Yuda Xiaojie
13 Published Stories
Yuda Xiaojie's Books and Stories
The Wolfless Omega Is The Alpha King's Daughter
Werewolf I stood at the gala, clutching my belly, waiting to tell Alpha Gabe about our child. I was the pack's "Wolfless" orphan, but I was his fated mate. Surely, an heir would change everything.
But under the spotlight, Gabe didn't call my name. He wrapped his arm around Harper, a wealthy heiress, and announced she was carrying the future Alpha.
When I screamed the truth, he didn't just deny me—he looked at me with pure disgust.
"You are a genetic dead end," he spat. "Do not mistake my kindness for affection."
They didn't exile me. They dragged me to the basement. First, they planned to steal my baby for Harper. Then, when jealousy rotted her mind, they decided to kill it.
My own foster parents held me down, having sold me to clear their debts, while a doctor approached with a silver scalpel.
"It's a Rogue mistake," Gabe said, watching me struggle against the straps. "End it."
With seconds left, I begged for one final phone call. I dialed the number on an old, yellowed card I'd hidden for years.
Gabe laughed, thinking I was calling a friend. But when the voice on the other end spoke, the room shook with an aura that forced the Alpha to his knees.
"I am Antony Dean, the Lycan King," the voice roared through the speaker. "And I am ten minutes away."
Gabe had rejected a nobody. He didn't know he had just declared war on the Princess of the Royal Pack. His Poisoned Love, My Escape
Romance My husband, Austen, the man the world saw as my devoted admirer, was the artist of my pain. He had punished me ninety-five times, and this was the ninety-sixth.
Then, a message from my stepsister, Joyce, buzzed on my phone: a photo of her perfectly manicured hand holding champagne, captioned, "Celebrating another victory. He really does love me more."
A second message from Austen followed, "My love, are you resting? I' ve asked the doctor to come. I' m sorry it had to be this way, but you must learn. I' ll be home soon to take care of you."
I had always known Joyce was the trigger, but I never understood the mechanism. I thought it was just Austen' s own brand of cruelty, ignited by Joyce' s lies.
But then, I found a voice recording of Austen's. His calm voice filled the silent room, "...number ninety-six. A broken hand. It should be enough to appease Joyce this time. But my debt must be paid. Fifteen years ago, Joyce saved my life. She pulled me from that burning car after the kidnapping. I vowed that day I would protect her from everything and everyone. Even from my own wife."
My mind went blank. Kidnapping. Burning car. Fifteen years ago. I was the one there. I was the girl who pulled a terrified, crying boy from the back seat just before it exploded. His name was Austen. He had called me his "little star." But when I returned with the police, another girl was there, crying and holding Austen' s hand. It was Joyce.
He didn't know. He had built his entire twisted system of justice on a lie. Joyce had stolen my life-saving act, and I was paying the price. Every cell in my body screamed one word: Escape. From Disappointment to Destiny
Romance The promotion letter for the head of the German division lay heavy in my hand.
It was the job I' d always wanted, the future I' d painstakingly built, but I' d turned it down a year ago.
"Don' t go, Ethan," Olivia had pleaded, her eyes filled with tears. "I need you here."
So, I stayed, sacrificing my career, taking a lesser role to support her dreams, to be her stable foundation.
Tonight was my 25th birthday, a simple steak dinner I' d cooked.
The second plate sat empty.
Olivia had texted hours ago: "Something came up with my study group. Will be a little late."
I scrolled through social media, a habit born of waiting.
Then I saw it: Alex Stone, Olivia' s younger colleague, his arm wrapped tightly around her at a loud, crowded bar.
They were beaming, heads together, Olivia holding a colorful cocktail, not a textbook.
The caption read: "Celebrating with the best."
The air left my lungs.
It wasn't just the picture; it was the casual intimacy, the audacious lie.
A celebration. On my birthday.
