Vengeance in His Bed novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Who the Hell Is She Really to You?

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."

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