Diewu Pianpian
10 Published Stories
Diewu Pianpian's Books and Stories
Mistress's Second Life Revenge
Romance I woke up in my New York penthouse bedroom, sunlight harsh in my eyes.
The date on my phone read five years ago, before the fire, before I died.
My breath hitched in my throat as I understood: I was reborn.
My husband, Ethan, walked in, his voice flat, demanding I authorize a quarter-million dollar transfer from my trust fund.
In my first life, that money went to Chloe Sanders, his intern, his mistress.
Every painful memory came flooding back: his coldness, his brazen affairs, and finally, him locking me in a remote ski lodge wing as smoke filled the air.
He drove away, leaving me to die in the flames.
I whispered that I didn't feel well, but he only scoffed, telling me to sign the papers and stop being dramatic.
Later, I saw him with Chloe, his tenderness and warm smile solely for her, confirming his betrayal was still ongoing.
When I finally confronted him, his hand swung, cracking across my cheek, leaving me stunned and bleeding.
He then slammed the door to our bedroom shut, locking me inside, threatening a private care facility, calling me "unhinged."
The injustice burned, fueling a cold fury deeper than fear.
Was this my cruel fate, to relive the same nightmare with the same monster?
Why had I been given a second chance, only to face his baseless accusations and violence once more?
This time, I wouldn't just endure his cruelty; I would break free.
As I sent a coded message to my parents, my escape plan was in motion, and my fight for freedom had truly begun. Too Late: She Chose The Billionaire Heir
Modern "She’s just like a sister to me, Eliana. You’re being dramatic."
That was Jax’s excuse every time he chose Catalina over me for three years.
When Catalina staged a fake drowning in three feet of water, he pushed me aside to save her, telling me my life wasn't his problem.
But the breaking point came when she deliberately pushed me down a flight of stairs.
My ankle shattered on the concrete. I was lying there in agony, unable to move.
Yet, Jax didn't check on me.
He stepped over my bleeding body to scoop Catalina up because she had a minor scratch on her elbow.
He screamed at me for "hurting" her.
While I lay in the hospital alone, waiting for surgery, he was spoon-feeding her soup in her dorm, posting photos captioned "My Hero."
He thought I would always be his "Elie Bear," the doormat waiting at home to clean up his messes.
He was convinced that no matter how much he hurt me, I would never actually leave.
But he was wrong.
I didn't scream. I didn't fight.
I simply signed the withdrawal papers, blocked his number, and boarded a one-way flight to New York without saying goodbye.
Three months later, when Jax finally realized his "sister" was a nightmare and came crawling back to beg for forgiveness, he found me.
But I wasn't alone.
I was holding the hand of a billionaire heir who looked at Jax with cold, deadly eyes.
"Touch her again," my new fiancé whispered, "and I will destroy your entire family by morning." A Birkin For Every Lie
Romance There are ninety-nine Hermès Birkins sitting in my walk-in closet.
To the world, it' s a collection worth millions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-nine times my husband, Harris, betrayed me.
Each bag was a silent apology I accepted to keep our hollow marriage alive.
But the hundredth betrayal wasn't fixed with crocodile leather.
On the anniversary of my mother's death, I tracked Harris to my family' s private cemetery.
He wasn't alone. Jessica, his "first love," was there, standing over the empty plot reserved for my living father, right next to my mother' s grave.
They were digging a hole.
Jessica smirked, holding a velvet box containing her dead cat and a plaque that read To Arvel, my eternal companion.
"It' s just a cat, Cecily," she laughed, tossing her hair.
"Don't be so dramatic. Your father won't mind the company. Besides, it shows who Harris really listens to."
For years, I accepted the bags and the lies. But desecrating my family's sacred ground?
The submissive wife died in that moment.
I walked toward them, clutching the evidence that would destroy Jessica' s life and shatter Harris' s world.
"Dig it up," I commanded, my voice colder than the grave.
"Or I will bury you both right here." Reborn Wife: A Mother's Fury
Modern The last thing I remembered was the cold, sterile operating room.
A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and my husband Ethan's chilling indifference burned into me.
"Sign it, Ethan! The doctor says she's bleeding out. They need to perform the surgery to save her!" I screamed, my voice distant and desperate.
