Vengeance in His Bed

Jannah looked at the glowing numbers on the screen. The figure was staggering. It could pull her grandfather out of this miserable existence, give him back the memories he had lost, and secure a safe future for them both. The temptation flashed in her mind, a brief, desperate wish, but the memory of her parents’ blood on the cold floorboards of their old home rushed back, a violent, burning reminder of who was standing before her.

She wasn’t here to be bought.

"No," Jannah said, her voice steady, clear, and unyielding as she took a step backward, putting distance between them.

Guron’s eyebrows twitched, a look of genuine disbelief crossing his face. He stared at the ragged, simple girl before him, as if he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could turn down such an astronomical sum. "Are you out of your mind, girl? Look around you. You live in a rotting shack, breathing in poison, and taking care of a senile old man who won’t even remember your name by sunrise. This is your chance. A single stroke of the pen, and you are set for life."

"I said no," Jannah repeated, her voice rising slightly, her dark eyes flashing with a cold, unyielding determination. "I cannot . I have never done it, I don’t know the first thing about alpha physiology in that state, and I don’t have the advanced tools required for an S-tier Alpha biology. I won’t take the offer, and I won’t waste your time or mine."

Guron took a sharp breath, his golden eyes flaring with a dangerous, dark anger, but he forced his temper down, his calculating nature taking over once more. He took a slow, deliberate breath, his golden eyes narrowing into thin slits as he stared at her, as if testing her resolve. He reached down and tapped the screen of the datapad, shifting the numbers higher.

"Seven point five million," Guron said, his voice dropping into a harsh, firm register. "A fifty percent increase on the original offer, right now, on the spot. Plus the clinic for your grandfather. Do not let your pride destroy the only lifeline you will ever be offered in this hellhole, omega."

The numbers on the screen flashed, the bright, glowing credits casting an eerie, pale light over Jannah’s pale face. The ghetto lane remained quiet, the distant sounds of the market stalls barely reaching their ears. It was a fortune. A life-changing, unimaginable fortune that could erase the hunger, the cold, and the daily humiliation of living on 3rd Street.

But as Jannah looked at the numbers, she saw the blood of her parents. She saw the twisted, handsome face of the ruthless CEO who had ruined everything she loved.

"No," Jannah said, her voice dropping to a harsh, cold whisper as she turned away from the screen and pushed open her warped, creaky wooden door.

The heavy, matte-black door of the luxury transport clicked open with a sound of pressurized precision. From the shadows of the plush interior, a figure emerged that seemed to drain the very light from the alleyway.

Jannah’s breath hitched, her heart stopping for a terrifying beat.

It was him.

Dorrent Grefo stepped onto the cracked pavement of 3rd Street, his movements fluid and predatory, possessing an effortless grace that only an S-tier alpha could command. He stood a full head taller than his father, a tower of raw masculine power dressed in a navy suit so dark it was almost black. His face was a masterpiece of cold, sharp angles—a jawline that could cut glass, a straight, arrogant nose, and eyes the color of a winter storm before a lightning strike.

He was breathtakingly handsome. For a split second, the nineteen-year-old girl in Jannah was stunned by the sheer physical perfection of the man. But then, the image shifted. The handsome face blurred, replaced by the memory of a younger, wilder version of that same face covered in her father’s blood. She remembered the sound of her mother’s ribs snapping under his weight during that mindless, violent rut. She remembered the way he had looked down at her—a small, sobbing child—with the same cold, unfeeling eyes he used now.

Dorrent didn’t look at her like a human being. He looked at her like a stain on an otherwise perfect sidewalk.

"Father," Dorrent’s voice was like grinding stones, deep and vibrating with a suppressed, jagged edge of irritation. He didn’t even turn his head toward Jannah as he spoke. "Stop this. I’ve heard enough. You’re wasting your time and your credits on a gutter-rat who can barely afford to wash her own hair."

Jannah flinched as his gaze finally raked over her. It was a physical assault—the way his eyes traveled from her worn, mud-caked boots up to her faded, patched dress, finally settling on her face with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Look at her," Dorrent sneered, his lip curling. "She’s right about one thing—she’s incompetent. She’s a peasant playing with weeds in the dirt. She couldn’t possibly have the intellect or the refinement to handle a case as sensitive as mine. I am not interested in accepting this filthy girl as my physician at any cost. Send her back to her hovel and let’s leave this stench behind."

Jannah felt a hot, prickling sensation behind her eyes, but it wasn’t sadness. It was rage. A cold, black, and poisonous resolve began to crystallize in her chest.

She still didn’t know the specifics of his "sensitive case"—his father hadn’t dared utter the word impotence in the open air—but she knew one thing: Dorrent Grefo loathed her. He saw her as filth. He saw her as nothing.

Fine, she thought, her fingers curling into tight fists. If you want a monster, I will be the monster that lives under your skin.

If she stayed here, she would rot in the ghetto, and her parents’ deaths would remain unavenged. But if she entered his world... if she stood by his side as his "healer"... she could be the slow-acting venom in his veins. She could feed him the "dirt" he so clearly feared. She would use her grandfather’s most forbidden herbs to ensure that every breath he took was laced with her vengeance. She would be his shadow, his tormentor, and eventually, his end.

She looked at her own dirt-stained hands, then at his pristine, white silk shirt. The contrast was a declaration of war.

"I’ve changed my mind," Jannah said, her voice cutting through Dorrent’s arrogance like a blade.

Both Alphas froze. Guron’s eyes lit up with a predatory triumph, while Dorrent finally looked at her fully, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"I accept the offer," Jannah repeated, stepping forward until she was just out of Dorrent’s reach, her chin tilted high. "Seven point five million. The clinic for my grandfather. I’ll do it."