Meng Fanhua
13 Published Stories
Meng Fanhua's Books and Stories
His Wife, Her Lover, Their Daughter
Romance The first time I knew my marriage was over was when I saw my wife Angela and our daughter Chaney laughing with Giovanni Brown at the private airfield. For ten years, I had been the perfect political husband, sacrificing my music career to be a stay-at-home dad and Angela' s smiling prop.
Then, this morning, I found the hotel receipts. Dozens of them, stretching back a decade, always two rooms booked but only one used, always on nights she was supposedly at a "political retreat" with her campaign manager, Giovanni. My world shattered.
At the airfield, Angela adjusted Giovanni' s tie, her smile warm and intimate, a smile I hadn' t seen in years. Chaney held Giovanni' s hand, looking up at him with adoration. I was the intruder. When I confronted them, Angela' s face paled, then flushed with anger, not shame. Chaney scowled, screaming, "Daddy, you' re embarrassing us!" She then delivered the final, killing strike, clinging to Giovanni and yelling, "You' re just a useless stay-at-home dad! Uncle Gio helps Mommy with important things!"
The humiliation was a physical thing, hot and suffocating. Angela didn' t defend me; she agreed. I realized I was just a service provider, a convenient accessory they no longer needed.
They thought I was nothing without them. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. The Price Of Their Cruel Deceit
Billionaires Three years after my fiancé, Kaden, left me at the altar, he crashed back into my life. He found me pregnant, living in the grand mansion he still believed was his birthright.
He wasn't alone. My ex-best friend, Chelsey, stood beside him, her eyes scanning the home with pure greed. They cornered me, their faces twisted with rage, demanding to know who the father of my "bastard" child was.
When I refused to answer their insane accusations, their questions turned to violence. They slapped me, shoved shards of broken glass into my mouth, and pinned me to the floor.
Chelsey smiled as she drove her stiletto heel into my stomach. Then Kaden delivered a final, brutal kick.
In that horrifying instant, I felt the tiny, fluttering life inside me go still. They had murdered my son.
They laughed when I sobbed that the baby belonged to Kaden's older brother, Angus. "Everyone knows he's sterile," Kaden sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "The car accident ten years ago made sure of that." They were so blinded by a decade-old rumor they refused to believe the impossible truth.
But just as they threw my broken body into the pool to drown, a car smashed through the estate gates. It was Angus. And they were about to learn the devastating truth: he wasn't just the baby's father. He was my husband. Beyond the Fire: A Wife's Ultimatum
Billionaires They said our story was for the ages. Olivia and Ethan, childhood sweethearts who built an empire, Miller-Reed Tech, from nothing. Our marriage was supposed to be the final, perfect brick in our carefully constructed life.
Then, a week before our wedding, Ethan confessed to an affair with an intern, Chloe, dismissing it as a "mistake." I buried the pain, believing our love was strong enough to mend any crack.
Three years later, during a fire at our company, I saved Ethan from a falling beam, only to be crushed myself. He, however, ran past me, bleeding and pinned, to comfort Chloe who had only twisted her ankle. Later, in the hospital, he didn' t know I was near death, while diverting top medical teams for Chloe' s minor injury.
The betrayal escalated when Chloe brazenly visited my hospital bed. She flaunted Ethan' s devotion, admitted to setting the fire herself to make him a "hero," and then dropped the bombshell: she was pregnant with Ethan's child. She mocked my "cold bed," stating I was merely a "business partner," not a wife.
When Ethan finally confronted me, he saw my horrific injuries. But instead of remorse, he rationalized his neglect, claiming I was "too strong" to need him, unlike "fragile" Chloe. He begged for forgiveness, but when Chloe re-entered, attacking me, he shielded her, blaming me for "upsetting" her.
The ultimate choice was clear. With cold resolve, I gave Ethan an ultimatum: sign an uncontested divorce for half the company, or face an arson investigation against Chloe and a complicity charge against him. The clock was ticking. When Home Becomes A Nightmare
Modern My daughter, Lily, was just one month old when I hired Ms. Jenkins, a live-in nanny.
