Su Banqing
8 Published Stories
Su Banqing's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Broken, Voiceless Wife
Billionaires After four years of torture in a so-called “rehabilitation center,” I was finally released. My husband, Elliot, was waiting for me. He wasn’t there to save me; he was there to serve me divorce papers.
He and my adoptive family were convinced I was a liar. They believed my broken leg, my missing fingernails, and my scarred vocal cords were all part of an elaborate performance for attention.
"Still playing the cripple," he sneered, looking at my ruined body with disgust. He tossed a handkerchief at my bleeding hand so I wouldn’t stain the leather seats of his car.
Back home, my perfect adoptive sister, Elyse, confessed everything with a smile. She had paid the doctors to torture me, to break my bones, to destroy my voice.
When I lunged at her, my own mother called me an animal. My father prepared to sign me back into that hell permanently.
They saw my pain as a performance and her cruelty as innocence. When I was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and had months to live, Elliot tore up the medical report, calling it my most pathetic lie yet. The Secret Mistress: Poisoning The Alpha's Unborn Heir
Werewolf On my wedding night, I waited for the fated spark. Instead, I found a fresh tattoo on my Alpha husband's chest.
Beneath the ink lay a jagged bite mark. Jameson had marked Caren, the wolf-less Omega, just hours before our ceremony.
When I confronted him, he called me paranoid. But the betrayal didn't stop at infidelity.
On my birthday, Caren brought me "fertility tea." I smelled the metallic tang of Wolfsbane immediately—a poison deadly to our kind. I refused to touch it, but Jameson’s eyes flashed with dominance.
"Drink it. That is an order."
He used the Alpha Voice to force the poison down my throat.
As my throat seized and I clawed at the carpet, dying, he didn't help me. When I reached for the antidote, he shoved me into the wall to protect Caren, accusing me of trying to attack her.
I woke up in the hospital to the devastating news: the poison had killed our unborn pup.
Yet, Jameson still shielded his mistress, baring his fangs at his own mother to keep Caren safe. He thought he could fix it. He thought he still owned me.
"Sit! I command you to stay!"
He roared the Alpha Command, expecting me to kneel. But his authority shattered along with my heart.
I didn't just sign the divorce papers. I walked out to the parking lot under the full moon and rejected the bond, watching him collapse in agony.
Then, the "broken" wolf he despised finally shifted.
I rose as the legendary White Wolf, and left him howling in the dirt. Abandoned Bride's Ruthless Comeback
Modern For the seventh time, I stood at the altar, pregnant with his child, waiting to marry Justice Keith.
And for the seventh time, he abandoned me. His phone rang, and just like that, he was gone-rushing to the side of his "fragile" stepsister, Kamala, who was supposedly having another panic attack.
He pushed me aside in front of everyone, his family sneering that a "new-money girl" like me would never understand their loyalty. This was the man who baked her special cakes in the middle of the night while ignoring my own hunger, the man who had left me at seventeen other almost-weddings and rehearsals.
But this time, as I stood there in my wedding dress, the humiliation was a physical weight. I was tired of being his second choice, the understanding fiancée he always came back to with empty promises.
So I walked out. I cancelled the wedding, shattered his family's priceless heirloom, and secretly terminated the pregnancy that tied me to him. I wasn't just leaving anymore. I was going to spend the next seven years meticulously planning how to burn his entire corrupt, old-money empire to the ground. The Donor Took My Life
Billionaires I was Ariel Burnett, a tech mogul, a genius celebrated in Silicon Valley, with a loving husband, Damien, and a loyal best friend, Cohen. My world was perfect until a rare, aggressive liver disease threatened to take it all away.
They promised to save me, and they did. Three years of fighting, a successful transplant, and I was finally healthy, ready to surprise them. But when I arrived at my penthouse, a security guard stopped me, claiming Mrs. Hobbs was already upstairs.
My smile froze when he showed me a photo: Kara Gregory, my liver donor, standing on my balcony, looking just like me. The world tilted. I stumbled, hitting my head, as Damien' s voice crackled over the guard' s radio, telling him to get rid of the "crazy woman" disturbing Kara, his "wife."