A sharp, cold feeling spread through my chest, a feeling I had ignored for too long.
I remembered every sacrifice: selling my classic car for her tuition, sleepless nights proofreading her papers while she was out with "friends from class," driving hours in a snowstorm to fix her flat tire, only to be chastised for being late.
I had given and given, believing that was love, building my world around her.
But she was building a separate one without me.
The pain was immense, but beneath it, something hard and resolute stirred.
I had been patient. I had been loyal. I had been a fool.
The unlit candle on the cake, a symbol of a celebration that never happened, haunted me.
I didn't light it. I simply leaned forward and blew, extinguishing a flame that was never truly there.
The silent puff of air in my mind was a roar.
The decision was made, not in anger, but in the desolate quiet of profound disappointment.
I was done. I picked up the promotion letter again.
This time, it wasn't a sacrifice; it was an escape.
I opened my laptop, pulled up my email, and wrote a short, direct message.
A new chapter was about to begin, alone. Love’s End, Her New Beginning
Romance For five years, my life was Liam Vance, the visionary I helped build an empire with, sketching user interfaces on napkins and designing the very buildings that housed his dreams.
Then he brought Chloe Davis home, an aspiring influencer all wide eyes and soft smiles, and my world started to crack.
He began showering her with affection, calling her "pure," while subtly eroding my confidence, telling me I was "too ambitious," "like a shark."
The criticism was a constant hum, culminating in his promise to marry me "just as soon as you learn to be as sweet and compliant as Chloe."
The humiliations started small, then grew brutal.
I was forced to kneel and spoon-feed Chloe while our friends watched, locked in a freezing server room until I missed a career-defining project, and made a human target for a combat drone, all while his staff called her "Mrs. Vance."
Each atrocity chipped away at me, symbolized by the architectural models he' d had custom-made for our future, each one now sinking into the river, a painful reminder of a lie.
I had no choice but to endure, trapped by the scholarship he funded for my younger brother, Ethan, my only family, my only weakness.
But when, at a public gala, he let his men strip me naked and throw me onto a stage while he proposed to Chloe, something inside me snapped.
Then, there was Ethan. In a cold, glass-walled conference room, Liam, fueled by a possessive rage, pulled a gun and shot my innocent brother, killing the only family I had left.
The world went silent, everything turning to dust, but in that void, a cold, sharp resolve began to crystalize.
I burned the last model, a miniature wedding chapel, watched our future turn to ash, and finally, unequivocally, walked away, leaving him and five years of memories behind. She Chose Power Over Our Love
Modern The rain beat a mournful rhythm against the chapel windows, a fitting backdrop for my son Leo' s funeral. It was too small, too quiet for a boy who deserved the world.
Then, through the numbing haze of grief, I heard it-my wife Sarah' s voice, cool and utterly devoid of sorrow, conversing with her ex-fiancé, Mark.
"He was an obstacle, Mark," she' d said, her words slicing through me. I listened as she confessed she' d withheld Leo' s life-saving medicine, calling him "an accident" and "a sacrifice" for her career ambitions.
My own wife had murdered our son. The revelation twisted my world, leaving me gasping for air in our silent, empty house.
She returned home, a mask of the grieving widow, and proceeded to erase every trace of Leo from our lives, throwing away his toys, his clothes-his very existence.
"He was going to get better, Sarah," I pleaded, the memory of his hopeful eyes burning. "He said you were taking him for special medicine."
Her callous dismissal, a wave of her hand, shattered any semblance of the woman I thought I knew. Who was this monster wearing my wife' s face?
"You' re a freeloader, David," Mark sneered, as they openly plotted their corporate takeover, built on my stolen AI, "Project Chimera"-a project I' d named for Leo.
"It' s going to get ugly, Sarah," I promised. "You have no idea." My revenge wouldn' t be for me; it would be for my son. My Fiancee's Vengeance
Modern The roar of the Cheyenne crowd was familiar thunder, but on my 100th matchup against Wesley Johns, it felt heavy.
