Xi Yue
13 Published Stories
Xi Yue's Books and Stories
Reborn Actress: Defying The Ruthless Billionaire
Sci-fi Aria Mcgee was the unwanted second daughter of a decaying Long Island family.
To save their bankrupt corporation, her father and older sister drugged her. They shoved her into a town car and delivered her to a ruthless Wall Street billionaire's bed like a piece of meat.
They expected her to be the perfect sacrifice. The original Aria had no access to her own trust fund and was forced to live in a windowless broom closet. Even worse, a cold, synthetic System voice echoed in her skull, demanding she play the tragic, helpless female lead. It ordered her to endure her family's abuse and suffer the billionaire's humiliation to force a pathetic romance plotline.
"Host must follow the tragic trajectory and achieve the ultimate painful romance."
But the soul that woke up in that bed wasn't a weak, frightened girl. She was a dead Hollywood Oscar-winning actress. Why would a top-tier professional ever agree to play the weeping victim in such a garbage, B-list script?
Instead of trembling in fear as the System commanded, Aria looked at the billionaire and smiled. Using her flawless acting skills, she shattered his ego, extracted a hundred thousand dollars, and walked right out the door. Now, she was heading back to the Mcgee estate, ready to rip her money from her father's greedy hands and burn her sister's life to the ground. The Mad Wife's Spectacular Comeback
Modern I was accused of pushing my sister down the stairs, facing a highly publicized second-degree murder charge.
My billionaire husband, Lachlan, insisted on a private psychiatric evaluation. I thought he was trying to build a medical defense to save me.
But through a cracked door, I overheard the psychiatrist talking to Lachlan's crisis PR team. Lachlan had bribed the doctor to officially diagnose me with severe paranoid schizophrenia.
The plan was flawless. They were going to involuntarily lock me in an asylum and strip me of my voting rights to steal my trust fund. Worse, Lachlan's team leaked my clinic photos to the press, using my "violent mental breakdown" to perfectly cover up his midnight hotel rendezvous with a Hollywood starlet.
I was forced to swallow heavy sedatives while the entire world labeled me a crazy, toxic wife. As the chemical fog dragged me into terrifying nightmares, I realized this family had always used me as their scapegoat, just like my adoptive mother did when I was a child.
They thought the drugs, the public ruin, and the isolation would break me into quiet submission.
But I secretly recorded the doctor's corrupt phone call. I went home, uploaded my million-dollar custom wedding dress to an auction site for exactly one dollar, and prepared to expose the Langley family's deadliest, bloodiest secret. Scars Of Betrayal: The Fallen Heiress Returns
Romance I took the fall for my sister and endured three years of torment in prison. My knee was shattered, my body covered in scars, and I almost lost my life in that "accident". On the day I was released, clinging to the last shred of hope, I ran toward my fiancé Ford’s Maybach—only to hear his cold voice: "Your existence is just a nuisance."
It turned out that the beatings and cigarette burns in prison were all arranged by him, paid for with his money. It turned out that the sister I had protected with all my heart had long been switching my medicine behind my back, hoping I would be completely crippled.
At the family gala, they joined hands to strip me bare in front of the flashing camera lights. My father slapped me hard across the face and roared: "Why didn’t you just die in prison?"
I smiled and tore apart my tattered dress, then dialed the number I had hidden in my heart for three years—the man who only understood blood for blood, his voice hoarse and alluring: "Turn around."
This time, I will no longer be a toy to be manipulated. I will tear off their masks and burn the Willis family to the ground.
By the way, I will take back everything that belongs to me—including him, the one hiding in the shadows. The Blind Billionaire's Hidden Genius Wife
Romance My father didn’t look at me like a daughter; he looked at me like a bad loan he needed to settle. After five years of being nothing but a monthly expense on his ledger, I was shoved back into the Quinn mansion, smelling the expensive lavender that masked the rot beneath the floorboards.
He slammed a prenuptial agreement onto the mahogany table and gave me a heartless ultimatum.
"Sign it and marry Harrison Sterling, or I call the care facility in ten minutes and tell them to pull the plug on your mother's life support."