They were in my home, my bed, the penthouse Damien designed for me. Kara, the woman I pitied, the one who claimed she didn't take charity, was now living my life, with my husband and my brother-figure.
The pain in my head was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. My husband, my brother, they were in this together. The betrayal was complete. I knew then that my perfect world was a lie, and I was nothing but an inconvenience to be managed. The Unwanted Wife's Exit
Modern The sun beat down on the flea market, where I sold my quilts. Each stitch was hours I should've spent on my art fellowship, but my handyman husband, Ethan, always said we needed money. Work was feast or famine in our Appalachian town.
Then, at the upscale Bistro, I saw him: Ethan. Not in his work clothes, but a crisp linen shirt, laughing intimately with Veronica Hayes, "Aunt Ronnie" to our son. Hiding nearby, I overheard his chilling confession: "Marrying her was a mistake... I' d leave her tomorrow. Cody… he' ll adjust. He already likes you more anyway."
My world shattered. My marriage, a lie. My husband, ready to abandon me and our son. My sacrifices, all for naught. He wasn't struggling; he was funding Veronica' s lavish influencer life. Later, he abandoned me in a a storm, leading to my broken ankle, only to then demand my masterpiece quilt – my 'Appalachian Sunset' – to save Veronica' s phony art show.
The audacity! My own son, Cody, parroting their contempt, called my art "old rags," pushing me and screaming he wished "Aunt Ronnie was my mom!" How could they so cruelly betray everything I' d built?
But in that hospital room, facing his casual cruelty and the theft of my soul' s work, something snapped. Battered but resolute, I looked at Ethan: "I want a divorce." Dr. Reed' s fellowship, my art, my path to freedom – it was all suddenly clear. I wouldn't be his convenient cover story anymore. I was taking back my life. The Billionaire's Unwanted Heir
Billionaires For five long years, my sister Meg and I lived in Ryan Sterling's opulent mansion, a "gilded cage" disguised as an act of kindness after our accident. My days were consumed by caring for his demanding son, Kyler, while my musical dreams lay dormant, my face forever marked.
One morning, Kyler, with a malicious smirk, deliberately scalded my guitar hand with scorching coffee. But a far colder burn came moments later: I was six weeks pregnant with Ryan's baby. His chilling words, delivered with flat precision, demanded: "An abortion, Ellie. It's the only way."
My hand blistered, a constant ache, yet it was dwarfed by his casual dismissal of our unborn child as a mere "complication." He spoke of my "damaged" and "dependent" state, his tone echoing the pervasive control that had suffocated us for five years.
How could the man who once seemed captivated by my music now strip me of all humanity, reducing my life, my body, and my child to inconvenient problems? This callous disregard, this profound sense of injustice, was the final, devastating cut to my soul.
But in that instant, a desperate resolve ignited within me. I would not bring my beloved child into such a cold, demeaning existence, nor would I let her witness my own subjugation. Clasping my still-blistering hand, now a symbol of their cruelty and my newfound defiance, I looked Ryan in the eye and declared, voice trembling but firm: "Meg and I are leaving." You might like
Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." Healed By The Ruthless Billionaire's Touch
Katie Oettgen I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him.
Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister.
Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair.
I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people.
But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse.
I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges.
The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill.
When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell.
But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone.
His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life.
I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me.
Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference.
"I'll do it, but I control the venue."
I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again. The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback
Zhi Yao For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block. The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
Zi Ya The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me." Pampered By The Ruthless Tycoon Guardian
Julian Reid Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist. Lust For Me, Daddy's Good Girl
EliJa Mature content
"Open your legs, princess."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to eat this pussy until you're crying and begging me to fuck you."
She shivered. "And then?"
"Then I'll flip you over, slide my cock in, and ruin you until you're dripping down your thighs and moaning my name like a prayer."
Violet never imagined she'd become nothing more than a substitute in her four-year relationship. But ever since his childhood sweetheart returned, she's been the second choice. The final blow was when two of them fell into the pool, he didn't hesitate, he saved her instead.
