Xin Miaomiao
12 Published Stories
Xin Miaomiao's Books and Stories
He Broke Her Heart, She Broke His Bank
Mafia I was the architect of my husband's legitimate empire, the queen to his throne as the Don of a powerful crime family. Our home was our sanctuary, our bed the one sacred place he always returned to.
But in the middle of the night, I woke to a woman's moan coming from a guest room that was supposed to be empty. The space beside me was cold; my husband, Brendan, was gone.
The woman's voice belonged to Kiya, my protégée—a girl I’d mentored like a sister. Through the door, I heard him call me "a piece of furniture that sleeps soundly." I heard him tell her she possessed something I didn't. Then, a video confirmed the ultimate betrayal: a four-year affair, a pregnancy, and his casual dismissal of me as a business arrangement.
He called me a title, but he called another woman's child his heir. He had broken the one rule that held our world together, turning my life's work into ash.
He thought I was just a fixture in his grand design, a brilliant mind he could control and discard. He was wrong.
There was only one way to escape this agony. I would have every memory of him surgically cut from my mind, erase him from my soul like a cancer, and disappear so completely that not even a ghost of me remained. His Unwanted Wife, Her Tortured Soul
Romance I had loved Kade Cordova for ten years, but our marriage was a transaction he despised. He hated me, flaunting his affair with his lover, Kendall, for the world to see.
Then, Kendall framed me for corporate espionage. Blinded by hatred, Kade didn't even question it. He had me thrown into a pre-trial detention center.
In the cold visitation room, he gave the guards a simple, chilling order.
"Teach her a lesson."
They ripped my clothes open and violated me as he watched, his eyes filled with disgust. But that wasn't enough. Kendall faked a miscarriage and blamed me. Enraged, Kade forced himself on me, vowing to use my body as a vessel to replace the child I had "murdered."
The final blow came when Kendall went to my ailing mother and cruelly detailed every humiliation, causing a heart attack that killed her.
I had lost everything. My love, my dignity, and now my mother. All because of lies I couldn't disprove and a man who refused to see the truth.
Standing on a bridge with nothing left to live for, I let go. But I didn't die. I woke up with no memory, saved by a kind stranger. For five years, I lived a new, happy life. Until the day the man who destroyed me found me again. Unraveling A Twisted Marriage
Romance The doctor's words didn't just break my heart; they erased my future. I could never have children. The cause? A fall my husband, Gregory, caused when he shoved me against our marble coffee table.
I had confronted him about stealing my game for his new star protégé. While I was reeling from the loss, he was on the cover of a tech magazine, beaming, with his arm wrapped around her. They were celebrating the massive success of my game.
When I went home, I found her there, wearing my silk robe, directing movers to pack up my life. Gregory didn't even deny the affair. He simply stepped in front of her, shielding her from my rage.
He wasn't content with just that. He issued a press release calling me an unstable plagiarist, destroying my career to ensure I couldn't leave.
His mother delivered the final, crushing blow. She told me my marriage was a transaction-my parents had traded their life's work, a revolutionary patent, just so I could marry him. I was bound by their sacrifice.
He had taken everything-my work, my body, my family's legacy. He thought he had me caged, a broken trophy to display.
He was wrong. That night, I doused our home in gasoline and walked away as the flames consumed my old life. Calista Gardner died in that fire. And I was finally free. The Wedding That Never Was
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold, seeping into my bones on the operating table, as doctors frantically tried to stop the hemorrhaging.
Then, the words that shattered my world: "The baby… the baby can' t be saved."
My baby, gone. And in a flash, I remembered my husband Liam' s venomous sneer just hours before, "If it' s some other man' s bastard, I' ll kill it myself."
The pain of his words, worse than labor, twisted my love for my adoptive brother into pure hatred. I believed he had killed our child.
Consumed by rage, I seized a scalpel and plunged it into his chest, gasping, "If my child dies, you' re dying with him."
His eyes widened in despair, not anger, as consciousness faded.
His frantic shouts echoed, "Save her! Get the best doctors… And find her the best lawyer… Don' t let her find out about her father. Let her hate me forever."
Tears fell onto my cheek, hot and foreign. My father? What did he have to do with this?
Then, darkness.
"Do you, Ava Miller, take this man, Liam Hayes, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
My eyes snapped open. The blinding white of the operating room was gone. I was at the altar, clutching white roses, in a heavy wedding dress.
