Qing Cheng
12 Published Stories
Qing Cheng's Books and Stories
You Chose Her, Now Call Me Queen
Mafia I sat in a room waiting for my fiancé to set our wedding date, but instead, I received a video of him bleeding in a clinic. He wasn't there for me; he was paying the price for a blood-diamond purse he’d bought for a Mafia Princess named Lucia.
I had spent five years living in the shadow of his underground fights, constantly fearing the day he’d come home in a body bag. Today, he’d emptied our wedding fund to buy Lucia an armored car, leaving me with nothing but the chilling realization that I was merely a placeholder.
When I confronted him, he dismissed my pain, swearing it was just a debt of honor. He laughed off my threats to leave, convinced that my heart was too soft to ever truly walk away.
I watched as he prioritized Lucia's shrill demands over our future, his arrogance blind to the fact that my patience had finally turned to ash. I had survived his brawls and his lies, but I was done being collateral in a game I never asked to play.
How many times could I forgive a man who traded my life for another woman’s vanity? Why had I stayed so long, waiting for a man who didn't even know how to protect his own future?
I walked into the Syndicate clinic, not to nurse his wounds, but to reclaim my passport. I didn't look back as I signed the papers to disappear into a high-security black site in Iceland. I was finished with Ciro, the soldier who fought for everyone except the woman waiting for him in the dark. Reborn Heiress: The Vicious Comeback
Modern I was the eldest daughter of the powerful Kirk family, sent away to a Swiss sanatorium to recover from my supposed mental illness.
But my stepmother, Johnie, never intended for me to get better. She sent her personal cleaners to drag me onto a plane back to Washington D.C.
In my past life, I didn't know they were assassins. I was forcefully injected with heavy sedatives and locked in a secret torture chamber inside our luxury estate.
My stepmother and cousin skimmed my inheritance while watching me suffer.
They framed me as a crazy addict, and my own father, a sitting Senator, turned a blind eye to protect his political career.
"Her political value is gone, just get rid of her quietly."
That was the last thing I heard my father say before I was brutally slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why they hated me so much.
Why did my father let them force those pills down my throat?
Why was my life worth less than my stepmother's public image?
Opening my eyes again, the freezing sensation of lake water filling my lungs vanished.
I was back in the VIP room of the St. Moritz Sanatorium in 2023.
It was the exact morning before the cleaners walked through my door with uncapped syringes.
This time, I wouldn't just survive. I was going to cut the throat of the Kirk family. His Luna's Rage Will Break His Empire
Werewolf My mate, Alpha Santino, brought another woman into our home. She was a pregnant Omega, the widow of his fallen Beta, and he swore to protect her above all others.
He gave her my seat of honor, left our bed cold each night to soothe her feigned nightmares, and ignored me completely. I was the Luna of the Blackstone Pack, but I was becoming a ghost in my own life.
The final betrayal happened in my own bedroom. She stood over my vanity and deliberately shattered my mother's sacred moonstone necklace, the last piece of my family I had left.
When Santino burst in, he didn't see my heartbreak. He saw only her fake tears.
"What did you do to her?!" he roared, his voice laced with the Alpha's Command, a sacred power he used to crush my will.
Then, for her, he did the unforgivable. He raised his hand and struck me, his mate.
In that instant, the love I had desperately clung to turned to ice. The man I had sworn my life to had not only betrayed me but had defiled the sacred bond the Goddess herself had blessed.
As the pain of his betrayal ripped through me, something ancient and powerful awakened in my blood. I rose to my feet and spoke the words that would destroy his world and begin mine.
"I, Alessia Bianchi, reject you, Santino Moretti, as my mate." 30 Days Left: The Rejected White Wolf's Countdown
Werewolf On our wedding night, my Fated Mate, Alpha Cedric, left our bed to care for his mistress. He told me our marriage was just an obligation.
But the real betrayal came months later on a rooftop.
