By the time I reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the dim light of my house, they were gone entirely.
As I stepped out of the basement and into the storage room, I slid the closet door shut behind me, concealing the hidden entrance. The door was reinforced, password protected, and virtually impossible to find unless you knew exactly where to look.
But that wasn't the only way in. Beneath the house, connected through the labyrinth of old sewers, was another discreet entrance. It was perfect for transporting things or people without drawing any attention...Convenient, quiet, and utterly untraceable.
I adjusted the clutter in the storage room to its usual disorganised state, masking any signs of tampering. To the world above, everything here was just as mundane as it appeared.
As I locked the basement door and stepped into the hallway, a small smile tugged at my lips. I'd always wanted one of those secret rooms like I'd seen in movies growing up.
You know, the kind with hidden entrances behind bookshelves or walls that only opened with a code. It felt…cool. Practical too, given my circumstances.
I walked into my kitchen, sleek and modern with shiny countertops and state-of-the-art appliances, and grabbed some fruit from the fridge. Tossing them into the blender, I let it hum while I rested against the counter and thought about the past.
Back when all my mothers and I lived together in that sprawling mansion—a property bought by one of them, the owner of a multinational conglomerate, there wasn't much room for personal touches like secret basements. We lived like a family, sure, but privacy wasn't exactly part of the deal when you shared a home with seven women who doted on you every second of the day.
But now, living on my own, I finally had the freedom to create a space I could truly call mine. Upgrading this house to include my own hidden 'man cave' was one of the first things I did after moving in. Practicality aside, there was something deeply satisfying about it.
The blender beeped as it finished. I poured the smoothie into a tall glass, taking a sip...Refreshing, as always.
"Here's to independence." I muttered, raising the glass in a mock toast to no one in particular, before heading to the living room.
I settled down on the plush sofa, the soft cushions welcoming me as I relaxed into the comfort of my new living space.
Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the TV. A news broadcast flashed across the screen, a reporter's voice filling the room.
"...the city is currently experiencing a massive cyclone. Residents are urged to stay indoors until further notice for their safety. The storm is expected to last for several more days."
I turned my gaze towards the large windows, watching as the rain pounded against the glass, winds howling outside. The storm was a fierce one, the kind that made you feel small, even inside a sturdy house like this. The trees swayed violently in the gusts, and the sky had turned an ominous shade of grey, almost as if the heavens themselves were preparing for something monumental.
"Well, at least I stocked up."
I muttered to myself, thinking of the pantry full of supplies I'd prepared ahead of time. The storm might keep everyone inside, but at least I wouldn't be scrambling for food or essentials.
But as I watched the storm rage on, I couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration bubbling up. The trial my mother had set for me was weighing heavily on my mind, and I had been planning on meeting with my mothers soon to begin it.
The storm, though...It had thrown a wrench in my plans. Looks like everything would be delayed until the rain passed.
But to be honest, a part of me was also relieved, if I was being honest.
The idea of starting the trial immediately had me more than a little anxious.
How was I supposed to approach my mothers with the intention of making them fall for me?
Just thinking about it made my stomach twist in knots. It wasn't exactly a situation you could search for the solution on the internet.
Besides, I hadn't seen any of them in a couple of weeks. Life had gotten busy, and I'd been trying to carve out a routine for myself in this place of mine.
But knowing them, they wouldn't let me off easy for that. If they were to walk in now, I'd definitely get an earful—lectures about not visiting, about not calling as much as I should have.
I sighed again, running a hand through my hair.
"Maybe this storm is doing me a favor." I muttered to myself, glancing back at the raging winds outside.
It bought me time, time to figure out what to do, how to face them, and most importantly, how to even begin this impossible trial.
Still, no amount of planning could prepare me for the moment I'd see them again. Their smiles, their warmth, the way they could always read me like an open book.
How was I supposed to approach them with something so utterly…unnatural?
I shook my head, leaning further into the couch.
For now, I decided, I'd just let the storm rage...Tomorrow or whenever it cleared up would come soon enough.
Deciding not to dwell on the trial for now, I grabbed the remote and began flipping through the channels, hoping to distract myself. My thumb paused when a familiar voice filled the room, warm and soothing, like the first sip of a perfect cup of tea.