But he wouldn't. He stood there, arms crossed, saying, "The doctor said there's a risk to the baby. I can't risk my daughter's life."
"There won't be a daughter if I die!" I countered, agony blurring my vision. "The baby can't survive if I don't!"
Then, my six-year-old stepson, Liam, holding Ethan's hand, pointed at me.
"Dad, Sophia said this woman is just faking it. She said if she dies, Sophia can be my new mom and take care of you and the baby."
His words hit harder than any physical pain. My own stepson, a child I'd raised since he was two, was wishing for my death.
Ethan didn't scold him. He squeezed Liam' s shoulder in silent agreement as Sophia Davis, Liam's beautiful young tutor, stepped into view with a triumphant smirk.
They never signed the papers.
I bled out on that operating table, my last sight the three of them-Ethan, Liam, and Sophia-already looking like a happy family.
A sharp gasp snapped me awake.
My eyes flew open. I was in my own bed, morning sun streaming through the silk curtains. My hand went to my stomach. It was still there, a gentle, rounded swell. My baby girl was safe.
I grabbed my phone. The date confirmed it: today was the day my life unraveled. The day Liam brought Sophia home.
I hadn't died. I was back.
The memory of my death wasn't a dream. It was a searing brand, a horrifying premonition. The betrayal, the pain, the cold finality-all of it clear as day.
A wave of nausea washed over me, not from pregnancy, but from cold, hard fury. They would not kill me this time. They would not harm my daughter. This time, I would make them pay for a crime they hadn't committed yet.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
I heard the housekeeper, then Liam's excited chatter. My heart turned to ice. It was starting. Her Betrayal, His Rebirth
Modern The memory was a ghost that never left my apartment.
It played on a loop: Sarah, glowing on screen, cheering fans, my game "Aetheria" about to launch.
"Five more minutes, baby," she' d whispered, "And the world will see what a genius you are. I' ll make sure of it."
I believed her. I poured everything into "Aetheria," my masterpiece. Sarah, the biggest streamer, was my partner, promising a massive launch.
But when her stream hit zero, not "Aetheria," but "Chrono Rift," a cheap clone, filled the screen.
Then her voice, slick and commercial, declared, "THIS is the game of the year. 'Chrono Rift' is here!"
The betrayal was immediate. She savaged my game: "A little birdie told me 'Aetheria' is a buggy, unplayable mess. Don' t waste your money. The developer is in way over his head."
The world broke.
Months later, surrounded by final notice bills, I heard her on the news. "Chrono Rift" sold ten million units. Mark, its developer, wrapped an arm around her, speaking of their "stable future."
I later learned of their affair, their secret deal. My ruin was their business expense.
Why? How could she? The woman I loved, my partner, had systematically destroyed me for profit.
Clicking off the TV, I saw an old hard drive labeled "Nexus," my abandoned first project. Plugging it in, I saw a strange line of code, a "developer' s blessing," reminding me of boundless creativity.
A jolt. I would rebuild. I started "Aetheria 2.0." Their castle of glass stood, but I was gathering stones. When Prophecies Kill: A Fortune Reclaimed
Billionaires The last thing I remember from my first life is the roar of flames and the ceiling crushing me in my family' s manor.
My fiancée, Nicole, and my supposed long-lost brother, Wesley, watched from outside, their faces twisted not in grief, but in triumph.
I died alone, framed, betrayed, and erased from existence.
Now, I'm back, reborn into the very moment their insidious plan unfolded.
Wesley, the charming newcomer who miraculously appeared after my parents' funeral with a "prophecy" of our housekeeper Maria's death, was setting the stage.
Then came the "vision" of an earthquake, threatening to destroy our ancestral home, driving my sisters Jennifer and Gabby into a panicked retreat.
In my past life, I believed their lies, fled the house, and it exploded with me inside, solidifying Wesley's prophetic credibility.
But this time, I saw it all: Nicole's subtle glances with Wesley, her calculated suggestions leading to Maria's peril, the same conniving smiles they wore as I perished.
How could I have been so blind? So trusting of the very people who plotted my agonizing demise, all for the fortune my family built?
My body may have died once, but my spirit refused to be extinguished.
Now, with fire in my veins and memories sharp as steel, I am ready to rewrite our destiny and turn their perfect scheme into their worst nightmare. From Scholarship Kid to Capital King
Modern My heart pounded.
