The Seven Club - A Short Story

Day One – The Acknowledgment

The first day was always the longest. It dragged. The only part I didn’t control—and that irritated me. I craved order, not the unknowns of a beginning.

I waited. Watched. Prepared.

This one was different. Not in looks—though striking—but in how oblivious she seemed. Most of them sensed me: a glance, a quickened step, a flicker of nervousness.

But not her.

She moved in her own orbit. Unbothered.

I’d been near her for weeks.

On Day One, I delivered a package to the neighbor, timing it with her return. She didn't even look at me.

I walked my dog at dawn and passed as she watered her plants. Nothing.

Jogged by at dusk. Still nothing.

But today …

She moved with confidence—tall, dark-skinned, curvy, wearing black biker shorts and a red sports bra. Every detail affected my senses.

She turned as I jogged past. Our eyes locked. No fear, just curiosity.

She smiled—knowing.

“Hello,” she mouthed; no sound, just acknowledgment.

It begins.

Day Two – The Following

At 7:45, she left for work. Same unhurried stride.

I watched from a few houses down in a gray sedan. It was unremarkable and had been bought in cash at the local auction.

She drove a black Mercedes. Clean. No vanity plates. She liked style.

I followed five cars back. She stopped and parked between a wine shop and a dessert café in the downtown district. Entered a salon.

Was that her name on the window?

I called the number.

“Thank you for calling—” she answered, professional.

“I’d like to speak to the owner.”

“This is her.”

She didn’t hesitate.

She built this. Ran it. Controlled it.

Transformation as art.

In a perfect world, she’d admire my art too.

I hung up as she glanced at the phone, shrugged, put the phone on the received and moved on as if I never called.

Unshaken.

Day Three – The Gift

Time to send a signal.

I bought long-stemmed red roses from Green & Bloom, the tucked-away shop run by Harold and Josie, husband and wife. Cash only. No cameras. No questions.

“New girl?” Harold asked, snipping stems with a slick smile on his face.

“Something like that.”

Josie tsked, not liking my game, thinks I send too many flowers.

The card read: To the most beautiful woman I've yet to meet with a burner number and no name.

By noon, the flowers sat in her salon amongst curious eyes and whispered guesses.

She smiled, accepted them and went on to her client as if they weren’t in the shop.

That night, she didn’t call or text to inquire. The burner stayed cold.

But she didn’t call or text.

Unmoved.

Day Four – The Meet Cute

She sat cross-legged under the sycamore, reading. A fruit container was beside her. Her movements were automatic as she reached for the strawberries without looking. She was reading, relaxing.

I approached.

“Good book?” I asked.

She looked up and slid her glasses down. "Pardon…"

I pointed. “The book ... is it a good read?”

She turned the book to look at the cover and then back at me shrugging. “It’s okay.”

Neutral response.

I smiled and offered my hand. She shook it—firm grip.

“You’re stunning,” I offered.

She smirked. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

I gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Only when it’s true.”

I gestured to the spot beside her. She nodded.

I sat. “Do you work around here?”

“Salon, next block,” she said. “You?”

“Dropping off dry cleaning on the corner.” I lied.

“Where do you work?”

“I’m an IT analyst for a Startup company in the city.”

“You’re a long way from the city just to drop off clothes.”

I felt the pulse in my neck twitch as she questioned my lie and covered quickly. “Coupon, just trying them out.”

We talked until she checked her watch.

She stood and gathered her belonging. “Have to run, I’ve got a client.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I said, rising.

She smiled. I touched her hand.

“Dinner tomorrow?”

She considered me. “Pick me up after hours. At the salon.”

Danger.

Day Five – The Date

She stepped out, and gravity shifted. Black dress, gold pendant, heels clicking with purpose.

She kissed my cheek. “I love a man who can hang a suit.”

I faltered but recovered.

I pointed to my car, “Shall we?”

Inside, I handed her a single rose.

“So it was you,” she said, inhaling. “My secret admirer.”

“Guilty.”

She kissed my cheek—our lips met instead.

Dinner was at La Vie. Low lighting. Candle between us. She fit the space perfectly.

“What do you really do?” she asked.

