Gui Chen
11 Published Stories
Gui Chen's Books and Stories
The Truth Hidden Beneath Our Bed
Modern For ten years, I believed my husband Adrian was a frugal, hardworking man. We lived modestly, saving every penny while he preached about our tight budget.
Then I found the burner phone hidden under our bed. The top contact wasn't me, his wife, but a woman saved as "My Love ."
The phone revealed his eight-year double life.
He had another family in Austin-a "wife" named Jasmine and a son, Angel. He'd bought them a $1.2 million house and a luxury SUV with our marital assets.
All while telling me we couldn't afford a new dress or swimming lessons for our son, Cameron.
His parents knew everything. They even attended his fake wedding to Jasmine while I was at home, pregnant with their first grandchild.
My entire marriage wasn't just a lie; it was a financial shield for his real family.
So when he came home from his latest "business trip" and asked to take control of my salary to "tie up loose ends," I didn't cry. I simply slid the burner phone across the table. "I've already hired a lawyer, Adrian. And I'm taking back every single penny." A Billionaire's Boredom, A Wife's Rise
Romance For three years, I was the perfect wife to tech CEO Atticus Monroe, trading my architecture career to become his personal chef and perfect hostess.
My world shattered when I brought him an eight-hour bone broth and overheard him confess to a friend.
"I'm just... bored."
His boredom quickly turned into an affair with his ex-fiancée, Isla. He spent nights at her apartment, then came home to blame me for his unhappiness. At a family gala, when I finally stood up to their public humiliation, Atticus grabbed my arm so hard it left a deep, purple bruise.
He had cheated, humiliated, and hurt me, yet he refused my pleas for a divorce, desperate to maintain his perfect image.
But his grandfather saw the bruise. He saw the video of Atticus and Isla. After punishing his own grandson, he handed me a check.
"Go build the life you deserve."
So I did. I filed for divorce to reclaim the life, and the career, I had sacrificed for him. My Husband, My Enemy
Modern I suspended a five-year-old student named Leo for pushing another child down the stairs. As the head child psychologist at an elite academy, I was used to difficult children, but there was a chilling emptiness in Leo's eyes.
That evening, I was abducted in the faculty parking lot, dragged into a van, and beaten unconscious.
I woke up in a hospital, every inch of my body aching. A kind nurse let me use her phone to call my husband, Franco. When he didn't answer, I opened his social media page, my heart pounding with fear for him.
But he was fine. A new video, posted just thirty minutes ago, showed him in a hospital room, gently peeling an apple for the little boy I had suspended.
"Daddy," Leo whined. "That teacher was mean to me."
My husband's voice, the voice I had loved for a decade, was a soothing murmur. "I know, buddy. Daddy already took care of it. She won't ever bother you again."
The world tilted on its axis. The attack wasn't random. The man who had vowed to protect me forever, my loving husband, had tried to have me killed. For another woman's child. Our entire life was a lie.
Then the police delivered the final blow: our five-year marriage had never been legally registered. As I lay there, broken, I remembered the wedding gift he'd given me—40% of his company. He thought it was a symbol of his ownership.
He was about to find out it was his death sentence. The CEO's Cruel Comeback
Romance Seven years ago, I was Jocelyn Fuller, a girl desperate for love, standing in front of Ethan Lester' s apartment, begging him not to leave.
He looked down at me, his face cold, and uttered words that shattered my world: "Don't be naive, Jocelyn. We're from different worlds."
He took the money my father offered and vanished, leaving me so broken I tried to end my life twice.
The devastation didn't just fade; it festered, hardening me into the CEO of Fuller Properties, a name synonymous with power in New York real estate.
Now, Ethan Lester stands outside my skyscraper, looking up with desperate hope, roles agonizingly reversed.
I made him wait for five hours in the freezing wind, just as I had waited for him, relishing the chilling echo of my past pain.
I wanted to know why he had abandoned me, why he chose money over our love, and why he looked so utterly defeated now.
This time, the game was on my terms, and his payment was just beginning in a meticulously cruel revenge. The Woman Who Saved Him Twice
Romance The poison in my veins had two years left, just like me.
Two years I' d spent trapped in a gilded cage by Ethan Lester, the man I once loved.
He believed I betrayed him, orchestrated his family' s slaughter, a lie I carried to protect him from a truth that would have led him to self-destruction.
I endured his hatred, the scars, the daily degradations, all while my life slowly ebbed away.
Then came the night Sabrina, his new woman, a viper wearing a sweetheart's smile, orchestrated the unspeakable.
She lured my little brother, Andrew, the only innocent left in my world, to the compound.
She planned to drain his blood for a twisted art project.
I found him, strapped down, and I screamed for her to take me instead.
But Ethan, blind with rage and manipulated by Sabrina' s lies, saw my reaction as defiance.
He threatened Andrew, trying to extract a "confession" from me.
My truth would kill him; my silence guaranteed my brother's fate.
He offered me everything I' d ever wanted – a future, marriage – if I just confessed.
I couldn't.
