Ai Chi
12 Published Stories
Ai Chi's Books and Stories
After Rebirth, I Ruined His Alpha Reign
Werewolf #PowerCouple
The blind prince who plays the fool × the Omega who rose from her own grave
I fought for him for ten years.
Thirty thousand lives buried in the snow to pave his road to the throne.
His reward to me? A silver arrow-through my back, out my chest.
I carved that arrow with my own hands.
With my last breath, I asked him: Why.
He said: "An Omega commander is a disgrace."
Thirty years of blood, and he told me I shamed him.
He stepped over my body, pulled my sister into his arms, and planned their winter-solstice wedding-white rose petals, the ones she wanted.
The Moon Goddess heard me. She sent me back. Eighteen years old, before any of it happened.
Back to the dungeon, chains biting into my flesh.
I snapped my thumb, slipped the cuffs.
Iron chain wrapped around my fist-cold, but more honest than his arms ever were.
Thirty thousand lives on my back.
He said Omega is a disgrace.
Fine.
This time, I'll show him exactly-
how many cuts it takes for an Omega to tear down his throne. Divorcing The Alpha: My Designer Comeback
Werewolf For eight years, I played the perfect, obedient Luna to the Alpha King, a wolfless girl trapped in a loveless, gilded cage. I gave up my dreams and endured his coldness, foolishly hoping to one day warm his heart.
That illusion shattered the night he left his mind-link open by mistake. Through the faint connection, I heard a voice that froze my blood-my own son, Aiden, sleepily calling another woman "Mommy."
And my husband, who had never shown me a drop of affection, replied to her with a tenderness that physically hurt. He was giving Scarlett everything: his love, a top executive position in his corporation, and my child. When I finally walked away and managed to snap a photo of them kissing in his car, he didn't apologize. Instead, he summoned a dozen pack warriors to trap me on the street, bruising my shoulder as he forced me to delete the evidence.
"Remember what you are, Sienna. A wolfless. Nothing."
He whispered those words with absolute certainty, believing I would soon crawl back to his luxury, broken and begging. He thought my eight years of submission meant my spirit was permanently crushed.
But he didn't know about the hidden ghost protocol on my phone that had already backed up every incriminating photo. Standing in my cramped new apartment, I threw his platinum ring out the window and unboxed my old design sketches. Sienna Everly, the docile mate, is dead. I am Lyra, and I'm going to build an empire that will bring his entire world crashing down. Rising From Ashes: The Betrayed Fiancée's Comeback
Romance For eight years, I played the role of the perfect, submissive fiancée to New York billionaire Ethan Hayes, giving up my jewelry design career to be the graceful ornament on his arm.
That was until I found a receipt for a romantic dinner and a custom sapphire bracelet—identical to my engagement gift—meant for Chloe, a younger socialite.
When Chloe deliberately spilled red wine on my white gown at the Met Gala, Ethan didn't defend me. Instead, he shielded his mistress from the cameras and glared at me.
"Ava, apologize to Chloe. Now."
My humiliation didn't end there. I soon discovered his mother had sanctioned the affair all along just to protect their corporate alliances, telling me my job was simply to learn tolerance. To the Hayes dynasty, I was nothing but a compliant broodmare. Even worse, Ethan was secretly plotting to merge our assets after the wedding so he could fully control and eventually discard me.
I had sacrificed my youth, my talent, and my identity for a man who viewed our entire relationship as a calculated business transaction. The sheer, naked cruelty of it left me feeling completely dehumanized and suffocated in a gilded cage.
But I didn't cry, and I didn't confront him.
Instead, I smiled, pretended to forgive his "minor indiscretions," and threw myself into planning the most lavish, highly-publicized engagement party at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
They wanted a show, so I was going to give them a spectacular execution. Reborn To Marry The Ruined Billionaire
Romance Janet woke up gasping, the phantom fire of a deadly explosion still scorching her lungs. She had been reborn three years in the past, on the exact day her mother forced her into a marriage contract with Gaylord Bradford, a paralyzed and severely disfigured billionaire.
