Hao Dong Ma Novels & Stories

Addison wakes up thinking this day is going to be like any other, but soon she finds out her uncle has other plans: she is going to marry King Gregory Dominis, the most handsome yet intimidating man she has ever met and the ruler of a far away kingdom. Now she is going to be the wife of a man that terrifies her and the queen of a place she knows nothing about. ******* excerpt ******* “I have great news for you, Addison,” he announced. “You are to be married today!” At first, his words made no sense, how could I be getting married today if wasn’t even engaged? I didn’t even have a suitor! “Ma… married?” I babbled. “Yes, don’t you know what married means? I don’t understand why you look so baffled, girls your age marry all the time!” He exclaimed. The king was right, it wasn’t unusual for girls my age to get married in Lerene, but they were usually informed in advance, not the very same day of the wedding. “But… today? It is so soon…” I mumbled. “I know, but the groom is a busy man who has no time for a long engagement,” he said. His reply made me realize I hadn’t asked the most basic question. “Who is the groom?” “I am glad you asked, Addison, because that is the best part,” he said smirking. “You are to be married to King Gregory Dominis of Dranda.” My heart sinked into my stomach. I felt like I was going to get sick. Did he just say I was going to marry King Gregory Dominis? How could I marry a man I have never met? And he was not just any man but a king!

For love, I followed Harrison, the underboss of the Moretti family, from halfway across the world. But for five whole years, my permanent residency application had gone nowhere. Several key steps required Harrison's personal involvement, but he always claimed he was too swamped with family business to find the time. Yet Cathy, my so-called stepsister, who was living on our estate, got her residency in just two short weeks. I only found out through the servants' gossip that Harrison had personally stepped in, pressuring a top immigration lawyer to rush it through. With my hopes completely shattered, I told him I wanted to go home. Harrison, a man who was always so proud, panicked. He pulled me into a fierce embrace, kissing my hair. "Aurora, you're my wife. Getting your permanent residency is just a matter of time." "But Cathy is different. She has no family to protect her. Without legal status, she could be deported at any moment." "Just do it for me. Stay. Okay?" Once again, I gave in to his tender words. Until today. I went to the immigration office alone to check on my file. The clerk stared at the screen, her face a mask of confusion. "Ma'am, the system clearly states that Mr. Harrison Moretti's legal spouse is... a Ms. Cathy." "Did you perhaps fill out your form incorrectly?" My world froze. So, the five years of waiting had all been a lie. I wasn't just denied permanent residency; my very marriage was a fraud. I didn't go back to the estate. I went straight to the airport and flew home. Before I boarded, the last message from him read: "Stop throwing a tantrum. Come home." But Harrison, we didn't have a home anymore.

I've worked hard to sponsor my husband, Zachary Sanders, through his PhD studies for eight years. In order for our daughter, Penelope Sanders, to get into a prestigious elementary school, I've visited the local registry office ten times. Yet, my applications keep getting rejected all the time. On my tenth visit, the helpless employee decides to reveal the truth to me. "Ma'am, I told you that something's wrong with the paperwork you brought! Three children have already used the permanent address you provided to enroll in our school. You can't use the address for the fourth time according to the rules." After that, the employee turns the monitor in my direction to show me the information. To my shock, those three children's mother is Zachary's first love, Amelia Norris. Unable to believe my eyes, I call Zachary on the spot. But he tells me nonchalantly, "Yeah, I did use our permanent address. I did this so that Amelia's children can get enrolled into good schools. It's very difficult for a single mother like her to raise all three children on her own, you know. "Besides, Penelope is still very young. She can just get enrolled into a regular elementary school. Once Amelia's children have graduated, Penelope can use a slot meant for the prestigious elementary school." I do my best to suppress my rage as I retort, "No need for that. My daughter will not be waiting for hand-me-downs." Then, I call my assistant right away. "Tell the admissions office to void all three enrollment slots that are tied to my property in the school district. Also, I want you to suspend the funding of his project in that research institute!"

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“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.” My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean. He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.” However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship. Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm. He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?” But I had understood him for five whole years. My phone suddenly rang. Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.” I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying. After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

