Mei Piaoxiang
12 Published Stories
Mei Piaoxiang's Books and Stories
Broken Doll No More: Her Ruthless Revenge
Mafia I stood before the heavy oak door with a positive pregnancy test burning a hole in my pocket, ready to tell the Underboss, Anthony Holden, that his legacy was secured.
But before I could turn the handle, I heard his twin brother laughing from inside.
"She screams your name, not mine. It is a little insulting, brother," Emmanuel mocked.
"Three years of celibacy for the alliance while you play with my toy," Anthony sighed. "I deserve a medal."
My world shattered. For three years, I thought I was the exception to their violence, but I had been sleeping with a monster in the dark.
When I kicked the door open, Bianca House—my high school tormentor—was sitting there like a queen.
"Happy anniversary, Erica," she sneered. "You were just a placeholder for the territory deal."
They didn't stop there. They took my dignity, and then they took my life.
At a dinner intended to show unity, they watched me choke on peanuts. Anthony looked me in the eye and used my EpiPen on Bianca’s fake faint while I suffocated on the floor.
They threw my grandmother’s ashes off a balcony just to watch me scream. They pushed me into traffic to ensure I’d be a compliant prop for their wedding.
They killed the baby in my womb.
They thought they had broken me. They thought I was just a nurse, a civilian, a loose end.
But on the day of the wedding, I wasn't in the pews.
I was on a bus out of state, hacking the church's livestream.
As the priest began to speak, I replaced the image of the cross with the video of their confession.
I watched their empire crumble from a cracked phone screen, leaving the monsters behind to find a man who would actually burn the world for me. When Love Became a Nightmare
Romance The text message from Mark, "Trip extended. Don' t wait up. Love you," was the first crack in the facade of my four-year marriage, a hollow echo of affection on our anniversary. Then, discovering him with his assistant, Olivia Stone, in his office, their intimacy a brutal slap, confirmed my deepest fears.
But his words cut deeper than the sight: "Ever since she got pregnant, she' s become… unbearable. Clingy. Emotional. It' s not the woman I married." In that instant, a searing pain shot through my abdomen, and a choked gasp escaped me, a prelude to the nightmare that followed.
He pushed me down the stairs. My body hit the cold steps over and over. I lay in a heap, bleeding, losing our baby. Yet, he rushed past me to comfort Olivia, asking, "Are you okay? Did she scare you?" He chose her, leaving me broken and bleeding on the floor. At the hospital, he confirmed the devastating loss and then blamed me, twisting reality.
As if summoned, Olivia appeared, feigning sorrow, while he comforted her, bringing her to my room where our child's life had just ended. He pushed me back onto the bed, furious at my screams, and then escorted her out, murmuring soothing words, leaving me utterly alone with the ghost of our child.
His cruelty knew no bounds. He threw my beloved dog, Buddy, out into a raging storm, then forced me to apologize to Olivia for upsetting HER, threatening Buddy's life if I refused. I knelt, humiliating myself, whispering apologies I didn't mean, all for Buddy.
How could he be so monstrous? He remembered nothing of the man I loved, only this cruel stranger. Yet, the question of what he truly remembered, what he was capable of, hung heavy in the air.
That night, alone after my performative apology, I called my lawyer. My decision was solid, unchangeable. The marriage was a festering wound, and the only way to survive was to cut it out completely. Her Pain, His Ultimate Regret
Romance My team lead looked at my termination letter, unable to meet my eyes. He said it came from the top, nothing he could do. I was the scapegoat for a supposed error, fired from the company because Chloe Davis, Nathan Hayes' s high school sweetheart and co-founder, was back.
Suddenly, I saw Nathan get out of his car, holding the door for Chloe with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in ages. Our eyes met, a flicker of something in his expression before it was gone, and he walked right past me without a word, leaving a sharp pain in my chest. I hailed a cab and went to his penthouse, the place I called home, for now. I cooked his favorite meal, sent him a picture, and waited, but he never replied.
Days passed. Nathan didn't contact me. I'd been to the hospital three times, my doctor pressing for treatment options, but I kept them hidden. He finally came home, his tension easing when I told him I just had a cold. He pulled my hand to his face, a familiar, intimate gesture, reminding me how easily I mistook habit for affection.
After a night of desperate passion, he whispered, "Ava, you're not mad I fired you, are you?" I wasn't. Three years ago, he paid off my mother's gambling debts, turning me into his "kept woman." I was dutiful, obedient, supportive, asking for nothing. He called me his "beautiful bird in a golden cage," the one who could never leave him.