When Rogues demanded a trade, Cedric didn't hesitate. He chose to save Jayden because of her "heart condition," handing me—his pregnant wife—over to the killers.
"You are stronger," he said as he pushed me toward them.
I fell from the building. I survived, but our unborn pup didn't.
Instead of comfort, I woke up to handcuffs. Cedric believed Jayden’s lies that I staged the kidnapping for attention.
He threw me into the dungeon, shackling my wrists with silver cuffs that burned my flesh, while Jayden poisoned my food with wolfsbane.
He stripped me of my title and dignity, never realizing that the "fragile" woman he protected was the true monster.
He didn't know about the glowing rune on my chest counting down the seconds I had left. He didn't know I was the legendary White Wolf, and my time was up.
On my final night, I asked for one last ride on the Ferris wheel where we first met.
At midnight, as Cedric rushed back to the amusement park, he didn't find a body. He found only my empty clothes and a text message on the seat.
"Don't look for me, Cedric. I'm giving my wolf back to the moon."
As he watched the security footage, he finally saw me dissolve into stardust and ascend to the sky, leaving him alone in a world that suddenly felt too quiet. The Capo's Regret: The Curse Was A Lie
Mafia For fifteen years, my husband Bennett refused to let me get pregnant.
"My blood is a curse, Kelsey," he would say, gripping my hand with terrified intensity. "It kills the women who carry it. I won't risk you."
I believed him. I mourned the children we never had just to stay alive for him.
Then he brought Aria home.
He claimed she was a distant cousin in trouble. But from the shadows of the ballroom, I watched him caress her swollen belly with a tenderness he never showed me.
When I confronted him, the mask fell.
"You provide the image, Kelsey," he said coldly. "She provides the bloodline. Do not make a scene."
To teach me a lesson in obedience, my horse's reins were sabotaged.
I woke up in the hospital with a fractured leg, only to learn he had ignored my emergency calls to hold Aria’s hand during a routine ultrasound.
Lying in that sterile bed, the truth hit me harder than the fall.
There was no curse.
He had medically gaslighted me for a decade, stealing my fertility with a lie, just to replace me with a mistress he called "cousin."
He thought he had broken me. He thought I would fade quietly into the east wing.
Instead, I wiped my tears and planted listening devices in his office.
He wanted a legacy?
I boarded a train to Paris, leaving behind a bomb that would burn his entire world to ash. The Butcher's Heart, A Boy's Hope
Sci-fi The acrid smell of disinfectant and old wax assaulted my seventy-year-old nose.
One moment, I was Butcher Betty, cleaver in hand, surrounded by the familiar scent of my shop.
The next, I was a stranger in a sterile, enormous kitchen, wearing a stiff uniform, feather duster in my hand.
Then, a cold, mechanical voice boomed directly inside my head: "Transmigration successful. Welcome, Host 734."
My new identity: Betty, the cruel and sycophantic housekeeper of the Anderson family, tasked with following a novel' s plot.
My first directive: lock eight-year-old Liam, the biological son, in the dark, damp basement without dinner to solidify my loyalty to the adopted son, Kevin.
I looked at the small, terrified boy cowering in the corner, his eyes wide with a wariness that shouldn' t be in a child.
This wasn' t a character. This was a scared, hungry kid.
The system blared warnings, demanding I adhere to the script, that I become the villain.
But I was a butcher. I fed people. I didn't starve them.
"The plot can go to hell," I muttered, grabbing a saucepan. "This boy is getting a hot meal." His Perfect Crime, Her Perfect Comeback
Billionaires The ghost of my right hand ached, a constant reminder of the car crash that stole my career as a concert pianist five years ago.
My husband, tech mogul David Miller, had lovingly built me a gilded cage-a penthouse palace where I was his celebrated, wounded wife, a testament to my sacrifice.
"It's a masterpiece, David. The whole thing," I overheard his best friend, Mark, say.
"The comeback story, the adoring husband. You've played it perfectly."
My fingers hovered over the piano keys in my studio.
My breath caught.
