Xia Yingxi
15 Published Stories
Xia Yingxi's Books and Stories
The Jilted Wife's Ruthless Wall Street Return
Modern For three years, Adriene Rodgers gave up her brilliant Wall Street career to be the perfect, devoted wife to billionaire Dallin Morales.
But one night, she overheard him talking to his lawyer, a confession that shattered her world.
"Adriene is exactly what I need her to be. A perfect social shield to keep the cameras busy so Elaina can live in peace."
Elaina was his late brother's widow. Dallin coldly admitted that touching his wife made him physically sick, and he only stomached it by closing his eyes and thinking of Elaina.
From that moment, the nightmare escalated. Elaina framed Adriene at every turn—slashing Adriene's beloved dog to death and throwing herself into a pool to play the victim. Dallin blindly believed the widow. He shoved Adriene so hard she cracked her head open on the marble deck, leaving her bleeding on the ground while he tenderly carried Elaina away.
The ultimate betrayal came when Adriene's father went into sudden cardiac failure. Desperate, she begged Dallin for the life-saving hospital funds.
Instead, Dallin ruthlessly froze every single one of her bank accounts.
"Go get on your knees and apologize to Elaina. Do that, and I will unfreeze your cards."
Standing in the freezing rain while Dallin's Rolls-Royce sped off to comfort Elaina's fake panic attack, Adriene's heart finally turned to ice. How could she have wasted three years of devotion on a man who would use her dying father as a bargaining chip for a manipulative parasite?
She didn't shed another tear. After borrowing money to save her father, she secretly signed the divorce papers and left them in a Hermès anniversary box on his desk. Then, she pulled out her old resume and sent it directly to his biggest corporate rivals. The submissive wife was dead, and it was time to burn his empire to the ground. She Was Unwanted, Now She's Queen
Werewolf For three years, I swallowed a bitter pill daily, suppressing my royal white wolf bloodline for a normal life as the Alpha's Luna. That morning, my husband Santino coldly announced a crucial announcement, then entered our grand hall with another woman, declaring, "Alessia, she will be living here from now on."
She was pregnant, he announced, carrying our late Beta's child-yet her neck was unmarked. My scoff met his furious Alpha dominance, threatening my title, forcing my bow as he settled her into the suite next to ours.
Her sickening scent soon permeated my private study. Later, I found him intimately grooming her in the kitchen-a sacred act for mates-while he snarled mental insults, branding my jealousy pathetic.
Watching his hands violate our vows, a slow, cruel smirk pulled at my lips. My three-year marriage was officially over. I had already paused my royal trust fund's capital, then severed our mind link with a chilling declaration: "Don't touch me with the hands that just touched her." The Reborn Heiress: Betting On Chaos
Modern I woke up gasping for air, my fingers clawing at a neck that was smooth instead of bruised. The air smelled of lavender and expensive starch, not the metallic tang of blood and the mold of the basement where I had just died.
A text flashed on my phone from Derrick, the man I thought was the love of my life: "Good morning, my angel. I can't wait to see you tonight." The heart emoji mocked me, a remnant of a girl who was once stupid, blind, and pathetically in love.
In my past life, I was the perfect, submissive fiancée. I didn't realize the "vitamins" Derrick gave me were actually a cocktail of drugs designed to keep me foggy and compliant while he and my own uncle dismantled my father’s company. I stood by him as my parents died in a "car accident" that I now know was a murder he orchestrated. By the time I realized I was married to the devil, he had already stripped me of my wealth, my family, and finally, my breath.
I stared at the gold-embossed calendar on the vanity: June 12, 2014. The day of our engagement party. The day I originally signed my life away to a monster who saw me as nothing more than a bank account to be drained.
I felt a cold, sharp rage replace the terror. I wasn't going to be the victim this time. I wasn't going to take his pills or wear the modest, pastel dress he chose to make me look like a saint.
"I need a match," I whispered to the most dangerous man in the city, Branch Brewer, as I gripped his tie in a hotel hallway. "I want to spend your money until Derrick chokes on it. I want to watch his empire crack."
Reborn on the morning of the gala, I’ve traded my white lace for black silk. The guest list is set, the press is waiting, and Derrick thinks he’s about to win it all. He has no idea that the "fragile" girl he murdered is back to burn his world to the ground. From Tortured Wife To Mafia Queen
Mafia I posted a photo of baby shoes to celebrate my pregnancy. Two hours later, my husband was holding jumper cables.
Kaeden, the Mafia Capo who swore to protect me, stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the basement.
He didn't look like the man who brought me vanilla lattes. He looked like a monster.
His "fragile" childhood friend, Clemmie, had convinced him that my innocent post was a signal to our enemies.
"Discipline," Kaeden muttered, refusing to look at my weeping face. "She needs to learn the cost of her voice."
