Chapter 2 Three Slaps

After stepping out of the club, Gemma took out her phone. She reached out to Plume, a subordinate who once served under her in the Dominion, and sent a message announcing that she would soon return.

"Blue Bar in Olnstead. Send someone to clean up the bodies."

Within an hour, the news spread everywhere. The return of Death swept across multinational organizations, the Dominion headquarters, the military command, and many other circles.

Across the world, influential figures in different fields stopped what they were doing. Assistants received immediate instructions to clear schedules.

Everyone prepared to welcome Death's return.

...

At the same time, Brendan took Sallie to the hospital. After the examination ended, the result showed nothing serious. The drug in her system had only been a small amount, and the effect would pass soon.

Even so, Brendan couldn't calm the uneasy pounding in his chest. A sense of foreboding lingered in his mind.

Not long after, Brett Yates appeared at the hospital entrance. He was Brendan's bodyguard, the man Brendan had ordered to remain at the bar and watch Gemma.

The moment Brendan saw him, he stood up abruptly. "Why did you come here? Didn't I tell you to stay there and keep an eye on Gemma?"

Brett answered without hesitation, "Mr. Edwards, I believed you wanted me to stay and make sure those thugs handled her. I remained for a while. When I saw them doing exactly that, I left."

Brendan's expression shifted instantly.

He had only wanted Gemma to learn a lesson. Something severe enough to scare her into stopping her attacks against Sallie. After that, she would settle down and live quietly as his wife instead of creating trouble again and again.

His goal had been to frighten her. Letting those men actually rape her had never crossed his mind.

"Damn it!" Brendan shouted as he turned and rushed out.

"Brendan!" Sallie called after him and hurried to follow, but she couldn't catch up.

In a rush of panic, Brendan drove back to the bar. The moment he arrived, he spotted Gemma walking out the door.

"Gemma!"

Only when he got closer did he notice the state of her clothing. The fabric hung loosely as if it could fall apart at any moment.

Then he saw the blood. Her entire body was stained with it.

For a moment, Brendan's thoughts stopped completely. Alarm surged through him as he hurried to speak. "Gemma, listen to me. I only told them to scare you a little. I never expected them to actually do something like that."

In his mind, those thugs had already taken turns with her.

Before he could continue, a sharp slap struck his face.

Gemma's hand cut him off, ending the excuse he had just started.

She hissed, "That slap is because you were too blind and too foolish to see who actually sent those thugs."

Brendan froze, stunned by the blow. "I didn't..."

The second slap landed before the sentence could come out.

Her tone turned even colder. "That one is for how disgusting you are. You were ready to let those men ruin me."

"Gemma! How dare you!" The brief guilt Brendan had felt vanished the moment he received two slaps.

The third slap struck with even more force.

It carried her past affection for him and every bit of hatred born from this night.

"And that last one," she said slowly, "is for me. For being stupid enough to believe someone like you could ever make me happy."

Gemma lifted her hand and pointed toward the street.

Her voice turned cold. "Get lost."

Her entire body looked battered, yet her back remained straight. Something in the way she carried herself had completely changed.

The presence around her felt fierce enough to crush anything that stood in its way.

Was this really the same woman he had lived with all these years? The wife who always smiled gently and endured everything without protest?

Shock slowly turned into humiliation, and before he knew it, humiliation had twisted into blinding rage.

Brendan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. The guilt he had felt disappeared. "Gemma, I was wrong to leave you with them. I shouldn't have done that. But don't forget that you caused this. If you hadn't arranged for men to rape Sallie, none of this would have happened. Stop causing a scene and come home with me."

Brendan still believed nothing had truly changed. In his mind, this was just another outburst from Gemma. He assumed that once her temper cooled, she would return home like always.

Soon enough, she would wake before dawn, prepare his meals, and quietly resume the role of the obedient wife he was used to.

That assumption collapsed the moment he tried to reach for her. Before his hand could even touch her, Gemma knocked it aside with a sharp strike.

"Keep your hand off me. You make me sick." Her gaze turned cold as ice. "Brendan, you should thank your father. If it weren't for him, you'd already be dead."

During the six years since she left the Dominion and chose to live as an ordinary woman, the people she called family and the man she loved had treated her as though she meant nothing.

Only one person had ever shown her genuine kindness. Xander Edwards. Brendan's father.

If not for Xander, Brendan would not have walked away from this moment alive.

The force of her strike pushed Brendan back a step. He stood there, staring as Gemma walked away.

Ever since she returned to the Elliott family, she had always acted gentle and compliant. Around him, she had been quiet, careful, and eager to please. Never once had she spoken to him like this.

Once the shock faded, a mocking laugh escaped him.

"Interesting, Gemma," he muttered. "So this is the trick you're trying now? Throw a tantrum, slap me, then pretend you don't care? You really think this little performance will make me pay attention to you?"

In the business world, Brendan was one of the most sought after men. Countless women had tried to climb into his bed, yet none of them had ever caught his interest.

And Gemma? In his eyes, she was already a woman who had been ruined.

He gave a cold scoff. "Go ahead then," he said to himself. "Let's see how long you can keep pretending."

...

At the Eighwell Command base, chaos had already taken over the entire compound.

"It's her! Death has returned!"

Inside the command center, people crowded every corner of the room. No one could tear their gaze from the massive screen up front. A single message filled the display.

"I'm back."

The post came from Death.

"Move aside!" Adrian Johnson forced his way through the packed crowd as he cleared a path.

A tall man in military boots stepped forward. Rhys Clarke moved with calm authority, his sharp eyes scanning the room while his presence carried discipline and command. He stopped in front of the screen.

Adrian spoke quickly, unable to hide his excitement. "Mr. Clarke, we've confirmed it. That account belongs to Death. It has been silent for six years. This time... she has really returned."

For a moment, Rhys did not respond. His eyes remained fixed on the location attached to the post. Olnstead.

His jaw tightened slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice turned cold. "Prepare immediately. Locate Death before the self-destruct sequence on those classified files activates."

"Yes, sir!"

Rhys's expression hardened. He pulled a cord from around his wrist. The bullet casing tied to it still carried dried blood.

For six years, he had kept it with him.

Death would soon return.

And the debt between them had waited long enough.

This time, he would not allow her to disappear from his world again.