Seventh Sanctum Novels & Stories

Every bonding anniversary, Shawn would bring home a new human girl from the outside—always under the lovely pretense of letting me mentor her on how to serve an Alpha. On our seventh anniversary, he brought back a nightclub girl dressed in a Princess Snow White outfit—cheap satin trembling under the chandelier's light. “She doesn’t have anything appropriate for an occasion like this,” he said casually. “Let her borrow your bonding dress. And the jewelry I gave you last time. As for shoes—what you're wearing now will do.” Then he added, with a trace of irony, “She’s just a young human girl, clueless. Teach her a few things about our world, will you? Especially the part about the bed.” Everyone was waiting for the spectacle—for me to break again, as I always had. And I didn’t disappoint them. I looked at Shawn, my voice steady, and said I wanted a bond-severance. He laughed—short and sharp—and leaned back like he was watching a comedy. “Clara, when are you going to stop with this bond-severance nonsense? I’ve heard it so many times. They’re just human girls, while you are my Luna. How could they ever compare to you?” Then, grinning as if doing me a favor, he added, “Fine. If you really want a bond-severance, I’ll gift you a territory in the south. Consider it a reward for doing your job as my Luna.” The room erupted in laughter. To them, I was ridiculous—greedy, jealous, hysterical. But what they didn’t know was that this was the 365th time I’d asked for a bond-severance. And the first time, I truly meant it. When he found out I wasn’t joking this time, he lost his composure. He searched for me across the world—only after he realized I was no longer where he thought I’d always be.

During the seventh year of my relationship with Oscar Ramsay, he goes back to his home country to inherit the position of heir to the Ramsay family from his younger brother, Oliver Ramsay, who passed away. He also accepts Oliver's widow, Evie Griffin, into the family. Every time after he sleeps with her, he will get down on his knees before me and beg me for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Aurora. You're the only person I love, but none of this is of my own accord. I'll only be able to publicly announce our relationship after I successfully give Evie a baby to be the next family heir. "I'll be taking over the company by then, too, and give you a better life in the future." He even tells me resentfully that his father, Uriah Ramsay, had told him of his dying wish that Evie give birth to a baby boy. Over the next year, Oscar sleeps with Evie 200 times. It went from a few times a month to a few times a week. Eventually, Oscar just sleeps in her room every single night. After I lose sleep for 200 nights, Evie finally gets pregnant. The next day, Oscar and Evie get married at a very expensive and elaborate wedding at a church. Ingrid Ramsay, my daughter, gets upset when she sees Oscar and Evie kissing on the screen. "Mommy, why is Daddy getting married to someone else? You're his wife!" I cover Ingrid's eyes and smile bitterly. "Because Daddy doesn't love Mommy." Oscar doesn't know this, but I have never cared that other people didn't know about my real identity. I also don't care about his money or wealth. I only care whether or not he loves me. I'm no longer willing to face a man who cheats on me. Instead, I bring Ingrid with me as we leave him forever.

On the seventh year after we moved overseas, my 13-year-old daughter, Anna Jackman, is hailed as the internationally renowned piano prodigy. No matter how difficult the song is, Anna is capable of weaving beautiful melodies with it. But there's only one song that Anna refuses to play. It's a seemingly ordinary lullaby. She's worried that she might end up forgiving that despicable man again once she plays it on the piano. So, when said man, Micah Jackman, turns up on our doorstep with a piano that's handcrafted by a master craftsman and asks Anna to play him the lullaby, she just shakes her head calmly in return. "I don't know how to play that song, sir." Micah's eyes redden immediately. He grabs Anna's hand and navigates it to the piano keys. "That's impossible! Aren't you a piano prodigy, Anna? Haven't you always wanted to have a piano of your own? I've already bought you your own piano this time! From now on, if you have any wishes, you should tell me, and I'll grant them for you." Anna draws back her right hand coldly. "It's fine, sir. I can earn my own money to buy my own piano. You should take the piano back to your daughter." Micah feels as though his heart has plunged into the abyss. He immediately pulls Anna into his arms. "What are you talking about, Anna? You're my only daughter!" But Anna looks a little puzzled. "Didn't you say that Ms. Sinclair's daughter is the only one worthy of becoming your child? Didn't you give the piano you promised for me to Ms. Sinclair's daughter?" Having reached that point, Anna just smiles nonchalantly at Micah. "It's fine, sir. Since you like Ms. Sinclair, you can just raise her daughter. I'm already content enough with Mom by my side."

