Zhen Xiang
19 Published Stories
Zhen Xiang's Books and Stories
Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!
Modern For seventeen years, I was the crown jewel of the Kensington empire, the perfect daughter groomed for a royal future. Then, a cream-colored envelope landed in my lap, bearing a gold crest and a truth that turned my world into ice.
The DNA test result was a cold, hard zero percent-I wasn't a Kensington. Before the ink could even dry, my parents invited my replacement, a girl named Alleen, into the drawing room and treated me like a trespasser in my own home.
My mother, who once hosted galas in my honor, wouldn't even look me in the eye as she stroked Alleen's arm, whispering that she was finally "safe." My father handed me a one-million-dollar check-a mere tip for a billionaire-and told me to leave immediately to avoid tanking the company's stock price.
"You're a thief! You lived my life, you spent my money, and you don't get to keep the loot!" Alleen shrieked, trying to claw the designer jacket off my shoulders while my "parents" watched with clinical detachment.
I was dumped on a gritty sidewalk in Queens with nothing but three trunks and the address of a struggling laborer I was now supposed to call "Dad." I traded a marble mansion for a crumbling walk-up where the air smelled of exhaust and my new bedroom was a literal storage closet.
My biological family thought I was a broken princess, and the Kensingtons thought they had successfully erased me with a payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. They had no idea that while I was hauling trunks up four flights of stairs, my secret media empire was already preparing to move against them.
As I sat on a thin mattress in the dark, I opened my encrypted laptop and sent a single command that would cost my former father ten million dollars by breakfast. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves, but they forgot one thing: I'm the one who leads the pack. The Despised Wife's Spectacular High Society Comeback
Romance Summer woke up to the blinding light of a crystal chandelier, only to realize she had transmigrated into the trashy romance novel she read last night.
She was now the universally despised contract wife of Julian Sterling, a ruthless New York billionaire who immediately threw down a leather folder and demanded a divorce.
Faking a drunken stupor to survive the night, Summer thought she could at least enjoy the wealthy lifestyle, but reality hit her hard.
Her bank account had exactly fifty cents.
The original owner had secretly sent every penny of her massive allowance to a parasitic, gambling-addicted brother.
Worse, the maids were serving her daily fertility pills—a direct violation of her ironclad prenup that would leave her penniless on the streets if Julian found out.
Even her rebellious teenage stepson and his vicious friends treated her like a joke, openly mocking her in her own foyer.
A billionaire's wife with fifty cents? It was a cruel, terrifying joke.
She was completely trapped with a husband who despised her, a stepson trying to humiliate her, and a toxic brother threatening public ruin if she didn't pay up.
But Summer refused to be a victim in this new life.
She flushed the forbidden pills down the toilet, permanently blocked her leeching brother, and effortlessly thwarted a vicious plot to drug her stepson.
When Julian coldly called to order her to a high-society charity gala, he left a sharp warning.
"Do not embarrass the Sterling name again tonight. Keep your mouth shut."
Summer simply smirked.
She bypassed the pastel dresses and zipped up a striking emerald green silk gown, her eyes burning with cold ambition, ready to show New York exactly who they were dealing with. The Penniless Ex-Wife's Spectacular Comeback
Romance For three years, I swallowed every humiliation to warm my billionaire husband's frozen heart.
But at his birthday banquet, the obsidian cufflinks I spent three sleepless nights carving were crushed into worthless powder.
Carly, the woman he truly loved, had intentionally tripped and slammed into my arm.
When the velvet box fell, I dropped to my knees on pure instinct. My bare hands were deeply sliced by the jagged shards, warm blood dripping onto the pristine marble floor.
But Dominic didn't even spare a single glance at his bleeding wife.
He protectively cradled Carly, his voice thick with concern as he asked if she was hurt.
He let the entire ballroom laugh at me, calling me a piece of trash that wasn't even fit to touch the hotel carpet.
When I later confronted him about the secret estate where he hid her, he nearly broke my jaw.
"A toxic bitch like you deserves to rot in a loveless marriage."
I finally understood. My marriage was just a cruel prison designed to torture me for a debt I supposedly owed.
I didn't shed a single tear. I went back to the penthouse, signed the divorce papers waiving all my assets, and walked barefoot into the freezing New York storm.
To survive, I took a job as the personal executive assistant to his biggest enemy on Wall Street.