Then, Chloe's best friend, Brenda Smith, confronted me, throwing my desperate texts to Nathan in my face. "You're a pathetic homewrecker," she sneered, slapping me hard across the cheek. I ended up in the hospital with a concussion. Nathan came back, but his main concern was Chloe's reputation. "Ava, Chloe is different from you to me," he said, touching my bruised cheek. "Just be good, okay?"
The pain was suffocating. I didn't understand how he could be so cruelly indifferent. I closed my eyes, and a single tear escaped. He didn't wipe it away. Our three years together meant nothing. It was all a ghost compared to his "white knight."
"Let's break up, Nathan." His jaw tightened. "Ava, break up? Haven't you forgotten our agreement? Unless one of us dies, I am the one who decides when we part ways." I finally understood. To be free, I had to die for him to let me go. His Shadow, Her Betrayal, His Rise
Modern The blinding white of the hospital ceiling.
My ears registered the monotonous beep of a machine, my body a dull ache radiating from my chest, but my mind was replaying a lifetime.
A lifetime I didn't swerve, didn't fight, a life where I gave everything for her, for Sarah Miller.
I saw myself hollowed out, unfulfilled, alone, a footnote in her brilliant biography, my own child a ghost.
Then the blinding clarity: this wasn't just a brush with death, it was a preview of the life I was about to lose myself in.
My gaze drifted-Sarah, impeccable as always, on her phone, brow furrowed.
And next to her, Alex, murmuring, his hand on her arm, a gesture far too familiar.
They were a perfect, closed circuit.
I was the outsider.
A cold certainty settled in my chest, more real than the pain from my injuries: I would not let that life happen.
My hands trembled, not from weakness, but from a newfound resolve.
I called my boss.
"Mike! I heard about the accident. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
"I'm okay, Mark," I said, my voice raspy. "But I'm calling to resign."
"Resign? Mike, what are you talking about? You're our top young talent. We were just about to put you on the downtown high-rise project."
"I don't want the high-rise," I said, with surprising strength. "I want the sustainable community project. The one in Oak Creek. I know it's a pay cut. I know it's in the middle of nowhere. I'll take it. I need to do it."
A weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lifted from my shoulders.
It felt incredible.
This was my second chance.
My life wasn't going to be a footnote in Sarah Miller's biography.
It was going to be my own story.
Starting now. Divorce Papers, A Woman Reborn
Modern My record label was a empire, built on grit and an uncanny ear for talent.
But that morning, standing in my sanctuary, Studio A, the controlled chaos I expected was replaced by a scene that froze my blood: a girl I didn't know, holding "The Nightingale," Liam's one-of-a-kind microphone.
It wasn't just any mic. It was our mic, a silver emblem of our shared career, engraved with "E+L"-a symbol of a sacred promise he made years ago, that only his voice would ever touch it. And this girl, Ava, with her sickly sweet smile, was singing into it, her cheap perfume clinging to the pop filter, her fingers wrapped right over our initials. My sound engineer paled and cut the audio.
"Hi, Ms. Reed. I'm Ava. Liam said I could warm up with this one." Her voice was pure saccharine.
Liam, the man of principles, who preached loyalty and integrity, had let her use it, had broken his promise for her. He walked in later, carefree, carrying coffees, asking, "Where's Ava?" as if it were nothing. Blithely admitting he told her she could use his mic.
Why did he dismiss our vow so easily? Why was this girl, a stranger, allowed to hold something so intimate, so symbolic of us? And why did Liam act like my feelings were an overreaction, just something he needed to manage?
I sent her home, but the real fight had just begun. Too Late, Mr. Thompson: Your Script is Burned
Fantasy Three months pregnant, my life with Mark, a rising tech CEO, in our beautiful Charleston home, felt truly perfect.
We were college sweethearts, five years married-a fairy tale come true.
Then Mark arrived holding a cheap, wilted rose. Above his head, impossible words flickered like captions only I could see: `"The 'side piece' got the fresh bouquet, the 'starter wife' gets a pity rose?"` More chillingly: `"Only 4 more months until the 'first wife' is written off. Classic tragic exit."` My perfect world shattered.
The comments exposed his long-term affair with his intern, Brit, and my role as a disposable "plot device."
When I confronted them, Brit shoved me. I fell. I woke with an agonizing void-my baby gone.
Mark, feigning remorse, still used our funds to protect his mistress.
His hypocrisy infuriated me. The comments confirmed his manipulative strategy.
Then, the ultimate blow: Mark declared Brit was pregnant, calling it "our second chance." He even offered to make her abort that baby if I'd take him back, proving him utterly depraved.
I refused to be written off. My baby was gone, but I was still here.
The tragic script they wrote for me was now totally ablaze. I chose to fight. "No mercy," I told my lawyer.