Sabrina, with a subtle push, guided his hand, and the blade sliced across Andrew' s throat right before my eyes.
My world shattered as I watched him die, Ethan' s hand, bloodied, still on the knife.
As I lay dying beside my brother's cooling body, my last words shattered Ethan' s delusions, revealing the true traitors.
Now that it' s all over, all I want to know is: Can a man who destroyed everything he claimed to love ever atone for the irreparable damage he caused? Too Late For Regret, Mr. Hayes
Romance The screech of tires was my familiar lullaby, echoing another broken bone, another shattered illusion.
I was Sarah, the trophy wife, trapped in a gilded cage, enduring a curse of endless resurrections.
My husband, Ethan, always attentive to his perfect Ashley, had just shoved me into the path of a speeding sedan.
For her, of course.
He didn't care that I lay mangled on the asphalt, only annoyed by the inconvenience, the mess.
Ashley, his scheming mistress, later set a trap: a near-fatal allergic reaction, and then framed me to ensure my "dissection" at a remote research facility.
They believed they were finally ridding themselves of me, sending me to a permanent end.
But what they didn't know was my secret, my bitter hope: 99 deaths down, one to go.
Each resurrection had chipped away at my soul, leaving only a hollow anticipation for the final, permanent end.
This was it. The hundredth.
The profound relief of true oblivion, of peace, washed over me as they led me away.
I was finally free, not knowing that my truest liberation would come not from the permanent death I craved, but from a rebirth I never expected. His Wife's Other Life
Modern Michael thought he had built a good life. His son, Leo, a brilliant debate champion, was headed to Yale on a full scholarship, a testament to hard work. Michael, a humble handyman, had willingly sacrificed his own dreams for his wife Jessica' s demanding, "modestly paid" corporate career.
Then the phone rang. A multi-car pile-up. Leo, critical.
Michael frantically tried to reach Jessica, but she was unreachable. He tracked her phone across the country to a lavish Miami yacht party, where she was cheering on her "nephew" Ryan with extravagant gifts. When she finally did answer, her voice was sharp, dismissing him because she was in a "very important business meeting."
Leo died.
How could the woman he loved, the one he sacrificed everything for, be so cold? He overheard her casually refer to their shared life as "slumming it," a revelation that shattered his world. Weeks later, he learned that Ryan, the spoiled relative Jessica adored, was responsible for the accident that killed Leo. Yet, Jessica protected him, openly preferring him over their dead son.
His entire existence with Jessica, a profound, agonizing lie. Who was this woman? And why had she hidden immense wealth while he struggled?
Michael found a hidden bank statement, zeros stretching endlessly, confirming decades of deception. He had lost his son, his wife, and his life as he knew it. With his body failing from stress-induced illness, Michael chose to leave, walking away from the ruins of his past, seeking a different kind of peace. The Billionaire\'s Regret
Romance I spent six years pouring my heart, my hidden family fortune, and my shelved art dreams into Ethan’s Silicon Valley startup, "Innovatech." It was my birthday, and a velvet ring box in his jacket pocket made my heart race with anticipation. This was it – the culmination of our love, the proposal I’d been waiting for.
But my world shattered with a single Instagram post: Ethan, on one knee, proposing. Not to me, but to Isabella Rossi, his lifelong "what if," at an exclusive Napa restaurant. The diamond on her finger flashed, blinding me with betrayal.
He later breezed in, claiming Isabella had a rare heart condition, making her "dying wish" his priority. He then publicly humiliated me, appointing her to my suppressed dream role and framing me for corporate theft. In front of our colleagues, he slapped me, callously grinding my precious clay sculpture under his heel, dismissing my pain with a casual "sorry about the coffee."
Six years of unwavering loyalty, reduced to a staged corporate scheme, an outright assault. How could the man I loved believe I was a thief and sabotage my entire life? The injustice burned hotter than the scalding coffee on my arm.
With nowhere left to turn, my father offered a lifeline: Liam Hayes, son of the very venture capitalists who funded Innovatech. My path was clear: New York, a new life, and a fight that was just beginning. The Monster in My Sleep
Horror Our wedding invitations were chosen, promising a beautiful future with Mike, my college sweetheart of eight years.
Then, Mike arrived, face ashen, eyes haunted.
He thrust an envelope at me: "I can't do this, Sarah."
Pure terror consumed his face as he fled.
That was just the first loop.
Friends whispered about "what they saw" and abandoned me.
I lost my job to "disturbing incidents."
My beloved cat mysteriously died, then my mother collapsed, eyes wide with paralyzing fear.
My father, seeing something monstrous in me, whispered, "It's better this way," as he smothered me.
Each time, I woke on "breakup day" again, trapped in a horrifying cycle.
Everyone I loved vanished, terrified of *me*, yet I had no idea why.
What was I?
What was happening when I slept that drove them to such profound fear?
Desperate, I wired my apartment with hidden cameras.
The footage I played back shattered my world: *I* was the monster.
Crawling on all fours, vacant eyes, unnatural speed, guttural sounds – it was utterly terrifying. You might like
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. 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. Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. 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." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." 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." 
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