Hua Jian
12 Published Stories
Hua Jian's Books and Stories
He Faked Death, I Married The Don
Mafia I was arranging white lilies on the cold marble of my husband's grave when I saw a ghost.
Walking through the cemetery gates was a man who looked exactly like my dead husband, Dante.
Logic said it was his twin brother, Matteo. But a wife knows the slope of a man's shoulders. She knows the arrogant tilt of his chin.
My husband hadn't been blown up in a car bomb three years ago.
He had faked his death to steal his brother's rank, his fortune, and his mistress.
For three years, I had forced our son, Leo, to kiss a photograph goodnight. We lived in a damp, peeling apartment, surviving on the "charity" of the Family.
Meanwhile, Dante was living in a mansion, driving cars that cost more than my life, playing house with another woman.
When he came to our cramped apartment to drop off the monthly "pension" money, pretending to be Uncle Matteo, he didn't look at me with love. He looked at his watch.
When Leo ran to hug him, shouting "Papa," Dante peeled the boy's small arms off his expensive suit like he was removing a piece of lint.
"Don't call me that," he snapped. "I am your Uncle."
My grief turned into ice. He chose another woman's comfort over his own son's hunger.
I grabbed Leo's hand and walked out the door.
"You walk away, and you get nothing!" Dante shouted after me. "You'll be on the street!"
I didn't stop. I walked straight to the black SUV idling at the curb.
The window rolled down, revealing Salvatore Vitiello. The Don. The most lethal man in the city.
"Get in, Elena," he commanded.
I opened the door and slid onto the leather seat next to the devil himself.
As we drove away, leaving my husband in the dust, I realized I had just traded a liar for a killer.
And I didn't regret it for a second. The Roommate Pact: No Strings Attached
Romance "We do not talk. Ever," she warned, her voice trembling with a year's worth of rage.
Brendon Hampton was Manhattan's ultimate "simp," using wealth and shallow socialites to silence his past. But during a lavish dinner, he snapped. He walked out, moved into a luxury apartment-and found Kiera Richards, the girl he ghosted during his father's scandal, standing in his new living room.
Reunion is a nightmare. Kiera, now an "Ice Queen," looks at him with pure loathing. A housing glitch and a massive lease penalty trap them together. She reveals his disappearance cost her more than her heart-it shattered her mental health and her violin career at Juilliard.
Brendon endures her hatred daily, unable to explain that federal agents seized his phone and his father had a heart attack. He abides by her rigid rules of silence, treated like a biohazard in his own home.
Everything changes during a blackout. As a storm rages, Kiera's icy mask cracks-and she collapses into his arms, terrified of the dark. In the shadows, Brendon notices she still wears the necklace he gave her long ago. The war isn't over, but he's no longer just a roommate-he's a man determined to win back the soul he destroyed. The Mafia Don's Regret: Torturing His True Savior
Modern My husband crushed the metacarpals of my left hand—my drawing hand—with a heavy leather-bound book.
This was Punishment Ninety-Six.
The offense? I had missed a single phone call from my stepsister, Joyce.
According to Don Austen Ballard, ignoring the woman who allegedly saved his life fifteen years ago was akin to high treason.
"Discipline is the highest form of love, Alana," he whispered, watching the violet bruise spread across my skin.
He calls shattering an architect's hand "love."
He believes Joyce dragged him from a burning building when he was a boy. He treats her like a living saint and me like a punching bag to pay his life debt.
But it is all a lie.
Fifteen years ago, Joyce was at a cheerleading camp three towns away.
I was the one in that crawlspace.
I was the one who found the bleeding boy in the dark.
I was the one who called him "Stellen" because he was too terrified to tell me his real name.
He has spent our entire marriage torturing his true savior to please a fraud.
Tonight, the pain finally burned away my fear, leaving only cold resolve.
I didn't cry.
I waited until the house was silent, then I retrieved a burner phone hidden in a false bottom of a box in the bathroom.
I dialed the number of his sworn enemy, Don Dalton Underwood.
"I have the blueprints," I said, my voice steady despite the agony in my hand. "And I have the controlling shares of Ballard Industries. I'm ready to burn his kingdom to ash." Finding Love In A Scripted Betrayal
Modern I was the black sheep of the wealthy Jenkins family, the villain in my adopted sister Jami's perfect story. Everyone adored her, the sweet, innocent heroine. I was just the difficult one.