"Still," Mark pressed, his voice dropping, "that car crash... it was perfectly staged. How could you know Olivia would sacrifice her hand to save you?"
My world crumbled.
Staged?
I crept to the library door, peeking through the crack.
David, swirling amber liquid, smirked.
"Because she loves me," he purred, "just as I love Sarah."
Sarah Jenkins. His protégé. The brilliant pianist who had risen in my place.
"Ollie was always in the way," he continued. "Her talent... it was too loud. Sarah needed a clear path. I gave her one."
My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a scream.
The charity galas, the custom gowns, the public adoration-it wasn't love. It was a cover-up.
My agonizing years of practice, my belief that my music was a testament to our shared survival-all a grotesque joke.
He hadn't honored my sacrifice; he'd celebrated his crime.
My life, my love, my loss-all a meticulously crafted lie.
My world didn't just crumble; it was obliterated.
In the rubble, cold, hard revenge began to sprout.
He thought he had silenced me, turned me into a beautiful, broken symbol.
He was wrong.
I would not be a guest performer at the Golden Rose.
I would be a competitor.
I would take back everything he had stolen.
I would burn his entire empire to the ground. The Monster My Wife Became
Modern My daughter Chloe was the bright star of my life. I' d traded Silicon Valley for stay-at-home dad life, and her seventh birthday at "Galaxy Adventure" was everything.
But the park was closed for a private event, and I watched my wife, Molly, embrace her high school sweetheart, a man who' d nearly ruined her family years ago.
Chloe, oblivious, ran to her mom, only to be met with a hateful shriek: "What is she doing here?"
Molly, enraged, shoved our daughter, then strapped my terrified child into a high-G-force simulator, cranking every dial to maximum.
Chloe's screams were lost to the machine, and moments later, she lay limp, bleeding, dying.
Molly bought off every neurosurgeon in the state, sending me cartoon band-aids as Chloe flatlined.
With Chloe dead in my arms, and Molly mocking me, a chilling emptiness settled over my soul, replacing all emotion with a cold, hard resolve.
They thought I was destroyed, but I made a choice that day: I'd take everything from her, just as she'd taken my everything.
I needed the world to see her for the monster she was. So, I faked my own death, leaping from her penthouse balcony into the spotlight of every news camera. Sacrifice & Betrayal: A Husband's Comeback
Modern Three years ago, I sacrificed my career, taking the fall for a professional misconduct charge to shield my wife, Nicole, and her budding political ambitions.
Tonight, her re-election campaign launch party was supposed to be my comeback, the moment she' d finally reintroduce me to her world.
Instead, she offered a single dollar bill, the same token given to low-level volunteers, as she turned away to flirt with her smirking Chief of Staff, Wesley.
The next day, Wesley flaunted a custom-made watch Nicole gave him, far more valuable than my car, while she dismissed my hurt with a cold command: "In public, you're just a volunteer, and call me Councilwoman."
Then, alone and burning with fever, I called her for help, only to hear Wesley's voice in the background, a chilling affirmation of their intimacy, before she abruptly hung up.
The final blow came when she watched Wesley frame me for the watch' s theft at a fundraiser, allowing me to be publicly shamed, then slapped me and called me a thief in front of everyone.
Humiliation burned hotter than any fever, igniting a cold, stark realization: the woman I protected had orchestrated my destruction.
I didn't argue.
I calmly called my lawyer and filed for divorce. Her Billion-Dollar Betrayal
Modern My hands were calloused from years on construction sites, every ache a testament to the future Gabrielle and I were building.
That future shattered when she burst into tears, claiming our life savings – eighty thousand dollars – had vanished in a crypto scam.
"It' s okay, Gabby," I told her, holding her tight, even as my world crumbled.
I promised we' d make it back, taking extra shifts, my mom Maria even offering to help clean at the Rittenhouse Grand.
Then the hospital called. My mom, Maria, was in the ER, her hands brutally crushed by a hammer.