My stepmother Lydia told me I should be grateful for this "future," while my stepsister Tiffany kicked a bag with her old, hideous wedding dress at my feet. They told me I was born for nothing but to pay off their debts. I was shipped off in the rain to the Sterling estate, a stone fortress where the housekeeper treated me like a servant and locked me in a pitch-black room. Inside, my new husband—a man rumored to be a blind, unstable monster—hurled a crystal glass at my head and tried to strangle me with his bare hands. I could feel the tremors in his grip and the sickly-sweet smell of neurotoxins on his breath.
I realized then that Harrison wasn't the master of this house; he was a specimen in a jar, being systematically poisoned by his own family while cameras watched his every move. My own father had sold me into a death trap, thinking I was just a desperate girl with nowhere else to go.
But they didn't know I had been living a double life as a medical prodigy who graduated from Johns Hopkins at nineteen. I pinned my "monster" husband to the floor, pulled a set of silver acupuncture needles from the hem of my dress, and made him a deal.
"I’ll give you your eyes back, and in exchange, you help me burn both our families to the ground." Rising From Shadows: The Billionaire's Cold Revenge
Modern I stood in the shadows of the hospital, watching my wife kiss another man while my grandmother lay dying upstairs.
Just minutes ago, Erlene had snapped at me over the phone, calling me a "needy child" and claiming she was stuck at a business meeting across town. Now, she was stepping out of a red Porsche in a designer dress, wrapped in the arms of Andrew Hanson, the man who was supposed to be her "sick friend."
"I'm not going up," Erlene said coldly when I confronted her in the rain. "I don't like watching people die. It's depressing. Tell her I came by." She looked at my soaked, cheap hoodie and my scuffed sneakers with pure disgust before turning her back on me to return to her lover’s side.
I had to go back to the ICU alone and lie to my grandmother with her final breath, telling her Erlene was waiting just outside the door. As the heart monitor flatlined at 2:14 AM, my phone buzzed with a call from my mother-in-law, who screamed that I was a "worthless loser" and demanded I sign divorce papers immediately so her daughter could finally be with a "real man."
For three years, I lived as a ghost, a poor driver who endured their insults and hid my true identity just to have a simple life with the woman I loved. I sacrificed my future for a family that treated me like a stray dog, only for them to spit on me while I held my grandmother’s cold hand.
Why did I stay in the shadows for so long? Why did I let these people believe they could crush me under their expensive heels?
I walked out of that hospital and threw my thick, black glasses onto the wet asphalt, watching a delivery truck grind them into dust. I didn't need the disguise anymore. I drove my rusted Honda to the towering iron gates of the George Estate, where the security team dropped their batons and snapped into a terrified salute. My father was waiting on the marble steps, but I wasn't there for a peaceful reunion. I was there to reclaim my inheritance and make sure Erlene realized exactly what she had thrown away. Her Choice, My Freedom
Mafia The last thing I remembered from that life was the metallic taste of blood.
Mark' s fists felt like concrete blocks, crushing my ribs with every blow.
Through the haze of pain, I saw Sarah by the warehouse door, holding her son.
She watched me die, her beautiful face blank, her eyes cold and empty.
She had chosen him, the gangster, the man now beating me to death, over me.
After twenty years of trying to save her, sacrificing everything, her betrayal was the final, most painful blow.
Then, nothing, until a phone started ringing.
I snapped awake in my childhood bedroom not aching, not broken.
My old flip phone flashed a familiar name: Sarah' s Mom.
I knew this call. This was the night Sarah got into trouble with Mark.
The night her parents begged me to use my college savings to bail her out.
Last time, I' d said yes, draining my account and giving up my dream school.
This time, I took a steadying breath.
"No."
The line went silent.
"What? Alex, what do you mean, no? This is Sarah we' re talking about."
"She made her choices. She needs to face the consequences. I' m not getting involved."
A weight I didn' t know I was carrying for two decades lifted.
"I have my own life to think about. I' m sorry."
I hung up, staring at my unbroken hands, the hands of an eighteen-year-old with a future I was taking back. Free From His Shadow
Romance The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Ballroom reflected in the champagne, but the light felt cold.
