Xiao Youzi
11 Published Stories
Xiao Youzi's Books and Stories
The Twins He Destroyed
Romance The Thorne mansion reeked of unspoken rivalries.
I, Sarah Ashton, was one of eighteen women, disowned by my family for this role.
Ethan, my childhood sweetheart, now saw me with cold resentment, obsessed with Brenda, who claimed to save his life.
A chilling premonition haunted me: Ethan' s rage-filled face, his hands stained with my blood, my newborn twins' cries silenced. He kills us.
So, the faint blue lines on the test brought not joy, but icy terror. My unborn, his children. The ones he would destroy.
I secretly bribed the doctor to hide my twin pregnancy.
Days later, Brenda announced her fake pregnancy; overjoyed Ethan demanded marriage.
The horror peaked when Brenda, feigning a fall and accusing me, screamed I harmed her "baby." Ethan' s fury erupted.
He punched me, then kicked my stomach.
Agony ripped through me. "My babies…" I choked, bleeding. "Ethan… I'm pregnant…"
He laughed, "Pregnant? You? Don' t try that lie now."
He saw only his "victim" and "attacker," dismissing my agony.
My premonition became real: my twins, lost to their father's blind rage.
As darkness consumed me, Eleanor Thorne, Ethan's grandmother, burst in, face etched with horror. She knew.
With her help, I escaped, grieving my lost children.
Ethan built his joyous new life on Brenda' s lies, unaware Eleanor was patiently orchestrating a reckoning he' d never forget. The Phantom Heiress: The Underboss's Obsession
Mafia I was 'Nine', the deadliest assassin of The Syndicate. But yesterday, my boss faked my death in an explosion and sent me to New York.
I was ordered to infiltrate the Russo family as their long-lost biological daughter.
But my biological parents didn't want me. They loved the fake daughter they had raised in my place.
My mother called me a feral stray and tried to shove me into a mildewed servant's quarter, while the fake daughter lived in a grand suite.
When the fake daughter cried upon seeing me, my father pointed a finger at my face, yelling at me for disrespecting his precious replacement.
"You are nothing but a crude, uncultured mistake trying to ruin her life!"
They treated me like garbage, trying to assert dominance over a girl they thought was a helpless stray.
But when I cornered my mother and whispered my question, her reaction changed everything.
"If I hadn't been stolen all those years ago, would you have even needed a replacement?"
She didn't cry for the child she lost. Instead, all the color drained from her face, and her eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror.
She knew. Even if she hadn't orchestrated it herself, my mother knew exactly why I was kidnapped eighteen years ago.
They thought they could bully a pathetic orphan. They didn't realize they had just invited a monster into their home. The Genius Wife He Never Cherished
Modern I gave up my architecture dream and my entire inheritance to help Garrison build his law firm, reducing myself to a glorified maid in his home for five years.
But the night my mother lay dying in the hospital, Garrison didn't come.
Instead, I saw him on the news, proposing to his mistress, Kayla, with a diamond ring bought with my savings.
When I confronted them, Garrison didn't apologize. Instead, he forced me to sign my 15% stake in the company over to Kayla for zero dollars.
He claimed she needed "security" because she was fragile.
Even when I threw the toxicology report at him, proving Kayla had poisoned my mother with arsenic to get her out of the way, Garrison covered it up to save his precious merger.
He looked me in the eye and told me to apologize to the woman who murdered my mother.
That was the moment Janet Gardner died.
I signed the papers, threw the divorce agreement in his face, and vanished into the night without a trace.
Three years later, at a prestigious art gallery in Paris, a gaunt, broken man fell to his knees in front of the famous artist "Jane."
Garrison wept, clutching the hem of my dress, begging for my forgiveness.
I looked down at my ex-husband with a polite, empty smile.
"I'm sorry, sir. Do I know you?" Mafia Princess: Escaping His Deadly Lie
Mafia For three years, a rare liver disease has been killing me. Through it all, my husband Julian has been my rock. Our last hope was a black-market liver, secured through a life-debt owed to my family, the Volkov Bratva.
But from my hospital bed, I overheard him promise that very liver to another woman.
It was for his mistress's mother.
I soon discovered he had a four-year-old daughter with her. Their family was established; I was just the placeholder. On a hidden security feed, I watched him in my dead parents' penthouse—a sacred place he forbade me from visiting—bouncing their child on his knee.