The hotel claimed she' d "accidentally spilled a drink" on a guest. My blood ran cold, a rage I never knew I possessed simmering beneath the surface. I stormed to the Rittenhouse, my fury set on finding the monster who did this.
But hidden in a private dining room, I found Gabrielle. My wife.
She was laughing, adorned in silk, handing a man a "bouquet" of rolled-up hundred-dollar bills.
"That old hag who bumped into you?" she cooed, "I had security take care of her.
They broke her fingers and threw her out." My mother. Not an accident, but a cruel, calculated act. And the $80,000? "It was for that custom suit of yours," she told the man, "the one the old cleaner ruined."
My world didn't just tilt; it imploded. Everything I believed, everything I loved, was a lie. My mother, now maimed, screamed for me to save her bone fragments from being fed to dogs. And just moments later, Gabrielle was demanding tequila for her Four Seasons suite.
How could the woman I vowed to love be such a monster? How could my mother' s agonizing pain be the cost of a suit and a twisted game? I carried her secrets, her fears, as the doctor confirmed her hands were permanently destroyed.
But when Gabrielle, in the same hospital, offered to buy my dying mother' s organs for Ethan' s family, claiming she was a "disgruntled ex," then hung up on me because Ethan' s mother was critical, a cold resolve settled deep in my gut.
What kind of hell was this, and how could I make her pay? The Viper's Nest Unraveled
Fantasy My life was one of quiet harmony, raised off-grid with ancient wisdom, seeing the world's hidden currents.
But Elias, my adoptive father, sent me back to my biological family, the opulent Whitmores, to untangle a spiritual unease he promised only they could resolve.
What I found was not a home, but a viper's nest of sickening energies.
My birth parents, my brothers, and especially Brenda – the "false heiress" – were dripping with greed, deception, and malice.
Brenda, seeing me as a threat to her gilded cage, launched a ruthless campaign to destroy me.
She publicly framed me for assault, faked a near-drowning, and even stabbed herself with a family heirloom, screaming I was a monster.
Despite my calm observations, my warnings of their own destructive paths, they dismissed me as crazy, a witch, a dangerous fraud.
They rallied together, not against the darkness within them, but against me.
I was thrown out of their mansion, abandoned without a penny, and later faced thugs hired by Brenda, sent to "teach me a lesson."
How could these people, my own blood, be so utterly blind to the truth of their actions, so willingly embrace their own decay? Why did they cling to their malicious lies about me, even as the carefully constructed facade of their perfect lives began to crack and crumble around them?
But their malice only fueled my resolve.
Armed with my unique spiritual sight, I would no longer simply observe.
This wasn't just about untying ancient threads; it was about exposing the rot at the heart of their empire and letting the universe's ultimate justice take its devastating course. You might like
The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen
Shore Tour I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire.
On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own.
"Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy."
My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry.
He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance.
I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever.
Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network.
The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun. No Tears For My Cold Mafia Husband
Amigo On our first wedding anniversary, my husband walked out the door.
Not for business. For her.
I left the divorce papers on the table, my wedding ring next to his untouched champagne, and I disappeared into the night.
For a year, I watched Dominic Rossi—the ruthless Underboss of the New York syndicate—drop everything the moment his phone buzzed with another crisis from Sophia. A panic attack. A sleepless night. A lie. I was his wife, the woman he’d promised to cherish, but I was never his priority.
So I chose myself.
Now he’s tearing the city apart trying to find me. But I’m already gone—building a new life with a job that’s mine, an apartment that’s mine, and a name that doesn’t belong to him. The girl who waited in that penthouse is dead. The woman who walked out isn’t looking back.
When Dominic finally corners me, I see the cracks in his armor. He says he’s sorry. He says he loves me. He says he finally understands.
But some words are too late, and some promises can’t be fixed.
He made me guess for a year. Now it’s his turn to wonder if I’ll ever come back.
