Xiaoxiao Yunduoer
10 Published Stories
Xiaoxiao Yunduoer's Books and Stories
The Fiancee Who Stole My Life
Romance The company was in chaos. My fiancée, Olivia Hayes, CEO of Hayes Innovations, was announcing her engagement to her high school sweetheart, Daniel Sterling. But the tech world wasn' t buzzing about their reunited love story; it was buzzing about something else-my disappearance.
I was gone, vanished, while Olivia, arm-in-arm with Daniel, declared on live television that her wedding gift would be the patent for "Prometheus AI" -my life' s work, which I called Aegis. It was intended for her, a wedding gift from me.
Watching from a hotel room in Zurich, I saw my life publicly dismantled. The comment sections cheered on their "love story," calling them a power couple, while I was dismissed as the "forgotten partner." Daniel sealed my humiliation with a passionate kiss, claiming our shared history. Then, Olivia, triumphant, announced Daniel would fund Prometheus' s next phase, holding up my creation as her dowry.
My genius, the culmination of years of secret work, was being used to celebrate my own betrayal. The sudden, urgent "business trip" she' d arranged for me, her insistence I go alone-it was all a deliberate trap to get me out of the way. She thought I was just a tech entrepreneur, but I was a prodigy, recruited by a clandestine government agency; Aegis, her "Prometheus," was a strategic asset for the U.S. government-and announcing it as her dowry was a federal crime.
My phone vibrated with her hollow apologies. But I felt no anger, no heartbreak, just profound weariness. The man who loved Olivia Hayes was gone, replaced by someone colder, harder. I looked at the glittering Zurich lights, and I knew what I had to do. I picked up the phone, scrolled to an unlisted contact: Agent Smith.
"Miller," a gruff voice answered. "It's 3 a.m. here. This had better be a matter of national security."
"It is," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Get me a flight. I' m coming home. Now." No Longer A Pawn, Now A Queen
Modern For five years, I lived in a gilded cage, believing I was the cherished orphan saved by the wealthy Estrada family. They gave me a home, a career as an architect, and their son, Andres, as my fiancé.
They told me my best friend, Dyan, had betrayed me. I believed them.
Then one night, I found Andres with his real family. His wife was Dyan, and they had a son. My entire life was a lie, orchestrated and funded by the very people who called me their daughter. I was just a placeholder.
Worse, I overheard their plan to drug me at an upcoming gala and have me quietly institutionalized, a final, neat disposal of their "grateful" prop.
"She probably bought it, bless her naive heart," Andres had laughed. "She always does."
They thought I was a pawn they could discard. But as I stood in the shadows, watching their perfect, secret life, the grief inside me hardened into a cold, sharp fury.
They taught me how to build an empire. Now, I would show them how to tear one down. Revenge Is A Daughter's Sweetest Dish
Modern The first time I died, it was from a cancer my mother couldn' t afford. My father, who had left us for his wealthy mistress, refused to pay for my treatment.
In a desperate attempt to save me, my mother tried to sell her kidney on the black market. She was scammed and left to die in an alley.
She died of an infection a week before I finally succumbed to the cancer, alone in a hospital bed.
I' ll never forget him telling my begging mother that his new family had expenses, handing her a few hundred dollars as if she were trash.
Then, I opened my eyes. I was fourteen again, healthy, watching the divorce happen all over again.
My father looked at me, expecting me to choose my mother.
"Blake," he said, "you' ll have to choose who you want to live with."
I remembered the hunger, the cold, and my mother' s broken body. I met her tear-filled eyes, my own heart shattering.
"I choose Dad." His Betrayal, Her Ghostly Promise
Romance My husband, Darius Madden, and I were the tech world's perfect couple. He was the charismatic CEO of the empire we built together, and I was the reclusive genius, the unseen force behind our success. Our love story was a PR masterpiece everyone adored.
Then I discovered the truth was a far uglier thing. He wasn't just having an affair with a model and influencer with millions of followers named Kaylee.
The perfect partnership was a lie. While he held my hand on a Ferris wheel, he was simultaneously on his other phone, scrolling through Kaylee's latest Facebook post. I saw him authorize a massive public donation in her name, then post a comment for thousands to see: "Of course I love Kaylee more."
The final blow came as a text from an unknown number. It was a photo of a sonogram report. Kaylee was pregnant with his child.
A vow I made to him years ago, one he had laughed off, echoed in my mind like a prophecy.
"I will never tolerate betrayal. If you ever cheat on me, I will disappear from your life forever. You will never find me."
So I made a call.
I activated a protocol to permanently erase my identity, to become a ghost.
For our anniversary, I left him a beautifully wrapped gift box. Inside were the signed divorce papers.
This time, I was keeping my promise. Rejection's Fury: A Wife's Return
Romance I stood in front of City Hall, clutching a marriage license application, waiting for the man I' d loved for five years. He was late. Again.
This was the 99th time Damien Crawford had chosen someone else over me. But this time, a picture on my phone showed him smiling with his high school sweetheart, Hadley Stuart, the woman he' d never gotten over.
When I returned to his mansion, Hadley was curled up next to him, his mother beaming. His mother, Cecil, gave Hadley a family heirloom bracelet, dismissing me as a servant. Damien, instead of apologizing, grabbed my arm, accusing me of a tantrum. He still thought he was in control.
I showed him the torn marriage license, telling him I wanted nothing from him anymore. He responded by dragging me to my room, pushing me against the wall, and trying to kiss me. I told him he was dirty.
Then, my father collapsed. Damien, seeing the jacket a male security guard had given me, refused to let me take my dying father to the hospital, claiming Hadley was having a panic attack. His mother, Cecil, slashed the car tires and threw the keys into a fountain, laughing as my father stopped breathing.