Then he fastened the diamond necklace he'd bought for my birthday around his mistress's neck.
The final blow came when I heard her whisper, "Just a little longer... the fever will do the rest."
He wasn't just leaving me. He was actively trying to kill me.
The love I had for him didn't just die; it turned to a cold, hard stone in my chest. The man whose devotion I never questioned now made my skin crawl with revulsion.
The next morning, I signed myself out of the hospital against medical advice. I left my wedding ring and the signed divorce papers on the entryway table, blocked his number, and walked out of our house without looking back. Love's Betrayal, A Mother's Vow
Sci-fi Ava stepped off the jet, eager to finally hug her daughter, Lily, after eighteen months away on a critical mission.
A familiar face, her handler, handed her a tablet, saying, "Welcome home, Ava. Everything is ready for your debriefing tomorrow. Tonight is yours."
Her eyes immediately landed on a headline: "Tech Prodigy Lily Thorne Exposed as Fraud, Groundbreaking AI Code Auctioned Off by Estranged Husband Mark Vance."
And then the photo. Lily, bound to a chair on a brightly lit stage, her face pale, a mixture of shock and utter devastation.
Her estranged son-in-law, Mark Vance, stood beside a woman Ava didn' t recognize-his new fiancée, Chloe.
He was sneering into the camera, declaring Lily would be finished, blacklisted, her future one of "menial jobs and constant public humiliation."
The tablet shattered in Ava' s hand, cracks spiderwebbing across the screen.
Her blood ran cold. The rage was a physical force, shimmering in the air around her.
How could he do this? How could a man she once trusted betray her daughter so completely, so publicly?
This wasn't just a betrayal; it was an execution.
"The mission isn' t over," Ava declared, her voice unnaturally calm, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the horrified handler. "It just began." Reclaiming Life, Finding Love
Romance The paper in my hand felt like a death sentence: glioblastoma, an aggressive brain tumor.
That same day, my estranged wife, Chloe, flashed across my laptop screen, pregnant with another man' s child, her new partner, Mark Jensen, by her side.
Before I could even process the betrayal, my five-year-old son, Liam, shattered my phone, screaming, "I hate you!", his loyalty already shifted to Chloe' s new family.
Later that day, a venomous spider bite and a brutal car crash-orchestrated by Chloe herself-left me clinging to life, only for her and Mark to attempt to block my treatment at the hospital, almost succeeding.
They dragged me from my hospital bed, still recovering, and locked me in my own basement, binding me to a chair.
Forced to confess to lies I never spoke, I endured their physical and emotional torment, my own son throwing a toy car at my face.
Every word they spoke, every blow they landed, twisted the knife of injustice deeper, making me question how the woman I loved and the child I adored could become my tormentors.
My world was crumbling, everything I built stripped away by those closest to me, leaving me utterly alone and broken.
But then, a new doctor, Evelyn Reed, emerged, a beacon of hope against the darkness, a promise that this nightmare, and the lies that fueled it, would finally be exposed. The Night They Buried Me Alive
Romance The yacht bucked like a wild beast in the Lake Michigan storm, and my family faced a terrible choice.
There were only two spots left on the rescue boat, and my father didn' t hesitate: "Caleb, get in. Grab the dog."
They chose my adopted brother, the "good luck charm," and my mother' s prized show dog over me, yelling for me to swim to a non-existent marina.
My fiancée, Molly, was already gone, announcing her engagement to Caleb on the evening news before they even knew if I was dead or alive.
When I finally dragged myself back, barely clinging to life, I was met not with relief, but with rage and disgust.
My "brother" Caleb, the perfect son, framed me for theft, and my parents, the people who were supposed to love me, forced me to strip naked in front of their staff, searching for something I didn't steal.
How could my own family do this? How could they betray me so completely, not just once, but again and again, pushing me to the absolute breaking point?
That day, as I walked away, leaving everything and everyone I knew behind, I wasn't just leaving a house; I was severing a destiny.
I was done being Ethan Duncan, the cursed son; now, I would simply become Ethan, and I would build a life so strong, so independent, that their world would crumble without me. Beyond The Pep Rally Humiliation
Romance My name is Maya Rodriguez, and I pretty much live at WOLF Radio, spinning indie tracks and secretly nursing a hopeless crush on Ethan Miller, our university' s star quarterback.
