Vengeance in His Bed

Damian choked for air beneath the crushing weight of Dorrent’s grip, his eyes flicking over the giant tycoon’s shoulder toward the doorway of the treatment bay. There, standing completely frozen in absolute terror, was his young clinical assistant, a lower-district omega beta who was clutching a tray of surgical instruments so tightly her knuckles were translucent. The overwhelming wave of Dorrent’s winter-frost pheromones had entirely paralyzed her system, the static making it nearly impossible for her to breathe.

"L-Lucy..." Damian managed to gasp out, his voice strained and tight as he kept his eyes locked on his assistant. "Take the keys from the counter. Move the rest of the patients... to the western triage room. Take care of them and lock the barrier. Do not open it until I call you."

The girl nodded, her teeth chattering from the biological pressure radiating from Dorrent’s massive frame. She scooped up the medical logs and scurried out of the room like a frightened animal, her footsteps fading down the concrete corridor until a door hissed shut behind her.

The moment the room was clear, Damian turned his focus back to the stone-faced CEO. He reached up, forcefully tapping his fingers against Dorrent’s wrists. "We can’t solve a damn thing while you’re actively crushing my larynx."

Dorrent stared down at him for a long, suffocating beat, his silver eyes completely swamped with a dangerous crimson light that carried the promise of immediate violence. Slowly, deliberately, he relaxed his fingers, releasing the fabric of Damian’s lab coat. He didn’t step back, however; his towering muscled torso remained rooted in place, blocking the only exit from the examination bay, trapping the young doctor within his massive shadow.

Damian adjusted his crumpled collar, coughing slightly to clear his airway as he gestured toward a pair of low, sterile stools positioned near the back wall of the consultation room. "Get in the back room," Damian muttered, turning his back on the tycoon to stride into the quiet, cluttered administrative space where his patient charts were filed. He pulled out a rolling chair and sat down, rubbing his sore neck. "Sit down, Grefo. You look like you’re about to have a systemic stroke, and I don’t have the premium medical equipment in this lower sector to resuscitate an S-tier billionaire."

"I am perfectly okay standing exactly where I am," Dorrent growled, his voice dropping into a flat rasp. He stood rigid in the center of the small office, his arms crossed over his chest plates. "I didn’t ride down to this disgusting gutter to exchange social pleasantries with you, Boren. Talk already. Every single second you waste playing these pathetic psychological games, the toxin is continuing its replication cycle inside her bloodstream."

Damian let out an exhausted sigh, leaning his elbows on his desk as he looked up at the furious tycoon. A flash of resentment and confusion cut through his eyes. "I continue to wonder, Grefo... why the hell do you keep on blaming me for every single misfortune that falls upon Jannah’s life? Why run straight down here to point your finger at me."

Damian’s jaw tightened, his own Alpha presence flaring slightly in the cramped office to defend his professional pride. "But since you are blaming my father for orchestrating this hit... then yes, we should probably talk. I do not want to see my girlfriend dead. I love her, and I will damn well do whatever it takes to keep her breathing. But there is a massive, gaping hole in your logical data that I need answered first."

Damian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into slits as he locked his gaze into Dorrent’s silver pupils. "Why the hell are you so concerned about Jannah’s physical well-being, Dorrent? Who the hell is she really to you? She is a penniless, lower-district herbalist from the slums, yet you are currently tearing this entire city and running around half-dressed like a madman just because her temperature spiked. Why do you keep on consistently evading that question every single time I bring it to your face?"

"It is none of your damn business, Boren," Dorrent barked instantly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, possessive edge. He stepped an inch closer, his winter-frost pheromones surging forward to wrap around Damian’s desk. "Let me make this clear. She works for me, and her survival is critical to my operations. That is the only piece of information you are entitled to know. Stop asking about things that do not concern you."

Damian let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he evaluated the territorial madness radiating from the billionaire’s frame. " You think I’m stupid, Grefo? I’ve seen how you look at her. But fine... We’ll talk about that later. If Jannah’s wound is infected, I will have to talk to my father."

Damian stood up from his chair, reaching onto the desk to grab a blank medical slip and a stylus. "Since I do not have a solution right now, you have no choice but to wait for my response. We need to exchange contacts immediately."

Dorrent’s expression went still, his fists clenching inside his pockets. The thought of leaving Jannah’s survival in the hands of his rival made his pride burn with an insufferable torment. But he doesn’t cooperate, the girl would be dead before tomorrow morning.

With a venomous snarl curling his lips, Dorrent snatched his smartphone from his pocket, aggressively tapping the screen to transfer his unlisted communications channel to Damian’s device.

"Listen to me, gutter-doctor," Dorrent whispered, his voice dropping. He shoved his phone back into his trousers, glaring down at Damian with a murderous intensity. "I won’t wait for your response the whole damn day. I will be expecting your call soon."

Without waiting for another single word from the doctor, Dorrent spun around on his shoes and stomped out of the back office, his frame tearing through the doors.

He marched out onto the cracked concrete pavement of the 3rd Street slums, the hot, dust-laden air of the lower sector hitting his bare chest. Standing right beside the idling transport vehicle was Shadron. The silver-haired Alpha was leaning casually against the hood, his eyes tracking the local gang scouts who were lingering in the dark alleys across the street, his robe billowing slightly in the wind.

The moment Shadron saw Dorrent’s furious, disorganized frame emerge from the clinic, he threw his hands up in exasperation.

"For fuck’s sake, Dorrent!" Shadron shouted, his voice echoing loudly across the quiet, impoverished street as he stepped forward to block his billionaire friend’s path to the driver-side door. "Are you completely losing your mind?! Look at yourself! You are the sovereign king of the tech industry, a multi-billion-credit tycoon, and you are currently running around the deepest, most dangerous war zone of the slums with your shirt unbuttoned, picking physical fights with the Mafia God’s son! Why the hell are you going through all of this catastrophic madness for a mere housemaid?!"

Shadron reached out, grabbing Dorrent’s shoulder, his face tightening into frustration. "You have Joanne waiting for you in the high district! A literal beauty queen, an elite, top-tier beta from a founding family who is perfectly matched to your social status and your wealth! A woman who can give you everything you want without bringing a single drop of criminal drama to your doorstep! Why are you risking your life for a dirty little slum rat?!"

Dorrent stopped dead in his tracks, his entire torso vibrating with a sudden, explosive wave of fury. He slapped Shadron’s hand off his shoulder, his long fingers turning into a lethal claw as he leaned down, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, crimson light that made his S-tier Alpha authority crash against Shadron’s senses like a physical shockwave.

"Shut your damn mouth, Shadron!" Dorrent roared, his voice low. He opened the door of the transport, his jaw tightening. "You don’t know a single damn thing about what is happening. You don’t know how important Jannah is to me."