Vengeance in His Bed novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Out of My Depth

The iron gates of the estate retreated, humming with the sound of high-end hydraulics as the luxury transport glided onto a driveway paved with crushed white quartz. Jannah stared out the window, her breath hitching. The estate was a sprawling monolith of glass and architectural concrete, rising out of the manicured landscape like a fortress of modern power. It was a world away from the sagging timber and rusted corrugated iron of 3rd Street.

When the car purred to a halt under a massive cantilevered portico, a woman in a crisp, slate-gray uniform was already waiting.

"Avana," Guron said as he stepped out, his voice regaining its effortless authority. The maid bowed her head deeply. "This is Jannah Nenth. She is my son’s personal physician. Take her to the East Wing. She is to be settled in the suite immediately adjacent to Dorrent’s."

Dorrent, who had been stalking toward the entrance like a caged predator finally released, whirled around. His face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated outrage.

"The room next to mine?" Dorrent roared, his voice echoing off the stone pillars. "Father, this estate has forty-two bedrooms. There is a guest wing three hundred yards from my quarters. Why in the goddess’s name would you put this... this girl... in the room right next to my private sanctuary?"

Guron didn’t even blink. He adjusted his cufflinks, his eyes cold and practical. "Because she is your physician, Dorrent. Not a guest. Your condition is unpredictable. If you have an episode, if your vitals spike, or if a treatment needs to be administered in the dead of night, I want her a call away. I will not have her sprinting across the grounds while you are in distress."

"I am not in distress!" Dorrent hissed, his pheromones flaring in a jagged, bitter wave of frost. "I am perfectly capable of walking three hundred yards if I need a damn herbal tea."

"The decision is final," Guron replied, his voice dropping into a register of steel. He stepped closer to his son, his gaze narrowing. "Unless, of course, you would prefer I change my mind and have her share your actual suite? It would certainly make the monitoring process more efficient."

The silence that followed was absolute. Dorrent’s jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck stood out like cords. He looked at Jannah—still standing by the car in her dirty boots and ragged dress—with a look of such concentrated loathing it should have set her on fire.

"Fine," Dorrent spat, the word tasting like poison. "But if I catch her lurking near my door without cause, I’ll throw her off the balcony myself."

He turned and disappeared into the house, the heavy front doors sliding shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.

Avana led Jannah through corridors that felt more like a museum than a home. The floors were polished marble, the walls adorned with holographic art that shifted as they walked past. When they finally reached the East Wing, Avana opened a set of double doors to a suite that was larger than Jannah’s entire apartment building back in the slums.

There was a king-sized bed draped in charcoal silk, a private lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private garden, and a bathroom filled with scented oils and a tub carved from a single block of emerald stone.

"I will leave you to freshen up, Miss Nenth," Avana said softly, bowing before retreating.

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