Liam stood before me, young and handsome, looking exactly as he had ten years ago.
Our wedding day. The day my nightmare began. I was back.
He leaned in, his voice a low, impatient hiss, "Ava, what are you doing? Say 'I do.' Don' t make a scene."
The same cold tone, the same barely-veiled annoyance. Nothing had changed.
I saw Sarah Johnson in the second row, feigning heartbreak, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. Liam' s innocent victim.
Then it all crashed down. Liam' s final words, his protection, Sarah' s true manipulation, my father' s death-it was all a misunderstanding, a mountain of lies.
I had died because of it once. I wouldn't walk back into that cage.
"No. I don' t." From Digital Death To Shared Reign
Romance The final memory of my past life was a cold, digital execution.
I watched David Chen, my ex-fiancé, on a hundred-foot screen at his company' s IPO launch, alive and destroying me.
"Sarah Miller hacked my systems," he' d declared, pulling his new girlfriend, Emily, close. "She tried to con my grieving family and ruin Emily' s reputation."
The fallout was immediate: blacklisted, our family' s digital forensics firm raided, our life' s work wiped clean.
He' d sneered, "If you can' t bring back my reputation, you' ll pay."
I paid. We all did. Until now.
The insistent ding-dong of my doorbell cut through the silence, bringing me back to October 12th.
It was the day after David Chen was reported dead, the day his parents had come seeking my help.
Last time, I' d opened that door, taken their money, accepted their false promises, and poured my soul into his shattered laptop, only for him to rise from the grave to crucify me.
But this time, I knew where that path led.
I pressed my face against the cool wood, my voice steady. "Go away."
Mrs. Chen's muffled plea followed: "Sarah, please! It's about David. We need your help."
I' d lied: "No one can truly recover data from a physically destroyed device."
The silence on the other side thickened with their disbelief, just before the lock on my door clicked.
He was here. Already.
The door swung open, revealing David Chen, perfectly alive, his charismatic smile a cruel slash.
"See, Mom, Dad? I told you she was hiding something," he said, his eyes locking onto mine, a chilling, possessive fire in them. "She knew I wasn't dead."
Emily slipped in behind him, a picture of deceptive innocence.
He picked up my brother' s locket, a symbol of my family, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed it out the window.
"You're a monster," I whispered.
"No," he said, "I'm a survivor. You've had your little rebirth, your second chance. Fine. Let's see what you do with it."
He knew. He was acknowledging it, and my blood ran cold.
He thought he had won, confining me to this digital graveyard.
But he was wrong. He hadn't just confined me. He had given me a target. Art of Torment: A Captive's Defiance
Modern The cold, sharp edges of the resin necklace dug into my skin, a constant, physical reminder of Alexander Vance' s twisted grasp.
Just hours ago, I, Scarlett Hayes, had almost tasted freedom, only to be dragged back to this gilded cage.
He didn't yell, he never did, not at first; his silence was always more terrifying than any scream.
"Why do you keep trying to leave?" he would ask, his voice a smooth vibration that set my teeth on edge, entirely oblivious to the torment he inflicted.
I longed to tell him that his control was suffocating, or that the fractured pieces of my destroyed art embedded in the necklace were a constant agony.
Instead, I met his gaze with a defiant chin, "Maybe I like the exercise."
But Alexander Vance was never fooled, not the man who saw me only as a broken bird to be possessed.
My wrist still carried the faint scar from the day he broke my drawing hand, a brutal lesson in his twisted love.
"Don' t lie to me," he whispered, his thumb pressing down on the mark, "You met with someone. You think there' s a single breath you take in this city that I' m not aware of?"
The accusation hung thick and suffocating; he was right – I met Marcus Thorne, his rival, my only hope for escape.
But what if my hope was just another cage?
What if the man I thought was my savior was just as monstrous and possessive as my captor, seeing me not as a person, but as a prize to be won?
The question gnawed at me with chilling certainty, just weeks before Alexander' s grand "Aion Project" launch, a monument built on the ruin of my family' s dreams.
This elaborate trap, this calculated play for freedom, was not just about survival anymore.
It was about discovering how deep the treachery went. Steel & Scars: Revenge in Prison
Modern For ten years, I put my ambitious architecture career on hold for my husband Mark, playing the dutiful wife and mother.
Finally, with our son older and Mark's company stable, I returned to my dream, leading a monumental project, the Henderson building.