A heart-wrenching, standalone mafia romance about a woman who refused to be second choice, and the man who learned too late what he’d lost. My Ruthless Mafia Ex-Husband Begs For Mercy
Little Pink Lace I was the devoted wife of Pietro, the untouchable Don of the New York Syndicate. I thought my love could bridge the gap between my civilian life and his brutal underworld.
Then, I swiped open his unlocked private tablet.
I discovered he had been forwarding my most intimate boudoir photos, desperate texts, and sweet voice notes to a dark web group chat filled with his ruthless soldiers and his female associate, Zoya.
They dissected my naked body for amusement.
Pietro captioned my lingerie photo, "Like a starving animal," and told his men I was just a "stable cover" with a clean background.
When I cried over his safety during a turf war, his Capos joked about my whimpers. Pietro bragged to them that starving me of attention was standard protocol to break me.
When I confronted him with the evidence, he didn't apologize.
"You are acting bitter and hysterical. A Don doesn't have time for civilian trivialities."
He warned me that if I walked out, I would be dead to his world, dismissing my absolute humiliation as mere locker-room talk.
My affection for him had been a form of worship, yet my marriage was nothing but a spectator sport for his entire regime. He traded my dignity to feed his god-complex.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg for his love.
Instead, I packed my bags, transferred every damning screenshot to a secure drive, and calmly handed the files over to the Syndicate Elders.
It was time to burn his empire to the ground. 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." The Divorced Wife He Could Never Afford
Herculie Dipietro I spent ten years building a mafia empire with my husband, Julian, taking bullets and laundering millions to make him the untouchable Don.
But today, he slid a fifty million dollar divorce settlement across the boardroom table, demanding I step down to make room for his naive new mistress.
He stripped me of my titles and gave her my Underboss pendant. He fabricated rumors of my infidelity to ruin my reputation in the Underworld, just to build a spotless pedestal for her.
When I was bleeding out in a turf war, he let her hang up my desperate call for backup.
"Julian had a stressful day, please do not bother him with your gang drama."
He didn't even apologize. Instead, he threatened to feed me to rival families if I didn't disappear, leaving me completely isolated and hunted by assassins.
Ten years of hiding bodies and surviving for his sake were reduced to a severance package. I stared at the man who once slaughtered an entire syndicate just to crown me his Queen, feeling nothing but a suffocating betrayal. How could he abandon our blood-soaked vows for a cheap replica playing a dangerous game?
I didn't cry or beg him to remember us.
I calmly signed the papers, stepped out of his fortress, and initiated a live broadcast to the highest judges of the Commission, leaking the corrupt ledgers that would burn his empire to the ground. From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don
Ebony Pete "You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down? Too Late, Vitiello: The Bride Strikes Back
Jia Zhong I was about to walk down the grand staircase to marry Dante Vitiello, a feared mafia Don, sealing a powerful blood oath between our Families.
But at the bottom of the marble steps, I found his former mistress wearing an exact replica of my three-million-dollar bridal gown, bleeding from a minor scrape and screaming that I pushed her.
Dante immediately stormed into the foyer, his dark eyes furious, and crushed my wrist in a violent grip.
"Bow your head and apologize to her," he demanded in front of the entire underworld elite.
His mother stepped forward and spat at me, calling me a vicious, jealous girl who brought shame to their empire.
The surrounding made men and high-society guests whispered in condemnation, entirely taking his side.
But the deepest betrayal wasn't his mistress crashing the wedding.
I soon discovered Dante had ordered his legal team to draft a predatory annulment contract the night before.
It was titled "Major Fault of the Bride," a meticulously planned trap designed to frame me and strip my family's port territories as reparations for this staged disaster.
I looked at the man I was supposed to marry, realizing he thought I was just a naive pawn he could humiliate, rob, and discard.
He truly believed I would break down in tears and submit to his power.
Instead, I pulled out my encrypted phone and summoned the Mafia Commission's Arbitrator.
"Cancel the marriage ceremony," I commanded coldly, preparing to shed my heavy bridal gown. "Tonight, there is no wedding." 
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