My husband, Mark, was across the room, his eyes fixed on Lily, the young intern who had become his entire world.
I walked towards them, the whispers of the crowd following me.
He handed me a pre-prepared divorce settlement.
"I\'m going to marry Lily," he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear.
Then, with a cruel twist of his lips, he added, "Consider our partnership terminated. Effective immediately."
In the weeks that followed, Mark systematically dismantled my family' s business.
He orchestrated a public scandal, leaking fabricated documents that implicated my father in fraud.
My father had a heart attack.
My mother aged a decade overnight.
I sat by my father' s hospital bed, watching the news report on Mark and Lily' s engagement.
That' s when I truly broke.
Then, a blinding flash of light.
A gut-wrenching pull.
I gasped, my eyes flying open.
The date on my phone was October 12th.
The day I found Lily' s photo on his computer.
The day the nightmare began.
I was back.
The memory of my parents' ruined faces, of my father in that hospital bed, was burned into my mind.
It was not a dream.
It was a warning.
I had a second chance.
Not for revenge.
Not to win him back.
For survival. The Billionaire's Retribution
Modern The searing pain was the last thing I knew.
A sharp, cold metal plunging into my belly, again and again.
My best friend, Tara, was screaming, a twisted rage on her face I' d never seen before, "Why couldn't it have been you?
You have everything!"
Her husband, Brian, held the knife, his eyes empty.
I watched my own blood pool on my marble floor as they staged a home invasion, taking over my life, my home, my wealth.
I watched my husband, shattered by grief, take his own life.
My baby, my husband, me – all of it, gone.
I died, clutching to the injustice of it all, wondering how the people I loved most could betray me so absolutely.
Why did they hate me so much just for having what they wanted?
Then I woke up, alive, in my Silicon Valley home, my hand resting on my still-pregnant belly.
And the front door opened, revealing Tara and Brian, suitcases in hand, their smiles dripping with false sweetness. My Family, My Fortune, Their Lie
Billionaires I had just closed a nine-figure deal, the kind that sets your family up for generations.
But when I got home, exhausted and suffering a heart attack, my wife and daughter were too busy recording TikToks and live streams to even notice.
As I collapsed, gasping for breath, my wife told me my "negative energy was messing with her aura."
I had to dial 911 myself, my family completely oblivious, leaving me to die on the floor.
Waking up alone in the hospital, I found not concerned calls, but credit card alerts for lavish shopping sprees.
They weren't worried; they were celebrating.
Then, at Malibu, I saw my wife with her "life coach" lover as she handed me divorce papers, and my daughter told me he was more of a father than I ever was.
My world shattered, I saw the truth: every sacrifice for them had been a lie.
I had given my life, my fortune, all of it, to people who only saw me as an ATM.
But the real shock came with a sealed envelope: 0.00% paternity.
The daughter I had raised for seventeen years wasn't mine.
The pain burned away the old me, leaving behind a cold, calculating resolve.
I froze their accounts, repossessed their luxuries, and hired a PI to expose the "life coach" as a low-level con artist with massive gambling debts.
When they came begging, I showed them the paternity test and his criminal record, then I called 911 on him for kidnapping them-his desperate attempt for ransom money.
I set up a small trust for Molly, enough only for community college, sealing off my past.
Then, I sold my company, bought a muscle car, and drove cross-country, ready to finally live for myself.
I didn't seek revenge; I orchestrated justice. The Unwanted Heiress: A Billion-Dollar Reckoning
Billionaires The day of my SATs, my first step toward freedom, began with a slap.
Our Texas ranch was a river of mud, and the testing center was twenty miles away.
My father, a self-made oil tycoon, didn' t even look up as I begged for fifty dollars.
"Fifty dollars? Do you think money grows on trees, Gabrielle?" he sneered.
Then came the slap, hard and fast, echoing through our cavernous living room.
"Lazy and entitled," he spat, stealing the seventeen dollars I' d painstakingly saved.
He kicked me out into the storm, telling me not to return until I'd learned the value of a dollar.
