Chapter 187: Grandkids, Of Course
The light of dawn had barely begun to filter through the glass of the Grefo estate when the doors of the wing creaked open.
Shadron Valerius stood near the exit, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his fingers tapping a frantic, anxious rhythm against his sleeve. His face was pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot from a total lack of sleep. Every few seconds, his gaze would dart toward the hallway, his mind reeling from the absolute insanity of the mission ahead. They were going into the slums. They were going back into the bogs to dig up a nine-year-old ghost—to find out if the towering tycoon standing next to him was truly the monster who had butchered Jannah’s parents.
Dorrent stood perfectly rigid beside him, adjusting the gold links of his cuffs with a slow deliberate precision. His broad chest heaved with a slow, measured breath, the white fabric of his shirt straining against the massive topography of his muscles. His eyes were unreadable—but the sharp clenching of his jaw betrayed the unhinged obsession tearing through him. He didn’t care about the danger of the bogs. He didn’t care about the multi-billion-credit empire waiting for his signature. His entire universe had narrowed down to the fragile, shivering girl who was currently walking down the steps behind him.
Jannah moved down the staircase with a slow, rigid gait, her posture stiff as she tried to protect her ravaged body from the friction of her movements. Her face was pale, her dark hair falling in tangled, damp waves over her shoulders, but her eyes overflowing with hatred—never broke contact with the back of Dorrent’s head. The mark on her neck was fully visible, a blistering brand that seemed to actively pulse against her skin, radiating the terrifying reality of their permanent biological lock.
"The grid handlers and the tactical units are already stationed at the perimeter of the lower sectors," Shadron muttered, his voice dropping into a low, tense whisper as he stepped closer to Dorrent. "But I’m telling you again, Dorrent... this is absolute madness. Going down there to investigate a nine-year-old slaughter while the city handles the Moscow fallout? You are walking straight into a slaughterhouse."
"We are going," Dorrent delivered flatly. He didn’t turn around to look at Jannah, but his nostrils flared, tracking the faint, intoxicating scent of her omega nectar as she reached the bottom step. "The truth has to be laid bare. I need to know exactly whose blood is on these hands."
"Then you should start by looking at the blood you’re about to spill today!" a sharp, freezing voice shrieked from the upper landing.
The sound of heels shattered the silence of the foyer as Himelda Grefo marched down the corridor. The matriarch of the house looked unraveled; her elegant composure was completely gone, her eyes rimmed with a furious red as her dressing gown whipped around her ankles. Behind her, Guron’s towering frame cut through the shadows, his face carved into a hard line as he followed his wife’s frantic steps.
"Are you completely out of your mind, Dorrent?!" Himelda screamed, her voice rising into a sharp, trembling register. She lunged forward, her hand grabbing her son’s forearm with a desperate strength, trying to drag his frame away from the door. "You are going into the slums? Into that disgusting, lawless bog?! To investigate a case that has been buried for nine years?! Look at your chest, Dorrent! Your body is still recovering from the neural strain, your skin is raw, and you think you can just march into the gutters like a common vagrant?!"
Dorrent slowly detached his mother’s fingers from his sleeve, his eyes devoid of warmth as he looked down at her. "Do not worry yourself, Mother," he murmured, his tone laced with a chilling, reckless indifference. "I have the full security with us. The teams are more than capable of handling whatever scavengers are currently lurking in the dark."
"Security?!" Himelda let out a sharp, hysterical gasp of condescension. She spun on her heel, her furious gaze instantly bypassing her son to target Jannah, who stood frozen near the bottom of the stairs.
Jannah immediately stiffened, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her left arm. She deliberately tilted her chin away, her eyes staring fixedly at the floor, completely avoiding the older woman’s gaze. The sight of her silence only added fuel to Himelda’s unmitigated wrath.
"Look at her!" Himelda spat, stepping into Jannah’s space, her finger pointing accusingly at the girl’s pale face. "She is a walking curse! I told you, Guron, this broken slum rat brings nothing to our lineage but danger! Listen to me, girl—if anything happens to my son down there... if his blood so much as drops onto those filthy alleyways because of your ridiculous quest for vengeance, you will live to face my unmitigated wrath! I will personally tear you apart until there is nothing left of your name on this earth!"
"Himelda, shut your mouth!" Guron commanded as he stepped between his wife and the trembling herbalist. He clapped a hand down on his wife’s shoulder, forcing her back step with a mocking amusement. "What the hell is wrong with you? Is that how you speak to your future daughter-in-law? If you keep hurling these harsh words at her, she will grow to hate you permanently."
Himelda let out a loud, mocking scoff, aggressively slamming her palm against Guron’s chest to push his hand away. "Future daughter-in-law?! What will I ever gain from this girl liking me, Guron?! Tell me! What does her affection bring to the Grefo family apart from trouble?!"
Guron let out a triumphant chuckle that sounded devoid of sympathy, his eyes flashing with light as he looked between Jannah and Dorrent. "Grandkids, of course," he delivered ruthlessly, his jaw clenching as he laid bare the crude, biological strategy. "The grandkids are the most important biological prize this family will ever encounter. Her affection ensures their compliance. Now be quiet."