, my younger sister Lily was dying, and desperation led me to the mysterious Muse System.
The price for her life? My voice and identity, transforming me into Ethan' s dedicated muse, his silent shadow.
I endured his daily humiliation, his condescending words, and his blatant preference for Vivienne, his "white moonlight," while I mimicked her style, sinking into debt.
Tonight was our seventh anniversary, also my 28th birthday, but he never came home, the special meal growing cold as the clock ticked past midnight.
He finally stumbled in at 2 AM, reeking of alcohol, saw my absence, and woke me with a snarled command: "Draw my bath."
My bare feet slipped on a stray drop of water, sending a searing pain through my leg as I fell hard on the marble floor, but he just watched with pure indifference.
Then his phone chimed, his voice instantly softening, humming a happy tune as he spoke to Vivienne, admiring a sculpture he' d bought her-a fortune spent while I bled myself dry for his approval.
That night, my own sister, Lily, called, shrill with accusation: "Vivienne is so upset! Ethan belongs with her! You need to divorce him and disappear!"
Days later, my grandmother assaulted me at a family dinner, shoving me until my head met a sharp table corner, a flash of white pain and then darkness.
I awoke in a hospital, my mother dismissing my concussion as "drama," and my grandmother asking the doctor, with strange hope, "Is she going to die?"
Vivienne visited, placing lilies to trigger my allergy, then feigning a cut to get Ethan' s attention, successfully turning his rage on me.
He dragged me from the bed, forcing me to my knees before her, demanding an apology I couldn' t give, leaving me there, alone and humiliated.
The next blow came from Vivienne again, a "calculated" trip that sent scalding coffee all over me, leaving me crumpled on the floor with second-degree burns while Ethan checked on her, blaming me for the mess.
No one helped me, not him, not the servants, as my heart, a dead, calm sea, felt nothing but resignation.
The Muse System finally alerted me to the severe toll the mission had taken: a terminal diagnosis with only a month to live.
Ethan, completely oblivious, brought Vivienne to an obstetrics clinic, where she brandished a sonogram: "It' s yours, Ethan. We're going to be a family."
I learned then everything I had sacrificed for was a lie, and there was no longer any turning back.
My one goal remained: to reclaim my identity before the end.
I called Dr. Alex Carter: "I want my old face back... I want to die as myself." Seventeen Again: This Time, I Win
Young Adult I dreamed of perfect prom nights and Ivy League acceptance letters, with my ideal boyfriend, Kevin Johnson, by my side.
But that dream turned into a living hell when he systematically sabotaged my SAT scores, stole my chance at my top-choice university, and sabotaged a crucial scholarship.
The ultimate betrayal came when he coerced me into enduring a painful, life-altering medical procedure for his new girlfriend, Tiffany, condemning me to years of chronic pain, crushing debt, and a future that utterly derailed.
My life was shattered, reduced to a hollow, suffering existence.
I was nothing more than a disposable pawn in his cruel, calculating game, my body and dreams sacrificed so he could appease another girl.
The bitter injustice festered, scarring me to my very core.
Then, the familiar fluorescent hum of Northwood High' s hallway surrounded me, and I was seventeen again, knowing every single devastating move he was about to make.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl he could break.
This time, I knew everything.
And this time, I would rewrite my entire destiny. No Longer Their ATM
Modern Thanksgiving rush, the usual chaos of life with my daughter, Jessica.
For years, I' d been their quiet support, their free childcare, their endless ATM.
My late husband' s heroism left me one asset: our fully paid-off home.
Then, a towering display of canned goods began to fall, directly on my grandson, Brayden.
Without a thought, I shoved him clear, and the world went dark under a crushing weight.
Instead of concern when I woke in the ER, dazed and concussed, my daughter Jessica' s voice cut through the fog.
She wasn' t worried about my stitches, only Brayden' s scraped knee and her "ruined Thanksgiving."
Then came the demand: While I was still hurting, Jessica, backed by Kevin' s sniveling mother, insisted I sign over my house.