My brother, Andrew, stood by, his face a mask of indifference.
My mother was upstairs, oblivious, probably admiring a new diamond.
As I trudged through the mud, a news report on our giant billboard flashed.
It showed my family smiling on a stage, celebrating a one-million-dollar donation to an arts program in honor of my adopted sister, Molly.
Her achievement? A C+ in art.
They had just slapped me and thrown me out for a fifty-dollar ride to the most important exam of my life.
The image of their smiling faces burned into my mind, washing away the tears I didn' t even realize I was crying.
Defeated, I reached the testing center, only to find the doors locked.
I tore my soggy admission ticket into tiny pieces, letting the rain carry them away.
Something inside me broke. Or maybe, it finally healed. They Never Saw Me
Modern Ethan Miller always felt like a ghost, invisible in his own home. He yearned for his biological parents' love, but their affection, their very sight, was reserved for his adopted brother, Kyle – the golden boy who perfectly filled the void Ethan had left.
Then, terror struck. He was kidnapped, brutally tormented. A desperate call reached his FBI profiler father, who, in Ethan' s darkest hour, dismissed him as a mere nuisance: "Your brother's debate is what matters today!"
Days later, Ethan's body was found, brutally murdered. His own parents-an FBI agent and a medical examiner-worked the scene, professionally examining the unrecognizable remains. They handled his personal effects, his ruined clothing, utterly blind to the son they held in their hands, prioritizing another' s success over his very life.
How could they not see him? How could he be so utterly erased, dismissed even in death, by the people who gave him life? The gut-wrenching irony was an agony even for a ghost.
But the truth couldn't stay buried forever. A small receipt and security footage would shatter their denial, forcing them to confront the unrecognizable horror. And when the kidnapper' s chilling confession revealed Kyle' s calculated betrayal as the mastermind, their perfect family would finally, explosively, unravel before the world. The Final Goodbye to the Past
Sci-fi It was Valentine's Day, also my daughter Lily's fifth birthday, and our San Francisco house buzzed with her party.
Her innocent wish, spoken in perfect French, shattered my world: "I wish Mommy and Daddy would divorce, and Uncle Julian could be my new daddy."
My wife Izzy confirmed her chilling desire, and the subsequent divorce papers, the mere fifty-million-dollar check, and pervasive public humiliation felt like the final blows.
Every person I cared for-my wife, my daughter, my very own parents-echoed the same brutal sentiment: I was nothing but a convenience, easily discarded.
Years of devotion, of caring for Izzy during her coma and raising Lily, yielded only cold dismissals and public scorn.
My heart, already weakened by a secret chronic illness, shattered repeatedly, leaving me hollowed out and completely unvalued.
Was my loyalty a curse?
Had I truly been nothing but a 'placeholder'?
With nothing left but bitter pain, a mysterious entity offered an 'exit'-a chance to leave this life behind.
But death, it seemed, was merely a new beginning.
I awoke to a reality where I was reborn, the highly respected screenwriter Ethan Cole, cured of my past ailments.
Until a ghost from my previous life, my ex-wife and daughter, appeared, ready to 'reconquer' me.
This time, the game was on my terms. You might like
The Last Call: From Star to Scapegoat
Zhi Yao My life was a blueprint for success.
Ethan Miller, a rising star in architecture, about to claim the American Horizon Architectural Prize, surrounded by my loving sister Ashley, my beautiful fiancée Victoria, and even my adopted brother Jason.
But one call, one dark warehouse, shattered it all.
Ambushed, my hands crushed, my career obliterated, I woke to a nightmare.
My own sister and fiancée, the women I trusted most, confessed to orchestrating the brutal attack to clear the path for Jason’s success.
They abandoned me in an earthquake, then left me for dead on an exploding yacht, all while publicly slandering my name to cover their tracks.
The betrayal was a pain far deeper than any broken bone, a horrifying injustice that twisted my soul.
Why them? Why Jason? Why this absolute destruction of my life?
But just as despair threatened to consume me, a mysterious offer emerged: "reforging" through Phoenix BioGenesis.
