Zhu Gong
9 Published Stories
Zhu Gong's Books and Stories
The Jilted Heiress: Her Secret Billionaire Life
Modern I returned to the city for the only person who ever truly loved me—my dying grandfather. As the "forgettable" daughter of the wealthy Clemons family, I had spent years hiding my true identity as a world-class elite behind oversized hoodies and a silent, exhausted demeanor.
But the welcome home was a nightmare. My family made it clear I was nothing more than a parasite, unaware that I had just saved a powerful stranger's life on the train or that I was the silent partner of the very club they were visiting.
While they sipped champagne in a VIP penthouse I had secretly upgraded for them, they left me standing outside in a freezing downpour for hours. My cousin Belle recorded me, laughing as she called me a "drowned rat" for her social media followers. My father, Glyn, even sent me a formal notice revoking my access to the family trust, thinking he was cutting off my only means of survival. He had no idea my private bank account held eighty-five million dollars. The betrayal cut even deeper when I discovered the darkest truth: they were swapping my grandfather’s life-saving medication for cheap generics just to pocket the extra cash.
I stood in the mud, watching the people who shared my DNA celebrate their greed while they slowly killed the man who raised me. How could they be so blind? How could they treat me like trash while they lived off the crumbs of my secret success?
"Enjoy it while it lasts," I whispered against the cold glass. I was done playing the victim and done hiding in the shadows to protect their fragile egos.
I pulled out my encrypted phone and dialed my head of security. As an armored Range Rover pulled up to the curb and the city’s most dangerous man watched me from the shadows, I realized I was done being the "charity case." It was time to show the Clemons family who really owned this city. Ghost of a Wife: His Regret
Billionaires My husband, Mark Davis, a tech titan, paraded his 100th mistress, a social media starlet named Brittany, right in front of me at a high-profile gala.
"The young lady had an unfortunate accident; her dress is torn," he sneered, his eyes cold and sharp. "Chloe, lend her yours for the evening. And then take her to the suite upstairs. Make sure she' s perfectly clean."
I casually placed my champagne glass down, pulled a folded divorce agreement from my clutch, and handed it to him.
"Divorce Agreement," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. The crowd whispered, scoffing that I'd be begging him back in days, as always. Mark just smirked, tenderly kissing Brittany's forehead, telling her, "She just needs to be reminded of her place."
He had no idea. My spirit, my very soul, had already departed. The woman he still believed he tormented was merely a shell. I was already gone. Mark was screaming at a ghost, and the foundations of his world were about to crumble. No Turning Back Now, Liam
Romance The sheets were still warm, Liam' s scent clinging to the pillows, a familiar comfort in his minimalist apartment.
This was our routine for years-best friends who' d blurred the lines into something I thought was real, a future we were building.
Then he walked out of the bathroom, casually announcing Olivia, his high school "what if," was back in town; my architectural advice, my city knowledge, repurposed for her date.
The name hit me, cold and hard, a revelation that crumbled my world: I was just a convenience, an "easy" placeholder until his long-lost love returned.
He left for Olivia' s date, leaving me shattered and exposed in his bed, the realization hitting me like a physical blow-I was simply a tool in a game I didn't even know I was playing.
The ultimate betrayal came when he and Olivia, after a car accident where he only cared for her scraped wrist, accused me of being dramatic, and Olivia herself, a toxic sweet poison, physically attacked me, turning Liam' s hatred directly on me.
"You psycho! You attacked her!" he roared, utterly convinced by her performance, telling me I was "dead to him."
My world, my love, my trust-all annihilated in one devastating night, with the final blow being his utterly blind, unwavering belief in her lies.
I watched my life with him, 20 years of friendship and love, reduced to ashes by his callous disregard and an impossible betrayal that left me no choice.
There was only one way out, one way to reclaim myself from the ruins he had created.
I booked a one-way ticket to Vienna, leaving everything behind, finally ready to build a life on my own terms, block by block, note by note, without him. The Erased Son
Billionaires I was a new dad, celebrating my son's one-month birthday at my wealthy in-laws' stunning Napa estate.
Life felt perfect, despite my manipulative father-in-law's constant urging to drink.
I woke up with a pounding headache to a nightmare: my baby boy was gone.
In his crib, lay a baby girl, a complete stranger.
My wife, Chloe, and her parents gaslit me, denying my son ever existed.
They accused me of being drunk, of rejecting my own child.
The world blurred as I was framed for the infant girl's murder.