As CEO of my own tech startup, I needed help, and she came highly recommended.
But from the moment she arrived, she started subtly undermining me.
She criticized my career, told me "a mother's place is with her child," and openly suggested her daughter would be a better wife for my husband, Mark.
I tried to set boundaries, but her manipulative behavior escalated, culminating in her attempting to "ward off evil spirits" by shaking my baby with a pair of sharp scissors.
I immediately fired her.
But then, Ms. Jenkins put on a masterful show of emotional blackmail, pleading with Mark that she had nowhere to go.
Mark, ever the soft touch, sided with her, portraying me as heartless for wanting rid of a woman who had just endangered our child.
He guilttripped me, leveraging my privileged background against his own humble roots, twisting my compassion into a weakness.
Trapped, and to my eternal regret, I gave her one more week.
I hadn't solved a problem; I had merely delayed a disaster.
Two weeks later, returning home from a postpartum recovery center, I found the locks changed.
My house was in chaos, occupied by Ms. Jenkins, her "perfect homemaker" daughter Tiffany, Tiffany's destructive son, and Mark' s abrasive mother.
They had trashed my home, stolen my valuables, and were arrogantly claiming it was their house, that Mark owned everything.
Then, Brenda, Mark' s mother, handed me divorce papers signed by Mark, declaring he wanted me out with nothing.
My home invaded, my property plundered, my daughter threatened, and my marriage betrayed-I was stripped of everything.
How could the man I loved, the father of my child, conspire to leave me completely destitute?
Fueled by a cold, protective rage for my daughter, I activated the hidden cameras, sending an emergency text to my father.
I signed the divorce papers, a silent promise of the battle to come.
This wasn't over; it was just beginning. When Revenge Kills, Love Prevails
Billionaires My crystal glass felt cold, a stark contrast to the stifling ballroom where hundreds of people laughed around me.
Then I saw her, Scarlett Hayes, the city' s richest heiress, moving directly towards me, her cruel smile widening.
She publicly humiliated me, reminding everyone how her family funded my mother' s medical bills and my education. She' d always made it clear what I was: her servant, her puppet.
I was nothing more than a stand-in, a substitute for Liam, her obsessed-over step-brother. The constant abuse, the public shaming – it was all her game.
But then my phone rang. It was the hospital.
"Mr. Miller?" a nurse' s voice said, urgent. "It' s your mother."
A cold dread washed over me. I raced to the hospital, but it was too late.
My mother was gone. The payment for her emergency medication had been canceled, that very afternoon. By Scarlett.
She had done this. Her petty revenge had cost my mother her life.
The grief was a physical blow, but beneath it, something else simmered. The deal was broken. I had nothing left to lose.
I walked back to her mansion, left her key and her credit card on the table.
"My mother is dead," I said, my voice flat.
"Well, that' s not my problem," she retorted.
"No," I said, looking her directly in the eye for the first time without fear. "It' s not. Not anymore."
I turned and walked out, leaving my life as her puppet behind. For the first time in a year, I felt like I could breathe.
I was free. Or so I thought. My Family, My Betrayal
Modern The heavy iron gate groaned shut, a sound I knew too well after five years inside.
I stood there, a single duffel bag holding all that was left of my old life, traded my prison gray for ill-fitting civilian clothes.
Then a sleek black car pulled up, and Maestro Chen, the man who saw something in my prison-yard music, told me we were going home-my old home.
But "home" had already moved on, without me.
Liam Carter, a man with my face, had stolen everything: my fiancée Olivia, my family' s love, even my dog Apollo.
My family-my parents, Robert and Sarah, and my sister Emily-they didn' t just embrace him, they erased me, the painful reminder of a tragedy they preferred to forget.
They even cheered as Liam, the imposter who now wore my own sweater, feigned a heart attack to steal their sympathy, completely overshadowing my unwelcome return.
The word "family" turned to ash on my tongue as I realized I was nothing more than a ghost in my own house, a forgotten inconvenience.