I accepted, not for healing, but for a chilling rebirth, returning as a ghost of my former self, a silent observer ready to meticulously dismantle the lives of those who thought they had won.
This time, the masterpiece would be my revenge. Betrayal's Echo: A Wife's Revenge
Huang Xiaohuai Dr. Evelyn Reed had finally done it.
Three years of relentless work, the neural interface cure for her paralyzed husband, Ethan, was a success.
A triumphant smile touched her lips as she reached for her phone to share the life-changing news.
But an email caught her eye, a cheerful invitation that turned her world to ice.
"Dr. Ethan Vance and Miss Tiffany Reed request the pleasure of your company at the celebration of their marriage."
Ethan. Her husband. Tiffany. Her own niece.
It was a sick joke, a complete error, yet the high-end Parisian wedding agency confirmed its legitimacy.
Her joy evaporated, replaced by a cold dread as she drove through the night, a ghost to a celebration she was never meant to see.
She saw him there, standing, whole, laughing, with Tiffany tucked into his arm, radiant in white.
He kissed her, a tender kiss meant for the world to see, and Evelyn' s world tilted off its axis.
Then she heard them talking, overheard their cruel confessions: he had always loved Tiffany, while Evelyn was merely "a necessary step," "a convenient solution."
The man she had sacrificed everything for, the man who had promised his undying love, had been betraying her for two years with her own blood.
The pain of betrayal, the hollowness of her sacrifice, the absolute injustice of it all, left her hollowed out, empty of tears.
She watched him walk away from her in the hospital, choosing Tiffany, right after a fire, right after she found out a bomb, orchestrated by Tiffany, nearly killed her.
This wasn't a love triangle; it was a war, and she was losing.
Driven by a quiet, ice-cold resolve, Evelyn began to fight back. Stolen Code, Broken Heart, Fierce Comeback
Gu Mumu The flickering TV in my dingy motel room was the only light, illuminating the peeling wallpaper.
On screen, Ethan Vance, my ex-fiancé, smiled his perfect, camera-ready smile, touting 'EvolveAI' and his "future-defining" Prometheus algorithm.
Reporters swarmed him; he was the king of Silicon Valley, the brilliant mind behind the world' s most advanced AI.
My world. My code. My future. He had stolen it all. Everything.
I remembered the day he left, his eyes cold and empty, my three years of coding on a hard drive in his bag, a venomous "You were always just… holding me back."
He didn't just take the code; he took my savings, my reputation, blacklisting me from an industry I helped build, all while Bethany Cole, my best friend, stood arm-in-arm with him, eyes gleaming with triumph.
They left me with nothing but eviction notices, forcing me to sell everything I owned, living as a ghost under pseudonyms, cleaning up security flaws for companies that would never hire Scarlett Hayes.
The pain of that betrayal was a constant, suffocating darkness, a deep pit I couldn' t climb out of, trapped by unseen enemies and their whispers of my failure.
But watching him on that screen, basking in my stolen glory, a cold, sharp rage began to burn through the despair.
In that cheap motel, I swore a vow: I would get justice, I would take back what was mine, and he would not build his empire on my ruins.
My chance came weeks later: a vulnerability in his IPO network led me to a familiar digital signature-a back door I'd built into 'Prometheus,' a failsafe only I knew. He was arrogant, so certain he' d erased me he never looked for the ghost I' d left behind.
He was on the verge of becoming a billionaire. And I had the key to his kingdom.
A slow smile spread across my face. The game wasn't over. It had just begun. I wasn't going to be a victim. I was the storm he never saw coming. I would let him climb to the peak of his triumph. And then, I would burn it all to the ground. Lost Time, Found Love: Ava’s Return
Rum Runner The first thing I felt was the slow, steady beep of a machine.
I opened my eyes to a sterile white ceiling, definitely not my bedroom.
A nurse rushed in, dropping her clipboard, whispering, "She' s awake!"
Then a doctor: "Mrs. Hayes? Ava? Can you tell me your name?"
"Ava Reed... Ava Hayes."
"And the year?"
"2023. It' s October."
