Vengeance in His Bed

The interior of the luxury transport was a sanctuary of climate-controlled silence as the vehicle glided away from the estate, merging into the sleek, elevated transit lanes that bypassed the congestion of the lower districts, Joanne settled into the plush seat beside Dorrent. She was a vision of curated perfection, her movements calculated to showcase the lines of her designer dress, her presence radiating the polished confidence of a woman who was paid to be looked at.

Dorrent sat rigidly, his hands resting on his knees, his mind still reeling from the psychological warfare Jannah had waged in the kitchen. The threat of the shaving machine felt like a phantom blade against his skin, a humiliating tether that he couldn’t seem to break.

"Dorrent, darling, you’re awfully quiet this morning," Joanne murmured, leaning into his space so that the scent of her expensive, floral perfume—something called Elysian Bloom—filled his senses. "Still stressed about the Hodin merger? You shouldn’t let work consume you so much. It takes the spark out of those gorgeous eyes."

Dorrent forced a tight, professional smile. "It’s a significant investment, Joanne. It requires my full attention."

Joanne hummed, a light, melodic sound. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a sleek, holographic tablet, scrolling through a series of high-fashion portfolios. "Speaking of attention... BeautyPass is in a bit of a frenzy. My agency is looking for fresh blood. The usual faces are becoming stale, and the creative directors are screaming for something ’raw’ and ’unrefined.’ Someone with a look that hasn’t been touched by the city’s vanity yet."

She turned her head, looking at him with a playful, expectant glint in her eyes. "You meet so many people, Dorrent. You have an eye for excellence. If you know anyone—anyone at all—who has that special spark, you must introduce them to me. The commission for finding a new star is astronomical, and I’d love to be the one to bring them in."

For a split second, an image flashed unbidden in Dorrent’s mind.

It wasn’t a tanned, curvaceous model in a silk gown. It was Jannah. He saw her as she had been the night before—splayed across the charcoal silk of her bed, her pale skin glowing under the moonlight, her dark hair a wild, tangled halo around a face that was sharp with defiance and soft with hidden vulnerability. He thought of the lean, elegant lines of her waist and the way her collarbones looked like delicate carvings in the dim light.

She could do it, a treacherous voice in his mind whispered. With the right lighting, the right clothes... she would be haunting.

But the thought was immediately followed by a wave of hot, defensive anger. He slammed the mental door shut on the image.

"I don’t know anyone," Dorrent said, his voice clipped and harsh. "And certainly no one suitable for a company like BeautyPass. Most people are... unremarkable."

"Oh, I don’t know," Joanne said, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. She looked out the window as they passed a gleaming skyscraper, her expression thoughtful. "Actually, I was thinking about it over breakfast. It’s a bit of a wild thought, but... your new house maid."

Dorrent’s heart did a strange, violent skip. He felt his hands tighten on his lap. "The maid? What about her?"

"She has it," Joanne said, her voice filled with the clinical excitement of a professional scout. "I know you said she was just from the slums, and she certainly looks like she’s had a hard life, but Dorrent... if that girl was well-groomed? If she was put in the hands of our stylists?"

Joanne turned back to him, her eyes bright. "Her skin is that rare, porcelain pale that takes light beautifully. And her waist... she’s so slim, almost fragile-looking, which is exactly what the ’haute couture’ lines are looking for right now. And her height is just correct—not too towering, but enough to hold a presence. But it’s the face, darling. Those dark, soul-searching eyes and that stubborn jaw. It’s a face people won’t ignore. It’s a face that tells a story."

Dorrent let out a harsh, mocking laugh, the sound grating in the small space of the car. He felt a desperate need to diminish Joanne’s observation, to push the image of Jannah back into the "filthy" box he had built for her.

"Stop dreaming, Joanne," Dorrent sneered, his voice dripping with forced condescension. "From which angle were you looking at her? Through a distorted lens? I don’t think she’s pretty in the slightest. She’s plain, she’s gaunt, and she’s entirely lacking in grace. Besides, she’s from the filthy slums. You can’t polish a stone that’s been sitting in a sewer for nineteen years."

Joanne didn’t back down. She looked at him with the calm, superior smile of someone who knew their craft better than anyone else.

"I’ve seen a lot of beautiful people in my line of work, Dorrent," she said softly. "I’ve seen the most symmetrical faces in the world look like cardboard under a lens. And I’ve seen ’ugly’ people become gods. I know beauty when I see it, even if it’s covered in dirt. Especially when it’s covered in dirt. There’s a rawness to her that you’re missing because you’re too busy looking at her clothes."

Dorrent’s jaw clenched. The idea that Joanne—the woman he paraded to prove his alpha status—found Jannah beautiful was an intolerable irony. It meant his "type" wasn’t as far from the "maid" as he wanted to believe. It meant the girl he loathed had a power that even the elites could recognize.

"Forget about the maid," Dorrent snapped, his voice final, ending the discussion. He stared straight ahead at the back of the driver’s head, his pulse throbbing in his neck. "She is a servant, nothing more. I’ll introduce you to someone—a real candidate—when I see one. But don’t mention that girl again. It’s insulting to the profession."

Joanne shrugged, turning back to her tablet, but the faint, knowing smile remained on her lips.

Dorrent sat in the silence, his mind a chaotic storm. He could still see Jannah’s face in the back of his eyes. He hated that Joanne thought she was beautiful. And most of all, he hated that the "filthy" girl was now a diamond he was desperately trying to bury back in the mud before she outshone everything he owned.