Chapter 3: Slap of Reclamation

Daniels House

Baraneil was sipping tea, a smug smile on her face. "Don't worry, honey," she said to her daughter, Yara Daniels. "By now, that brat Gabrielle is probably crying in President Brute’s bed. Once the contract is signed and your father’s debt is gone, we can finally move into the new penthouse."

"But Mom, what if she tells Dad?" Yara asked, preening herself in the mirror.

"Your father won't care. He’s just happy to be out of the red. Besides, who would believe her?"

At that moment, the heavy mahogany front doors were kicked open.

The sound was like a gunshot. Baraneil jumped, spilling tea on her designer dress. "Who? What is the meaning of—"

She froze.

Gabrielle walked in, her head held high. Behind her, four hulking bodyguards in black suits filed into the hallway, their presence turning the luxurious living room into a cramped cage.

"Gabrielle?" Baraneil gasped, her face turning ashen. "You... How did you get away?"

Gabrielle walked up to her stepmother, her expression as cold as the man she had married that morning. Without a word, she raised her hand and delivered a slap that sent Baraneil stumbling back into the coffee table.

"That," Gabrielle said, her voice echoing in the shocked silence, "was for the tea."

Yara screamed, "You bitch! How dare you! Guard! Call the police!"

"Go ahead," Gabrielle said, leaning in, her eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. "But you might want to explain to the police and the Shore Group why you kidnapped their CEO's wife."

Baraneil’s heart stopped. "C-CEO? What are you talking about?"

Gabrielle held up the red marriage booklet, the gold emblem of the Shore family shining under the chandelier.

"Meet the new Mrs. Shore," Gabrielle whispered. "And I’m here to collect your debt."

The silence in the Daniels House was so thick it felt suffocating. Baraneil stared at the red booklet in Gabrielle’s hand as if it were a live grenade.

"Ethan…Shore?" Baraneil stammered, her face draining of all color. "That’s impossible. A man like him wouldn't marry a... a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" Gabrielle’s voice was as sharp as a diamond. "You mean the girl you tried to sell? You’re right. He didn't. He married a woman who now has the power to crush you with a single phone call."

Yara, recovering from her shock, lunged forward. "You’re lying! This must be a fake! You probably forged that—"

One of the bodyguards with shoulders like a mountain, stepped forward. The sheer coldness in his eyes made Yara trip over her own feet. "Miss Daniels, I suggest you watch your tongue. Insulting the Madam of the Shore family is an insult to Mr. Shore himself. The consequences are... Deadly."

Gabrielle didn't wait for them to process their fear. She walked past them, heading straight for the staircase. "I’m here for my mother’s jewelry box and her journals. If a single item is missing, I’ll have the Shore legal team audit every cent my father has 'borrowed' from the family estate over the last ten years. You’ll be in debt for three lifetimes."

Baraneil collapsed onto the sofa, watching helplessly as the girl she had bullied for years reclaimed her inheritance. Ten minutes later, Gabrielle walked down the stairs, clutching a small, worn rosewood box to her chest. It was the only piece of her mother she had left.

As she walked out the door, she paused, looking back at the house that had been her home. "Oh, and Baraneil? Don't bother calling President Brute. Mr. Shore’s assistant is currently 'discussing' his business practices with the tax bureau. I don't think he’ll be in the mood for a bride today."

The Shore Estate: A Cold Paradise

If the Daniels House was a luxurious villa, the Shore Estate was a ornate fortress. Situated on a private hill overlooking the ocean, the estate was a masterpiece of modern architecture—all glass, steel, and cold white marble.

As the Audi pulled up, a line of servants stood waiting. At the head was Madam Helene, a woman in her sixties with a face that looked like it hadn't smiled since the Great Depression.

"Welcome home, Madam," the staff chorused, though their eyes were filled with curiosity and judgment.

Madam Helene stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over Gabrielle’s modest dress. "The Master is still at the office. I have been instructed to show you to your room.”

Gabrielle nodded, feeling the weight of the "Golden Cage". It was exactly what she had asked for—protection and distance. But as she walked through the echoing halls, the sheer loneliness of the place began to seep into her bones.

Inside her suite, everything was brand new—designer clothes, luxury skincare, and a bed large enough for five people. But there was no warmth. She sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her mother’s box, and for the first time since the previous night, she let out a deep shaky breath.

"I survived," she whispered to the empty room.