Their pitying looks made my skin crawl. "Ava," the doctor said gently, "It' s not 2023."
He pointed to a digital screen: July 12, 2038.
Fifteen years. Gone. Just like that.
The car crash that felt like yesterday had apparently happened a decade and a half ago.
My Lily, my four-year-old daughter, would be nineteen.
My husband, Ethan…
I called him, desperate, finding his contact on a sleek, alien device.
A voice answered, but it wasn' t his. It was cold, hollow.
"Who is this?"
"Ethan? It' s me. It' s Ava."
Then, a harsh, bitter laugh. "My wife is dead. She died fifteen years ago. Don' t you dare use her name again."
He was about to hang up.
"The scar!" I screamed, "Under your left rib, from Miller' s Peak! And Lily… she called her bear 'Sir Reginald Fluffen-Bottom' !"
Silence on the line. Then a whisper: "How… how do you know that?"
Who was this stranger on the phone? What had happened to my life, my family?
I was Ava Reed, a woman robbed of fifteen years.
"Because I am your wife, you idiot. Oceanville General, Room 304. Ten minutes."
I hung up, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach.
Ethan never showed. Instead, a slick lawyer offered me a hotel, a car, a credit card.
I took the car.
My daughter. Lily. Two Years, A Cosmic Lie
Tamarah Lupton I poured every spare dollar from my part-time jobs and scholarships into a scuffed-up piggy bank, dreaming of a future with Chloe and a promise ring that would seal our love. But then I heard her laugh-a laugh that wasn't for me.
Just an hour after I ended things, saying "We're over," my best friend, Liam, walked up, clueless as ever, showing off an expensive watch Chloe had helped him pick out, a watch that screamed what a joke my cheap promise ring was.
I ducked into a stairwell, my heart pounding, and pulled out my phone. In our shared photo album, I found a selfie of Chloe and her friends at a fancy rooftop bar. Zooming in, I saw it-my piggy bank, next to a bottle of champagne, being used as an ashtray. The memory hit me: overhearing Chloe brag to her friends about using me as "A tool, a pawn to make Liam finally notice me," all while calling me "a little charity case" and "so boring."
My world shattered. Two years, all a lie, a game where I was just a prop in her drama with Liam. The cheap daisies I held for her surprise visit were crushed in my hand, my stomach churning with nausea.
I spent the night walking, my mind a blank, howling void. The pain solidified into a cold, hard resolve: I had to disappear.
Five years of isolation. No friends. No family. No Chloe. To me, it sounded less like a punishment and more like a rescue. I went to see Professor Davies and signed up for the Ares Project. His Robot Love, Her Broken Heart
Shi Yue For five years, New York society envied me, Ava Riley, the perfectly devoted wife to tech titan Liam Carter.
Though legally blind, I felt his love in every touch, every whispered word, convinced I was the luckiest woman alive.
But one night, a searing pain shot through my head, a shocking kaleidoscope of color exploded behind my eyelids, and then-I could see.
My vision, blurry but real, focused on the bed.
It wasn't Liam on top of me.
It was a faceless, flawless robot, moving with the practiced intimacy I believed belonged to my husband.
Then I saw Liam across the room, wrapped around a perfect, lifelike doll-his adopted sister, Sophia.
Every intimate moment of our five-year marriage, every cherished touch, had been a vile, mechanical lie.
The truth crashed down: I was just a blind prop in his twisted obsession, a placeholder for the woman he truly desired.
When I confronted this horrifying reality, Sophia pushed me down the stairs, and I lost our baby.
But Liam' s concern wasn't for me.
He protected Sophia, dismissing my pain, our child, and even me, as collateral damage, painting me as an "emotionally unstable liar" to cover their tracks.
How could the man I loved betray me so utterly?
How could my own sacrifice have led to such a depraved deception?
My heart didn't just break; it became a cold, hard stone of disbelief and fury.
Lying in that hospital bed, rage burning through my soul, I ripped up Liam' s seven-figure "hush money" check, looked Sophia directly in her astonished eyes, and declared, "I' m divorcing him. And I' m not going quietly. I' m going to take everything." 
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