Before she could even process her second chance, her cousin Kandy kicked the bedroom door open, flaunting a massive diamond ring. Kandy, who had also been reborn, smugly announced she had stolen Janet's Wall Street golden boy fiancé, Jax Adler.
"You're going to marry that paralyzed monster," Kandy spat, gloating that she would build a billionaire dynasty with Jax while Janet wiped drool off a rotting corpse. Kandy expected Janet to have a complete mental collapse, completely unaware that Gaylord's own medical team was secretly injecting him with lethal neurotoxins to finish him off.
But Janet only felt a cold, clinical pity. Kandy's "prophetic" memories were a polluted lie. Jax was actually sterile and dying of irreversible kidney failure, while Gaylord wasn't a dying freak—he was a dormant god whose body was merely in a high-dimensional hibernation. Why would Janet mourn losing a doomed fraud?
Leaving her delusional cousin behind, Janet packed her bags and headed straight to Gaylord's maximum-security military cell. She physically tackled his corrupt doctor, drove three bio-electric silver needles into the crippled king's spine to awaken his deadened nerves, and looked him dead in his glacial blue eye.
"Sign the marriage contract," Janet whispered. "I will make you walk again, and we will take back everything." Reborn: The Mafia Heiress They Abandoned
Mafia In my past life, the bullet chambered in the gun on the desk was less lethal than the indifference of the two men standing beside me.
Dante and Matteo were supposed to be the future kings of Chicago, and I was their queen.
But they threw it all away for Sofia—a liar with a pretty face and a fake sob story about a gambling father.
They forced me into a gilded cage, making me serve Sofia like a maid while they played her saviors.
They let me rot in isolation until I swallowed a bottle of pills just to escape the coldness of their neglect.
They didn't even mourn me; they were too busy comforting the girl who would eventually destroy them.
I died realizing that my loyalty was my fatal flaw.
I had worshipped men who saw me as nothing more than an accessory, while they sacrificed their empire for a woman who played them for fools.
But the universe has a sick sense of humor.
It sent me back.
Back to the day that sealed my fate.
The Consigliere pushed the assignment papers toward us—the path to becoming Bosses.
"We are not going," Dante said, looking at me with cold eyes. "Sofia needs us. She is fragile."
In my past life, I begged them to stay.
This time, I stepped forward and picked up the pen.
"I will go," I said, signing my name in sharp black ink.
"I don't need your protection anymore." Not For Sale: The Debt Is Paid
Mafia Seven years. That was the price tag attached to my father's life.
When my father gambled away money he didn't have, Michael Vance paid the debt.
He bought my father's safety, and in return, he bought me.
I was nineteen then. A peasant girl he polished up to look like a mob wife.
I was reapplying my lipstick in the vanity mirror of his armored SUV when I found a diamond choker tucked behind the sunshade.
It was a million-dollar piece of jewelry that wasn't mine, engraved with a date that wasn't my birthday.
That night at the gala, Michael threw his mistress's heavy fur coat at me.
"Hold this, Sarah. Jessica gets hot easily."
I stood there like a servant, buried under the scent of another woman’s perfume, watching my fiancé hold her on the dance floor with a tenderness he never showed me.
When I stumbled from hunger, he called me a liability to his image.
But when Jessica faked a crisis, he abandoned me at the venue to rush her home.
I walked to the nearest trash can and shoved the expensive fur down past the half-eaten caviar.
As the sugar from a cheap candy bar hit my bloodstream, the fog lifted.
I realized I wasn't a wife-in-training. I was a debt that had been paid in full.
I left the penthouse, the ring, and the life.
But Michael wouldn't let his property go.
He cornered me in a parking garage, screaming that I belonged to him, threatening to start a war.
He didn't expect me to be standing next to David Chen, the Underboss of the rival Triad faction.
And he certainly didn't expect me to take off my Louboutin stiletto and use it as a weapon.
"I don't love you, Michael," I said, looking him in the eye as he knelt on the concrete.
"And I'm not for sale anymore." The Pregnant Luna He Chose To Ignore
Werewolf I carried our child for eight months, yet to my husband, Alpha Damien, I was invisible.