But a fabricated crisis, orchestrated by Mark and his high school sweetheart Sarah, derailed everything; they framed me for corporate espionage and had me arrested, landing me in jail.
Alone in a stark cell, Mark offered me a cruel deal: give up my son, my home, and all our assets, or face years in prison.
They thought they' d broken me, but signing those papers was just the first step in reclaiming my life and making them pay. The Woman Who Loved a Heart
Romance Five years ago, after my firefighter fiancé Michael died a hero, I married Ethan Vance, the man who received his heart.
My secret vow was to protect Michael' s heart, to keep a part of him alive, even if it meant living a lie.
Our fifth anniversary, I made his favorite lasagna, only to get a text with a photo: Ethan, my husband, intimately laughing with his ex-girlfriend, Chloe Carter, at an expensive rooftop bar.
Later that night, Ethan came home reeking of another woman' s cloying perfume, calling me a "martyr" and complaining I "always smell like antiseptic."
Then Chloe, his ex, orchestrated a public spectacle, faking a medical emergency to humiliate me, still in my scrubs, in front of a snickering crowd.
The ultimate blow came when Ethan, fueled by Chloe' s lies, forced me to undergo a dangerous blood donation, ignoring my pleas, leading to a devastating miscarriage.
How could the man I' d dedicated five years of my life to, the man who carried my beloved Michael' s heart, be so cruel, so arrogant, so utterly blind and dismissive?
It wasn' t just about an affair; it was a brazen, calculated attack on my dignity, my entire being.
But when I miraculously found myself pregnant again and told Ethan, he brutally denied it, tore up my medical report, and scoffed, "You' re pathetic."
That was it. My final hope shattered, I knew I had to fight back, tear down his façade, and reclaim my life, no matter the cost. His Little Boss: The Billionaire's Unexpected Love
Romance Late one night, dedicated to securing a crucial deal for my adoptive family and fiancé at Vance Publishing, I felt the weight of their future on my shoulders. I was the dutiful daughter, the loyal partner, giving my all.
But then, a hushed conversation from my adoptive parents' office pierced the silence: "Once it's signed, we can finally push her out. Ava' s served her purpose."
Moments later, a glowing tablet revealed the ultimate betrayal: my fiancé, Ethan, with my adoptive sister, Chloe, laughing, toasting to taking my shares. "Once you marry that fool, it' s all ours."
The world tilted. My entire life with them-every sacrifice, every late night-was a meticulously constructed lie, designed to discard me.
A cold, burning fury ignited within me, something I' d never known. I urgently needed to escape, to reclaim some semblance of control.
Driven by this reckless resolve, I stumbled into the ultra-exclusive Onyx Room, confronting a stranger at the bar: "I' ll pay you," I said, my voice shockingly steady. "Be mine. Name your price for a year." You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Moria Anninger I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia.
The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast.
That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water.
He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard.
But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead.
I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival.
On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone.
"I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city." His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway
Tangye Wanzi I watched my husband, the most feared Capo in New York, sign away our marriage with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for ordering a hit.
The nib of his Montblanc pen scratched against the paper, drowning out the rain hitting the coffee shop window.
He didn't bother to read a single word.
He thought he was signing routine shipping manifests for the family business.
In reality, he was signing the "Dissolution of Union" papers I had hidden beneath the cover sheet.
He was too distracted to check. His eyes were glued to his encrypted phone, frantically texting Sofia—the widow, the tragic beauty, the woman who had haunted our marriage for three years.
"Done," he grunted, tossing the stack into his armored SUV without even glancing at me.
"Business is concluded, Elena. We leave."
Moments later, his phone rang with her special emergency tone.
His demeanor shifted from cold boss to frantic protector instantly.
"Driver, divert. She needs me," he roared.
He looked at me with zero affection and ordered, "Get out, Elena. Luca will take you home."
He kicked me out of the car into the pouring rain to rush to his mistress, completely unaware he had just legally granted me my freedom.
I stood on the curb, shivering but smiling for the first time in years.
By the time the Don realizes he just signed his own divorce, I will be a ghost in San Francisco.
And he will have nothing left but his shipping logs and his regret. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother
EVA PINK I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.
"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."
His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.
For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.
But then I found the truth.
I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.
"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."
He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.
He was wrong.
I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.
"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.
"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's." Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. 
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