The Seventh Novels & Stories

The woman Lucas Kingston kept by his side was pregnant. When I found out, I was shocked to realize that she was just as far along as I was. In front of me, she gently caressed her rounded belly before settling herself onto Lucas’s lap. "I heard that Miss Carter’s equestrian skills rival those of men. I’m quite curious and would love to see it for myself. Lucas, could you ask her to give us a demonstration? “If she manages to please me…" She leaned in closer to him, her voice seductive. "Tonight, you can have whatever you want." Lucas’s gaze turned icy as it landed on me. Though he said nothing, everyone present understood his intent. My face drained of color as I pleaded desperately, "Lucas, please don’t do this! I’ll lose the baby!" Laughter rippled through the crowd, while Lucas merely looked at me with disdain. "If you lose it, you can always have another. Now get on the horse! If you can’t entertain her properly, don’t even think about leaving this racetrack tonight!" The moment his words left his mouth, several people grabbed me and forced me onto the saddle. The startled horse reared and took off in a frenzy. Every jolt sent unbearable pain through my abdomen. I glanced back. From the viewing platform, the two of them were already locked in a passionate embrace. Clutching the reins with all my strength, I forced a bitter smile. This was the seventh time. And the last. From that moment on, I would never humiliate myself for anyone again.

At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, I noticed something strange. My best friend, Darren Blackburn, who had always been single, had suddenly changed his profile picture to a couple’s photo. "So you’ve been hiding a girlfriend from me?" I joked with a grin. "When are you bringing her around? I should at least meet her and make sure she’s good enough for you." He just smiled and shook his head, brushing it off. "Not yet," he said. "It’s not the right time." Then Deanna Cunningham, my wife’s voice called out from the kitchen, "Babe, come help me tie my apron." I hadn’t even pushed my chair back yet when Darren was already on his feet, jogging over. He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and tied the apron strings for her. I froze where I stood. Seeing the look on my face, he quickly tried to explain, "I’m just used to helping out at home. My mom’s always bossing me around. It’s basically muscle memory. Don’t read into it." I didn’t argue or make a scene. I kept my expression neutral and carried on with the dinner as if nothing had happened. Only after all the guests had left did I turn to Deanna, who was clearing the table, and say calmly, "Let’s get a divorce." She slammed the dishes down with a loud crash and glared at me. "Seriously? Over something like that? Just because he tied my apron once?"

In this canal town, if a guy wants to woo his sweetheart, he needs to build a boat with his own hands and make it his wedding boat. On my seventh year dating anniversary, my boyfriend, Declan Johnson, hosts a launch ceremony for his new boat. Those who are present at the ceremony cheer loudly. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. When I'm about to board the boat, I hear Declan's friend murmuring to him, "Are you seriously giving the boat to Paige? Aren't you worried that Raelynn might pick a fight with you?" "Precisely! Raelynn is a temperamental one! What if you crossed a line?" The next moment, Declan's voice rings out—casual yet confident. "No way. Raelynn is completely wrapped around my finger. After all, she's madly in love with me. Besides, in this town, the fact that a woman doesn't get married by the age of 28 makes her a hag. There's no way she has the guts to start anything. "At the end of the day, I'm giving Raelynn a marriage certificate and Paige a wedding boat. This is a fair decision. In a way, it… it helps me to put an old regret to rest." So, Declan still has regrets just by marrying me, huh? Apparently, I'm also wrapped around his finger, and I'll become a hag soon. Those words hurt my ears. My throat closes up slightly, but I don't cry at all. Instead, I pull out my phone and send a text. "I'll listen to you, Mom. Since I'm already 28 years old, I'm no longer waiting for him."

On the day of my seventh wedding anniversary, my husband's lover gave my son a pet cat. My pregnancy made me allergic to cat fur, and rashes appeared all over my body. Sensing that it might lead to a miscarriage, I told my son to return the cat. "I'm keeping it!" my five-year-old son, Zachary, protested. He pushed me and said, "I hate having you as my mom! I want Aunt Lynn to be my mom!" My husband, Quinton Locke, tore into me. "Why did you have to develop an allergy now, out of all times? Is your jealousy blinding you to the point where you won't even consider your son 's feelings? You're being unreasonable!" He carried Zachary up and left with the cat. They had eschewed me in favor of Lynn Shelbert, Quinton's lover and the 'apple of his eye'. I collapsed on the ground, watching as blood began to soak my pants. At that moment, I knew I had suffered a miscarriage. I felt an unimaginable pain while I was in the hospital. My husband and son went traveling with Lynn, resembling a happy family of three. Lynn sent me a message. [Do you know why Quinton married you even though he's hopelessly in love with me? Well, I wanted a son and a daughter, but I didn't want to bear the risks that come with pregnancy. It's a shame you had a miscarriage.] Despair engulfed me that very instant. I hired a lawyer to prepare the divorce papers and took a flight back to my hometown. My sole wish was to never see Quinton and Zachary again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” A soft murmur reached Sierra’s ears as she closed her eyes. “Is there another way?” “You’ve already heard what the doctor said about Callie’s condition, right? There’s no other way, Sierra.” Axton lifted his head from the crook of Sierra’s neck. “So, let’s get this done now and give me the money according to our deal,” Sierra said confidently while giving him a long kiss. *** Sierra signed an agreement to become a surrogate mother for her best friend, Callie, who couldn’t get pregnant by herself due to lupus. As part of the arrangement, Sierra would receive compensation, which she planned to use to pay off the debt left by her bastard father. Unfortunately, after they finalized the agreement, Callie was declared unable to produce eggs for fertilization. In the end, the only solution rested with Sierra. Callie asked her best friend to sleep with her husband so they could have a child together, a baby that would be raised as Axton and Callie’s own. Having no other choice, she slept with her boss, who also happened to be her best friend’s husband, and eventually became pregnant with his child. However, tragedy struck when Callie fell seriously ill during Sierra’s seventh month of pregnancy and passed away. So, what happens next? What will happen to Sierra and the baby she is pregnant with? What if there are many hidden truths between them? What if Sierra and Axton had a connection in the past before Axton married Callie? What if Axton and Callie’s relationship was built on a web of lies that Callie kept hidden? As secrets from their pasts begin to unravel, how will Sierra and Axton face the future?