When I placed the divorce agreement on his desk, he didn't even look up. He was too busy discussing nursery colors with Victoria, the woman who had taken my place in everything but title.
That night, agony ripped through me. I went into premature labor right in the hallway.
I grabbed Damien’s arm, begging him to save our child.
But he shook me off.
He turned his back on his bleeding wife to comfort Victoria, who was faking a panic attack about paint swatches.
"Get the best doctors for Victoria!" he bellowed, leaving me to be wheeled into a cold storage room by a terrified intern.
While he held her hand, I lay alone in the dark, my body failing.
I didn't just lose the baby that night. I found out why I had been so weak.
My blood was full of silver nitrate. Victoria had been poisoning me for months, and Damien had been too blind to notice.
I signed the divorce papers on my deathbed and vanished into the storm.
Three years later, I returned. Not as a rejected Luna, but as the owner of the empire that was buying him out.
Damien stood before me at the Alpha Summit, gaunt and broken, holding the deed to his entire territory.
"I signed it all over to you," he whispered, falling to his knees. "Please, Elena. I know the truth now. I’ll be your guard dog. Just let me make it right."
I looked down at the man who had let our child die.
"You can't buy me back, Damien," I said, stepping over him. "I'm not for sale anymore." His Betrayal, Her Liberation
Romance Our marriage was a battlefield, and the whole city had front-row seats.
For five years, Chloe Davis and Mark Stone were New York City' s most famous train wreck, a story of pure animosity that sold magazines and fueled gossip columns.
They said we hated each other. They were right.
I had married Mark on my twenty-second birthday, a calculated decision, fueled by a decade-long desire for revenge. He was my older brother Liam' s biggest rival, a man who represented everything my family stood against. But he had Ethan' s eyes. That was enough for me back then.
On our wedding night, instead of consummating our marriage, I set the penthouse on fire. That set the tone for the next five years.
I paraded college students to charity auctions, smashed priceless vases, and weaponized his own humiliating betrayal against him in front of his board.
Each calculated move, each public spectacle, was designed for one purpose: to push Mark Stone to his breaking point, to make him the one to initiate our divorce and set me free.
And it worked.
He finally served me the papers, citing his new love, Bella, as the reason.
But then, the carefully constructed walls between us crumbled into something raw and ugly.
In the heat of our final, desperate clash, he gasped out a name. "Bella."
A sharp, searing pain shot through me, and my first instinct was to hurt him back. I bit down hard on his shoulder, tasting blood.
He recoiled, his eyes wide with shock, then narrowed with fury.
He left, leaving me crumpled on the floor, the pain in my abdomen intensifying. My vision blurred. "Mark," I choked out, "Something's wrong."
He walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone on the cold floor, convinced it was just another trick.
In the sterile white of the hospital room, the truth was delivered with clinical detachment: severe internal bruising and a hairline fracture on my lower rib. These were not self-inflicted wounds; they were the physical toll of five years of "intimacy."
But the real blow came, not from him, but from Bella. She orchestrated a fall in the stairwell, falsely accusing me of pushing her. Mark, blinded by her cunning, believed every word, unleashing a torrent of my past sins against me, shattering any remaining dignity.
"You're just like you always do," he spat, his grip like a vise on my hair. "You set fire to our apartment. You trashed a charity event. You think I'd believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?"
His face, once so familiar, was now a stranger's-blinded by a pretty face and a well-told lie. He saw Ethan's face in her, the same way I once saw it in him. The realization was so absurd it was almost funny.
I had built my own cage. And now, I was trapped, exiled to a desolate seaside villa, no phone, no internet, no contact with the outside world. A punishment. A banishment.
But Mark had no idea that his prison was actually my path to liberation. He thought he was breaking me. He had no idea I was just getting started. Her Husband's Secret Family
Romance My life was a perfectly curated dream, every detail screaming success, happiness, and partnership, especially my charismatic, devoted husband, David.
Then came the call – an unsaved number, a persistent ring, and a small, hesitant voice whispering, "Daddy?"
