Sisi Qingwang
10 Published Stories
Sisi Qingwang's Books and Stories
Betrayed Wife: Hiding The Mafia Boss's Son
Mafia I woke up wrapped in the arms of a man I believed would burn the world for me. Michael Thorne was the underworld’s golden boy, and I was pregnant with his legacy.
But by sunset, the illusion shattered. During our family brunch, the doors burst open and a woman dragged a four-year-old boy into the room.
The child had Michael’s nose. His chin.
"Tell them who Leo is!" the woman screamed.
Michael froze. He didn't deny it. While I stood there in shock, his mistress lunged at me, clawing at my face. My husband hesitated.
In that split second, I realized I wasn't his wife; I was just an incubator for his empire. He had kept a secret family as an insurance policy.
My father destroyed Michael’s career in an hour, stripping him of his money and status. But I wanted to destroy his soul.
He begged for forgiveness, weeping, claiming he loved our unborn child more than anything.
So I placed a hand on my stomach and looked him dead in the eye.
"There is no baby, Michael," I lied. "Your legacy is dead."
As he fell to his knees, broken, I walked away to build my own empire—with the son he would never know existed. Auctioned Daughter, Shattered Wife
Billionaires My husband, the tech billionaire I adored, sent his men to take me to an undisclosed location.
When we arrived, I found our sixteen-year-old daughter, Julianne, on a stage, being auctioned off like a piece of art to a crowd of sick elites.
My husband, Everett, used this to blackmail me into resigning from my career. But after Julianne's subsequent suicide attempt, he let his mistress—an unqualified researcher—perform the surgery, leaving our daughter in a permanent vegetative state.
He publicly humiliated me, claiming our marriage was a lie and that I was a stalker.
He forced me to kneel and beg for my daughter's life, only to let his mistress shatter my surgeon's hand with a trophy.
After they pulled the plug on Julianne, they tricked my mother and me into drinking her ashes.
They left my mother for dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs. As I knelt over her broken body, my grief finally turned into a cold, hard resolve.
When Everett texted, demanding my presence at his celebration party, I replied with two words.
"I'll be there." A Lie Sung: His Deception, Her Amnesia
Romance The world believes Liam Carter wrote the greatest love song of the decade for the woman on stage. He didn't. He wrote it about me.
And now, Olivia, the woman singing it, my Olivia, is engaged to him, just three years after doctors gave me my diagnosis and she vanished.
I' m here, in a stadium seat, my final breath getting closer, watching her. She' s polished, famous, beautiful. But her voice, the one that once sang me to sleep, now sings a song about my death, written by another man.
Liam Carter, handsome and confident, proposes. Olivia cries happy tears, says yes. The stadium erupts, celebrating a love found, a perfect happy ending. Everyone is part of this moment. Everyone except me. I am the forgotten footnote in a story that used to be mine.
The pain in my chest is no longer an ache; it' s a sharp blade. It' s not just the cancer. It' s the sight of her, so happy, in a life I have no part in, a life built on the ashes of ours.
Then, blood. A hot, wet cough, and blood on my hand. I have to get out. My body is failing, but a new truth begins to emerge. It was all a lie. She didn' t just leave me. She was taken. Betrayed By Miss Wrong, Claimed By Mr Right
LGBT+ Captain Ethan Carter, a decorated officer, thought his life was set: a prestigious military career and an engagement to Isabella Hayes, a political scion, marked them as Washington's newest power couple.
But Izzy publicly detonated their future, calling off the wedding to embrace Julian Vance, a self-proclaimed visionary who dismissed Ethan's traditional values as "stifling" and "outdated" to a shocked populace.
Ethan endured a relentless media firestorm and public humiliation that felt like a knife twist, but the real blow came when his beloved mentor, Mac, was brutally murdered in what appeared to be a "mugging gone wrong," subtly orchestrated by Vance.
Beaten, framed, and ridiculed, Ethan watched as Izzy, astonishingly defensive, defended Vance, accusing Ethan of malicious plots, utterly blind to the monster she was protecting.
His grief for Mac ignited into a white-hot rage, fueled by the sheer injustice and the chilling realization of Vance's malevolence and Izzy's damning delusion.
With nothing left to lose, Ethan abandoned his life of public service, vowing a blood debt, accepting immediate deployment to a distant warzone - not just to fight for his country, but to reclaim his honor and avenge his fallen mentor. Their Shared Secret, Her Sweet Victory
Romance The heavy satin of my wedding dress felt like a shroud.
Today was supposed to be the most joyous day, marrying Ethan Davenport, cementing a powerful alliance.
Instead, I was trapped in darkness, my screams muffled by the thick, soundproof walls of a panic room.
Jessica Miller, my childhood companion, had drugged me.
I clawed my way out, nails broken and bleeding, only to stumble into my own reception.
And there she was, radiant in my gown, standing beside my groom.
"Jessica? Ethan, what is happening?" I croaked, my voice raw.
Jessica's face was a mask of feigned concern, her lies echoing through the ballroom.
"Oh, Sarah, why are you doing this? You know Ethan and I are in love."
Whispers of "unstable" and "breakdown" filled the air as security, loyal to her family, dragged me away.
Ethan looked at me, his face unreadable, before turning back to Jessica.
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
They threw me into the cold New England night.
A blinding flash of headlights.
A screech of tires.
Then, nothing.
I gasped, shooting upright in my own bed, sunlight streaming through the window.
My heart hammered against my ribs, echoing the terror of what had just been.
The date on my phone brought a chilling realization: it was the day before the wedding.
I was alive.
A new message popped up from Jessica Miller in the family chat: "So excited to marry my love, Ethan, tomorrow!"