He ordered low voltage—just enough to scare me.
But the moment he walked out the door, unable to watch, Clemmie smiled.
"He's not coming back for you," she whispered.
She cranked the dial all the way to the right.
She didn't just want to teach me a lesson. She wanted to stop my heart so she could harvest it for herself.
And my husband had already signed the release forms.
But they made one mistake. They left the cleanup to Alois, the family's most ruthless Enforcer.
He didn't bury me. He saved me.
Now, while Kaeden cries over a fake grave, consumed by guilt, I am watching from the shadows.
Daria Burris died in that chair.
The woman who survived is coming for blood. Three Years, One Cruel Lie
Modern For three years, my fiancé Jaxon kept me in a top Swiss clinic, helping me recover from the PTSD that shattered my life. When I was finally accepted into Juilliard, I booked a one-way ticket to New York, ready to surprise him and start our future.
But as I was signing my discharge papers, the receptionist handed me an official certificate of recovery. It was dated a full year ago.
She explained that my "medication" for the last twelve months had been nothing but vitamin supplements. I had been perfectly healthy, a prisoner held captive by forged medical reports and lies.
I flew home and went straight to his private club, only to overhear him laughing with his friends. He was married. He had been for the entire three years I was locked away.
"I've been handling Alina," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "A few tweaked reports, the right 'medication' to keep her foggy. It bought me the time I needed to secure my marriage to Krystal."
The man who swore to protect me, the man I worshipped, had orchestrated my imprisonment. My love story was just a footnote in his.
Later that night, his mother slid a check across the table. "Take this and disappear," she ordered.
Three years ago, I had thrown a similar check in her face, declaring my love wasn't for sale. This time, I picked it up.
"Alright," I said, my voice hollow. "I'll leave. After my father's death anniversary, Jaxon Francis will never find me again." Online Shame, Real-Life Victory
Modern The lines of code glowed, green and satisfying. It was almost 11 PM, and I, Sarah, a data analyst by trade and a numbers person by nature, was finally done for the day.
Then, a trending video popped up. My face, my building, and a headline: "Dedicated Employee or Work-Life Imbalance?"
My stomach clenched. Comments flooded in, a digital deluge of pity and objectification. "Wow, she looks so plain." "Probably single. A guy could just walk up to her and she'd probably be grateful."
It was disgusting. I felt watched, assessed, categorized by strangers. Unsafe.
My brothers were on their way, a familiar comfort. But then, he walked in. Chad. A self-proclaimed "Good Samaritan" challenge participant, selfie stick in hand, beaming that too-perfect smile.
He wanted me to be his content. I refused, but he ignored it, flicking my nose with a condescending playfulness. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be frowning."
Rage exploded inside me. I stood, demandmg he leave. With a dramatic sigh, he walked away, still filming. My phone, my lifeline, flickered and died.
Just as relief washed over me, the glass doors slid open again. Chad was back. And he had a huge bouquet of roses.
A sickly-sweet smell. Dizziness. He was trying to drug me. I fought, screamed, and pepper-sprayed him.
But the sedative was working. I collapsed, only to see him standing there again when the elevator doors chimed open. He'd circled back.
Then the security guard, Tom, appeared. Chad, with chilling precision, recited my personal details, painting me as a dramatic girlfriend in a "lover's quarrel." Tom bought it.
The world went dark as I fell, not to the floor, but into Chad's arms. He whispered in my ear: "Your colleague Mark sends his regards. He didn't appreciate you reporting him to HR." His Last Regret, My New Life
Romance The grand hall of the Thompson estate. The scent of expensive flowers and a decade of my family' s fading name. Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, was the offering, a supposed "lucky charm" to merge our dying empire with the titans of the Thompson Corporation.
But the truth was, I was just a broodmare, chosen to birth their legacy, just like in my first life.
The memory wasn' t a dream; it was a brand etched into my soul. The cold concrete floor, the smell of dust and ozone. I was tied to a chair, my body weak from giving birth to my three children.
Across the room, David, the man I was forced to marry, stood over three small, still forms on a steel table. "The offerings are ready," a scientist said, his voice flat. "The biological processors will give the AI an unparalleled learning curve."
Biological processors. Offerings. No.
I screamed, a ragged sound. "David, no! Please, not our children!"
He grabbed my hair, back. "Our children? You manipulative witch! You tricked my mother into making me have these… abominations with you!" He gestured to a photo: Olivia Reed, "My Love." "You ruined everything! She was pregnant with my true heir! But you and your cursed luck forced my hand."
He forced a bitter liquid down my throat. My world went black.
And then, I woke up.
Back in the Thompson' s grand hall, the scent of flowers choking me. Mrs. Thompson held my hand. David stood beside her, his eyes holding the same cold hatred.
We were back. The day of our forced engagement.