I've stood before a priest and sworn my vows to the same man seven times. And for the seventh time, I've signed divorce papers in front of the family lawyer. At our first wedding, the youngest Capo of the Throne family held my hand and promised, "From this day forward, my life is yours and yours alone." But whenever his childhood sweetheart stirred up trouble and needed his protection, Carter's vow to me would conveniently become a sanctuary for her. "Tessa's in trouble again, Maeve. For your own safety, we have to get a divorce for now." The first time I was forced to divorce, I threatened him with the honor of our families' alliance, even vowing to expose his betrayal at a family gathering. His men dragged me out of the manor. The third time I signed the papers, I humbled myself, sneaking into the family's private club just to catch a glimpse of him from afar. By the sixth time, I had learned to quietly pack my few belongings in this house of lies, without putting up a fight. My breakdowns and desperate, undignified attempts to save us were only ever met with Carter's reliable promise to remarry me, just before another round of the divorce game he played for Tessa's sake. Until this time. After hearing Tessa was returning to New York from Italy, I didn't wait for Carter to speak. I placed the signed divorce papers in his study myself. Just like always, he casually set a date for our remarriage. But he didn't know that day was the day I would disappear from his world forever.

“Where should I place it, my lord?” I asked quickly.” Then he stepped out of the water. Naked. My breath left my body. My legs went weak. He wrapped his towel around his waist, and looked at me calmly. “Why are you shaking?” he asked. “Never seen a naked man before?” I had, but never like this. His body was... stunning. Muscles sculpted, skin smooth, a sight to behold. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Norah of Blackwood was meant to be the seventh wife to a monstrous King. But she didn't just say no, she insulted the Almighty King in front of his entire court, choosing a beggar’s life over his rotting bed. Infuriated by her public defiance, the Alpha King didn't just exile her, he sent assassins to bring back her head in a silent kill. Now, Norah is a ghost. Disguised as a boy named Asher, she has fled to the Great Wall, a brutal fortress of demon hunters where women are strictly forbidden. Discovery means death, but the real danger isn't the King’s blades, it’s the man in charge. Lord Draven is a lethal commander with mismatched eyes and a presence that sets Norah’s blood on fire. In this world of men, Norah is fighting a losing battle against her own body. Every look from Draven triggers a sexual heat she can’t explain and an obsession that threatens to shatter her cover. As the lines between hunter and prey blur, Norah finds herself trapped in Draven’s private chambers, intoxicated by wine and a hunger that defies her disguise. Between wine-stained lips and a forbidden touch, she is playing a lethal game: Keep her identity hidden, or succumb to the Alpha who wants to claim every inch of the woman he hasn't realized is there.

My younger sister and I spent ten years fighting over Rowan Vale, the Alpha of Silver Ridge Pack. In my first life, I became his mate. Everyone said he was obsessed with me. Why else would he keep me carrying litters for seven years and give Silver Ridge six heirs? When I went into labor with the seventh, I nearly bled out. Rowan sent the healers away and forced wolfsbane down my throat himself. Only then did he tell me the truth. If it were not for the fact that only a daughter of the Hart bloodline could bear pureblood Alpha heirs, he said, he never would have claimed me at all. I had been useful for one thing only: giving him heirs. Now that he had enough, I had none. I died hating him. In my second life, I handed the bond papers from Silver Ridge Pack to my sister. “Go,” I told her. “You’re the one he wants.” Five years later, she was sent back to me half-starved, shaking, and marked by restraints. Through sobs, she told me Rowan had never loved her either. He had kept her because she was still a Hart daughter, because she could give him heirs, and because her scent could calm him during rut. She died less than two months later. When I opened my eyes again, I was in my third life. The unsigned bond papers from Silver Ridge Pack lay on the table between us, and my sister and I could only stare at each other. Who, exactly, did that Alpha want?

By the seventh year of my cold war with my father, Don Leonardi Rossi, he finally found a way to win me over. He introduced me to the most powerful Mafia Don in southern Ritalle—Riccardo Colombo. For my happiness, my father was willing to give me half of the family's empire as a gift. I surrendered completely to Riccardo's love. Four months later, I was pregnant. Every prenatal check-up saw Bascily regions' two most influential Dons personally by my side. Everyone envied me for having two men who loved me so fiercely. Yet, on the day of my amniocentesis, they were both absent. "There's a new arms deal in the north," my father said, stroking my head. Riccardo kissed my belly gently. "I'll bring you gifts when I return." I smiled and watched them leave. But as I lay on the examination table, my phone buzzed with an anonymous video. In it, my father wore a groom's suit, standing beside Rosa—the prostitute who had infuriated my mother to death. Their illegitimate daughter, Lina, cradled her swollen belly, proudly wearing the Colombo family crest, and clung to my husband's arm. The announcer cried, "Congratulations to Don Rossi for reclaiming his one true love, and to Don Colombo for marrying his soulmate!" At the video's end, my father laughed and clinked glasses with Riccardo. "The fake crest and fake marriage certificate for Lia—you really outdid yourself. Aren't you worried she'll be heartbroken?" Riccardo snorted. "She never let Rosa into the house, leaving Lina to grow up as a bastard. This was what she owed her." So that was the truth. But when I finally left with my child for the Massimo family, why did they still regret it?

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.