Vengeance in His Bed novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14: The Fragility of Pride

The air in the room became stagnant, heavy with the cloying, sweet scent of Jannah’s betrayal. Dorrent stepped fully into the room, the click of the latch behind him sounding like the cocking of a weapon. He didn’t drop the dress. He held it like a trophy of her shame, his eyes raking over her splayed form on the silk sheets with a look of such concentrated, dangerous disgust that it felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.

Jannah’s hand jerked away from her core as if the skin there had turned to white-hot embers. She scrambled back, pulling her legs together and trying to tug her pants up, but the silk of the bed provided no traction, and she felt exposed, raw, and utterly transparent. Her face was no longer just flushed; it was a deep, burning crimson that made her eyes sting.

"Is that so?" Dorrent’s voice was a low rasp, vibrating with a dark, predatory edge. He began to pace toward the bed, his movements fluid and menacing. "The little herbalist who acts so holy, so full of righteous fury, is lying in my father’s house, in a bed of silk, slick with her own desire? Tell me, Jannah... are you wet because of me?"

The question was a lash. Jannah’s breath hitched, her throat tight with a shame that threatened to swallow her whole. She couldn’t let him know. She couldn’t let the man who destroyed her family know that his ghost was the one haunting her climax.

"No," she wheezed, her voice thin and desperate as she looked anywhere but at his piercing eyes. "I... I was watching something. On the tablet. I watched a video... porn. It’s not you."

Dorrent stopped at the edge of the bed. He loomed over her, the scent of his fresh shower—cool water and expensive soap—warring with the thick, floral musk of her arousal. He let out a short, dry laugh that carried no humor, only a chilling, arrogant certainty.

"A video?" he mocked, leaning down until his shadow completely engulfed her. "I doubt it. I have spent years as the apex, Jannah. I am a master at making women wet—powerful women, beautiful women, women who would kill just to have me look at them. You are no different. You are an omega, and I am an S-tier alpha. Your biology doesn’t care about your petty excuses. You are wet because you can still feel my hands on your neck. You are wet because you are craving a taste of the power you’ll never have."

The sheer arrogance of his words sparked a flash of fire in Jannah’s gut, burning through the layers of her shame. She looked up at him, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, lethal defiance. If he wanted to use his status to crush her, she would use his greatest failure to cut him back.

"And what if I was?" she spat, her voice growing stronger. "What does it matter? You speak of being a master, of making women wet, of your ’power.’ But look at you now, Dorrent. You’re a hollow king. It’s useless getting someone wet when you can’t even take them. It’s pathetic to brag about arousal when you’re a man who can’t even rise to the occasion."

The silence that followed was tectonic.

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