Left to drown, Violet was pulled from the water by a mysterious stranger, who now wants nothing more than to have her in his bed.
Too bad that stranger turns out to be her boyfriend's father, Hades Sinclair. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius's Spectacular Comeback
Lan Zixin For seven years, I was the perfect wife to Denny Sanford and the brilliant CTO who built the core technology of his billion-dollar empire.
But at my brother-in-law's memorial service, I hid behind a velvet curtain in the study and caught my husband passionately kissing the grieving widow, Brittany.
They weren't just having an affair. Brittany was pregnant with Denny's child.
"Once the paternity test confirms the baby is a Sanford heir, we control everything," she whispered.
"Christa is brilliant with data, but clueless with people. She's completely harmless," Denny sneered, dismissing me as a convenient tool.
My world shattered. Under his protection, Brittany had already stolen the credit and millions of dollars in consulting fees for my patents. To maintain his perfect facade, Denny even abandoned our six-year-old daughter's championship to hold his mistress's hand through a fake hospital visit.
I had sacrificed my days and nights to build his company, only to realize my entire marriage was a calculated lie designed to fund his second family. He thought my scientific detachment made me blind, stupid, and weak.
Harmless? I smiled coldly in the dark, backed up every server log proving my intellectual property, and messaged the most ruthless divorce attorney in New York. If he wanted to build his future on stolen data, I would show him exactly how a scientist dismantles a flawed experiment. The Trophy Wife's Ruthless Revenge
Little Pink Lace Keely returned to her Manhattan penthouse a day early, expecting the loving billionaire husband who had just told her how much he missed her.
Instead, the scent of cheap vanilla perfume led her to the guest room, where she found Haden tangled in the sheets with his timid, soft-spoken secretary.
To the world, Haden was the flawless, devoted partner. He would even beat a man to a bloody pulp at a high-society gala just for insulting her, violently claiming he was protecting his wife.
But behind his golden-retriever facade lay a narcissistic monster. While begging for her affection and making her breakfast, he was secretly draining their marital assets into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Keely had to swallow her disgust, forcing a perfect smile as she played the clueless, dependent trophy wife he wanted her to be.
It made her physically sick. She couldn't understand how the man who looked into the camera with eyes full of love just last night could be the same thief plotting to leave her with nothing. Was his violent, suffocating obsession with her just a sick cover for his betrayal?
But Haden didn't know his "helpless" wife was actually the ruthless CTO of a tech empire. She had already hacked the home surveillance and traced the missing funds, ready to make him bleed. Then, her private investigator called with a medical report that pushed her revenge to the edge.
"Mrs. Jones, Darlene Sutton is six weeks pregnant." I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. The Billionaire's Lethal Substitute Wife
Shi Yue Five years ago, my fiancé and my adopted sister framed me, took my family trust, and cut my car's brake lines, leaving me with a shattered body in the freezing rain.
Now, struggling as a stunt double to fund my revenge, I risked my life to save a billionaire's trapped son from a locked room.
But instead of gratitude, I became the billionaire's prey.
Jaidyn Miles, the apex predator of Wall Street, investigated my crippling debts and threw a five-million-dollar contract in my face.
"You possess the single most valuable asset in this transaction. Your face."
He demanded I dye my hair jet black, wear specific white dresses, and use a bespoke perfume. He wanted me to be the living, breathing doll of his dead wife.
I refused to be a billionaire's prop and walked away.
But Jaidyn immediately bought the entire movie studio where I had just bled for a life-changing role, threatening to destroy hundreds of jobs and my only chance at a career if I didn't submit.
Why was I always just a tool to these wealthy, arrogant men? First a placeholder for a family trust, now a ghost for a dead woman?
I grabbed his contract and a pen, my eyes cold. I wouldn't be broken again.
"Three months, and you don't interfere with my shooting schedule."
I signed my name. I would take his five million, and I would use it to bury the people who ruined my life five years ago. 
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