Seven Mothers: All Seven Of My Mothers Are Heavenly Goddesses?!

My mother held the phone in her hands, her thumb brushing over the screen absently as she sighed.

"Honestly, one call is enough for me. That last one already stressed me out more than I thought it would." She let out a light laugh, shaking her head as if to clear the lingering tension. "Here, take your phone back before I get tempted to call anyone else."

She handed the phone back to me with a small sigh, her fingers brushing against mine as she did so.

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting someone so mature to pick up. I thought for sure it'd be some…I don't know, college girl, someone who'd be easy for you to charm."

I took the phone, sliding it into my pocket as I raised an eyebrow.

"College girl? Easy to charm? What do you take me for?" I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms with a smug grin. "There's no way I'd go for some poor girl who's drunk in a bar. Only pathetic people do that."

She tilted her head, her lips quirking up into an amused smile, and asked, "Oh? And what do you go for, then?"

"I like a challenge." I said confidently, brushing invisible dust off my shirt. "Someone who looks like they'd never even give me the time of day. That's the fun part—winning over someone who wouldn't even glance my way."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"So that's your type, huh? Someone untouchable?"

"Exactly." I replied with a nod, my grin widening. "What's the point of playing if it's not a little thrilling?"

Her smile lingered for a moment before it turned into something sly, her eyes glinting mischievously, and she asked,

"Right…So, was that the reason you brought three girls to your house one day and got caught red-handed?"

I froze...My confident expression crumbled in an instant, my brain screeching to a halt as her words sank in.

"Wait…W-What?"

"Oh, don't 'what' me." She said, leaning forward with her arms crossed, her tone playful yet scolding. "I distinctly remember that day. Three girls, Luca. All at once. And who was it that caught you in the act?" She tapped her chin as if pretending to recall. "Oh, right. Me."

"Mom, I thought we agreed never to bring that up again." I groaned, slumping into the couch as the memory came rushing back.

"Did we? I don't recall signing any contracts." She grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Seriously, why do you always have to dig up the past?" I muttered, my ears burning as I avoided her gaze.

It was two years ago, but the memory still lingered like an old wound that hadn't quite healed. I had just moved into this house—my first taste of real independence—and, for a while, life had been smooth. Peaceful, even. That was until the incident.

It started with a key. A spare key that I had definitely not given to my mother, but she somehow managed to acquire anyway. I didn't realise it at the time, but my peaceful little haven wasn't as secure as I thought.

One day, she decided to drop by for a "surprise visit." Not just any visit, mind you—she came with bags full of groceries and decorations, all ready to throw a house-warming party for me. Her reasoning? She felt it was her motherly duty to make my new house feel like home. Classic Mom.

When she walked in, she must've expected to see me lounging in the living room or maybe cooking something in the kitchen. But instead, she was greeted with silence.

She checked the kitchen. Empty.

The bathroom? Nothing.

Even the living room was untouched.

"Where is that boy?" She muttered, probably thinking I was just being my usual lazy self.

Then, with her natural motherly instincts—or maybe just sheer stubbornness—she made her way to my bedroom.

The door was slightly ajar, and from what I've pieced together, she must've thought I was sleeping in. She probably smiled, thinking, Oh, Luca's finally getting some rest. How sweet.

But the moment she opened that door? All hell broke loose.

I didn't hear her footsteps. I didn't even hear the door creak open. The first thing I heard was her voice—louder than I'd ever heard it before and filled with disbelief and fury.

"Luca Valencia!"

My eyes snapped open instantly. I sat up, disoriented, my heart pounding. But when I realised what had happened—when I saw her standing there, pointing at me like I'd just committed the ultimate crime—I froze.

There were three girls on the bed. One on each side of me, and one sprawled halfway across my chest. All of them were still half-asleep, blissfully unaware of the wrath standing in the doorway.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. My brain was scrambling for an explanation, any explanation, that might make this situation look less… damning.

"Mom?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes narrowed, and I could feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees. "What am I doing here? What are you doing with them?!"

