Rabbit
42 Published Stories
Rabbit's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Stepsister and His Broken Wife
Short stories My husband's stepsister locked my five-year-old son in a car under the brutal summer sun. He was barely conscious when I found him, his small face streaked with tears and sweat. The doctors said a few more minutes could have been fatal.
But my husband, Coleman, wasn't worried about our son. He was worried about his stepsister, Casey. He ordered me to go to a party with her that night, to smile for the cameras and tell everyone it was just a simple, regrettable accident.
"A scandal like this could ruin her career," he said, his voice cold. He called our son "resilient" and my horror "dramatic."
When I refused, he leaned in close, his voice a vicious whisper for my ears only.
"Have you ever once wondered why I married you? You were the perfect object lesson. The perfect, stable, boring tool."
Our marriage, our life, our son... it was all a performance. A long, elaborate piece of theater designed to make his stepsister jealous.
The world stopped. Then, a cold, sharp clarity took its place.
I looked him in the eye and said, "Okay. I'll go. I'll do exactly as you ask."
He just didn't know that I was going to be the perfect wife one last time. And that the first thing I did when I walked into our house was call the most ruthless divorce lawyer in the city. He Drove Me Away, Now He's Hunting Me Down
Modern My husband, Liam Goldstein, was publicly the perfect man. He donated a kidney to save my life and named the new tower of his corporate headquarters after me. The world saw us as the ultimate power couple, a love story for the ages.
But in private, he was cheating on me with an influencer.
He arranged a "romantic evening" with private fireworks, only for me to discover it was a birthday party for his mistress, Ava. I overheard him promise her my "Maya's Horizon" necklace, the one he gave me after the transplant. His friends were all in on it, laughing behind my back and calling me "the main course."
After a car accident, I found them together at the hospital. She was pregnant with his child.
When I lunged at her, he grabbed my wrist and snarled at me to apologize to his pregnant mistress.
Then came the final blow. A text from Ava with a picture of the sonogram. "Our baby, Maya." Underneath it, a photo of her wearing my necklace.
"He says it looks better on me."
On our anniversary, I had his prized rose garden bulldozed. Then I had the divorce papers delivered to his office, along with every single taunting message Ava had ever sent me. By the time he read them, Maya Goldstein was already a ghost. The CEO's Final Gift
Short stories For four years, I was a ghost in my own home, trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who despised me. The entire house smelled of lilies-the favorite flower of Hettie, his childhood sweetheart.
The day she came back into his life, he tossed divorce papers at me. He demanded my family's company as his compensation and announced that Hettie was carrying his child.
In a last, desperate attempt to hold on, I lied and told him I was pregnant, too.
He just laughed and called me a pathetic liar.
That night, he brought her to our home for dinner. He asked me not to wear my late mother's perfume because Hettie was allergic. He was asking me to erase the last piece of my mother for her.
Then I saw it. Around Hettie's neck was the diamond necklace Brady had given me for our first anniversary.
The doctors had already warned me that with my terminal illness, I didn't have much time left. That single, cruel act was the final blow. The last bit of love I had for the boy who once promised to protect me died completely.
I walked over to the table and calmly signed the divorce papers. Then, I picked up my phone.
"Darcy," I said to my lawyer, my voice steady. "I'm transferring all of my shares to Brady Kennedy. Make it effective immediately." The Day He Brought the Other Woman Home
Short stories On my birthday, my husband of five years, Gifford Stanton, brought another woman into our home.
Her name was Jovita, and he claimed we owed her a debt of honor. He didn't ask my permission; he informed me she would be staying with us. It was a decision, not a discussion.
In the days that followed, he systematically dismantled our life. He sided with her in every disagreement, publicly shaming me for my "insecurity" and "lack of grace." He celebrated her, paraded her in front of his family, and made me an outsider in my own home.
The final betrayal came late one night.
He crawled into our bed, drunk, and whispered another woman's name in my ear as he touched me. Chloe.
The next morning, after I confronted him, Jovita rushed to his side, accusing me of being hysterical and violent. He believed her. He looked at me with a disgust that hollowed me out.
"Pack your bags," he snarled. "You can come back when you're ready to behave like a rational adult."
He ordered me to play the part of the smiling, perfect wife at his annual charity gala in one month, after which he would "reconsider our marriage."
I agreed to go to his gala.
I would smile.
And I would burn his entire world to the ground. My Son's Watch Exposed My Husband's Lies
Short stories My son, Leo, died a month ago from what they called a tragic accident. My husband, Benedict, has been my rock, holding me together as our world ended.
But when he brought the nanny, Kendall, to our home, he wasn't comforting me. He was comforting her.
He called me hysterical for wanting to plan our son's funeral because it was upsetting Kendall.
That night, I heard them together in the guest room. His low rumble, her soft reply.
In a desperate need to feel close to my son, I went to his room and found his smartwatch. The one he was supposed to be wearing that day.
I charged it, and a notification popped up: Leo's Journey - Data Upload Complete.
I pressed play and heard it all. My son, begging for me as he baked to death in the car. Kendall, telling him to be quiet before locking the doors.
The betrayal was absolute. My grief vanished, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting our son's murderer.