My father died. At the hospital, Damien jabbed an acupuncture needle into my hand, telling me it was what happened when I disobeyed him. He still didn't know the scar on my back was from the skin graft I gave him.
Why did I sacrifice everything for a man who saw me as property, who let my father die? Why did I stay for five years, only to be treated like dirt?
I called Anderson, my adoptive brother, the CEO of the Morrison Group. It was time to go home. It was time for Damien Crawford to pay. Deported Mistress, Destroyed Husband
Modern I thought I' d solved my marriage crisis the way any woman from a powerful D.C. family would: I used my influence to get my husband' s mistress deported.
My husband, Colonel Ethan Scott, even came home, promising repentance and a fresh start.
Two days later, the private jet carrying my father, the former Secretary of State, and my brother, a rising star at the Department of Justice, went down over the Atlantic.
As I stood grieving, the man I loved, the man I built, answered a call, casually ordering the disposal of my family' s bodies and discussing the tasteless drug he' d just forced on me – a sterilization agent.
He had orchestrated it all.
My world shattered as the monster I married carried me into our Georgetown home, convinced I was just another grieving wife. He then publicly humiliated me, having his mistress stage a fall and whipping me with his belt in front of a crowd, leaving me kneeling in the street like a dog.
I couldn't fathom such pure evil, nor the depths of my own betrayal.
But what he didn't know was about my father' s secret safe, and the blank presidential pardon inside. This wasn' t the end of me; it was the start of my war. Left for Dead: A Quarterback's Revenge
Modern One moment, I was a star quarterback, riding high on campus, about to marry my beautiful fiancée, Nicole.
The next, I was zip-tied and dumped on a desolate island, a canvas bag yanked from my head, blinding sun in my eyes.
My fiancée Nicole, her best friend Tara, and my so-called "little brother" Caleb stood offshore, watching, their faces devoid of pity as they left me for dead, framed for a crime I didn't commit.
Every desperate call home was met with betrayal: my own father, easily manipulated, disowned me, convinced I was responsible, leaving me utterly alone to face the snakes and starvation.
As I lay dying in the sand, abandoned and cursed by everyone I thought cared, a cold, burning rage ignited within, sparking a singular thought: I would not just survive, I would return, and they would pay. Her Buried Truth
Fantasy It' s been seven long years since Eliza Hayes, my mother, was branded a "fallen woman" and supposedly died in the desolate Outlands.
Now, a sickness grips our commune, whispered to be my mother's curse.
Reverend Marcus Thorne, my father, once her beloved husband, is forced to lead an expedition to her supposed grave, to "cleanse" her remains and end her rumored influence.
At that crude pile of stones, my eight-year-old self, a wild child of the Outlands, emerged from the shadows, clutching the wooden bluebird my mother gifted me.
"My mother' s spirit will find justice," I declared, my voice steady.
That's when they unearthed an antique silver locket from the grave-a gift from Marcus, a secret from their youth.
Then, a voice from the past filled the air: Eliza' s.
It spoke of betrayal-of my aunt Abigail, Marcus' s new wife, drugging him and taking Eliza' s place at their wedding.
It recounted years of Abigail' s cruel manipulations, framing Eliza for countless misdeeds, even using Marcus' s own trust to banish her.
The locket revealed her desperate cold penance, losing their first child-a baby they never knew existed.
Marcus' s world shattered.
He was caught between his past and present, writhing in guilt and disbelief.
I had to ask him, "Did you protect her?", cutting through the noise of denial.
This wasn't just a sad story; it was a deeply buried conspiracy, a monstrous injustice disguised as divine judgment.
But the locket was only the beginning.
With blood from a fresh cut, I pressed my hand to my sacred wooden bluebird, unleashing a torrent of visions.
The truth screamed out: Abigail hadn't just tormented Eliza, she had conspired with brutal Outlands gangs, sacrificing innocent women and orchestrating a heinous frame-up that led to my pregnant mother' s exile.
The time for silent suffering is over.
The true hunt for justice has begun. Too Late, Mr. Thorne: Her Heaven, Your Hell
Fantasy My life with Marcus Thorne was a fairytale, shielded by his ruthless power and what I thought was unwavering love.
He was whispered about in D.C. elite circles-powerful, ruthless, yet always gentle with me, his Eleanor.
Our legendary love story began years ago when he saved me, promising protection and building our world around him.
Then, at a glittering D.C. gala, chaos erupted: gunfire, and his young operative, Izzy, took a bullet meant for him.
But suddenly, the devoted man I knew vanished, replaced by a cold stranger fixated on Izzy, claiming a convenient amnesia.
He then insisted I donate bone marrow for her "experimental treatment," disregarding doctors' warnings about my delicate pregnancy.
I endured Izzy's endless demands and his chilling indifference as our long-awaited child, conceived after years of yearning, slipped away due to the procedure.
My heart shattered, watching him dote on Izzy, who relished in my public humiliation.
Then, I overheard his chilling confession: his "amnesia" was a calculated lie, and our baby' s death merely a "tragic necessity" to repay his supposed debt to her.
The man I married, who vowed to protect me, had deliberately sacrificed our child, our future, for a cold, calculated lie.
My world collapsed, my deep love turning to ashes, leaving only a hollow, burning rage.
How could the man I adored be such a monster, so casually dismissing our child' s very life?
I was merely a pawn in his twisted game, living a carefully constructed deception.
But I refused to be his victim anymore.
With every shred of my being, I resolved to disappear, to utterly erase Eleanor Thorne and reclaim my autonomy.
This time, I would emerge a phoenix, not a pawn. You might like
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. 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. 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. 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 DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir
Shirlee Melnick Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit.
The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena.
This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone. 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. After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." 
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