Gabrielle grew up in a darkness that didn’t just surround her—it taught her how to breathe. As the Evil Queen’s second daughter, she carried beauty that felt almost dangerous: long black waves spilling down to her waist, full lips that didn’t match her coldness, and gray doe eyes that only pretended to hold softness. The Isle carved away every piece of gentleness before it had a chance to grow, leaving her sharper, quieter, and far more ruthless than anyone expected. She learned early that silence was stronger than screaming.

When Evie left with Mal, Jay, and Carlos, Gabrielle felt betrayal sink into her bones like poison. They escaped the rust, hunger, and violence, leaving the rest of the villain kids behind to rot. Even worse, they acted like it was heroic. Gabrielle didn’t forgive them for that—not then, not ever. Their bright Auradon lives, their perfect smiles, their pretty little new beginnings only deepened her resentment. She stayed where the truth lived. They ran from it.

Gabrielle became everything they tried not to be. She embraced the Isle’s cruelty instead of fighting it. She found strength in coldness and power in choosing herself. And still, there was Harry Hook—wild grin, pirate swagger, eyes that gleamed when he caused trouble. He flirted like danger was a language, and chaos followed him wherever he walked. Somehow, he was the only person she didn’t avoid, maybe because he never pretended to be better. Maybe because he matched her darkness with his own.

Drizzella’s salon flickered with cheap lights and harsher smells, but Gabrielle sat like she belonged on a throne, legs crossed as Dizzy nervously perfected the last curl of her glossy hair. The child wanted her approval desperately, adjusting every strand with shaky hands. Gabrielle didn’t react. Her stillness alone made Dizzy beam, trying to impress her in every way she could. The air thickened with hairspray as the small shop buzzed around her.

The door slammed open, and the entire room seemed to tense at once. Harry Hook walked in with the confidence of someone who didn’t need permission to ruin anything. His boots hit the floor heavily, his hook tapping like a warning. His eyes found Gabrielle immediately, and that crooked smirk curled across his face. Dizzy froze, already expecting trouble. She wasn’t wrong.

Harry strutted to the counter and slammed his hook onto the register, forcing it open with a metallic clank. Coins flew, and he knocked the tip jar over just because he felt like watching Dizzy scramble. The coins scattered across the floor, bouncing and rolling. She dropped to her knees, panicked, trying to grab everything before he could ruin more. Harry crouched beside her, dragging his hook across the wood to make her flinch. He nudged a coin out of her reach with a lazy grin.

“Don’t cry, lass,” he drawled, already pocketing a few coins. “Call it a pirate’s discount.” He rose slowly, letting each step toward Gabrielle echo with arrogant swagger. His eyes swept over her hair, her nails, the icy calm she wore like armor. He leaned close, waiting for her reaction—because she was the only person who could make him pause.

Gabrielle didn’t blink. She just chewed her mint gum lazily, gaze heavy and unreadable. Then she lifted her hand, pulled the gum from her mouth with two fingers, and pressed it right onto the sharp tip of his hook without looking away. The room went dead silent. Dizzy stared like she had just witnessed a felony. Harry’s smirk faltered for a breath—but then turned feral.

He lifted the hook, gum sticking to the metal. He didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and pulled the gum off with his tongue, chewing it with a grin so wicked the lights seemed to dim. Dizzy squeaked, horrified. Harry never broke eye contact with Gabrielle.

“Well,” he murmured, voice low and thrilled, “that’s one way to make me behave.”