I' d beaten him ninety-nine times straight.
Just before I entered the chute, my fiancée Bree held my arm, pleading, "Caleb, please... let him have it."
I refused, swinging onto the bull, ready for another easy win.
My rope snapped.
I hit the dirt, my ankle exploding with pain, hearing a crack louder than the crowd.
Wesley won.
From the ground, I watched Bree run not to me, but straight to him, embracing him victoriously.
Their friends cheered, "That new rope worked like a charm!"
My blood went cold as Bree presented my dream prize, a custom saddle, to Wesley.
"You don't mind, do you, Caleb?" she asked, her voice bright.
In a haze of pain and disbelief, I branded the pristine saddle with a searing iron, a scar for her betrayal.
Bree screamed, accusing me of cruelty, diverting medics to a scatheless Wesley.
Later, packing my bags to leave her ranch and our engagement, I overheard her call, "Marry him? Oh, honey, please. The plan is to invite him to the wedding. He can watch me marry Wesley."
She laughed.
My hand froze on the doorknob as the pieces clicked: her protection, Wesley's reputation, my humiliation.
The old 'W' brand on my chest, burnt by Wesley himself, throbbed.
I left without a word, my professional career shattered, my leg broken.
Scrolling through a rodeo forum weeks later, a vintage silver belt buckle, identical to my lost father's, caught my eye.
It was the prize at a dusty, unsanctioned rodeo.
A new purpose ignited within me.
I had to ride, even with a cast. My ride was the performance of a lifetime.
But before I could claim what was mine, Bree appeared, ready to challenge me again. When The Victim Rewrites Her Story
Modern The air in the Wharton lecture hall was thick with ambition, the final presentation stretching before me, my future almost within reach.
Then, Liam, my childhood friend and the boy everyone expected me to marry, slid a folded note across the table that read: "Ava, will you bear all my failures for me?"
The moment my eyes registered the words, glowing, semi-transparent text, like a Twitch chat, materialized in my vision.
[LOL, the author is starting the 'Fate Swap' plotline.]
[She'll take the fall for Chloe's academic fraud, get expelled from Wharton, and her family will disown her. Total social death.]
[And the best part? Liam, the 'author' , will dump Chloe afterward, claiming he' s heartbroken over Ava' s downfall. He' ll spend the rest of his life 'missing' her, playing the tragic, devoted man. What a psychopath.]
My blood ran cold. Liam? The author? A fate-swapping system?
He watched me, his eyes full of a pleading hope that now seemed monstrous. He thought he was the writer of this story, and I was just a character to be sacrificed.
How could he, the boy I' d known my whole life, see me as nothing more than a pawn in his sick fantasy?
Furious, I picked up my pen, ready to rewrite my own ending. The Heiress Who Broke The Cage
Billionaires My father called the LeBlanc artistic gift a blessing, a legacy.
But for me, with its storm-like intensity that consumed my mother, it felt like a curse.
To stabilize my talent, he arranged my marriage to one of three powerful men.
I thought I was choosing a partner, until I overheard my presumed fiancé, Cade, with Daisy Miller.
He declared I was just "a means to an end," a "broken songbird" whose artistic "secrets" he'd plunder.
Daisy, his true partner, would be the real star.
The betrayal stung, but far worse was the shock when I found my mother' s unique Amati violin was gone.
Cade had given it to Daisy, who gleefully admitted she' d taken it apart for her "art," selling pieces for decorative boxes.
Then, at our Legacy Gala, Daisy staged a public accusation, framing me for vandalism, with Cade, Finn, and Silas readily condemning me.
My mother' s soul, shattered for parts.
My world, reduced to a transaction.
The art, the legacy, the very essence of me-all desecrated and dismissed.
The grief boiled into a furious, incandescent rage.
They thought me unmanageable, but I realized I was merely trapped.