But when I showed up at an industry dinner wearing a stunning designer suit next to another man, the cold tyrant who had thrown me away completely lost his mind. Bound To The Exiled S-Class Monster
Fantasy Halie woke up to a sharp pain and a terrifying reality. She was in a new body, her face covered in a hideous web of scars, and her spiritual power reduced to a pathetic D-Class.
Before she could even process the memories of being framed, her bedroom doors were violently kicked open.
Her sister Seraphina sauntered in with a venomous sneer, followed closely by Halie's S-Class fiancé, Jett.
"Look at the disgrace of the Avila family. What a waste," Seraphina mocked, throwing a mirror at her bed.
"I can't be tied to a cripple. As an S-Class, I have to break our engagement," Jett added, his gaze full of disgust.
The nightmare didn't stop there. Her father called, screaming about how she had shamed the family name. He officially stripped her of her inheritance, froze all her accounts, and exiled her to the decaying Southern District to rot.
To make matters worse, a cold, mechanical voice suddenly echoed in her skull, warning her of an impending genetic collapse. Without an immediate energy infusion, she would face total organ failure in thirty days.
A ruined face, a treacherous family, a world that wanted her dead, and a literal death clock ticking in her brain. The original owner had died in absolute despair, a tragic victim of sheer cruelty.
But if they thought she would just sit there and die, they were severely mistaken.
Armed with a mysterious system and her brilliant scientist mind from her past life, Halie packed her bags. She chose the craziest survival quest: head to the slums, find the exiled, sterile S-Class "madman" Coleman, and cure him to harvest his life energy. It was time to start her counterattack. No Longer His Captive Surgeon Wife
Modern I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel. Silent Escape: The Runaway Heiress's Refuge
Modern I was summoned home from boarding school for a funeral, thinking my family finally wanted me back. I stood in the pouring rain, watching a mahogany casket disappear into the mud, while the silence in my head felt like it was drowning me.
That night, I hid behind a tapestry and listened through a vent to my father’s study. He wasn't talking about grief. He was talking about "tissue compatibility" and "near-perfect matches" with the family lawyer.
They didn't want a daughter; they wanted a donor. My father’s voice was devoid of emotion as he discussed "the harvest." My half-sister was dying, and I was the spare part they had been growing for years. They had even removed the lock from my bedroom door so I could never truly shut them out.
The realization shattered me. I was just a biological backup plan, a life deemed less valuable than the one they preferred. How could a father look at his own child and see nothing but a heart to be cut out and transplanted?
I didn't wait for them to come for me. I stuffed a backpack, flushed my SIM card, and climbed out the window into a thunderstorm. I caught a bus to the middle of nowhere, ending up in a seat next to a massive, predatory man named Hoyt who looked like he’d killed people for less than a seat preference.
He pinned my wrist with a grip like iron and growled, "Who sent you?"
I couldn't speak to defend myself, but as we rolled into a dying town called Blackwood Creek, I knew one thing for certain. I would rather take my chances with a stranger with a gun than stay another night with the family that wanted me dead. The Wolf's Gambit: The Heiress's Revenge
Modern It was our fifth anniversary, and I sat alone in a Michelin-starred restaurant, staring at a diamond ring that felt more like an anchor than a promise. I kept telling myself Caleb was just busy, rationalizing the sharp, spasmodic pain in my stomach as mere nerves rather than my body's final warning.
But when I went to his penthouse to surprise him, I found the double doors ajar. Through the gap, I watched my fiancé devouring Beatrice Blackwood on the sofa-the woman who had the family backing and confidence I supposedly lacked. He wasn't working; he was celebrating our anniversary by replacing me.
The fallout was a calculated humiliation. The tabloids branded me a "pathetic orphan," and my Uncle Richard didn't care about the betrayal. He slammed his hand on his desk, claiming I was having another "psychotic episode" and accusing me of paranoia. He threatened to pull the plug on my mother's life support unless I went to the Hamptons to beg Caleb for forgiveness.
My family even tried to force me onto heavy antipsychotics to keep me quiet for the sake of a corporate merger. I was being sold to a man who hated me by the very people who were supposed to protect me. I didn't understand why they wanted me broken, or why a mysterious stranger in an elevator had suddenly paid my mother's astronomical medical bills in full.