I would dismantle his empire, reclaim my life, and write my own powerful, uncompromised ending. The Love Story Passed Nineteen Again
Romance I woke up nineteen again, in my familiar 80s room, recalling a seventy-year marriage with Mark.
He was my soulmate, my golden love story, and I believed this time, we could make it even more perfect.
But this new, young Mark was shockingly different.
He was ambitious, driven, and then, at the Fourth of July picnic, he publicly asked Tiffany Anderson, the town' s popular golden girl, to be his girlfriend.
My seventy-year love story, my perfect reunion dream, shattered into a million pieces.
I watched my past, present, and future fall apart before my eyes.
Every shared milestone, every tender moment, was now seen through a horrifying lens of betrayal.
He' d never been truly with me; he was always just chasing her.
Mark himself confirmed my deepest fears, treating me with open disdain, trying to sabotage my music.
How could the man I loved for a lifetime treat me like this?
My heart screamed, "Did you ever, in all those seventy years, actually love me?"
His answer was a cold, brutal laugh: "Love you? Don't be stupid. It was convenient. It was always Tiffany."
My entire past life, a carefully constructed illusion, imploded.
But in that moment of utter devastation, a fierce, new resolve ignited within me.
The very sabotage meant to break me instead opened an unexpected door.
A city music promoter, impressed by my raw performance, offered me a way out-a chance to become truly myself, finally free from his shadow. From Nerd To NovaCorp Heir
Young Adult I was just Ethan Miller, the quiet coder, dreaming of a tech internship and a shot with Brittany Hayes.
Then the internship list dropped. Her boyfriend Chad made it, I didn't.
Hours later, the school' s social media lit up: a "Loser List" poll, and I was "Biggest Nerd," number one.
My private DMs, every awkward, hopeful word asking Brittany to prom, were instantly plastered school-wide.
Laughter and pointed fingers followed me, the burning humiliation a public execution of my dignity.
Brittany had orchestrated it all.
She' d played me for a fool, then falsely accused me of hacking, costing me my dream CS program and a suspension.
The "Future Innovator" scholarship I was promised went to Chad.
Why did she hate me so much, actively ruining my life and now targeting Sarah Jenkins, an innocent outcast I' d tried to help?
But at prom, as Brittany "accidentally" spilled a drink on Sarah' s dress, something inside me snapped.
The chauffeur opened the Maybach' s door; I stepped out in a custom Tom Ford tuxedo, my family' s security detail and stylist flanking me.
"I'm Mark Miller's son," I whispered to a stunned Sarah. "NovaCorp. Time for an upgrade." Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: Her Sacrifice Burned Away
Modern Ava Miller, terminally ill with ALS, fled a brutal five-year imprisonment in a mental health facility.
Her desperate wish was a final act of control: a pre-arranged full-body donation for complete disintegration, leaving no trace behind.
But her carefully planned escape shattered when she collided with Liam Donovan, her former fiancé and the man who believed she was responsible for his beloved sister' s tragic death.
Liam, consumed by grief and rage, dragged Ava into a new nightmare, intent on making her pay for Chloe' s loss.
Despite her rapidly worsening illness and broken body, Ava shielded a secret that would exonerate her but destroy Chloe' s memory, embracing Liam' s abuse as penance.
She endured public degradation, horrific assaults, and even a forced bone marrow donation that left her paralyzed, all to uphold her silent promise.
How could the man she still desperately loved be so cruelly blind to her innocence and suffering, allowing his hatred to consume her?
Why did she choose to sacrifice every shred of dignity for a truth she couldn't speak, leaving her stripped of everything but oblivion?
Her final agonizing moments came in a fire he implicitly condoned, prompting Liam to slowly unravel her devastating sacrifice through hidden clues long after she was gone.
Now, haunted by the profound truth of Ava's unwavering love and innocent torment, Liam is forced to confront the monstrous depths of his own actions, embarking on a brutal journey for redemption, only to discover some truths come too late for forgiveness. The Day I Chose My Own Destiny
Romance My blood was a rare gift, able to heal any wound and mend broken bodies.
In my first wretched life, it bound me to Ethan Vanderbilt, who saw my power as his sole property.
But my gift couldn't bring back the dead, a truth Ethan refused to accept when his "true love," Veronica, lay lifeless before him.
Consumed by a twisted grief not for me, he cruelly watched as my own life bled out from a wound he inflicted.
I died a slow, agonizing death, powerless against his vengeful madness.
As darkness claimed me, a maid's faint whisper revealed a chilling secret: Veronica wasn’t where they claimed; her death wasn't an accident.
"Another man… his wife found out."