Before the nightmare could begin again, I pulled my hand from Mrs. Thompson' s grasp. My voice small, unsteady, I said, "Mrs. Thompson… I can' t accept."
This time, he wanted Olivia. He believed her child was his key to power. I would hand him the shovel and watch him dig his own grave. His Secret Billionaire Game
Billionaires My name is Ethan Lester, and for five years, I' ve been living a lie. The world knows me as the "trophy husband" to Hollywood mogul Jocelyn Lind, a stay-at-home dad ridiculed, mocked, and paid millions for my public humiliation. What they don't know? My wife' s contemptuous family, who forced this contractual marriage, is unknowingly bleeding money to my secret FinTech company, Apex Innovations.
Then, the unthinkable happened. My children vanished from school.
The kidnappers demanded $100 million in untraceable crypto. Before the shock could even register, Jocelyn's own brothers called, feigning concern, only to demand she sign over her controlling media shares as "collateral" for the ransom. They were vultures, using the kidnapping of their own niece and nephew as a twisted power play.
I watched Jocelyn' s face crumble in despair, the full, sickening weight of their betrayal hitting her. My mind reeled. How could family be so monstrous? How could they weaponize our children for a corporate takeover?
But their greed unveiled a truth they never saw coming. With a single, chilling word, I refused their "help," and placed a call. They just made the gravest mistake of their lives. My Sacrifice, Her Deception
Romance For five grueling years, my concert pianist hands knew only the grease and steel of a West Texas oil rig. I sweated, burned, and broke every bone in my body, all to pay off a half-million-dollar debt my girlfriend, Gabby, claimed her failed startup had accrued. My sacrifice was for her, to save the woman I loved.
Finally, with the last payment in hand, I drove three hours to a Dallas steakhouse, anticipating our future. Instead, I walked into a private dining room and witnessed my entire world shatter.
Gabby, impossibly elegant, was laughing with her childhood friend, Wesley, the man who supposedly owned her debt. My foreman and the debt collector were there too, fawning over her.
I heard the foreman proudly declare I' d saved the half-million. Gabby, stroking Wesley' s hand, casually stated, "It' s fine. I' ll just sign another IOU for two million. Make sure he' s stuck on that rig for the rest of his life."
Wesley leaned in, kissing her cheek, "Perfect. I just saw a vintage Porsche for a cool half-million."
Ms. Fuller. Fuller Oil & Gas.
The rig I' d bled on was hers. The debt was a lie.
My sacrifice, a cruel game orchestrated to punish me for an abandonment that never happened-a narrative Wesley had twisted years ago after a caving accident, making her believe I' d left her for dead, even burning my musical future.
My blood ran cold. The air left my lungs. How could the woman I loved, the one I crippled myself for, orchestrate such a monstrous betrayal? This wasn't just about money; it was about destroying my life, my spirit.
But now, I had a choice. Reclaim my broken dream, or let this monstrous lie consume me. I turned to walk away, but then I stopped. I had one last, definitive move to make before I finally walked free. Your Stolen Dreams, My Rebuilt Empire
Romance I never thought I'd see David Miller again.
For seven years, I' d been the ghost of Ash Carter, the once-promising architecture student whose dreams he' d stolen, whose career he' d sabotaged.
Now, a single mom doing freelance drafting to pay the bills, I found myself in a children's museum, comforting my son Leo after a scraped knee.
Then, his voice.
Theatrically loud, cutting through the din.
David, impeccably suited, with a preppy assistant clinging to his arm.
He spotted me, his eyes lighting up with a sickening, triumphant gleam.
Before a crowd of strangers and his colleagues, he pulled out our old university portfolio, the very project he' d claimed as his own.
He draped himself in false sorrow, claiming he' d "never stopped thinking about what we had," implying Leo was his son.
He gestured at my comfortable but simple jeans, offering to "help me get back on my feet."
His colleagues watched, pitying him, scorning me as the woman who' d let a genius slip away.
My past, his crime, was put on public display, twisted into a narrative of my failure and his magnanimity.
A cold calm settled over me.
How could he be this brazen?
This utterly devoid of shame?
He truly believed I was still pining for him, still broken by his betrayal.
My heart ached for the injustice, for the years he' d condemned me to anonymity.
But then, I lifted my hand.
The art-deco sapphire ring glinted under the museum lights.
"And I'm married," I stated, my voice clear and firm.
His confidence wavered, but only for a second.
"Ridiculous! Who would marry you?" he sneered.
Just as his pitying gaze returned, a quiet voice cut through: "Is there a problem here, Ash?"
My husband, Michael Vance, stepped forward, and David' s world began to unravel. The Betrayer's Inheritance
Modern Scarlett Hayes, from a once-proud Southern family now teetering on ruin, arrived at the exclusive Kentucky Derby Charity Gala, hoping a connection with the influential Blackwood family could be her salvation.