Everything changed at a dinner where my uncle tried to trade me to a predator for a real estate deal. I didn't cry; I shattered a wine bottle and held the jagged glass to the man's throat. That's when Julian Blackwood, the most feared man on Wall Street, walked in and seized the house, the debt, and me.
"I take my contracts seriously, Vanessa," he whispered, pulling me into his armored car as my family was thrown onto the street.
I had escaped my uncle's cage, but as I looked into Julian's storm-gray eyes, I realized I had just traded a common bully for a beautiful, deadly king. Married To A Monster's Shadow
Modern My husband, the world-renowned photographer Evan Briggs, told the world I was his muse. For ten years, I was the silent architect of his empire, the perfect wife who managed his life so he could create his art. He claimed he kept my beauty just for himself, a privilege no one else could see.
On our anniversary, I found his secret studio. It wasn't my beauty he was capturing. It was hers. Thousands of explicit photos of a model named Dahlia, a collection spanning a decade. The last picture was dated that very morning.
When I confronted him, he called me emotional and chose her.
But his ultimate betrayal came at his gallery opening. Dahlia had me drugged and assaulted while men took humiliating photos.
All while Evan was in the next room with her, ignoring my screams.
He didn't just betray me. He abandoned me to the wolves.
Lying in a hospital bed, I realized the man I married was a monster. And I wasn't just going to divorce him. I was going to burn his entire world to the ground. The Vow of Vengeance, The Veil of Love
Romance The air at my welcome-home party was thick with the smell of old money, but I smelled only betrayal.
After years building my empire overseas, the last thing I wanted was to play nice with the ghosts of my past.
Then I saw her, my ex-girlfriend, leaning into Andrew, my half-brother, the constant reminder of my mother's tragic death.
The smile froze on Jen's face when she saw me, a flicker of panic in her eyes, but it was too late.
I cut her off, my gaze cold enough to shatter glass, and made it clear: he was nothing, a cheap copy, and she, unworthy.
What followed was a brutal, calculated war waged in boardrooms and on national television, where I systematically dismantled Andrew's life, exposing him for the parasite he was.
But driven to desperation, he played his final hand, pushing me off a cliff into darkness, leaving me for dead, just as his mother had killed mine.
I woke up weeks later in a hospital bed, the world buzzing with the scandal, but it was a single image that consumed me: Gaby Chadwick, the reclusive heiress, a woman I barely knew, praying for me, her silent vigil a public spectacle of devotion.
Why? Why would she sacrifice her untouchable anonymity for me?
I decided then and there to make her mine, proposing a cold, strategic merger, a union of power and dynasties.
She accepted, but then, with unnerving calm, used my own words against me, creating a wall of polite distance, turning our marriage into a corporate contract.
I had won the war, yet I was lost, trapped in a loveless arrangement of my own making, desperate to break through her serene facade.
Then, hidden away in a journal, I found it: a decade of silent adoration, deep, unwavering love for me, a love that transcended any business deal.
I had been blind, a fool.
Now, the real story begins. His Masterpiece of Revenge
Billionaires The smell of freshly painted cherry-red and victory filled my garage. My venture capital firm might build empires, but this 1969 Mustang Mach 1 was my anniversary gift to myself-a reminder of where I came from.
For my wife, Nicole, I' d acquired a fortune-costing, reclusive artist' s painting, a bridge between our worlds.
But as I reached for my phone, a notification flashed: Instagram. Ryan Chavez, Nicole' s latest art foundation project, a kid with "mediocre talent." The air froze in my lungs.
There, in his studio, hung my painting, framed by his smug pose and a caption thanking Nicole for the "life-changing gift."
I called her. Her voice, smooth as silk, turned dismissive. "It' s just a painting. He needed the encouragement. It' s for the good of the foundation." She hung up, leaving me standing there, the symbol of us casually given away.
Loyalty, respect-the foundations of my life-shattered.
She said it was "just a painting." Fine. Then her favorite sculpture, my first anniversary gift to her, was "just a sculpture" too, as I donated it to a rival museum.
Her rage was immediate, venomous. But what truly sealed it was seeing her with Ryan on her arm at the gala, publicly declaring I didn't matter.
This wasn't just about a painting or a sculpture. This was war. She had underestimated me.
I knew her secrets, her family's weaknesses. And I was about to use every single one of them. His Last Regret: A Wife Undone
Romance The first word from Dr. Cole was "Leukemia," and it felt like a death sentence delivered under fluorescent lights, far from the small, coal-mining town I' d never escaped.