My entire torment, my very death, was built on a monstrous lie.
The utter injustice of it burned, even as I faded.
Then, I gasped, whole and alive, in a hospital room.
The calendar date confirmed it: I was back to the very day Ethan first summoned me.
This time, I wouldn't be his victim.
This time, I had a choice.
This was my second chance. If He Dies, He Dies
Modern I poured my life, my health, into Vicky Sterling's startup.
Now she's a celebrated CEO, and I’m just a recovering patient, battling Crohn’s.
Her "conceptual artist" lover, Julian, fills our home with his presence.
One evening, Julian, knowing my strict diet, offered me a rich, forbidden pasta.
Under his watchful smirk, I took a bite.
Within the hour, internal fire consumed me.
I crawled to Vicky, begging for the hospital, but she dismissed my agony.
She called me "dramatic," prioritized Julian's fake illness, and brutally kicked my surgical scars.
Her assistant Brenda then locked me in my room, where Julian's venomous brown recluse bit me.
When paramedics arrived, Vicky blocked the ambulance, chillingly stating, "If he dies, he dies!"
How could the woman I loved, the one I sacrificed everything for, actively ensure my agonizing death?
Was I just a burden to be eliminated, a mere inconvenience?
As darkness encroached, I used my last ounce of strength, not to call 911 again, but the one man who could truly help: Uncle Frank.
My story wasn't ending; it was just beginning. You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy
CHRISTINE ROBINSON I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.
Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.
"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."
I froze.
My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.
He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."
I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.
Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.
He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.
Then, he pushed me off the edge.
As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.
I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.
But he forgot that I knew his secrets.
I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.
"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt." The Mafia Don's Obsession
Nyssa Kim "Alexander, this isn't right," Valentina whispered, her voice shaky as his hand traced the line of her jaw.
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter what's right," he said, his voice low and commanding. "It matters what's mine."
Her breath caught as his fingers slid to the back of her neck. "And you think I'm yours?"
"I don't think, Valentina," he murmured, a dark smile curving his lips. "I know."
---
Valentina never expected her life to take such a dangerous turn. After her husband demands a divorce to marry his mistress, she finds herself entangled with Alexander-a powerful mafia Don whose reputation is as lethal as the man himself.
Alexander doesn't just want Valentina; he needs her. When he discovers she's the daughter of Nico Vance, the man responsible for the tragedy that destroyed his family, his rage burns hotter. But instead of killing her, Alexander makes a chilling decision: Valentina will become his late wife, down to the last detail.
Caught between desire and danger, Valentina must decide if she'll run from Alexander's dark world-or step willingly into it. Because once she does, there's no turning back.
Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. Replaced By A Mistress: The Wife's Revenge
William Jafferson I went to the City Clerk's office to update my passport, desperate to feel alive again after losing my ability to draw.
Instead, the clerk handed me a reality that killed me.
"Mrs. Crosby," she whispered, her face drained of color. "You aren't married to Bennet. The divorce was finalized three years ago. On October 12th."
The date hit me harder than a physical blow.
October 12th was the day my right hand was crushed.
The day Gianna Skinner, a woman obsessed with my husband, shattered twenty-seven bones in my drawing hand with a marble bust.
Bennet, the most ruthless Don in New York, had promised me justice. He swore he locked Gianna in a dungeon to rot for hurting his "Angel."
But the screen in front of me told a different story.
He had married Gianna the very same day he divorced me.
I drove to the Lake House where she was supposed to be suffering. I didn't find a prison; I found a modern glass palace.
There they were, sitting on a swing set I had designed.
Gianna wasn't rotting. She was laughing in his lap, wearing a silk robe.
"She is so pathetic," Gianna purred, tracing his jaw. "Five years and she still thinks she is the Lady of the house."
Bennet chuckled, the sound dark and terrifying.
"She is broken, Gianna. A bird with no wings. She has no value to the Family anymore, except as a trophy on my shelf. She is my pet. You are my fire."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Bennet.
"Happy Anniversary, my Angel. Tonight, I give you the world."
He wasn't giving me the world. He was building a cage out of lies.
Through a bugged ring, I later heard his endgame: he planned to institutionalize me for "mental instability" so he could bring Gianna into the light.
I didn't go home to cry.
I went to my office and opened a secure browser on the dark web.
*Subject: Protocol Erasure.*
*Target: Harper Cline.*
*Execution: Immediate.*
Bennet thought he had broken his pet.
He was about to realize he had just unleashed a lioness. Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Moria Anninger I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia.
The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast.
That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water.
He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard.
But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead.
I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival.
On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone.
"I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city." Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny 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. 
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