With nothing left to lose, I raised my violin and unleashed the storm.
Not the expected music, but a powerful, defiant wave of sound that exposed their falsity.
I wouldn't be a songbird in their gilded cage.
There was only one who might understand, not control: the "unstable" recluse, Ethan Vance.
I wrote him, proposing not subservience, but an alliance. The Day Before the SATs: A Reckoning
Modern I had it all – a secured Yale scholarship, a bright future, and a best friend, Scarlett, who seemed genuinely happy for my success.
She even convinced me to take the SATs with her, 'just for fun,' like we always did everything together.
But that 'fun' was a sinister plot.
Scarlett, consumed by a poisonous envy I never recognized, used a dark web app called 'Score Swapper' to steal my nearly perfect SAT result, making it hers.
My future, meticulously built, crumbled instantly.
Yale revoked my scholarship, my name smeared by Scarlett' s aunt, our school guidance counselor, with fabricated misconduct papers.
Former friends abandoned me, and even my boyfriend, Blake, stared at me with pure disgust, completely believing Scarlett's cunning lies.
Publicly shamed, isolated, and utterly heartbroken, I couldn't fathom such a cruel, calculated betrayal.
My world went dark when Scarlett, her face twisted in a chilling smirk, lured me to an abandoned construction site, whispering, 'You should have just stayed dumb, Ava,' before pushing me to my death.
But then I woke up, screaming, tangled in my bedsheets-the day before the SATs.
My previous life wasn't a nightmare; it was a devastating memory.
I was back. This time, I wouldn't just survive.
This time, Scarlett, you' re going to pay for every single thing you did. The Intern's Secret
Romance My husband Mark insisted all our earnings fund our "shared future," but his idea of a partnership involved a $150 weekly allowance for me, while he managed everything else.
When I spent my hard-earned bonus treating colleagues to lunch, Mark exploded, publicly shaming me, canceling the payment, and emptying my card on the spot.
His hypocrisy shattered when I discovered him lavishing expensive gifts on his intern, Jessica, who then announced her pregnancy with his child. My "future" was a lie, and his control spiraled into terrifying physical and emotional abuse, trapping me in our home.
How could the man who promised a life together become a manipulative captor, building a secret family while choking the life out of me?
As I secretly packed to escape, Mark found me. In a drunken fury, he turned violent, then lunged at Jessica, who arrived just then, paperweight in hand. In a blur of instinct, I shoved a bookshelf. He fell. Dead. Ruled accidental, his demise freed me, yet the true cost of my liberty, and the woman I’ve become, remains to be seen. The Fiancée Who Vanished
Romance My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, a cascade of ivory lace and a secret smile for the life growing inside me.
I was marrying Ethan, the brilliant tech entrepreneur, the man who had swept me off my feet, the father of our child.
Then, a knock on the door, and my maid of honor’s whispered words shattered everything: "His plane went down. No survivors."
Grief crushed me, a physical weight, obscuring the world in a blur of hushed voices and endless pain.
My rock, my older brother David, shielded me as I navigated the nightmare of loss, our future obliterated.
Weeks later, a ghost of Ethan arrived – his identical twin, Marcus – with his "spiritual guide," Isabella, a woman with unnervingly serene eyes.
But one sleepless night, voices from the library pierced the silence: Eleanor, Ethan’s mother, was confronting "Marcus," calling him Ethan.
My blood ran cold as I heard him confess he faked his death for Isabella, claiming she had aggressive leukemia, promising to return when she was gone.
The man I loved, the father of my child, had orchestrated this monstrous betrayal, making me mourn him while he was alive and with her.
Then came the anonymous video: Ethan and Isabella, their raw, animalistic passion a calculated act of cruelty designed to inflict maximum pain, and it worked.
My despair turned to a cold, hard rage, culminating in a decision only he forced me to make.