My house, the anchor my husband provided, their latest target.
When I refused, their true colors showed.
They locked me in my own former room, seizing my phone, a prisoner in my own daughter's house.
My own flesh and blood, willing to go to such lengths-accusing me, then holding me captive-all for a piece of property.
The betrayal was a deeper concussion than any physical blow.
How could the daughter I raised, the grandson I saved, become instruments in such a cruel play?
But as my son Michael and his wife Emily burst through the flimsy door, a cold clarity settled over me.
This wasn't pity-this was war.
I was done being their victim, their dogsbody, their endless resource.
This was the moment I stopped being Sarah the doormat, and started fighting back for Sarah. One F-250, Many Felonies
Modern Attending my high school reunion felt like a lifetime ago. I drove my dusty Ford F-250, trying to keep a low profile – just another forgotten face in an ocean of luxury cars, maintaining the façade of a normal life for agency protocols.
But some things never change. Brad Harrington Jr., still the same loudmouth, instantly targeted me and my "work truck," sneering, "Still pushing paper for the government, Carter?" My old crush, Jessica Monroe, chimed in, "Some things never change, do they, Ethan? Still aiming low." Their privileged condescension was a familiar tune, but it grated, especially with a critical national security call looming.
When I tried to leave for that classified call, Brad – flanked by his private security – outright blocked my path. He escalated from insults to threats, then, with a twisted grin, ordered his goons to vandalize my truck. "Teach him some respect!" he gloated. A crowbar, a tire iron – nothing could even scratch it. Brad himself stormed out, screaming in frustration, while I watched, my urgent mission hanging by a thread.
All through their pathetic display, I kept quiet. They saw a "government pencil-pusher," a "loser." They had no idea that "work truck" was classified federal property, or that their "private event" was now jeopardizing something far beyond their comprehension. Their ignorance was almost laughable, if not for the high stakes involved.
That's when I calmly pulled out my satellite phone. As Brad hammered uselessly at the F-250, I pressed a single speed dial. "Blacksite Actual," I said, my voice low and clipped. "Situation Foxtrot... Hostile local interference. Requesting immediate response, Protocol Delta." The reunion was about to get a very real, very federal wake-up call. You might like
Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. 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!" The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." 
/1/102459/coverorgin.jpg?v=18837f26674d1271ead63c27c2004d24&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86550/coverorgin.jpg?v=222226cc5686b8c4229b7e9d0aa1f857&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86507/coverorgin.jpg?v=9201fea77d0761930e0a3303867b7023&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85816/coverorgin.jpg?v=60854c4bebc4a17d995c1294503c61a2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84834/coverorgin.jpg?v=ccd9e3a674d292a009b909c6b9b8085a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83229/coverorgin.jpg?v=e4553711de7e0927f9b6aa22c4452f91&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83098/coverorgin.jpg?v=9a1d6398c5dde7fb3ef6bfeaca225767&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80744/coverorgin.jpg?v=9a8e49575c85365023b2a2fbd1838faf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18646/coverorgin.jpg?v=526ce8f3263e73ad398865f42259e258&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106649/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc013f9614b3e2840c7775fd23782e0e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105057/coverorgin.jpg?v=202d59641d5f8e56e9f4255b2bc60b1e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78663/coverorgin.jpg?v=b705411c5144e51405caa1dd738aa5d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105404/coverorgin.jpg?v=d939c1a8d0134274943ca633deea3ff2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81650/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e4487b5edd0ed017fe09f8ca0166339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/77278/coverorgin.jpg?v=e33b5a48fd64490b6c3dab31c8798b9a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107488/coverorgin.jpg?v=1135e339a96413279778f27ad7d858e6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107459/coverorgin.jpg?v=2597733fdce978cb34bc36946ed9f42a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86395/coverorgin.jpg?v=55bb4b33b13d15db79b49aea662af755&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/71279/coverorgin.jpg?v=9e49a76b6b5eef1f9b662f77b9729717&imageMogr2/format/webp)