Instead, she became the unwitting target of a cruel "auction" by the arrogant Blackwood sons, culminating in Charlie Blackwood Jr. publicly humiliating her by announcing his engagement to her stepsister, Brittany, revealing it was all a sadistic game to "put her in her place."
The ultimate betrayal came days later: drugged and waking up disoriented in a cheap motel, photos of her disheveled state instantly ruined her reputation, leaving her father shattered and her own future a devastating, inescapable void.
The crushing despair of her ruined life, filled with unanswered questions and profound betrayal, became an unbearable weight, dragging her into an abyss she couldn't escape, leaving her soul utterly broken.
Then, with a jolt, she woke up in her bed-it was the morning of the Kentucky Derby Gala again, a second chance born from the ashes of her humiliation, ready to wage a ruthless war against the dynasty that destroyed her. The Hidden Founder's Fury
Modern My daughter, Lily, just won the Grand Prize at the California State Youth Tech Challenge, securing a coveted spot at MIT’s summer program.
Pure joy lit up her face after years of dedication to her "Eco-Clean Bot."
But the applause died instantly as a woman, Jessica Hayes, announced her intention to buy the award for her son with a $500,000 donation.
The organizer, citing a "sponsor’s priority clause," surprisingly agreed.
Jessica and her smug son, Brandon, mocked Lily, sneering that her hard work was useless against their family’s money.
Then, the man I trusted, Mark Olsen, CEO of *my* company and Lily’s father, brazenly sided with them.
He publicly declared Jessica the "love of his life" and abandoned us, choosing his mistress over his daughter’s dream.
My heart shattered watching Lily’s face crumple, seeing her future stolen by this betrayal.
How could the man whose career I built, using my own money, so cruelly humiliate us both?
But as he sealed his fate, denying his own family, I knew this charade had served its purpose.
The time for the true power behind Nova Dynamics to step into the light, and exact a cold, precise vengeance, had arrived. You might like
Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle
Ming Yue Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.
I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.
I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.
I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.
"If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned.
So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.
Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout.
But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back. The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. The Cold CEO's Unwanted Genius Wife
Meng Xinyu I stood in the darkest corner of the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, my cheap polyester dress itching against my skin while my wristband buzzed with a DARPA Priority Red alert.
In front of the city’s elite, my fiancé Bryce Calloway took the stage, not to toast our future, but to publicly end our engagement and announce he was with my sister, Chloe.
The room turned on me instantly, a hundred pairs of eyes pinning me down with pity and disgust as they physically backed away like I was contagious.
When I returned home, my mother shattered a crystal vase at my feet, screaming that I was a humiliation and a "dropout" who didn't deserve a cent of the family fortune.
Chloe and Bryce mocked me, laughing when I told them I had a mission with the National Security Agency, convinced I was either a pathological liar or a low-level criminal.
They watched in horror as a black, unmarked military helicopter descended on our backyard to extract me, yet they still chose to believe I was being arrested for drug trafficking.
They saw a pathetic girl who couldn't even parallel park, never realizing I was Dr. Nova Vance, the lead physicist behind the world's first successful fusion reactor.
To secure funding for my research and gain a "fortress" of a name, I signed a thirty-day marriage contract with the arrogant billionaire Roman Knight.
He treats me like a fraud, convinced I’m a gold-digger who failed out of college, while I quietly run global energy simulations from his guest bedroom.
He has no idea that the "loser" he’s forced to live with is the same anonymous grandmaster who has been ruthlessly crushing him in online strategy games for months.
"The contract is active," I told him, looking past his expensive suit.
"But don't expect me to be your maid." Zero Alimony: The CEO's Runaway Wife
Yue Manshuang I was hemorrhaging severely on the operating table, risking my life to deliver the billionaire Carlisle heir.
Through the unsealed door, I heard my husband Axel's cold, mechanical voice giving a ruthless order to the panicked doctors.
"Prioritize the heir. Above all else."
The ice spread through my veins as he reduced my entire existence to a mere vessel. After I barely survived the emergency delivery, his mother marched into my room, telling me I should be on my knees thanking God they kept me alive long enough to fulfill my only purpose. His sister barged in just to scream at me, calling me a manipulative gold-digger. And Axel? He didn't ask about my pain. He simply stared at me like a CEO evaluating a damaged asset, eventually kidnapping me from the hospital and threatening to use his Wall Street power to ensure I would never see my newborn son again.
I had secretly loved this man for years, swallowing my pride and enduring his toxic family's abuse, only to realize that in my most vulnerable moment, my life meant absolutely nothing to him. Why did I ever think I could melt his icy heart?
My heart simply stopped breaking and turned to solid stone. I bypassed his billions, called a top-tier litigator, and handed Axel a zero-alimony divorce agreement, waiving every single cent of his fortune just to make a clean break. 
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