In the seventh year of singing on the streets for a living, I finally save enough money for my boyfriend, Charlie Bond, to pay for our wedding and marry me. Late at night, a young woman suddenly walks up to me and requests a song just as I'm about to pack up. She says, "I'm in a bad mood. Just sing a couple of songs for me." When she notices my disabled leg, she transfers 5,000 dollars to me right away. She adds, "I'm sorry for bothering you when it's already so late. I'm just really upset. Please take pity on me and keep me company for a while." Looking at the payment notification, I nod. With this money, Charlie won't have to struggle so much when it comes to paying rent. He won't need to deliver food in the middle of rainstorms just to make ends meet. The young woman begins pouring her heart out to me. "My husband and I have been married for five years. Today, I found out that I'm pregnant. I wanted to share the good news with him, but then I found a diamond ring in his pocket! "No matter how much I question him, he refuses to say anything. I got so angry at him that I ran out of my home. Do you think he's cheating on me?" I hesitate and am just about to comfort her when her phone suddenly rings. A man's voice comes through the speaker. It sounds helpless yet affectionate. He says, "You're so silly. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. The ring is a custom-made gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you found it before I could give it to you. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." The moment I hear that familiar voice, a chill runs down my spine. The name displayed on her phone is the exact same name as my boyfriend's—Charlie Bond.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife, Blair, the daughter of the city's richest man, straddled my lap, her kiss deep and intoxicating as she toyed with my lower lip. The same night, we just announced our pregnancy to the world. Just then, Blair's best friend, Chloe, asked in French, her tone suggestive: "Blair, you're absolutely glowing. But tell me honestly, how does it feel to get railed by another man while carrying a baby?" Blair let out a soft laugh, a familiar sound that sent a chill down my spine. She replied, also in French: "It feels absolutely incredible, Chloe. He's like a wild wolf. Just yesterday, he had his head buried between my thighs, using his mouth to bring me to tears before taking me so deep I forgot my own name." Her fingers were still toying with my collar, but her gaze was already distant. "But remember, keep this from Kevin. If he finds out what I've been doing behind his back while pregnant, it will be a disaster." The socialite sisters gathered around them shared knowing chuckles, raising their glasses and promising to keep the secret. The warmth in my veins turned to ice. My fervent passion to welcome a new life was instantly reduced to a pathetic joke. They had all forgotten that I spent my childhood in southern France. I understood every single syllable. I forced myself to remain calm, my face fixed in the perfect smile expected of a blissful husband about to welcome his first child, but the hand holding my champagne glass was trembling. I didn't fly into a rage. I didn't smash everything in sight. Instead, I took out my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days prior for the Aegis Agency, a highly classified organization on the other side of the world, and clicked "Accept." In three days, I would vanish from Blair's world.

In the seventh year of my long-distance relationship, I quit my job behind my boyfriend, William Harrington's back and travel more than 600 miles to Frostmere. I do all that just so I can give him a nice surprise and get married to him. When the receptionist hears that I'm looking for William, she wears a bemused look. "Mr. Harrington is in the middle of a meeting. Please wait for a moment." I'm secretly surprised by her response. Willian has never told me about the fact that he got promoted. When I video-called him last week, he was even complaining to me how stressful work had been for him. Getting a promotion seemed like an impossible dream at this point. As soon as I turn around, I hear the receptionist whispering to her colleagues. "This must be Mr. Harrington's mistress, right?" "Wow… She really is bold to have found her way to the company like this." "Since Mr. Harrington is having an affair, doesn't this mean Mrs. Harrington will kick up a fuss when she finds out about it?" I want to turn around and tell the ladies that they've mistaken me for someone else. William isn't married yet, and I'm his actual girlfriend of ten years. But before I can open my mouth, the spinning door reveals a woman in a high-end attire walking into the company's lobby. The receptionists quickly shut their mouths. Then, they address the woman respectfully as "Mrs. Harrington". Alexandra Rowland is in the middle of a phone call. Her voice is sickly sweet as she speaks on the phone. "Darling, I've reached the lobby. Hurry up and pick me up! I don't care! You have to attend the prenatal check-up with me today!" A crystal-clear deep, masculine voice that carries a hint of doting drifts over Alexandra's phone speaker. "Got it, Lexi. The meeting will be over soon. You can wait for me in the lounge for the time being." I've listened to that voice for the past seven years, so I'm extremely familiar with it. That voice belongs to my boyfriend, William…

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.