I scrolled past my family and friends and found the name of my husband's biggest rival.
"Chase," I said when he answered, my voice steady and unrecognizable. "I'm leaving the company. I need a change of scenery." He Left My Mother to Die, So I Left Him
Short stories y mother was in the hospital after a nasty dog bite, so I called my fiancé, Cohen. He was supposed to be my rock.
Instead, I got annoyance. He was in Aspen, on a ski trip with my best friend, Hillary. "What do you want me to do? Fly back right now?" he snapped, before hanging up to get back to the "perfect snow."
The dog, it turned out, was Hillary's. The bite on my diabetic mother's leg quickly developed into a raging infection. I texted Cohen an update, telling him she was getting worse, that they were talking about surgery.
He didn't call back. Instead, Hillary's Instagram story updated: a photo of her and Cohen, cheeks flushed from the cold, smiling in front of a fireplace. The caption was a single heart emoji.
While they were sipping hot chocolate, my mother went into septic shock. As I sat alone in the grim hospital waiting room, staring at my silent phone, I knew he had already made his choice.
He had chosen a vacation. He had chosen my best friend. He had left my mother to die all alone.
She passed away at 3:17 AM. I held her hand until it grew cold, then walked out into the gray dawn. I wasn't just grieving. I was done. I was going to erase myself from his world and burn everything to the ground. To My Uncle, With Hate
Short stories For eight years, my world had orbited a single star: Liam. He was my guardian, the man my father, with his dying breath, had entrusted with my future. He was my hero. And he had made me a promise-a promise that on my twenty-second birthday, he would finally see me, not as a child, but as a woman.
Today, I came to collect.
But in the sticky, sweet air of the amusement park, behind a pastel-pink cotton candy stand, I found him. And I overheard the truth.
This wasn't a meeting; it was a meticulously staged play of cruelty. He had rented a baby. He had asked Sienna, the woman he secretly loved, to pose as his girlfriend.
His masterpiece of a plan? To construct a picture-perfect family scene designed to shatter what he called my "childish fantasy." To teach me a lesson about boundaries.
His friends were laughing, calling it a brilliant, two-birds-one-stone gambit. He was weaponizing my love, using my devotion as a stage prop to woo another woman.
My eight years of waiting-learning to cook his favorite meals, sacrificing a scholarship to a better life just to be near him-wasn't a testament to love. It was a burden. An annoyance to be managed with a heartless, elaborate prank.
Later that night, my phone chimed. A picture of a tiny, perfect baby's foot, followed by a digital wedding invitation.
The text below it was brutally simple: "I have a girlfriend now. Stop loving me."
I stared at the screen, my world silent except for the frantic hammering in my chest. Then, with a calmness that frightened even me, I typed back two words.
"Okay."
Then I booked the first flight out of the country and threw away every last memory of him. The Billionaire's Disposable Husband
Short stories For five years, I was the perfect husband to a woman who didn't love me. It was a contract. I was hired to help the broken heiress, Jorja Romero, heal after her fiancé left her. In return, her family funded my art, but the price was my dream-a scholarship to study painting in Paris.
With only two months left on our contract, the man she never got over came back. Overnight, the fragile peace we'd built vanished, and I became invisible.
At dinner, a sizzling platter of fajitas fell towards her. I threw my arm out to block it, the scalding metal searing my skin.
Jorja barely glanced at my blistering arm. Instead, she rushed to her ex-fiancé, Cale, panicking over a single drop of hot oil that had splattered on his finger.
On my birthday a week later, she tossed me a tube of burn cream-the same one she'd obsessively bought for Cale's tiny red mark. At a party, she took the cufflinks she once gifted me and told Cale they'd look much better on him.
I had spent five years memorizing her favorite foods, comforting her through nightmares, and being her constant, silent shadow. I thought my devotion might one day be enough. But I was wrong. I wasn't her husband; I was a placeholder.
The night before her engagement party to Cale, she stumbled into my room, drunk. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine.
Then she whispered the name that destroyed the last piece of my heart.
"Cale... I missed you so much."
In that moment, something inside me didn't just break; it was reborn in ice. The next morning, I handed her the divorce papers she would sign without reading, and booked my one-way ticket to Paris. My Husband's Other Woman, My Stolen Life
Modern "Ethan, this is unethical. It's criminal. She hasn't consented."
Those chilling words, whispered in the sterile hum of an operating room, were the first thing I heard as consciousness flickered back.
My heart pounded, cold dread snaking through my veins. Dr. Ben Carter, Ethan's old friend, was arguing with him.
"She's my girlfriend, Ben. Practically my wife," Ethan scoffed, his voice laced with a terrifying casualness. "Chloe needs this kidney. Ava is a perfect match."
Kidney. Chloe. My blood ran cold. The beautiful, fragile Chloe Vahn, who had always haunted our relationship, was now taking a piece of me, quite literally.
I tried to scream, to move, but my body felt like lead, my throat raw. I felt a sharp tug, a searing line of fire on my side-the scalpel. Ten years of love, of sacrifice, building Ethan Reed and his company back from nothing, all for this. To be carved up like an animal for the woman he truly loved.