“Jack of all trades.”

“Master of one?”

I tilted my head, intrigued. Confidence looked good on her.

Dangerous. I liked that.

She ran her finger over the rim of wine, making the glass sing. “You’re … mysterious.”

“You like that?”

She shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”

She wasn’t playing a game. She just was. That disarmed me.

As we left, I asked softly, “Too soon to ask something?”

She leaned in, lips to my ear.

“Yes.”

Day Six – The Turning Point

Nearby hotel.

I’d been with many women. This wasn’t the same.

She didn’t yield—she took. Her rhythm was deliberate, her touch commanding. No hesitation.

She moaned my name like an anchor. Each time, something in me shifted.

Could I keep her?

Too Dangerous. I tried to shake the thought.

But breaking the rules meant removing my fiancée.

Too complicated. Too public. She was my cover. My shield.

But this woman… she felt like something else.

I lay beside her, watching her sleep. Wanted to brush a curl from her cheek.

I didn’t.

She made me feel.

And that was risky.

Day Seven – Welcome to The Seven Club

Day Seven was routine. Morning kiss goodbye then set the scene.

But today wasn’t routine because the kiss was instinct. Not supposed to happen.

I watched her leave. 7:45 a.m., on time.

Cut the Wi-Fi. Entered her home by the side of her house.

Lavender and vanilla in the air. Tidy kitchen. Minimalist closet. I invaded her space. Crawled in her bed. Could picture myself here.

I set up the room anyway. Plastic sheeting covered the floor. The custom-made 10x10 box was nearby so she could watch me work. The pithing needle was in my pocket.

Then I waited.

She didn’t come home.

An hour. Two.

She was still at the salon. Apple Tag told me that.

Was this fate?

I thought of my fiancée. Cancun. Matching Christmas pajamas with our families. Lies.

This woman could replace it all.

I could change.

I collected my belongings, left no trace, and drove home lighter than ever.

Opened the door—

Pain. Blinding.

A blow to the skull. Another.

Darkness.

Day Eight – The Reality

I dragged him to the couch. Tied him tight. Thought about gagging him—but I wanted him to speak.

He woke. Groggy. Tried to talk.

I shushed him. “Don’t. It’s my turn.”

I told him a story—about twin sisters. Big and Little. Identical, yet distinct. Closer than close.

Little met a man. She noticed him delivering a package and though he followed her one day. Then the flowers and a chance meeting.

Big was overprotective but instead of protecting, she told little to live a little.

Then a date. Little borrowed Big’s dress and Big did her hair.

Day Six. Little said he didn’t hurt her. Just took something and left her feeling empty.

Day Seven—Little disappeared. Big went to her apartment and found the box. All the blood.

“How’d you know?” he asked.

“You weren’t subtle.”

“You were different,” he said. “I changed my mind because you were different. You felt it too.”

I recreated Day Six. Straddled him. Whispered his name. Real When Harry Met Sally moment.

Then I laughed, he cursed and struggled.

“There’s your Day Six.”

He screamed until he saw the pithing needle.

I told him about my camera I planted that didn’t run off wi-fi. How I watched him set up to kill me.

I slid the needle into his spine. Explained I only saw it done on YouTube. Didn’t matter if I got it right. Watched him twitch.

“You have two choices.” I spoke. “Needle stays in, minimal damage but you got to jail, or we wait, I pull the needle out and you never walk again.”

He sagged. Paralyzed.

He chose.

We waited.

I yanked the needle out, called 911 and left the phone by his head.

I kissed him goodbye, and he kissed me back.

I let him.

Day Eight – The Aftermath

White lights. Questions. I said nothing.

Not to protect myself.

To protect her.

I loved her. Maybe because of everything.

They kept asking. I simply asked them to call my fiancé.

She arrived—crying, frantic.

The surgeon came in wearing green scrubs and tested my reflexes.

“Do you feel that?”

I shook my head.

She cried harder.

God, I wish she would shut the hell up.

The doctor kept testing, kept asking, and I kept shaking my head.

Until—

A flicker.

My left foot. A faint sensation.

The doctor smiled. “That’s good.”

My family cried with relief.

I smiled, too.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.