"And remember..." She said with a gentle smile, her tone as comforting as a soft embrace. "...the secret to a perfect broth isn't just the spices you use—it's the love you put into it. Cooking is about connecting with the people you care about, one dish at a time."
The screen flickered to life, revealing a pristine kitchen that looked like it had been plucked from a dream. And at its heart stood a woman whose beauty could only be described as otherworldly.
She turned to the camera, cradling a steaming pot of broth in her hands, her purple eyes glowing with an almost ethereal kindness. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves, the soft braid framing her flawless face adding an air of timeless elegance.
There she was...Luciana
An unbelievably stunning woman, moving with a grace that seemed both effortless and deliberate. Every gesture she made, from the way she stirred the pot to the way she glanced at the camera, carried an innate charm that felt impossible to ignore. The simple apron she wore only emphasised her natural beauty, hugging her curvy figure in a way that was tasteful yet captivating.
But it wasn't just her looks.
It was the way she spoke, the way her voice carried that gentle, reassuring tone, as if every word was a promise that life could always be just a little better with the right recipe.
Luciana wasn't just any cooking show host. She was 'the' host.
The face of the most-watched cooking channel in the world, adored by millions. People from every corner of the globe tuned in, not just for her dishes, which had become legends in their own right, but for her. For the woman who somehow made even boiling water look magical.
She was often called the greatest cook of all time. Her recipes weren't just meals; they were experiences that brought people together, mended broken bonds, and rekindled fading warmth in homes across the world.
Yet, for all her skill in the kitchen, it was her presence that truly made her unforgettable. She exuded an irresistible blend of motherly love and housewife-like charm, the kind that made you wish she was a part of your life.
I leaned back on the couch, captivated, as she effortlessly explained the next step in her recipe. Her every movement seemed deliberate, yet casual, as though this perfection came naturally to her. Her words carried a kind of magic, weaving together passion and care in a way that only she could.
I couldn't help but smile.
Luciana had always been like this—radiant, enchanting, larger than life yet somehow so grounded. Watching her now, it was easy to understand why the world adored her.
Even though I'd just sung her praises, it wasn't like I was some devoted fanboy glued to her shows.
In fact, I hardly watched them at all. My connection to her wasn't that of a mere viewer. No, it was something much closer, far more personal than anyone could ever imagine.
Because I was her—
Ding-dong!~ Ding Dong!~
The sharp, frantic chime of my doorbell jolted me out of my thoughts. The sound wasn't polite or casual—it was relentless, urgent, and borderline aggressive.
Whoever was at the door wasn't just asking to come in. They were demanding it.
I frowned, glancing toward the window. The storm outside was still raging in full force, with sheets of rain pounding against the glass and fierce winds howling through the streets.
Who in their right mind would be out in this chaos?
I wasn't expecting anyone, and even if I was, what kind of lunatic would brave a cyclone to come here?
Ding-dong!~ Ding Dong!~
The bell rang again, faster this time. I sighed, irritation prickling at me. Whoever this was, they weren't about to give up. Muttering under my breath, I made my way to the door, the sound of frantic ringing echoing louder with each step.
But the moment I unlocked the door and swung it open, the words I'd been preparing to snap at the intruder died on my tongue, and the only thing that left my mouth was an inaudible gasp.
Because standing on my doorstep, drenched from head to toe, was her.
At first, it didn't feel real. The storm raged behind her like something out of a movie, buckets of rain pouring down and casting her figure in a dramatic glow under the porch light.
Her long brown hair clung to her face, dripping wet and darker than usual, while her purple eyes gleamed with an intensity that matched the storm. A soaked coat was wrapped tightly around her, showing off her voluptuous figure that couldn't be hidden no matter how many layers she wore.
She clutched several bags in her hands, like she were ready to stay at my house for a while. Yet it was her expression that struck me the most—an unusual mix of determination and vulnerability, like she'd braved hell and high water to get here.
My heart skipped a beat.
I couldn't process it. This wasn't possible. She was just on my TV screen minutes ago, her warm voice soothing millions across the globe. And now...she was here?
No, not just here. Standing before me, flesh and blood, was none other than Luciana.
Luciana Valencia...One of my seven mothers.