On our seventh year anniversary, my girlfriend, Rachel Winters, forces me to drink a glass of drugged champagne before dumping me onto the bed of an 80-year-old widow. "It's Bryon's first time attending a business meeting. He's still pure and oblivious, so he doesn't know how to satisfy an older widow's insatiable desire. "I have no choice but to ask you to seal this business deal on his behalf. Think of this as your way of helping me repay Bryon's family for raising me since young. "Don't worry, Corey. No one will know about this." After that, Rachel turns off the lights and leaves the room while ignoring my pleas for help. But the next day, the video of me and the widow going at it is spread across the Internet. My colleagues look down on me for resorting to such underhanded methods just to get promoted. They can't believe that I'm able to stomach the idea of sleeping with an 80-year-old widow. Thanks to the video, the company's reputation is greatly affected. Rachel holds a press conference immediately to address the issue. I thought she'd defend me, but I didn't expect her to change her tune. "I've already discussed this matter with the Dalton family. Corey Dalton shall take responsibility for what he's done to the widow. As for me, I will get engaged to Bryon Parson." I feel as though lightning has struck me on the spot. I've founded this company with Rachel and has stuck by her side through thick and thin, resulting in us rising as the new-time business moguls. But in the end, she decides to ditch me. "Corey, if you really want to stay by my side, you can remain as my side piece. In exchange, I'll help you shake that old woman off your tail." As I meet Rachel's smug gaze, I shake my head decisively. "I've already thought things through and decided that I'll be marrying the widow."

On New Year's Eve in the seventh year of our marriage, we're about to celebrate the holidays with a grand meal when my daughter, Piper Gallagher, drags my wife, Renee Fielding, out of the house. "Hurry up, Mom! Mr. Thomas is already urging us! He doesn't like waiting, you know!" At first, I'm stunned. Thinking that Piper is just joking around, I ask with a smile, "Who's this Mr. Thomas that you're talking about?" But Piper's soft and sweet voice plunges into my heart like a blade after I hear what she says next. "Well, Mr. Thomas is Mom's boyfriend! I can call him Tommy, too!" Renee's explanation is lodged in her throat. So, she decides to come clean about her affair instead. "The truth is, it's rather boring, spending the holidays with you every year. Besides, I've lost all love for you now that seven years are up. If you think this marriage still works, then I'll stick around. If not, we can get a divorce." The sudden bombshell leaves my mind completely blank. I can only look at Piper subconsciously. She doesn't show any affection to me, like she did in the past. Instead, she just hides behind Renee while mincing her words quietly. "I wanna be with Mom and Mr. Thomas." That night, Renee and Piper welcome the brand new year amid the fireworks and laughter. I, on the other hand, can only stare at the feast on the table on my lonesome, which has gone stone cold. Their words keep buzzing in my ears, tormenting me ruthlessly to the point that I can't sleep a wink at all. The next day, Renee and Piper go home reluctantly at noon. "Have you thought things through? If you plan on sticking around, then don't ask any questions. I don't want you kicking up a ruckus from now on, either. In the future, I'll introduce you to Thomas." It's then that I finally make up my mind. "Let's get a divorce, then."

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband, Nate Anderson, told me that he had offended a mob boss. On the same night, he sent our daughter, Poppy Anderson, and I to go into hiding in the desert. Halfway through the journey, I recalled that I had forgotten to pack my daughter’s asthma medication. Hence, I quickly went back. However, I saw Nate celebrating with his friends in our mansion. “Nate, aren’t you worried that Lila and Poppy are going to starve in the remote area that you’ve sent them to?” Nate said indifferently, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve repackaged the unsold dog food from Emma’s shop and sent it to them. They won’t starve.” Emma leaned her head against Nate’s chest. “Baby, you’re so smart. Do you think our child will be more like you or me?” Nate looked at her lovingly and kissed her. “Regardless of who our child resembles, I’ll love him or her the most.” His friend could not stand it anymore. “Since you don’t love Lila, why did you marry her and have Poppy with her?” Nate lit a cigarette. He looked a little cross. “I only slept with Lila because I was afraid that Emma would think I was inexperienced, but I didn’t expect her to get pregnant after that one time. “I only married her out of responsibility. I feel bad for Emma. She was with me for so many years, but our relationship had no label. “If Lila finds out that Emma’s pregnant, she’ll definitely make a scene. I have no choice but to simply make up a lie and send her away.” I stood on the other side of the door, feeling chilled to the bone. Three years later, Nate video-called me with a big smile. “Lila, it’s all over. Are you and Poppy doing well? I’ll come get you.” I looked at the man, who was hugging me tightly in his sleep. “We’re doing good! My new husband keeps me very satisfied, and Poppy has started to call him ‘Daddy.’”