Then, a system uploaded itself into my brain, showing me the script of my life. It wasn't just a story where I was the bad guy-it was a detailed blueprint for my entire family's destruction, all orchestrated by Jami.
The script showed how she would drive one brother to suicide, frame another for a crime he didn't commit, and leave me for a gruesome "accidental" death, making her the sole heir to their fortune.
My family saw her as an angel. They were completely blind, worshiping the very monster who was plotting to bury them all.
But the system that showed me this horrifying future also gave me a weapon. It let me hear their thoughts.
And then, at the family gala, I realized something even better.
They could hear mine. Buried Alive: Her Unbroken Spirit
Modern Ten years ago, they buried me alive. My fiancé Jake and my adoptive brother Alon had me committed, framing me as insane to cover up his affair with my family's long-lost biological daughter, Corina.
They erased me from their perfect lives, painting me as a danger to myself and others. While I was left drugged and broken in a psychiatric facility, he married her, securing his connection to our family's power and launching his political career.
But I survived. I rebuilt a quiet life from the ashes, finding peace in a small bookstore by the sea. This was my sanctuary.
Until today.
They walked through my door, shattering a decade of silence. Jake, now a powerful District Attorney aiming for the Senate, stared at me, his composure cracking.
"Chandler?"
I met his gaze, my voice cold and steady, the voice I used for any stranger.
"Can I help you?" Seven Years, One Heartbreak, New Love
Modern For seven years, I was the perfect girlfriend to Hollywood star Ethan Cleveland. I put my life on hold, baked his favorite pastries, and silently endured the online hate from fans who wanted him with his co-star, Keira.
Then came my 29th birthday. He said he had a late-night script meeting, but I discovered the truth: he was at a private clinic, comforting Keira as she confessed her feelings for him.
He publicly defended Keira from online harassment, calling for kindness. But when I received death threats from his fans, he called me "dramatic" and "insecure."
He was capable of empathy and protection, just never for me. The man who claimed to love me was systematically destroying my self-worth while playing the hero for the world.
So I left. And when he finally tracked me down, trying to reclaim what he'd lost, I did something I never thought I would. I turned to the new man by my side-the one who truly saw me-and kissed him right in front of my ex. My Heart's Last, Bitter Goodbye
Modern The doctor told me I had weeks to live. But the real death sentence was seeing my fiancé's hand slip into my best friend's outside the hospital room. They thought I didn't see.
They had already turned my little brother against me, the boy I raised. He called her "Mom" now.
At their engagement party, held in my house and paid for with my money, he looked me in the eye.
"I hate you!"
My own family praised her for being a "natural mother," while the world celebrated their love story. They saw a weak, dying woman, too broken to fight back. They thought they had won.
So I gave them everything they wanted-my company, my fortune, my blessing. But I also left behind one final gift, a dead woman's last words. When I die, they will inherit my empire, but they will be forever branded by a legacy of eternal shame. Too Late for Her Regrets
Romance The world came back in pieces: gasoline, twisted metal, and a searing pain in my leg. Through the shattered windshield, I saw my wife, Olivia, scramble not to me, her injured husband, but to the passenger door, frantic over our "assistant," Liam.
She cradled his head, her voice filled with a tenderness she hadn't shown me in years. "Liam? Liam, can you hear me? Oh my god, you're bleeding." Ignoring my gasps, she finally looked at me with pure irritation: "Ethan. Your phone. Call an ambulance. Liam is hurt."
The cold clarity hit me: I didn't exist for her. Then, in the hospital, I learned my leg was shattered, and Olivia's first words concerned the hospital bill, not my well-being. Liam, she announced, was out with a concussion, making our household a "disaster." I was just a logistical problem.
As she left, a nurse brought "my favorite chicken soup," supposedly from Olivia. But Liam's Instagram later showed the identical thermos, captioned: "Best boss in the world! Nothing like Olivia's homemade chicken soup to make you feel better." It was never for me.
The final blow came when I found a positive pregnancy test and a receipt for a "Surgical Procedure" in Olivia's hidden box, dated the same week she claimed a "solo business retreat." She'd been pregnant with Liam's child and terminated it, all while pushing me to continue IVF.