I was a punchline to a cruel joke, a fugitive framed for arson by the very imposter my family rallied to protect.
They chose the lie, leaving me to burn, and then branded me a violent, unstable criminal to the world.
Completely alone, disowned, and hunted, I was staring into an abyss of betrayal I hadn't imagined possible.
But as I looked at the embers of my destroyed past, a cold certainty ignited: I wouldn't just disappear; I would rise.
I became Lloyd, severing every last tie, not merely to escape, but to orchestrate a crescendo of truth-a final, devastating performance to reclaim my name and expose the monsters they truly were. His Recipe, Their Ruin
Romance The roar of the crowd was deafening, chanting the name of our brewery, "Chadwick Ales!" We' d just won the biggest award in the country for my beer, a recipe I' d perfected, a dream my wife Nicole and I built from the ground up. I was about to go on stage to accept our gold medal.
But Nicole, my wife and CEO, stepped directly in front of me, blocking my path, and pulled her brand manager, Wesley, into the spotlight instead. He, the smooth-talking influencer who knew more about hashtags than hops, wrapped an intimate, possessive arm around her waist as cameras flashed, capturing them accepting my award.
Afterward, Nicole flatly announced I was being forced into a "sabbatical" due to "rumors" about her and Wesley, claiming it was for my own good. Wesley, smirking, handed me a box containing my personal effects, including my precious recipe notebooks - the soul of our brewery.
My heart didn' t just ache; it was a heavy, cold stone in my gut. The betrayal was so complete, so cold, I was left with only a quiet, resolute clarity. Then I went home to find Nicole and Wesley throwing a party in our house, celebrating their victory.
It was all a game, she whispered, trying to placate me. But I was done playing. I reached into my jacket and pulled out the divorce papers I' d had drawn up weeks ago. I just needed a reason to sign them. And she had given it to me, cold and clear. Celestial Heart, Mortal Betrayal
Fantasy I was Jocelyn Chavez, a celestial being on Earth for a sacred trial of love, fated to marry Pastor Ethan Lester in our quiet Pacific Northwest town.
Just hours before our wedding, Ethan came to me, his face cold, demanding I become a daily blood donor for my adoptive sister, Tara.
Tara had spun a malicious lie, claiming she saved him from a car crash when in truth, my forbidden celestial powers healed him, nearly destroying me.
He accused me of selfishness and drama, echoing Tara's cruel accusations that I had drugged him, then watched as my adoptive parents forced me to bleed myself daily, my life force draining away for their lies and greed.
I was dying, betrayed by the man I loved and the family who raised me, unable to reveal the truth of my divine nature due to ancient celestial law.
As my mortal body faded, I chose to sever my ties to this cruel world and return to the Celestial Realm, even if it meant facing a punishing penance, rather than enduring this slow, unjust demise. The Art of Un-Making: A Star's Vicious Comeback
Romance Eight years.
That' s how long I poured my soul into my music, my career, and the woman who molded me, Cassidy Vance.
We were a Nashville power couple, or so I thought.
My latest album, months in the making, sat unlistened on her desk while she flirted with some record label suit, her back always turned to me.
Then, a text. A grainy photo of Cassidy boarding a private jet with Cal Rivers, the new country-pop sensation, her "new project." She dismissed me with an ice-cold phone call about an "emergency meeting," then hung up.
Hours later, her Instagram shattered what was left of my world: a cozy cabin, a glass of wine, and a caption announcing Cal as her new "#muse."
My phone exploded. Public humiliation, accusations of being a jilted lover-it was relentless.
She called, not to apologize, but to threaten: "I made you, Liam. Don' t forget I can un-make you." To prove it, she froze my accounts, then revealed she' d sold my childhood home, the place where I wrote my first songs, for scrap. Everything I was, everything I loved, turned to dust.
How could someone I loved so deeply, someone I built my entire life around, betray me so completely?
My career, my home, my identity-all wiped away for a younger, more marketable model. Why did I ever trust her? How could she be so cold, so calculating?
