Rabbit
47 Published Stories
Rabbit's Books and Stories
From a Broken Omega to the Northern Queen
Short stories After seven years in a dungeon for a crime I didn't commit, my fated mate, the Alpha who let them drag me away, finally opened my cell door.
He announced I would take my place as his Luna, not out of love, but because the law demanded it.
But the moment a frantic mind-link came through that his precious Seraphina-my adopted sister, the one who framed me-was having trouble breathing, he abandoned me without a second glance.
That night, huddled in a dusty shack, I overheard my own parents' secret conversation. They were planning to have me exiled. Permanently.
My return had upset Seraphina, and her "weak heart" couldn't take the shock.
I lay there in the darkness, feeling nothing. Not surprise. Not even pain. Just a profound, empty coldness. They were casting me out. Again.
But as they plotted my exile, a secret message arrived for me-an offer of escape. A new life in a sanctuary far to the north, where I could leave the Blackmoon Pack behind forever.
They thought they were getting rid of me.
Little did they know, I was already gone.
The Alpha's Rejected Mate Awakening the White Wolf
Short stories Kaelen was supposed to be my destiny. The future Alpha of our pack, my childhood love, and my fated mate.
But one night, I smelled another woman on him-a sickly sweet Omega scent I knew all too well. I followed him and found them under the great oak, locked in a lover's kiss.
His betrayal was a slow and deliberate poison. When his precious Omega, Lyra, staged a fall, he cradled her like she was made of glass.
But when he sabotaged my saddle during a dangerous jump, causing my horse to throw me and break my leg, he called it a "warning" not to touch her. His care for me afterward was just damage control to avoid my father's suspicion.
At a public auction, he used my family's money to buy her a priceless diamond, leaving me humiliated and unable to pay.
I finally understood what I'd overheard on the pack's mind-link days before. To him and his brothers-in-arms, I was just a "pampered princess," a prize to be won for power. Lyra was the one they truly desired.
He thought he could break me, force me to accept being second best. He was wrong. On the night of my 20th birthday, the night I was supposed to be bonded to him, I stood before two packs and made a different choice. I rejected him and announced my union with a rival Alpha, a man who sees me as a queen, not a consolation prize.
The Alpha Pact: Love Enslaved, Love Unleashed
Short stories For my entire life, I believed my Alpha, Kaelen, was my fated mate. A sacred gift from the Moon Goddess.
But on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, he presented another she-wolf, Seraphina, as his chosen Luna, using a borrowed pup in a cruel plot to crush my spirit.
When Rogues attacked our pack, a silver chandelier fell towards us. Kaelen lunged past me without a glance, shielding Seraphina with his own body while I was left to be crushed.
He never even looked back.
Later, after falsely accusing me of hurting her, he dragged my injured body to an ice-cold hydrotherapy pool and shoved me under the water.
As I struggled to breathe, he loomed over me, his voice a roar of command.
"If you ever touch her again, I will strip you of your name and make you Rogue."
Watching the man I loved try to kill me, the last of my hope finally turned to ash.
That night, I accepted an offer to join the Silverwood Pack.
Then, I walked to the forge and tossed every memento he'd ever given me into the flames, watching the girl who loved him burn away forever. 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. 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. My Husband's Double Life
Modern My life with Liam Goldstein was a fairytale, a perfect love story plastered across every magazine and TV screen in Manhattan.
He'd even unveiled the "Maya's Horizon" necklace, a multi-million-dollar cascade of sapphires, celebrating our perfect devotion.
But fairytales are just that – tales.
Then came the burner phone, the hushed calls, the screenshots, and hotel receipts that screamed 'affair'.
I watched him live-stream gifts to his young mistress, Ava Sinclair, calling her his "queen," only to later find her visibly pregnant in a hospital, flaunting our engagement necklace and talking about a "situation" with me.
His friends, the same ones who toasted our "perfect love," smirked as he publicly kissed Ava and joked about his "side action," assuring her I'd "never find out."
