Seven Year Itch Book Novels & Stories

High school was supposed to be simple for Annie—keep her head down, avoid the spotlight, and get through her last year in one piece. But then she meets someone who makes her heart race in ways she never expected. Between navigating friendships, senior-year chaos, and the confusing rush of new feelings, Annie is about to discover that her last year of high school can also be the beginning of everything that matters. “Last Year First Love” is a sweet, funny, and relatable teen romance about friendship, self-discovery, and the unforgettable magic of falling in love for the very first time.

They Met They Loved Now they hate "Happy Birthday", the card read. Lylah's dark eyebrows rose, who would cross over cities with her just to give her a birthday card? Couldn't be her best friend, or? "No", she yelled. It couldn't be He wouldn't dare

San Francisco royalty, Killian Fobster is an egotistical, manipulative asshole who will rather fuck an octopus on live television than get tied down to a woman. But when his one-night-stand from two months ago shows up in his office with not-so-pleasant news, he has to make certain decisions that may involve going against everything he stands for. With his vicious good looks, skirt-chasing habits, and cold demeanor, he is the last person a sweet girl like Hope Sterling should be involved with, but desperate times call for rather creative measures, and soon after she finds herself trapped in the sham of a fake union that threatens to blossom into something that may change her life forever.

I suffer from a hereditary form of amnesia. By the time I found out, I had only seven days left. On the first day, I found my boyfriend had fallen for my younger twin sister. With a bitter smile, I suggested we break up. On the second day, my most treasured Lego set was smashed by my sister. Everyone laughed at me, saying I was disgraceful, unworthy of being a daughter of the Fleming family. On the fourth day, I forgot that my sister was allergic to mangoes. She ended up in the hospital, and my parents glared at me with resentment. Even my ex-boyfriend accused me of being heartless. On the seventh day, I woke up in a hospital bed to see my father walking in with a stern expression. He demanded that I quit my job and devote myself entirely to taking care of the family, as nothing more than a housekeeper. But I only looked at them in confusion and asked softly, “Who are you?” When they realized I had truly lost my memory, they lost their minds.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you." For the first time, I didn’t call or argue. I simply packed my things and went back to my hometown. The first day I vanished, a friend sent me a video. In it, Kian had his arm around Isabel, smiling casually as he said, "Lane's just upset. She’ll come back on her own." A month later, Kian was searching for me like he’d lost his mind. "I learned how to make ravioli, I’ll make it for you for the rest of our lives. Just come home and try it, okay?" He was still oblivious that I had always hated ravioli.

My husband threw me into the crocodile pit to help his childhood sweetheart, who was a KOL, gain popularity. To make the live stream more realistic, he personally tossed bait at me. “Have you not eaten? My grandma can run faster than you!” He watched as I bled from my abdomen, believing I was just pretending to be pitiful. When I asked for a divorce, he kicked me to the ground. “Since you love pretending to be pitiful to ask for a divorce, why didn’t you just let the crocodile kill you?” I handed him a medical report. “My child died because of you. Does this count as pretending to be pitiful?”

My parents adopted a kid, and I treated him like treasure. Then he started looking uncannily like my husband, Brian. And I caught him whispering "Mom" to my sister, Ruby. Yeah. Plot twist: Brian had been cheating on me the whole time. With Ruby. They played house behind my back, smiling for family pics—with my parents' blessing. When the truth blew up, Ruby had the audacity to beg me to step aside. My parents told me to get over it. And that kid I loved like my own? Told me I deserved to die. But here's the kicker—Brian wouldn't even sign the divorce. Dude broke down, said he still loved me, swore the kid was a mistake. So I smiled and said, "Cool. You've got seven days. Prove it, and I'll forgive you." He went full simp mode. Emptied his bank account, treated me like I was gold. Even kicked Ruby down and yelled at her to apologize. Everyone thought I'd cave. Then the cops called, asked him to ID a body—and Brian totally lost it. He never knew I'd been dead this whole time. The Reaper gave me one last week to say goodbye.

Hope Daniels has spent her life mastering control, on the softball field, in school, and in the quiet spaces where emotions are better left unspoken. With college within reach and her future finally aligning, everything should feel safe, predictable… normal. Then she falls for Kade Mercer, her best friend’s older brother. He’s distant, unreadable, and always watching her like he already knows how their story ends. What begins as stolen glances and unspoken tension slowly pulls them toward something neither of them can stop. On the night everything shifts, Hope wakes in a world that is not her own. The sky is fractured. The air is alive. And creatures born from nightmares hunt anything that breathes. Stranded together for seven relentless days, Hope and Kade must survive a shifting, brutal realm where instinct is the only law and fear takes physical form. Every battle changes them. Every choice binds them closer. And every night reveals they are being watched by something far more dangerous than the monsters chasing them. But survival comes at a cost. Because when they wake back in their world, nothing is as it was. Time has not moved, but they have. The marks they carry begin to glow. The memories refuse to fade. And the line between worlds is beginning to tear again. Some doors are not meant to close. And some connections were never human to begin with. Hope thought she was fighting to survive seven days in another world. She was wrong. She was being chosen.

Everyone in Oceanton knew that mob boss Jared Pierce was deeply in love with me. No one feared my disappearance more than he did. Even if bullets were raining down on him, he'd still find a way to contact me, just to make sure I felt safe. But on the night before our wedding, he didn't come home. When he finally returned, he dropped to his knees, a bruised and weakened woman cradled in his arms. "Rosalia! Melody took the drug just to save me! I can't just watch her die! So I had no choice but to sleep with her." Terrified that I wouldn't forgive him, Jared drew six wounds into his arm. Blood soaked through his shirt in an instant. As soon as the wedding banquet ended, I heard his men chuckling and teasing. "The boss didn't even take off his wedding outfit before rushing to see Melody. Just how seductive is his lover?" Jared’s low, sultry voice followed. "Last time I stayed with her, I didn’t come back for three days and nights. Take a guess." In shock and despair, I called out the system. "I want to leave this world!" The system's cold voice replied, "After your exit, this world will erase all traces of your existence. Counting down… Seven days."

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.