I called David, my voice trembling with fury: "He faked his death. I want him to believe I’m gone because of him. I want to disappear."
This time, my disappearance wouldn't be a tragedy; it would be the first act of my retribution, a masterpiece of his own making. Love Desire: No Quits, No Regrets
Romance A misunderstanding started the beginning of their story.
On her way to find her sister, Joyce bumped into Arvin and spent a wild night together.
Obsessed with her sweetness, he wanted to keep her to be his side, always.
After drafting a contract, she agreed to be his lover for one month. By the time the contract expired, she had stolen her heart.
His limitless adoration, however, brought her nothing jealousy which led to danger.
Overwhelmed with endless conspiracies, betrayal, and desperation, she left with strong resentment.
Years later, she came back to avenge herself. Little did she know that she had already stepped into his trap. 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 Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." 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. Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy
CHRISTINE ROBINSON I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.
Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.
"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."
I froze.
My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.
He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."
I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.
Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.
He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.
Then, he pushed me off the edge.
As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.
I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.
But he forgot that I knew his secrets.
I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.
"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt." 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. Replaced By A Mistress: The Wife's Revenge
William Jafferson I went to the City Clerk's office to update my passport, desperate to feel alive again after losing my ability to draw.
Instead, the clerk handed me a reality that killed me.
"Mrs. Crosby," she whispered, her face drained of color. "You aren't married to Bennet. The divorce was finalized three years ago. On October 12th."
The date hit me harder than a physical blow.
October 12th was the day my right hand was crushed.
The day Gianna Skinner, a woman obsessed with my husband, shattered twenty-seven bones in my drawing hand with a marble bust.
Bennet, the most ruthless Don in New York, had promised me justice. He swore he locked Gianna in a dungeon to rot for hurting his "Angel."
But the screen in front of me told a different story.
He had married Gianna the very same day he divorced me.
I drove to the Lake House where she was supposed to be suffering. I didn't find a prison; I found a modern glass palace.
There they were, sitting on a swing set I had designed.
Gianna wasn't rotting. She was laughing in his lap, wearing a silk robe.
"She is so pathetic," Gianna purred, tracing his jaw. "Five years and she still thinks she is the Lady of the house."
Bennet chuckled, the sound dark and terrifying.
"She is broken, Gianna. A bird with no wings. She has no value to the Family anymore, except as a trophy on my shelf. She is my pet. You are my fire."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Bennet.
"Happy Anniversary, my Angel. Tonight, I give you the world."
He wasn't giving me the world. He was building a cage out of lies.
Through a bugged ring, I later heard his endgame: he planned to institutionalize me for "mental instability" so he could bring Gianna into the light.
I didn't go home to cry.
I went to my office and opened a secure browser on the dark web.
*Subject: Protocol Erasure.*
*Target: Harper Cline.*
*Execution: Immediate.*
Bennet thought he had broken his pet.
He was about to realize he had just unleashed a lioness. 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." The Mafia Don's Obsession
Nyssa Kim "Alexander, this isn't right," Valentina whispered, her voice shaky as his hand traced the line of her jaw.
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter what's right," he said, his voice low and commanding. "It matters what's mine."
Her breath caught as his fingers slid to the back of her neck. "And you think I'm yours?"
"I don't think, Valentina," he murmured, a dark smile curving his lips. "I know."
---
Valentina never expected her life to take such a dangerous turn. After her husband demands a divorce to marry his mistress, she finds herself entangled with Alexander-a powerful mafia Don whose reputation is as lethal as the man himself.
Alexander doesn't just want Valentina; he needs her. When he discovers she's the daughter of Nico Vance, the man responsible for the tragedy that destroyed his family, his rage burns hotter. But instead of killing her, Alexander makes a chilling decision: Valentina will become his late wife, down to the last detail.
Caught between desire and danger, Valentina must decide if she'll run from Alexander's dark world-or step willingly into it. Because once she does, there's no turning back.
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. 
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