The word hit me like a physical blow, shattering the polished surface of our perfect life as I overheard the chilling truth: David had another family, a secret wife, and two young sons, hidden just miles away, all with my mother-in-law's full knowledge and complicity.
How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to believe in this lie, while he built a parallel life, celebrating birthdays while I celebrated anniversaries, and she, Sarah Jenkins, his former mousy assistant, played the triumphant other woman?
Knowing he would never truly let me go, that he' d use his charm and power to drag me back into his elaborate deception, I made a terrifying choice: I would orchestrate my own disappearance, faking my death out on the open water to finally reclaim my freedom. Unmade By Love, Remade By Self
Modern My life for the last decade has been an endless parent-teacher conference, a special kind of hell where I was the main exhibit.
It all shattered when my nine-year-old stepdaughter, Madisyn, hurled a weighted beanbag at my head, then publicly denounced me as a "kept man" and a "gold-digging loser."
The humiliation spiraled, culminating in a doctored photo circulating, reviving an old, devastating lie that branded me a pervert, while my wife and her ex-boyfriend flaunted their affair and my stepdaughter called him "Dad" with a loving smile.
But the real horror struck when my wife confessed: her mother had been secretly drugging me for years, suppressing my hormones, to make me "docile," to "keep me calm."
That' s when the familiar ache of humiliation hardened into a single, cold thought: I'm done. You might like
His Unwanted Wife, The Hidden Genius
Qing Cheng I flew back to New York on my twenty-fifth birthday, carrying vintage gold cufflinks I spent weeks finding for my billionaire husband, Declan.
But when I walked into our townhouse, I found him throwing a massive victory party with Sloane, a glamorous socialite, standing by his side as the proud hostess.
"Don't cause a scene. Go upstairs."
Declan coldly dismissed me in front of his guests.
Even Poppy, the rookie player whose shattered ankle I had painstakingly rebuilt, rolled her eyes and ignored me to suck up to Sloane.
Hiding in the shadows, I heard the maids gossiping that everyone thought Sloane was the future Mrs. Hartford.
To make matters worse, I discovered Sloane had stolen my anonymous, groundbreaking medical algorithm and was planning to present it as her own.
First my husband, then the girl I mentored like family, and now the scientific foundation I had built with my own hands.
Declan even texted me to cancel our birthday breakfast without a single apology, treating me like an annoying afterthought.
My tears vanished, replaced by a freezing clarity.
I signed the divorce papers, leaving them on his desk with zero demands for his money.
Then I packed my bags, booked a one-way ticket to Boston, and prepared to destroy them on the global stage. 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?" The Rejected Jinx Is A Billionaire Heiress
Lucy Cartwright For eighteen years, I was the Tucker family's adopted punching bag, while their biological daughter, Jessica, was treated like royalty.
The moment I graduated college, they kicked me out. Brenda Tucker sneered, calling me a jinx who was bankrupting their company.
But I knew the truth. They were erasing me to ensure I wouldn't ruin Jessica's chances of seducing Beckett Sinclair, a billionaire hockey heir, at an upcoming high-society banquet.
She threw a fifty-thousand-dollar check at my feet like I was a beggar, ordering me to never claim I knew them.
My adoptive father, who had ruined his own company with terrible investments, actually grabbed my arm and demanded I beg the Sinclairs for a bailout on my way out.
When I refused, they cursed me, screaming that I was destined to rot in some backwater town forever.
I walked into the cold New York night with my two scuffed suitcases, feeling completely hollow. I thought I was just a discarded orphan, thrown away by the only family I had ever known.
But then, an older man pulled up to the corner. He handed me a faded photograph of a woman who looked exactly like me.
"Miss Chloe, I am here to take you home."
That was how I found out I wasn't an abandoned orphan. I was maliciously switched at birth, and my real parents-the billionaire owners of the New York Monarchs-had been searching for me for twenty-two years. 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. 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. Awakening My Vicious Underground Biker Husband
Kinship For twenty years, I was kept in a gilded cage as the Daugherty family's most valuable political bargaining chip.
