The Seventh Daughter of Jezebel

By 8pm that night, Shantel strolled out of her room onto the balcony. From her apartment, which was a few blocks away from Three Star Hotel, she could see the gilded ballroom— a glass box suspended over the heart of Valencia. 

Tonight, it was alive with music and laughter, hosting the very event she had meticulously avoided for years: The Hale Foundation Annual Gala.

Her mother, Jessica Hale, would be undoubtedly there, stealing the show in some impossibly elegant gown, surrounded by admirers and enemies alike. 

Shantel could practically imagine her signature laugh cutting ringing through the ballroom. It was a laugh Shantel had spent years trying to cut off from her life.

She turned away from the view and stepped back inside her apartment, the sound of her bare feet muffled against the worn wooden floor. 

The contrast between the glamour of the gala and her modest studio apartment was stark, but Shantel had no desire for the former. She had worked hard to build a life of quiet simplicity abroad, which was a far cry from her mother's world of ruthless power plays and glittering façades.

As she poured herself a glass of wine, her phone buzzed on the counter. Shantel glanced at it, her brows furrowing at the name on the screen.

Grant Lively.

She hesitated, then picked up. "Grant. It's been a while."

"Not long enough," came the dry reply. 

Grant was an old client and one of the few who had survived her uncompromising standards and earned her respect, thus he knew her other identity as Elsa. 

"I'm not calling to reminisce. I'm calling to warn you."

Shantel leaned against the counter. "Warn me? About what?"

"Not what. Who." He sighed. "Richard Domango is looking for you. I heard he was at the airport today… I don't know how he got a whiff that you were arriving today."

"I informed him and we've met."

"What?"

"Not as Elsa of course," Shantel corrected.

"Oh. You almost scared the hell out of me. So what does he want?"

"Guess. But just a tip-off. He's not after my body, I can tell you that for sure."

"I know, but that's only because he's a fool. He needs Elsa's help, right ."

"How do you know?" 

"The state of his company is all over the place, besides, his assistant contacted me and I told him you don't work for men like Richard Domango," Grant said. 

He was there the day Richard made a public mockery of Shantel and knew all Shantel would want to dish out to Richard was nothing but cool, sweet revenge… not help save his useless company. 

"You know me the best but this time I think I might…"

"You might what?" Grant couldn't hide the shock from his voice. "Don't tell me you want to help …"

A knock at the door cut Grant off. Shantel's slender brow puckered in a slight frown. Slowly, she walked to the door and peered through the peephole thinking it must be Grant or even one of her sisters. Only Grant, her family and of course Richard Domango knew she was back in the country. 

So she wasn't surprised when she saw her sisters through the peephole.

"Shantel, why are you still couped up in this pighole you call an apartment? Come down for the party," Maggie Hale said as soon as they entered the room and saw Shantel not yet dressed for the party. 

"I already told you, big sis… I might not be making an appearance tonight."

"Didn't I tell you, Maggie. It's already a miracle she flew down this year. We should at least be content with that," Claudia Hale, her sixth sister said. 

She was the one closest in age to Shantel and the only one she shared a slight bond with. 

The rest of her five sisters were quite older and almost strangers to her. Perhaps it was the age difference and the fact that they constantly went with their mother to discuss business deals, leaving Shantel alone with Claudia and their nanny. 

Or the fact that she had gone to live with her paternal grandmother at the age of six and from there, charted a different path for herself. 

Whatever the case might be, they were never close and never made any effort to understand her— least of all, understand her decision to steer clear of the family business when she could have easily gotten a piece of the national cake. 

Her alienation and decision to have nothing to do with the vast wealth amassed by their mother was a concern to them initially, but as time went on, they were too busy to dwell on it for long. 

Perhaps they were even happy she wasn't dragging anything with them, after all, one less heiress to the family fortune was better, she presumed.

"Mom is about to give her speech, won't you at least give her that honor since you're here this year?" Selene said. Her tone came out more as a reproof than reasoning. She was the eldest with a domineering character just like their mother.

Sometimes, Shantel wondered how her husband was able to cope with such a strong character.

"I'll be down shortly. Give me sometime to get ready."

"And by that I believe you mean 'disguise yourself.' How long are you going to keep on playing Virgin Mary?" Maggie snickered. "After all these years you still think the whole bunch of us are sinners, right?"

Claudia shot Maggie a warning glance, but the damage had already been done. Shantel set down her wine glass so smoothly that the stem didn't even make the slightest clicking sound against the counter— one wouldn't know if what her sister had said affected her in any way or not.

"I never said that," she said casually. Little did her sisters know that this time she had a mission that will best be accomplished with the identity of the Seventh daughter of Jezebel and not the masked lady people have come to know her with. She wasn't going to hide from anyone. But that was not for her to tell but for them to find out.

Maggie scoffed, oblivious of her sister's plans. "You don't have to. It's written all over your holier-than-thou act." 

She strolled further into the apartment, swept her gaze over the modest furniture with something between amusement and disdain. "I mean, look at this place, Shantel. A Hale daughter living like—"