The Seven Husbands Of Evelyn Hugo Novels & Stories

I didn’t know whether I’d resurface, or be pulled deeper and deeper. “Were you planning to drink the tea?” Hugo’s voice cut through my reverie. “Yes,” I replied, sipping the cold tea without even glancing at him. The man was still strutting around this apartment with nothing but tight boxers, as if his confidence had no boundaries. Even though it was just the two of us here, he could at least feel a hint of modesty. Just the tip of a fingernail. “In romantic dramas, the husband usually takes care of his sick wife. And then he gets a hug, a kiss, and…”

My disappointment was probably written all over my face, because he held me tight and said tenderly, “I’ll try not to go overseas as much after those kids settle in. Once I start staying at home more, I’m sure we’ll have our own baby soon. Believe me.” Staring at his familiar features, I remembered how he had hugged me just like this, promising me he would come back soon… right before his flight to Switzerland. He had come back, but his heart remained in the Alps. “Alright.” I forced a smile and watched him rush away. Since the New York administrative system did not contain any records of our marriage, that meant the marriage certificate we obtained in Vegas had no effect. That saved me the

Evelyn announced, and immediately the front door creaked open, and in, walked a man. He was tall, dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his powerful build. His jaw was clean-shaven, but a small scar near his mouth gave him an edge. His gaze was intense, scanning the room, pausing on me with an unreadable expression. “This here is Cassian,” Evelyn continued. “My... husband.” My sister looked at me with widened eyes and then blinked multiple times before looking back at her. “Wait, what? Did you just say husband?” she asked at the top of her voice.

Hugo looked at her shocked expression and chuckled. “My dear Camila, consider this the first of the never ending wedding gifts. This bastard facilitated the men who defiled your body and his whore of a wife knew and chose to play along,” Hugo revealed and kicked the gagged man. The victim groaned and squirmed. Hugo removed the gag from his mouth. “Y’know what? He’ll tell you the rest himself,” Hugo said and aimed his gun at the man’s wife. Camila was at a loss for words. She could barely breathe. Hugo grabbed the man by his hair with his other hand and shook him.

“There’s something on your mind, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told us yet.” She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier. Not with everyone around. But... I can’t shake the feeling that my husband’s death wasn’t... natural.” Logan’s brows furrowed, and I felt my stomach tighten. “What do you mean?” I asked. Evelyn looked at us, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “The doctors said it was a heart attack, but my husband was healthy. He had regular check-ups and a good diet—he wasn’t the type to ignore his health. It just doesn’t add up.”

Time passed slowly as I sat in the mourning hall. As I recalled every moment between my husband, Anthony Brosnan, and me over the past few years, I felt that it was laughable. After handling the funeral arrangements, I made a phone call. A sneer came from the other end of the line. "Shirley, why are you calling me now? Don't tell me you want to catch up with me and tell me all about your happy life?" "I regret it. I regret marrying him. Alicia, my mom passed away. I…"

Her breathing became uneven. Everything that had seemed impossible three days ago was now becoming reality. The secret house. Sophia. Lily. The photographs. The missing memories. The anonymous warnings. And now someone claiming that the man she had called her husband for seven years wasn't her husband at all. A sharp pain pulsed behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut. Fragments of memories flickered through her mind. Rain. Screaming tires. A man's voice shouting her name. Not Daniel's voice.

I looked up at him. “The seventh divorce ceremony, right?” “Go on.” "Go on?" Damon's careless smile froze, then slowly faded. "Evelyn, are you serious?" My gaze moved past him to the words glowing on the stage. [Let's Get Divorced.] Seven years. So many times, I had imagined him standing in a chapel and telling the world I was his wife. But in the end, what I got was not a wedding. It was seven ridiculous divorce ceremonies.

Hugo roared, struggling against the man holding him. “Easy,” Evan said, his tone icy. “You were never a father to them. You’re just like Gustavo, and you blame me? This is your doing. Now, where’s Rose?” Hugo’s lips curled into a sneer. “I should’ve killed her.” Evan lunged, his fist slamming into Hugo’s face, the crack of bone sharp. Hugo’s head snapped back, blood streaming from his nose. Evan grabbed his collar, his voice a growl. “Say that again, and I’ll torture you instead of ending this quickly. Where is she?”

I was accompanying my mother-in-law to our family-owned hospital for a follow-up appointment. She had developed a lifelong gynecological condition from complications during my wife's birth. A muscular man passed by, recoiled in disgust, and shuffled to the other side of the aisle before shouting for a nurse. "What kind of hospital is this? You just let any filthy person sit in the waiting area? This old hag reeks. Is nobody going to do anything about it?" The nurse hurried over and recognized my mother-in-law. She held up her hands. "Sir, this patient is here for a scheduled follow-up. We can't turn her away." The man lost it. "What part of that don't you understand? Take this old hag