I had been with Liam for nine years, forever dependent on him, even as his calls grew shorter and his voice colder – I knew he was cheating, but I clung to us.
Then, during a call about our anniversary, I heard it: a soft, musical voice asking, "Liam, honey, who is that?" and the line went dead, leaving me with the cold, hard proof of his betrayal.
My world shattered. How could the man who promised he' d never leave me be so easily replaced, so carelessly abandon the life we'd built, especially now, with my own life slipping away?
That night, clutching the crumpling diagnosis, I decided: I would die first, before he saw me as a burden; I would disappear, and he' d never know what he'd lost. A Reckoning in Flames
Fantasy My life was beautiful: a loving husband, Ethan, a precious baby on the way, and the serenity of our lake house getaway.
Then, during a quiet afternoon, Ethan's ex, Olivia, found her daughter Daisy drowned in the lake, turning on me with a shaking finger, screaming, "You did this! You let her drown!"
Ethan, my husband, the man who once adored me, instantly believed her monstrous lie, his eyes cold, his family's powerful influence ensuring my pleas were dismissed as weak, condemning me without trial.
Weeks later, our newborn son, Noah, died from a preventable illness after Olivia's dubious "home remedy" was chosen over hospital care, and in my raw grief, Ethan demanded I carry a child for them-a cruel "penance" for "my crimes," threatening to destroy what little remained of me if I refused.
Imprisoned in a forgotten wing of the mansion, physically and mentally reduced to an incubator, I was haunted by the unspeakable injustice, struggling between despair and a flicker of rage as Olivia gloated, revealing the chilling truth: she herself orchestrated Daisy's "accident" to reclaim Ethan and ruined my life for her own gain.
My body became an empty shell, my mind retreated beyond their reach, but the shocking truth Olivia confessed was unknowingly witnessed, eventually setting a deadly chain of events in motion that would expose her monstrous heart and unleash a final, fiery reckoning for the Cole family's dark secrets. Twenty-Four Hours to Live Again
Romance Eleanor Vanderbilt, the scion of a powerful dynasty, found herself in a moment of gilded tradition, presented with a curated selection of aristocratic bachelors, poised to make a choice that would shape her future.
Yet, as her fingers hovered over the portrait of Ethan Hayes, the man her heart once chose, a searing flash of blinding light propelled her into a terrifying past life, revealing the unimaginable truth: this charming fiancé had callously condemned her to a brutal death.
She vividly remembered every agonizing detail: abandoned on a freezing Manhattan skyscraper rooftop, a blade against her neck, Ethan's dismissive laughter echoing as she desperately begged for help, enduring hourly cuts and slow bleed-out for twenty-four horrific hours until her life, and the innocent one newly growing within her, agonizingly slipped away.
The profound injustice of his calculated betrayal, the soul-shattering cruelty concealed beneath his polished facade, fuelled an unyielding fury that demanded retribution and a desperate understanding of why her closest confidant became her executioner.
Now, miraculously granted a second chance on the very day it all went wrong, Ellie, armed with searing memories and an iron will, defiantly rejects her predetermined tragic destiny and, instead, chooses Jackson "Jax" Knight – the family's disowned "black sheep" and the last person to offer her a flicker of hope – determined to rewrite her past and carve out a path of vengeance and true survival. You might like
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. 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?" 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 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!" Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge
Xiao Hong Mao I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go.
The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside.
The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal.
I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate.
But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone.
"Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands."
The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak. Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire
Ruby Stone When I called my husband while trapped in a kidnapper's warehouse, he laughed. "Stop faking," he said, "my delicate mistress needs her sleep." He hung up. I signed the divorce papers drenched in my own blood, giving up everything just to escape the monster I married.
His mother threw a broken umbrella at me in the rain. I had nothing-no money, no identity, no hope.
But the moment I turned away, eight black Escalades encircled the street. A man in a tailored suit stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, shielding me with an umbrella. In his hand was a DNA test-and twenty-three years of relentless search.
"Your last name isn't Smith," he said, wiping blood from my wrist with his handkerchief. "It's Wilder. The Wilder family. And the man who left you to die?" He smiled, icy. "He owes us nine billion dollars." 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." No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk's office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk's pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray's text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we're done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray's life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. 
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