The numbness shattered. My marriage, my decade of love, was a cruel, pathetic joke. Now, amidst the wreckage of my shattered life, I picked up my phone, my hands steady, and dialed the fertility clinic, then a divorce lawyer. It was time for my truth. The Gilded Cage: Her Fierce Escape
Billionaires My world revolved around the resonant strings of my cello and the man I loved, Ethan.
Even after the devastating miscarriage, I tried to find solace in music, in the quiet rhythm of our opulent New York life.
But that life shattered on a single, horrific night.
Ethan claimed he wanted to cheer me up with a party, but it was a trap.
As his "associates" brutalized me, he stood by, silently recording every agonizing detail.
He used the footage to force a divorce and strip me of everything.
The video went viral, branding me a "sick debauchee" and turning my family against me.
I was a pariah, utterly alone.
Then, Caleb, Ethan's rival, emerged, offering solace and protection.
I fell into his arms, believing him my savior, only to discover on our wedding day that he was the true architect of my public humiliation, the one who purposefully leaked the video to snag me.
My gilded cage marriage to Caleb was a new hell.
He subjected me to constant psychological torture, culminating in the ultimate public re-traumatization: replaying my complete, unedited assault video at a high-society charity gala for everyone to see.
Broken and hollow, I became a captive ghost in my own life.
How could I be so completely betrayed, not once, but twice, by the men closest to me?
The raw injustice, the ceaseless pain, threatened to consume me.
What unspeakable darkness festered beneath the surface of their ambition, driving them to destroy me so utterly?
Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, a call from my revered cello maestro ignited a faint, burning ember of hope.
He called me a phoenix and promised not just survival, but an inferno of revenge.
My destruction had merely been the prelude to a symphony of retribution. He Tortured, Her Unexpected
Romance Three years in gilded-cage Florence. Now I was back in Napa Valley, clutching my wedding invitation. My adoptive parents had exiled me with a brutal command: "Don't come back until Ethan is purged from your heart." I was here to marry Noah Williams, Ethan's best friend, proving I had moved on from my devastating, unrequited love for my adoptive brother.
But then I saw him, at his family vineyard, his new, very public actress girlfriend, Brooke, clinging to him. He smirked, pulled her into a passionate kiss right in front of me, then scoffed when I presented my invitation. He ripped it to shreds, calling it a "pathetic stunt" to get his attention.
From that moment, his cruelty, fueled by Brooke's manipulative games, became relentless. At poolside parties, at my final dress fitting, they mocked my engagement, fabricating lies, even allowing Brooke to physically harm me. He believed every accusation, every feigned sob, leaving me injured and humiliated. "Stop the theatrics, Ava," he'd sneered, ignoring my bleeding arm, rushing Brooke to safety over a minor scratch. My own adoptive parents silently approved of my torment, concerned only with their perfect family image.
How could the boy who once protected me become this cold, heartless stranger? Why did he refuse to believe I had moved on? Every act of cruelty, every dismissal, twisted the knife of a love I was desperate to bury. My past with him was a nightmare that wouldn't end.
On my wedding day, just before the ceremony, he abandoned me yet again for Brooke's false emergency, convinced I wouldn't go through with it. But as his car pulled away, a quiet resolve settled within me. His final act of abandonment was my true release. I was finally free. And he would never have power over me again. Escape From His Perfect Lie
Romance Everyone envied my life.
I was Sarah Miller, the picture-perfect wife of high-tech CEO Ethan Hayes – a modern power couple, constantly featured in glossy magazines.
Publicly, he was my adoring husband, showering me with grand gestures. It looked like a dream.
But behind the scenes, I discovered a nightmare.
Hidden on his private cloud, disguised as corporate files, were explicit photos and messages.
My husband, Ethan, and his ambitious Head of Communications, Chloe Vance.
He called me "The Anchor," his "dutiful, boring wife," a deadweight holding him back.
When confronted, he didn' t deny; he gaslighted.
"You' re just stressed, Sarah. After everything I' ve done." He weaponized my father' s illness, reminding me how he' d "saved" me, built "this life for us," how I "owed" him.
The betrayal was no momentary lapse; it was a brazen, parallel life, constantly flaunted by Chloe' s smug social media posts.
I realized I was suffocating in a beautiful, empty museum, a gilded cage.
His "sacrifices" and "kindnesses" weren't love; they were chains. He twisted my vulnerability into perpetual debt.
The man the world adored was a monster, and my "perfect" life was a suffocating lie. How could I escape?