This was it – the final presentation for the American Innovators Architectural Prize.
My design, "The Phoenix Initiative," was my masterpiece, my future.
Then, Blake Sterling, my rival, strode onto the stage and began presenting my project.
Every line, every concept, every innovative detail.
Mine.
My blood ran cold, but the nightmare deepened when he publicly accused me of plagiarism.
Gasps filled the room, and all eyes turned to me.
Then Tiffany, my fiancée of seven years, stood up beside him.
Her voice trembling, she voiced her "disappointment," her tears sealing my public disgrace.
I was abandoned, my life's work stolen, my reputation ruined, and my academic future jeopardized by a powerful family and a corrupt dean.
The woman I loved had just publicly thrown me under the bus, dismissing seven years of history for a man she barely knew.
My mind reeled from the sheer audacity, the cold betrayal.
How could they do this?
How could she?
I felt utterly crushed, yet a chilling clarity solidified within me.
They saw me as a mere scholarship kid, easily crushed, and now they demanded I apologize and help Blake refine the very project they stole, threatening to blacklist me permanently if I refused.
So I agreed.
But as I worked days under their watch, I wasn' t fixing his project; I was subtly implanting a fatal, hidden flaw – a ticking time bomb only designed for catastrophic failure.
Then, feigning a sudden, excruciating illness, I walked out, leaving them scrambling, speeding towards a new life.
They thought they had cornered me, little did they know they had just woken up the heir to Cole Capital Development. Beyond the Bell: A Bias Exposed
Young Adult Ashley, a diligent high school student, usually focused intently on Ms. Davison's history lectures, diligently preparing for her big exam.
But one ordinary day, a sudden, brutal pain, deeper and more sinister than any muscle cramp, surged through her right side, accompanied by an unsettling wave of feverish heat.
Despite Ashley's desperate plea to see the nurse, Ms. Davison, with icy contempt, casually dismissed her suffering as "dramatic theatrics" designed to skip class, even offering her questionable, unlabeled pills from a dusty drawer before physically blocking Ashley from leaving the classroom, threatening severe detention as Ashley swayed, on the verge of collapse.
The raw, infuriating injustice burned through Ashley and later, her distraught nurse mother, Sarah, who had overheard the chaos of her daughter’s collapse over a disconnected phone call, only to receive the terrifying ER diagnosis of a severe, life-threatening kidney infection that, hours earlier, could have claimed Ashley’s life, all because Ms. Davison prioritized her arbitrary biases over a child's urgent medical need.
Fueled by an unshakeable resolve to ensure no other child endures such callous neglect, Ashley’s parents, Sarah and Mark, begin their meticulously planned public reckoning, deciding to expose Ms. Davison’s alarming negligence and deeply ingrained prejudices, not with a lawsuit, but with a scathing, sarcastically-worded "award" and a pointed "care package" at the school's widely attended PTA meeting, setting the stage for a dramatic showdown. 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. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. 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. 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. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. 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. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife
Rum Runner My husband stood by the window of his Manhattan office, his silhouette cutting through the storm like a blade. He didn't even look at me as he tossed the divorce papers onto the desk, his voice a cold baritone. "Sign it," Isaiah commanded, "or your brother’s dialysis treatment ends today."
He believed the lie that I had pushed his pregnant mistress down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage. To save my dying brother, I signed the confession and accepted the role of a murderer, trading my freedom for a life of disgrace.
At the funeral, Isaiah forced me to crawl on my knees through the freezing mud to the grave while a mob of mourners spat on me and cursed my name. When I went to prison, his influence followed me into the showers, where inmates told me the King wanted me to "remember my crime" before they used rusty shears to hack off my finger.
Five years later, I was a ghost living in a damp basement with the son Isaiah never knew I had, hiding my mangled hand under a leather glove. When he eventually tracked us down, he didn't show mercy; he tore my son from my arms, calling me an unfit monster and swearing I would rot in a cage.
I couldn't understand how the man I once loved could look at my broken body and see only a criminal, never realizing that every scar I carried was a gift from his own hatred.
As he walked away with my child, I swallowed a bottle of pills to end the nightmare, leaving Isaiah to rip the glove from my hand and discover the mangled truth just as my eyes finally closed. 
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