Whispering a silent prayer to the voice in my head, "The Guide," I finally gave in: "Sever my love for her." Four years later, after surgically removing every last trace of the man I was, Noah Stone returns to Nashville. And the leading judge of "Nashville' s Next Legend" is Cassidy Vance. The Phoenix Plan
Sci-fi My phone buzzed on the morning of my SATs.
A text from Liam, my older brother, who vanished three years ago, right after his own SATs.
"Don't take the test. I'll explain. Don't tell Mom."
But the woman fussing over me wasn' t my Mom.
The scar on her neck was on the wrong side.
My 'dad' wore his watch on the wrong wrist.
They were imposters, eerily calm, forcing me towards that exam-the last thing Liam had endured before he disappeared.
Then, Liam's best friend, Ethan, seemed to join their twisted game.
He calmly told me Liam was dead and I was hallucinating.
My phone, once full of my own proof, was wiped clean.
They were systematically gaslighting me, pushing me to question my sanity.
Why were they so obsessed with this test?
What was truly happening?
Was I insane, or was it all a terrifying lie?
Just as I stood on the brink of despair, another text from Liam appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
He used our private "Phoenix Plan" code.
He confirmed my terrifying suspicion: I was trapped.
In a simulation.
And to truly escape, he wrote, "You have to jump. From where you are now."
It was my only hope.
So, I jumped. They Chose Wrong: The Trailblazer's Triumph
Fantasy My eighteenth birthday. Our small living room felt heavy with Mother Brenda' s looming expectations.
On the mahogany table, two lockets gleamed: the silver "Trailblazer Charm" and the dull gold "Wallflower Charm," said to shape destinies.
"Jessica is destined for great things," Brenda announced, pushing the Trailblazer toward my older sister.
In my first life, I meekly chose the Wallflower.
Jessica became a shining tech star, but ambition and betrayal tore her apart, dead before thirty.
My Wallflower life was a quiet whisper-unremarkable, a "manageable" wife in my wealthy husband's shadow.
Then, Jessica' s dying breath whispered a terrible truth about the Wallflower' s hidden power. Her warning painted a target; the same opportunists found me. My quiet life ended with a brutal, sudden stop.
I' d believed the Wallflower offered refuge, an easy existence. Instead, it delivered manipulation and an invisible death. It was a gilded cage.
The injustice burned fiercely. Was this cherished "charm" truly a curse, a deceptive lure for us both?
Suddenly, my eyes snapped open.
The oppressive living room, my eighteenth birthday, the lockets still gleaming.
Brenda's familiar favoritism began. But this time, Jessica' s greedy gaze was fixed on the Wallflower. She remembered too.
This choice wasn't about destiny-it was about survival. This time, I' d rewrite our story. From Neglected Wife to Tech Empress
Modern The spotlight hit Ethan, and the crowd cheered for our AI launch, the culmination of years of *my* groundbreaking work.
But my world shattered the instant his eyes, full of an affection he hadn't shown me in years, flickered to his assistant, Chloe, as he credited *her* with cracking *my* core algorithm.
That public lie, that possessive look mirroring my deceitful father, was a searing betrayal, instantly extinguishing the future of our unborn child.
The applause for *her* stock options felt like a funeral dirge for *my* genius; I walked out, terminating my pregnancy, then served him divorce papers.
His hand meeting my face was the final, brutal confirmation of his blindness and my freedom from everything we built.
How could one careless look unravel a decade, erase my professional identity, and destroy a family?
My unwavering truth compass guided me: I called an old friend, ready to build an ethical AI empire, armed with the intellectual property Ethan thought he owned.
Now, as his company collapses, he will finally face the agonizing truth of losing everything he never truly saw. You might like
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. 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. 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.
After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." 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. After My Husband Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival
Rabbit The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost.
Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal.
This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline.
I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war. The 100-Point Divorce Plan
Valeria For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.
The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.
In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.
"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."
His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.
"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."
He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure. 
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