Then, a thick envelope arrived.
A letter from an estranged, wealthy grandmother I barely knew, naming me the beneficiary of a colossal family trust. This was it. My way out.
I was done being his accessory.
I was done being Sarah Hayes. No Second Chance With My Past
LGBT+ I thought leaving Hollywood, branded a plagiarist and heartbroken, would bury the past forever.
My film school dream, "Desert Bloom," was supposed to be my triumph, a shared vision with Isabella Hayes, my muse and first love.
Instead, it became my ruin, as Isabella, seduced by Julian Vance, the slick heir of a rival studio, coldly betrayed me.
She stood on stage, her voice trembling with feigned sincerity, publicly accusing me of stealing my own script, conceived in our golden days.
The humiliation was a physical agony, a death sentence for my nascent career, forcing me to flee to Europe a broken man.
How could the woman who once looked at me like I held the stars in my hands, surrender our shared dream, our love, for a manipulative con artist?
I rebuilt my life from the ashes, finding solace in a new career, a loving wife, Olivia, and our beautiful daughter, Lily, who became my anchor.
But now, years later, the past has crashed back.
I'm back at my old school, and Isabella, the architect of my ruin, is here too, brazenly trying to rewrite history.
She's publicly proposing we "reunite" to finally make "Desert Bloom," attempting to reclaim a story she deliberately destroyed.
She expects me to play along, to let her manipulate my narrative, to fall back into her toxic orbit.
She has no idea about the life I've painstakingly built, or how fiercely I will protect it.
Tonight, the ghost of my past will finally face the undeniable truth of my present. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. He Erased Me, I Erased Him First
Lan Zhen On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies. The Underboss's Wife, Now His Queen
Hydro Therapy I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Reborn From Fire: The Ex-wife's Revenge
Lunacy Heidi gripped the sterile hospital bedsheets as violent contractions ripped her body apart.
The heavy door opened, but it wasn't the doctor. It was Brigette, wearing the exact custom wedding dress Heidi had spent six months designing for herself.
Brigette held up her phone on speaker. When the doctor warned that a natural delivery would kill the mother, Christian Page's voice echoed through the room, ice-cold and devoid of any warmth.
"Prioritize the Page heirs. Let her die."
The man she loved had just signed her death warrant over the phone.
Brigette stole her newborn twins, dragged her to an abandoned warehouse, and poured gasoline over her bare legs.
Flicking a lit cigar into the puddle, Brigette left Heidi tied to an iron pillar to burn alive.
But as the flames formed a deadly circle around her, Heidi's body convulsed with a terrifying truth.
In the heart of the blazing inferno, she miraculously gave birth to two more babies she didn't know she was carrying.
Using her own back as a human shield against the falling embers, she survived the fire, but the ultimate betrayal burned deeper than her ruined skin.
Four years later, Heidi returned to New York with a reconstructed face, two brilliant children, and a terrifying new identity as the world's top underground surgeon.
When Christian, entirely unaware of who she was, signed a waiver begging her to save his dying grandfather's life, Heidi looked into his desperate eyes with absolute, clinical boredom.
"The game starts now," she said coldly. The Mafia King's Runaway Genius Wife
Huo Wuer I was married to the Dark Don of New York, but to the Trevino family, I was just collateral.
While I was suffering from agonizing acute appendicitis, my husband forced me out into the freezing rain just to watch him parade his mistress in front of the city's elite.
When I handed him the annulment papers and begged for my freedom, he coldly burned them to ashes right in front of my face.
He watched me collapse on the floor in blinding pain, completely ignoring my deathly pale skin.
"Stop this pathetic performance. If you aren't ready for the gala by seven, I will throw your grandfather into a state facility."
His mistress even mocked my illness, handing me raw oysters with a victorious smirk while he looked at me with pure disgust.
I finally understood that in this gilded cage, my life meant absolutely nothing to him.
If I stayed, I would die here—either from a ruptured appendix or from his suffocating cruelty.
So, I took a heavy dose of painkillers, threw my diamond ring into the river, and emptied the family's hidden safe.
When he finally cornered me in a dark alley to drag me back, I shoved the real annulment papers into his chest.
"Touch me, and I will scream until every rat in this city hears me."
I stepped into the getaway cab, taking the master copies of his smuggling ledgers with me.
It was time to burn his empire to the ground. His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. 
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