He' s that guy – popular, talented, and completely out of my league.
Then came Homecoming.
A text from my best friend shattered my world: Ethan was about to ask Chloe Davis, the campus queen, to the Ball.
And he was going to do it using my microphones!
My stomach clenched.
I had to stop him.
In a panic, I recorded a voice note to Liv: "Liv, I have to stop this! I can't let him use the WOLF Radio mic to ask Chloe! You know how I feel about Ethan!"
But a forgotten Bluetooth connection turned my private confession into a public announcement, booming across the entire stadium.
The mortified silence, then the gasps and laughter.
My deepest secret, broadcast to thousands.
I wanted to die.
Chaos.
Humiliation.
How could my mistake be so catastrophic?
I was the invisible sound tech, always behind the scenes.
This was beyond anything I could imagine.
The star quarterback, frozen on the field, looking directly at me.
But then the impossible happened: Ethan sought me out.
He wasn't angry.
He was oddly amused.
He revealed a massive misunderstanding – the proposal wasn't for Chloe, or even for him.
My public humiliation was all for nothing.
Or was it?
What exactly was the campus heartthrob doing, being so incredibly kind to the girl who just declared her crush to the whole school? Falcon's Fury: The Heiress Returns
Billionaires Three years at Yale, I missed the Texas heat and the Sterling ranch, counting down the days to surprise my sister, Lily.
I pictured our joyful reunion, the familiar echo of laughter in the grand halls.
Instead, a chilling silence hung over the mansion. Her familiar room was replaced by a gaudy guest suite.
A faint, rhythmic creaking led me to the gardens. There, under a wilting magnolia, stood a crude dog run.
And inside, a tattered pink fabric betrayed the unimaginable – Lily.
My sister, rail-thin, hair matted, whimpered, "No… no cookies. Cookies are for good people. Master says I'm a pet."
Just then, Pamela, my stepmother, emerged, smug and heavily pregnant, dangling Lily's half of our family's sacred Falcon emblem.
"Ava, darling. Home a bit sooner than expected, aren't we?"
"That badge means power, and Lily graciously gave me her share," she purred, her gaze predatory, eyeing mine.
How could Robert, my own father, stand by while his daughter was brutalized?
He had shielded Pamela, allowed her to twist our family's legacy into this grotesque nightmare.
This wasn't merely a family dispute; it was an act of heinous cruelty. A deliberate erasure of everything my mother had built.
And I, the rightful heir, was now utterly alone, powerless.
When her goons cornered me, tearing away my own Falcon emblem, she declared Falcon International finally hers.
But they didn't know that under my shirt, hidden by years of preparation, was a silent beacon.
With a single, desperate press, I had activated the Ghost Tactical Squad—Falcon's most elite, most discreet unit.
The game was about to change. The Unspoken Farewell
Romance I was Emily Rose, a top-tier law student, interning at the prestigious Kent Corporation.
William Kent, the notorious playboy heir, relentlessly pursued me, and I fell hard, believing I was finally his "one."
Old Man Kent had even announced a challenge: the woman who could tame William for six months would be the next Mrs. Kent.
I pictured a future, a ring, a life.
Then the news broke: Sophia Vanderbilt, William’s society-approved match, staged a public, bloody suicide attempt, blaming me as the gold-digging home-wrecker.
William, to save his family's reputation and his own ascent, instantly turned on me, calling me a calculating liar.
The Kents ensured my scholarship vanished, my reputation was shredded, and I became a corporate pariah.
They didn't stop there; my nurse mother was framed for theft, and my younger brother faced drug charges.
My world burned as their lawyers offered a chilling ultimatum: confess and disappear, or my family would face ruin.
I refused, and the next day, a black SUV ran a red light.
Then, nothing.
Until I snapped awake, back at the very Kent gala where William first charmed me – the night it all began.
My heart hammered, a wild bird trapped, but this time, it vibrated with a cold, clear resolve.
Why was I back?
To relive this nightmare, this betrayal?
No, this time, I wouldn't be their lamb.
I met William's gaze, my eyes cold and flat: "Not yours, Mr. Kent. Excuse me."
This time, the game was mine to play. You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. 
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