Yuda Xiaojie's Books and Stories
The Wolfless Omega Is The Alpha King's Daughter
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.
Too Late For Regret: The Heiress's Revenge
I spent a decade learning to save lives as a trauma surgeon, only to discover my parents had sold mine to the highest bidder. To end a turf war, I was forced back into the underworld to marry Ivan Hughes, a rival mob boss known for his brutality. I thought I was just a pawn in a business merger, but then my steady surgeon’s hands began to tremble, and a metallic taste filled my mouth. I ran my own toxicology report in secret. Positive for arsenic. My mother wasn't just forcing me into a loveless marriage; she was slowly poisoning me. I broke into my father's safe and found the truth: a birth certificate for Ivan’s secret son with his mistress, and a chain of emails between my mother and my fiancé. "The dosage is being increased," my mother wrote. "By the wedding night, she will be too weak to protest. You can dispose of her quietly after the heir is secured." My blood turned to ice. They were using me to transfer my trust fund to Ivan, planning to bury me and replace me with his mistress before the honeymoon even started. They thought they were killing a helpless girl. They forgot that a surgeon knows exactly where to cut to cause the most damage. I taped a microphone to my ribs beneath my white silk gown and walked onto the stage of our engagement gala. I didn't take the microphone to say "I do." I took it to burn their empire to the ground.
His Poisoned Love, My Escape
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