The girls began to stir, groaning softly as they rubbed their eyes. When they finally realised what was happening, chaos erupted. One of them let out a high-pitched squeak and immediately dove under the covers. Another scrambled to grab her shoes, muttering something about "bad timing." The third just sat there, wide-eyed, clearly too stunned to move.

"Mom, I can explain!" I said, holding up my hands in surrender.

"Oh, this should be good." She shot back, crossing her arms. Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass. "Go on, Luca. Explain."

I glanced at the girls, who were now fumbling to gather their things and bolt out of the room. "They're just friends!" I blurted out, my voice cracking.

"Friends?!" She repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief. "What kind of 'friends' sleep in your bed?!"

"They didn't have anywhere else to go!" I said quickly. "It was late, and—"

"And so you played human mattress for them?"

"Mom, it's not like that!"

But she wasn't having it. She stood there, arms crossed, tapping her foot in that way that told me I was in for one of her legendary lectures. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, and I could feel my doom closing in fast.

The girls, meanwhile, had clearly pieced together what was happening. They glanced between my mother and me, their faces pale as they realised they were caught in the middle of something they absolutely did not want to be a part of.

One of them, in a frantic attempt to escape, swung her legs over the side of the bed. But as soon as her feet touched the floor, she let out a small whimper and froze. The events of the previous night had clearly taken a toll on her body. Her legs trembled like jelly, and she wobbled unsteadily, her panic mounting.

"I-I can't move." She whispered, her voice trembling.

Another girl tried to follow, but as soon as she stood, her knees buckled, and with a yelp, she collapsed back onto the bed. The third, clearly the most panicked, made a desperate lunge toward the edge of the bed—only to lose her balance completely and tumble off with a loud thud, her face meeting the floor in a way that made even me wince.

The sound snapped my mother out of her righteous fury. Her eyes widened, and before I could even process what was happening, her motherly instincts kicked in full force.

"Oh, my goodness!" She gasped, rushing to the fallen girl's side. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Let me help you."

She crouched down, gently helping the poor girl sit up, her anger toward me momentarily forgotten. The girl's face was bright red, both from embarrassment and the impact, but she nodded quickly, clearly grateful for the help.

My mother's tone softened as she addressed all three of them. "Are you girls alright? You shouldn't be pushing yourselves like this if you're not feeling well."

I blinked, completely dumbfounded. Just moments ago, she had been ready to tear into me like a lioness. But now? Now she was fussing over the same girls she'd caught in my bed, her concern genuine and unwavering.

"Why don't you all come downstairs?" She said warmly. "I'll make you some breakfast. You need to eat something to regain your strength."

The girls exchanged nervous glances but ultimately nodded, too intimidated by her motherly presence to refuse. And somehow—don't ask me how—I ended up carrying two of them downstairs while my mother helped the third.

Once we were all seated at the dining table, my mother set to work in the kitchen, whipping up a breakfast spread that would put any professional chef to shame. I, meanwhile, sat in awkward silence, watching as she effortlessly charmed the girls with her caring demeanor.

As they ate, she began speaking to them in a gentle but firm tone. "Listen, girls, I know how easy it is to fall for a guy's sweet words, especially when they're charming and persistent like my son." Her eyes flicked to me briefly, and I felt the heat of her judgment. "But you need to be careful. Not every guy who seems nice has your best interests at heart."

The girls nodded obediently, clearly hanging onto her every word.

One of them even muttered, "You're right…Thank you, ma'am."

By the time breakfast was over, they looked more like students attending a life lesson than three girls who had been caught in a compromising situation.

My mother even sent them off with her autograph, which they eagerly accepted, looking at her with admiration as if she were some kind of celebrity—which, technically, she was.

As soon as the door closed behind them, though, her expression shifted. She turned to me slowly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Luca Valencia." She began, her tone dangerously calm. "We need to talk."

What followed was an hour-long lecture that I'll never forget. She scolded me about responsibility, respect, and common sense, punctuating every sentence with the kind of exasperation only a mother could muster.

That day? It was one for the books. And not in a good way.