My entire digital life was rewritten, my son's existence erased.
Labeled a monster, I was swiftly condemned and executed.
The horror was unimaginable, the confusion absolute as I died.
But then, I jolted awake, back on that same couch, the party still faintly audible.
It was happening again-the terrifying loop of my son's disappearance and my impending doom.
Was I insane, or was this a meticulously crafted, cruel conspiracy?
This time, the confusion vanished; a cold certainty set in.
I wouldn't just be a victim; I would be ready.
I would expose their twisted game, reclaim my son, and end this nightmare once and for all. Borrowed Time, Stolen Life
Modern I gave my best friend, Julian, one of my kidneys.
It was a simple decision; he was family.
Later, when my father fell ill, needing a transplant, I offered my remaining kidney, willing to risk my own life for him.
But then Chloe, my fiancée, abandoned me.
A week later, her Instagram was flooded with pictures: happy, healthy Julian, and my Chloe, married, on lavish vacations.
I was left with a dying father and crippling debt.
That' s when Vicky Hayes, a childhood friend from a powerful healthcare family, appeared, promising salvation.
She covered all the medical bills, became my rock, and eventually, my wife.
Yet, my father died after the operation, and I was left with an artificial kidney, a constant reminder of my sacrifice.
Six years of agony, six years of marriage, and I stumbled upon a conversation that shattered my world.
My father never received that kidney.
Julian didn't even critically need it.
Vicky, my wife, had orchestrated everything, a monstrous lie built on my life and my father's death.
She chose Julian over everything, over us.
The woman I loved, who saved me, stood revealed as the architect of my deepest pain.
Every day of agony, every loss, was her design.
How could I have been so blind?
My world spun, my blood ran cold, but a chilling clarity descended.
This wasn't just betrayal; this was a calculated destruction.
I grabbed my phone, pressed record, and began to plan. The Woman He Underestimated
Modern The newsroom hummed on a Monday, just another day at the Johnson County Chronicle. My husband, Mark, the owner, was supposedly on an "urgent business trip" in Springfield.
Then I saw it: his rarely used Instagram had a new post. Mark, arm around Tiffany Hayes, the new social media girl, at our local Fall Harvest Festival. Smiling, too close, sharing a cider donut. My breath stopped. He wasn't gone; he was here, with her.
I instinctively tapped 'like'. A quiet "I see you." Moments later, Mark called. Furious. "What the hell was that? Trying to embarrass me?" He snapped. He accused me of being a "jealous teenager," aggressively defending Tiffany. The next day, she publicly twisted my 'like' into a classist insult on Slack. Then Mark' s public decree: "Apologize, or you're suspended."
Suspended? From the paper I' d built for seven years? He wanted me to apologize to his mistress, who was publicly attacking me? I recalled his indifference when my throat closed from an allergic reaction, leaving me to rush to her aid. And now, he wanted me to give up six months' salary as "compensation" for her manufactured "emotional distress." The sheer audacity was stunning.
"No, Mark," I said, my voice calm. "The answer is no." My resignation email, effective immediately, hit send. Relief, sharp and clean, washed over me. This fight was already over for me. He just didn't know it yet. Beyond His Control
Romance Sarah Miller thought she had it all: her thriving Napa vineyard, a landmark deal, and Ethan Vanderbilt, her fiancé, partner in their dream.
Then Ethan vanished, gutting her family’s finances, leaving her parents dead and their legacy in ruins.
Her rescuer appeared: Julian Vanderbilt, Ethan’s alluring brother, who plucked her from a nightmare assault and offered a marriage of supposed protection.
For five years, she clung to him, finding fragile peace, until a new hope stirred—she was pregnant.
That hope shattered hearing Julian calmly plot her miscarriage, revealing her baby was just a "complication" to his true agenda with another woman.
The man who "saved" her was, in chilling truth, the orchestrator of every trauma, from the initial assault he filmed to her family's ruin.
Her entire life with him had been a meticulously woven lie, designed to break her, culminating in a second attack that cost her child and her future fertility.
How could her loving protector be the monstrous mastermind behind her complete devastation?
This agonizing realization ignited a silent, burning fury, replacing her despair with terrifying clarity.
She wouldn't just escape; she would orchestrate her own vanishing act, leaving him haunted by a ghost and a digital trail of damning evidence that would ensure his carefully constructed world collapsed in on him. You might like
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. 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. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. 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." 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. 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. 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. My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. 
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