When I finally regained full awareness, Ethan was by my bedside, a practiced look of concern on his face, spinning a lie about a ruptured ovarian cyst. But then, the overheard nurse's whispered conversation confirmed my nightmare: "Chloe's kidney transplant... he barely left her side."
The pieces slammed into place. My despair solidified into a cold, hard resolve. No more. I grabbed my phone, scrolling to one contact I hadn't dared to call. Noah Hayes, Ethan's rival, a man of integrity. My finger trembled as I typed. "Noah," I managed, my voice raspy. "Are you still looking for a COO who knows Reed Innovate's strategies... and perhaps, a wife?"
The silence stretched, then his voice, calm and serious, cut through the noise of my crumbling world. "My jet, seven days. LaGuardia."
My Body, Your Empire
Short stories The last thing I remember is my fiancé, Ethan, swerving the car. I woke up in a hospital, my head throbbing, to the sound of his voice in the hallway.
He was telling his doctor friend to harvest my kidney for his other woman, Chloe. Since I was in a coma, he said, my consent wasn't necessary.
When I woke up, my kidney was gone. Ethan claimed it ruptured in the crash. A lie. He then forced me to become Chloe's personal blood bank, donating twice when she needed transfusions.
He framed me for sending her death threats, having me paraded out of my apartment in handcuffs for the media.
At a charity gala, Chloe whispered that the "herbal supplements" she gave me years ago were to cause my miscarriage.
Then she threw herself down a short flight of stairs and screamed that I pushed her.
Ethan didn't even ask. He just looked at me with pure hatred and accused me of attacking a pregnant woman.
That was the moment the last bit of love I had for him died.
I fumbled for my phone and called his biggest rival, Noah Hayes.
"Are you still looking for a COO who knows all of Ethan's secrets?" I asked, my voice shaking. "And perhaps... a wife?" Erasing the Woman He Promised Forever
Short stories Five years ago, I gave my fiancé, Floyd Meyers, my neural interface to save his life after a car crash left him in a coma.
He promised to cherish me forever, but now he's engaged to another woman, Jaylah Ryan. Together, they're publicly erasing me, making it clear I'm being thrown out of the house I once called home.
In my last life, I broke down. I cried and begged for an explanation.
He told me a psychic claimed I was the source of his bad luck.
He had me locked away in a mental hospital, then drowned me in the cold lake behind our house, convinced he was freeing himself from a curse.
I sacrificed a piece of my own body for him, and he repaid me with humiliation and murder.
But I woke up again, back in this house, just days before their engagement party.
This time, I will not cry. I will not beg.
This time, I have an escape plan, and I will walk away before he can destroy me again. He Called Me by Another Woman's Name
Romance To save my dying mother, I agreed to a simple transaction: I would become the fiancée of the wealthy and powerful Kirk Knapp, and he would pay for her life.
But the arrangement curdled into a nightmare when his young niece, Jaida, came to live with us. Suddenly, I wasn't just a placeholder in his life; I was an obstacle to be removed.
He doted on Jaida for a tiny scratch while ignoring the bruises he had given me. He publicly called her "the light of my life" while his friends whispered that I was just his "charity case."
Jaida, with a saccharine smile, handed me a jar of harsh bleaching cream, telling me my complexion made the house look gloomy.
Kirk accused me of being unstable and jealous, choosing to comfort her over my defense. He even took away the one small kindness he ever showed me-a glass of warm water at night-and gave it to her instead.
I endured it all for my mother. But the final illusion shattered when he called me late one night, drunk and begging. He pleaded, not for Holly, but for "Chloe." I realized I had never even been a person to him. I was just a substitute for a ghost.
With my mother's surgery finally paid for, my debt was settled. I packed a single bag, changed my number, and boarded a bus to a new city, leaving his world of toxic lies behind. This time, I was going to build a life that was entirely my own. The Architect of His Ruin
Short stories My boyfriend Ethan and I broke up a year ago, but I'm still the one he calls in a crisis. I'm his rock, the foundation of the company we built together. After closing a seven-figure deal for him, the celebration landed me in the ER with alcohol poisoning.
That's where I overheard him on the phone, telling our finance manager to give the credit, the title, and the public glory for my project to his secretary, Olivia.
He said I'd get a bonus check, as if that could pay for my life's work. He then dismissed my past sacrifices, even calling the miscarriage of our child a "blessing in disguise" because a baby would have been a "complication."
That night, at a gala, he proposed in a public trap. As he was on one knee, a screen behind us played faked photos painting me as a corporate spy. Then, Olivia "accidentally" spilled a glass of mango juice on me. I have a deathly allergy to mangoes.
As I gasped for air, Ethan looked from my very real medical emergency to Olivia, who had chosen that moment to swoon dramatically into his arms. He hesitated. He actually hesitated, choosing to comfort her as I was dying.
But a different man saved me. Liam Sterling, Ethan's biggest rival, administered an EpiPen and led me out of the chaos. That night, I sent him a message: "I hold the key to the Henderson project. Every contact, every piece of data. Ethan is about to make a fatal error. Are you interested in a strategic partnership?" 
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