Yi Xiaoxin
11 Published Stories
Yi Xiaoxin's Books and Stories
Divorced By The Boss I Slept With
Romance Arnetta had been married to a wealthy man for three years, but she had never even seen his face.
After a wild night of drinking, she woke up in a hotel room next to a handsome, ruthless stranger.
He coldly kicked her out, mocking her as just another desperate woman trying to sleep her way to the top.
To her shock, she soon discovered the stranger was Brennan Kirkland—her firm's top-tier client and a legendary Wall Street billionaire.
Hiding her true identity as a corporate spy, she manipulated her way into becoming his executive assistant to steal his data.
During a business dinner, Arnetta received a humiliating text from her absent husband, demanding a divorce and calling her a greedy parasite.
"He is a deadbeat coward who thinks money solves everything," Arnetta spat in anger.
"A man who hides behind lawyers is weak," Brennan agreed coldly.
He had absolutely no idea he was insulting his own actions, nor did he realize the wild, gold-digging wife he despised was sitting right across from him.
The next day, her husband's legal team sent a brutal twenty-million-dollar settlement offer, threatening to ruin her if she didn't take the payoff and disappear.
Staring at the degrading ultimatum, Arnetta's hands shook with blinding rage.
She looked at Brennan, who was busy plotting to destroy his own wife, and a terrifyingly calm smile touched her lips.
She wasn't just going to take the money; she was going to completely destroy him. Woke Up Lost, Became His Alpha Queen
Werewolf The forest floor was a blur of wet leaves and black soil under my bare feet, a desperate escape from a monster whose shadow felt like the end of the world. Then, nothing. I woke up in a lavish room, my body aching, my arm broken, and my mind a terrifying blank slate, with no memory of who I was or how I got there.
Panic, cold and slick, wrapped around my throat. I tried to remember my name, my home, my pack – anything – but there was only a vast, terrifying emptiness where my life should have been.
The Alpha, Kaelen, a man of formidable power and chilling detachment, found me and planned to send me away to a neutral shelter, a terrifying prospect of being cast out again. Yet, when I desperately craved chocolate mousse and raw venison, he secretly provided them, a strange indulgence hidden from his pack.
The fragile safety shattered when agonizing pain coiled in my gut, forcing a raw scream of his name. He came, silent and rigid, guiding me through the intimate agony. In that moment of absolute vulnerability, a profound certainty bloomed: "You're my Alpha Prince."
The words struck him like a physical blow. His eyes, usually cold as river stones, flashed with raw, hunted panic before the mask slammed back down. He walked away without a word, leaving me with a terrifying question: What truth had I stumbled upon, and why did my desperate devotion ignite such fear in the most powerful wolf I knew? 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
Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To The Alpha Colonel
Mo Yufei I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family's social standing.
During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me.
I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn't care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst.
She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side.
"Men get angry," she told me coldly. "It's your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house."
I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip.
My heart went completely dead.
So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn't hesitate.
I walked back into my parents' house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table.
"I won't be apologizing to Preston. I got married today." One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. Too Late, Mr. CEO: Watch Me Shine
Nieves Gómez Kayla stood outside the CEO suite, holding a custom suit for her fiancé, Brennon. They had spent seven years building a tech company from a freezing garage into a billion-dollar empire.
But through the cracked door, she heard the breathy laugh of Evelin, the newly hired director. Then came Brennon's low, careless voice.
"The wedding's a PR milestone for the IPO, nothing more."
Kayla's blood turned to ice.
"She's comfortable. Makes sense on paper," Brennon continued. "But you, Evelin. You understand ambition."
The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. She had written the core code that made him a billionaire. She had stayed up until 4 AM debugging while he slept on a futon. Now, he was mocking their relationship to his mistress and handing over her life's work to a woman who couldn't even read a data log.
Seven years of loyalty, reduced to a PR stunt. She didn't cry. Instead, a cold, violent clarity washed over her. Why should she let him keep the crown she forged?
Without a word, she pulled the three-carat diamond off her finger and dropped it into her bag. She walked out of the building, drafted her resignation, and accepted a VP position at his biggest Wall Street rival. It was time to show Brennon what happened when the real genius behind his empire decided to tear it down. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. The Betrayed Heiress And Her Genius Comeback
I. HAWKINS I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary.
Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy.
Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash.
Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed.
"She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO."
"Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick."
Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO.
Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded.
They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me.
I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer.
"I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground." After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. 
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