Every grand gesture he'd made, from donating a kidney to cultivating a white rose garden, flashed before my eyes, revealing themselves as calculated performances.
How could the man who saved my life, the one I vowed to, betray me with such grotesque audacity, in front of the world and his complicit inner circle?
It felt like a sick cosmic joke, a public humiliation disguised as love.
But I had given him a warning on our wedding day: "If you ever lie to me, truly lie, I will vanish from your life as if I never existed."
Now, it was time to activate the Phoenix Initiative, erase Maya Goldstein, and leave Liam with nothing but ghost of a promise he had shattered. The Alpha's Rejected and Reborn Mate
Short stories My mate, Alpha Alaric, who had been my protector since I was a child, was holding his bonding ceremony with another woman.
When his chosen Luna, Seraphina, arrived at the pack house, she glided up the stairs and offered me a small "welcome gift."
It was a delicate bracelet, intricately woven from pure silver.
To werewolves, silver is agony. It burns our skin, seeps into our blood, and prevents our healing.
I flinched back, but Alaric's voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs, laced with the undeniable force of his Alpha's Command. "Take it, Elara."
The command wrapped around my will, forcing my hand forward.
"Don't disrespect your future Luna," he added, his voice cold.
The moment the metal touched my skin, a sharp, white-hot pain shot up my arm. I looked from the searing silver on my wrist to Alaric's impassive face, and the last, fragile ember of hope inside me died.
He hadn't just forgotten his affection for me; he had forgotten the one thing that could truly hurt me.
With my head held high, I turned and walked away. The silver thorn on my wrist was a constant, agonizing promise of the freedom that was to come. Alpha's Oath, Omega's Rise
Short stories I ran through the storm, clutching the one herb that could save her. My mate, Seraphina, had lost her memory in a Rogue attack a month ago-an attack where she'd thrown herself in front of an arrow meant for me. This rare Moonpetal grass was our last hope of bringing her back to me.
As I neared her villa, I reached out through our Mind-Link, only to hear her voice already there, laughing with someone else. "Honestly, it's just a game," she said, her thoughts sharp and cruel. "I'll play with the little Omega for another month, tops. Then I'll stage a dramatic 'recovery' and go back to being Kaelen's devoted Luna."
The world went silent. The herb slipped from my numb fingers, its silver light extinguished in the mud. Seven years of devotion, the three years she'd relentlessly pursued me, the sacred vow I broke to make her my Chosen Mate-it was all a game to cure her boredom. The Rogue attack, the memory loss, her near-death experience saving my life... all of it was a lie.
A growl tore from my chest, my inner wolf clawing at the cage of my control. The woman I had spent a fortune trying to heal, the mate I would have given my life for, was laughing at my devotion while planning her next move. The irony was a physical blow, leaving nothing but a hollow ache where my heart used to be.
I turned my back on the warm, lying light of her villa and walked straight to the Hall of Elders. Kneeling before the Moon Goddess, my voice stripped of all warmth, I invoked the Rite of Severance, breaking our bond forever. Then I relinquished my title as Alpha. I chose exile. 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 pay for her mother's life-saving surgery, Holly Austin became the fiancée of the billionaire Kirk Knapp, and in her desperation, made the mistake of falling for him.
But when she confessed her feelings, he laughed.
He showed her a black leather ledger where he'd itemized her entire existence-the clothes she wore, the food she ate, her mother's medical bills-down to the last cent.
"This is what you are to me, Holly," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A transaction. An investment. Don't ever confuse my responsibility with affection."
He made it clear his only real affection was for his young ward, Jaida-her uncanny lookalike. He would panic over a tiny scratch on Jaida's arm, yet dismissed the cost of Holly's mother's life as a simple task completed, like taking out the trash.
The moment her mother was safe, the transaction was over. She walked out of his life without a word.
He would soon discover that the 'asset' he'd so casually dismissed was the only thing holding his world together. 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." 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. 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. 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. 
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