Vengeance in His Bed novel Chapter 127

Chapter 127: Obsession Beyond Redemption

The words struck Dorrent like a physical blow, detonating inside his skull with a force that made his vision briefly go pitch black. His breath caught in his chest, his frame shuddering as a cold dread flooded his veins. His silver eyes dilated, staring at his mother in shock.

No. It can’t be true.

The room seemed to spin around him, the air suddenly growing so thick and suffocating he could barely draw it into his lungs. The heavy silence of the study pressed against his eardrums, but inside his head, a memory was tearing its way out of the dark, forgotten corners of his mind.

Instantly, his brain flashed back to that storm-ridden night in Jannah’s bedroom—the night he had unearthed her lethal poisons and held her by the throat as she choked on her own venom. He recalled with terrifying clarity the exact way she had looked at him. He remembered the raw, venomous fire burning in her dark eyes, the tears of agony and hatred pouring down her cheeks, and the chilling rasp of her voice: I hate you... I hate you so bad, Dorrent Grefo. You are a monster!

At the time, he had been too blinded by his own rage to understand the depth of her words. He had dismissed it as the desperate lashing out of a trapped slum rat. But now, the memory mutilated his pride. The puzzle pieces didn’t just fit—they locked together with a horrific, bloody click.

"It can’t be true," Dorrent muttered, his voice dropping into a broken whisper. He shook his head, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the desk so hard the wood groaned. "It can’t be true..."

He lifted his gaze, his silver eyes flashing with a desperate denial as he glared at his mother. "You’re lying to me, Mother! You are weaving a sickening, pathetic fabrication just to force me to let go of Jannah! You want me to abandon her so I can fulfill your precious Moscow alliance and marry Joanne! It is completely impossible!"

Himelda did not flinch under his roaring denial. Instead, her face hardened into a look of profound, chilling pity. She stood perfectly still, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at her unraveling son.

"Believe whatever comforting lies you need to tell your pathetic conscience, Dorrent," Himelda delivered ruthlessly, her voice cutting through his panic like a scalpel. "But deep down, your inner self knows the reality. You know damn well that nine years ago, you underwent the black cycle rut. You were a monster, completely consumed by an unstable, S-tier primal madness that your body couldn’t control."

She took a slow, deliberate step toward him, he eyes locking onto his shaking form. "You know exactly what you did during those three days of absolute blackout, Dorrent. You broke free of the estate handlers, descended into the lower sectors, and completely destroyed and killed a number of innocent people in the 3rd Street slums. The family handlers had to deploy an entire tactical containment unit just to drag your blood-soaked body back to this mansion. And Jannah’s parents... they just happened to be among the pathetic casualties you slaughtered in your mindless frenzy."

Dorrent’s voice completely died in his throat. He went entirely silent, his jaw locking so tight a sharp vein pulsed against his temple.

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t find a single word to hurl back at her, because the dark reality of the black cycle rut was a permanent scar on his past. He remembered waking up nine years ago in a medical containment cell, his hands covered in deep lacerations, his mind completely wiped of the last seventy-two hours, and his father standing over him, coldly telling him that the "damages in the slums" had been financially taken care of. He had known he killed people during that primal madness—but how it had actually come about, whose lives he had taken, and what families he had shattered, he had absolutely no idea. Until this very moment.

Shock settled into his chest. The image of Jannah—fragile, delicate, and fiercely stubborn—flashed before his eyes. He realized now that the little herbalist hadn’t just been treating his unhealed system; she had been living under the roof of the executioner who destroyed her entire universe. She had harbored a vicious, cold-blooded hatred for him from the very moment he stepped out of the car on 3rd Street.

And as the brutal truth settled into his mind, an unexpected realization washed over him: I don’t blame her. If it’s the truth.

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