I've been in a secret marriage with my CEO husband, Mitchell Clayton. But Mitchell keeps making our son, Aster Clayton, call him "Uncle Mitch" the whole time. In order to make it up to Aster, Mitchell has given him unlimited wealth. But on the day of Aster's birthday, Mitchell hands over the gift that Aster has been eagerly looking forward to the most to his ex-girlfriend's daughter, Stacy Padilla. The gift is a bouquet of flowers made of handmade lucky stars that I've spent half a year folding. As I stare at the empty table, I feel my heart sinking to the pits of my stomach. Then, I call a real estate agent immediately. "Hello, I'd like to purchase a villa that's located in Northern Yewrope. Make it quick." "A villa? Mr. Clayton's secretary never brought it up to me before. Have you gotten it all mixed up, ma'am?" "No," I reply in a low tone. "I'd like to purchase the villa under my own name. If you breathe a word about this to Mitchell, I'll sue your company under the reason of leaking your clients' privacy." After receiving a positive response from the agent, I end the call. Still, I remain rooted to the spot for a long time. Once I return to the banquet hall, Aster tugs at the hem of my dress. "Mom, where's Uncle Mitch? He promised me that he'd attend my birthday party." I feel tears stinging my eyes as I pull Aster into a hug. "Sweetie, he will never be here. Let's not wait for him anymore, okay? Mommy will bring you to a better place." Stars will cover the sky there. None of them will get stolen ever again. As for a certain father who keeps breaking his promises, he will never get to see us ever again.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself supposedly transmigrated to some ancient era. Every morning, before light touched the sky, someone would yank me out of bed to haul trash, chop wood, and do whatever filthiest job needed doing. Somehow, I'd become the lowest-ranked servant in the entire estate. The estate lord's son would climb onto my back and ride me around the courtyard like some pet he was proud to show off. Anyone in the household could hit me, kick me, or shove me aside, and not a single soul would speak up. Five years passed like that, so awful that I almost lost my mind, as if I were living in hell. Then one day, a group of servants cornered me. They didn't bother hiding their intention. The moment I saw their faces, I knew I was in trouble. Fists flew, boots landed, and everything blurred. Just before I passed out, I heard them whispering, "We're going to kill him if we keep this up." "Come on. This place only looks like some old noble estate. It's not an actual one. If he dies here, we're the ones who'll get dragged to court!" "Relax. Ms. Shaw will handle it. The idiot pissed off her childhood sweetheart. Getting tricked into this place is exactly what he deserves." Fear swallowed everything, and the world went dark. When I woke again, the lady of the house had conveniently "returned from visiting her family." The lord threw a grand celebration with tables full of food, wine flowing, and musicians playing like nothing had happened. I carried dishes into the banquet hall and lifted my head. Her face was the same as my wife's, Melissa Shaw. I set the final dish down, stepped closer, and in a voice only she could hear, asked, "Ma'am… are you enjoying your little game?"

By the fifth year of my marriage to James Hill, he began pretending to be his late twin brother, the late Don of the family. With that, he took over all of a Don’s duties and the role of my sister-in-law, Hilary’s husband. Every time after he slept with her, he would cut his arm open, kneel before me, and beg for forgiveness. “Pia, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. Once Hilary gives birth to the heir and secures her position, I’ll fake my death and come back for you.” He told me his twin brother had died saving him, so he had to fulfill his brother’s last wish. During the year he pretended to be his brother, James slept with Hilary ninety-nine times. After a full year, Hilary finally gave birth to the family’s heir. I truly believed James would fake his death as promised, then take our son and me away from this bloody life. However, I saw him with Hilary in his arms, teasing the tiny baby she carried. “Hilary, I’ll stay with you and our child until he’s ready to take over as the next Don.” Silently, I wiped my tears and went back to my room to pack my suitcase. My son saw me crying and ran into my arms, gently wiping away my tears with his little hands. “Ma, Aunt Hilary already had her baby. Why isn’t Papa coming home yet?” I placed my clothes into the suitcase as I told him softly, “Because he doesn’t want us anymore. But don’t be sad, sweetheart. I will build us a home.” If James wanted to raise an heir, then I would return to North Atlantis’s most powerful mafia family, take my rightful place as my father’s heir, and become the Godmother of the Mafia.

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

The day after my best friend, Sarah Blunt married Patrick, the second son of the Brosnan family, I too became a bride and wed Matthew, his older brother. She married a swimming champion, and I, the rock-climbing coach. We thought we had our futures all figured out. Then, something happened that summer. The four of us planned a getaway but Matthew and Patrick’s baby sister, Megan joined us and our peaceful trip became a crowded affair.  While rock climbing, disaster struck—the rope snapped, and all five of us plummeted into the river below. The brothers rushed frantically to save Megan, leaving Sarah and me at the mercy of the river’s current, battered and tossed like driftwood. By the time the rescue team pulled us from the water, we were bruised, scraped, and utterly spent. In the hospital, Megan and I received devastating news that would change everything.  “You’ve been pregnant for 40 days, Ma’am. How could you put yourself in such a risky situation? Your baby survived, but your friend lost hers.” Shaken, I called Matthew to tell him about the pregnancy. His anger cut through the line. “You’re angry that I went to Megs first and now you’re trying to fool me with a fake pregnancy? She’s my sister—it’s my duty to protect her!” Sarah faced her own storm. Patrick practically scoffed at her grief. “Miscarriage? Do you expect me to believe that? The doctors said you only had a 30% chance of conceiving. I can’t stand women who create drama out of nothing.” Both calls ended abruptly, leaving us stunned as we stared at each other in the sterile light of the hospital room. In that shared silence, we made our decision—we would leave these men behind and start anew, launching a business together. But when the brothers received our divorce papers, they showed up at my door in the middle of a storm, kneeling in the pouring rain, crying through the night for a second chance.