But on the day of my arranged marriage, my corrupt father gave my fiancé to my cruel younger sister, Brinley. Instead, I was shipped off to the badlands to marry Erik "Grim" Marshall, the brutal President of an outlaw biker club, who was reportedly paralyzed and dying from a shattered spine.
Brinley flaunted her designer wedding gown in my face, boasting about how she stole my life and ordered bulldozers to destroy my late mother's rose garden.
"Get in the car and crawl off to that biker compound to die."
My father coldly threw me to the wolves to save his own skin. When I arrived at the heavily guarded biker compound, the gang members treated me like disposable trash. They tried to extort my dowry and locked me in a dark, rotting quarantine basement to wait for my new husband to die.
They all thought I was just a weak, discarded princess, meant to spend my miserable life cleaning bedpans for a crippled warlord before being torn apart by his violent gang.
What they didn't know was that I was a lethal combat surgeon and toxicologist.
Before I left, I planted a specialized neurotoxin in Brinley's dress that would turn her wedding night into a humiliating, public bloodbath. And as I looked down at the "dying" biker king on the steel table, I pulled out my scalpel. I wasn't here to rot in the dirt; I was going to cure this monster and use him to carve out an empire of my own. Betrayed Bride: Marrying The Ice Tyrant
Valeria On our third engagement anniversary, I bought my fiancé the watch he had wanted for months.
But my phone's location tracker led me to a secluded overlook, where I caught him rocking his car with another woman.
The woman in the passenger seat was my stepsister, Sienna.
When I exposed their affair, my adoptive parents didn't comfort me.
Instead, they called to scream at me for ruining the family's reputation.
They even rewrote history, claiming Sienna was the one who saved my fiancé from drowning six years ago, and I had stolen her credit.
Carter shamelessly agreed with their lies.
"She's been quietly supporting me all this time... I misunderstood."
I was disowned, thrown out into the freezing rain, and my adoptive father threatened to use his corporate empire to crush my small bakery.
I finally understood that to them, I was just a temporary placeholder, a stepping stone for Sienna to take everything I cherished whenever she pleased.
I refused to let them destroy me.
To protect my bakery and tear down their hypocritical lives, I walked into the penthouse of New York's most ruthless billionaire to propose a fake PR relationship.
But he slid a two-year marriage contract across the table instead.
Before I could fully process marrying a man I barely knew, a little blonde girl ran into the room and tugged at my dress.
"Are you my new mommy?" Dying Wife, Billion-Dollar Regret: The Captain Begs Too Late
Delight Abudu Three years of secret marriage.
A Stage 3 cancer diagnosis on our anniversary.
And a $20 million firework show across Boston Harbor-for another woman.
On the day I was told I was dying, I stood in the cold hospital lobby and watched the breaking news. Courtney Trevino-the ruthless NHL captain, billionaire heir, and the husband who hadn't looked at me in years-was wrapping his coat around his dazzling "soulmate," Blair, kissing her under a sky lit with her initials.
He came home at 1:00 AM with red lipstick smeared on his collar. He didn't ask why I was awake. He just pinned me to the chair with cold, arrogant eyes:
"It's your ovulation window. Lie down and do your job. You wanted to be Mrs. Trevino-now give my family an heir."
When I refused, he ordered me to do the unthinkable: as his PR manager, I had to draft the official press release declaring him single-personally washing his mistress clean of homewrecker rumors.
Everyone treated me like a pathetic, clingy nobody who trapped a god into marriage.
Courtney smirked when I whispered the word divorce.
"Stop throwing tantrums, Camille. You have nowhere else to go. You'll come crawling back."
He was dead wrong.
I left my wedding band on the counter, signed away every penny of his fortune, and walked out the door with a single suitcase.
What Courtney and high society forgot was who I was before this toxic cage: the premier mind in aerospace biomechanics, the classified legend behind military combat drones, and an untouchable tech pioneer. The "genius" mistress he worshipped wasn't even fit to read my discarded drafts.
I have months left to live. I won't waste another second begging for scraps of love.
Courtney thought I was bluffing.
Until he found the bloody medical reports in the trash, the divorce papers in his archive, and the entire world falling to its knees for the genius he threw away... 
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