My blood ran cold.
Her audacity was shocking, but this time, I knew.
This time, she wouldn't win. The Wife He Blinded: Her Clear Path
Romance It was our second wedding anniversary, and I sat in a Boston women's clinic, a secret hope blossoming with every beat of my heart concerning my three-month late period.
When my name, Sarah Miller, was called, I knew.
I clutched the grayscale ultrasound photo – three months pregnant, our baby, Liam's and mine.
My joy lasted seconds.
There he was, my husband Liam Harrison, his arm around his college sweetheart, Olivia Hayes, in the waiting room.
He barely spared me a glance, his eyes cold, only urgent commands to fetch sweets for her.
The tiny hope for our marriage, nurtured for two years, turned to ash.
This pretense, this life as his second choice, had to end.
But Olivia wouldn't let me go quietly.
She masterfully framed me for a staged mugging, convincing Liam I'd hired someone to hurt her.
Then, in a final act of cruelty, she intentionally pushed me down a grand staircase in our home, leading to a devastating miscarriage.
Lying in that hospital bed, broken and empty, my baby lost, a chilling fury consumed me.
How could he be so incredibly blind, so utterly fooled by her lies, so dismissive of me, his wife?
His unwavering devotion to her, even as she destroyed us, was incomprehensible.
That fury ignited Liam' s doubt.
Security footage and confessions exposed Olivia's tangled web of deceit, even her secret marriage.
Now, he's full of remorse, begging for a second chance.
But my path is clear: I'm stepping out of his shadow and into the bright Boston sun, ready to build a life on my own terms, leaving him and the past firmly behind. The Girl Who Cheated Death & Injustice
Young Adult I was the golden child. Valedictorian, set for Stanford on a full ride. The American Youth Scholar Championship? Just a final victory lap, a taste of competition before my bright future.
Then came the roar of angry voices, the hands grabbing me. "You cheated!" they screamed. Event security, police. They found a micro-earpiece in my custom bracelet, a receiver. A college kid named "Ace" confessed, said I paid him via Venmo.
None of it was true, but no one listened. Stanford pulled my acceptance. Our small Oregon town, once proud, turned on my family. The online hate was relentless. My dad's heart couldn't take the stress; he died. Mom faded away, gone weeks later.
I was in a cell, awaiting a trial I knew I'd lose. The grief, the injustice – it was a crushing weight. I died not knowing how they pulled it off, how they shattered my life and destroyed my family with lies.
Until I woke up. The cheap floral carpet of a motel lobby. My best friend Jess, shaking my arm: "The Championship starts tomorrow!" This was it. The day before it all went wrong. My second chance. And this time, I wouldn't just survive; I'd expose them all. The Stolen Retirement: Eleanor's Reckoning
Modern I was looking forward to a quiet retirement after 35 years as a senior records supervisor, my future secured by a diligent pension.
My husband, Mark, had even encouraged early retirement, saying our son Kevin and his pregnant wife Chloe needed my help with the new baby.
Everything seemed perfectly arranged.
But at the county pension office, the clerk’s words shattered my world: “Your pension has been active and payments have been directed to a Ms. Sheila Dixon for the past three years.”
Sheila Dixon. Mark’s high school sweetheart.
The authorization? Signed by Mark Vance himself, citing “spousal consent and redirection for family support.”
Back home, I overheard Mark telling Kevin, “Your mother can be a bit selfish about money sometimes. She doesn’t understand hardship like Sheila does.”
My blood ran cold. My money, funding his old flame.
When confronted, Mark snarled, “If you make a fuss, you’ll regret it. You’ll find yourself with nothing.”
And Kevin, my own son, defended him, blindly siding with "Auntie Sheila."
My entire family life, a complete lie.
The man I married, the son I raised, betraying me so casually.
How could they do this?
Was I just disposable to them?
But I wasn't nothing.
This pension, my future, was all I had left, and I earned it.
I would get it back.
The very next morning, I walked straight to HR and filed a formal fraud complaint.
My fight had just begun. The Heiress They Underestimated
Romance I am Avelia Sterling, the sole heir to Sterling Media. Yet, whispers followed me everywhere: a woman couldn't lead, I needed one of the three "candidates" my father picked. For years, I foolishly held a secret hope for Ethan Clark, trying to earn his attention.
Then, I overheard him on his knees, his voice thick with emotion—not for me, but for Bella White, our housekeeper’s daughter. He vowed to marry her once he gained control of Sterling Media, calling his arrangement with me a mere "charade" to repay my father.
My entire world crumbled, replaced by a bitter reality. Bella, the innocent victim, exploited every opportunity to frame me, from a broken keychain to a shattered family heirloom. Ethan, Noah, and Lucas, my intended protectors, always circled her, ready to condemn me, even when I found my own birthday gift, the state-of-the-art Starbright Arts Center, had been used by them to promote *her* "art."
Why did they always believe her crocodile tears? How could they be so blind, so eager to paint me as the villain while she systematically undermined me? The injustice was a suffocating weight.
At my birthday gala, it all culminated: Bella, feigning injury, screamed I’d sent thugs after her. Noah, in a fit of rage, struck me across the face. Then, Ethan, with infuriating martyrdom, offered to marry me—not out of love, but "to control" me and "protect Bella." My heart, already a stone, hardened further.
Through the stinging pain, I met his gaze. "That won't be necessary, Ethan," I said, my voice cutting through the silent ballroom. "I'm already engaged." Just then, the grand doors swung open, and the man they called "the cripple" wheeled in. You might like
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. 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. 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.
His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* 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. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
JENNIFER JARVIS My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. 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." 
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