Chapter 151: The Only Perfect Fit
Himelda lay resting back against the headboard of the bed, her dressing gown spilling over the rumpled sheets. The elegant composure she usually wore like armor was entirely absent; her eyes were rimmed with red, her breathing a tense, rhythmic clicking in the silence of the room.
The doors groaned as Guron entered. His towering frame cut through the dim light, his face carved into a hard mask that immediately put Himelda’s instincts on high alert. In his left hand, he held the crumpled piece of scrap paper—the final letter Duro Nenth had left behind in the gutters before he collapsed.
"Read this," Guron commanded flatly, stepping toward the bed and tossing the paper onto the sheets near her thighs. "The slum practitioner is dead. But he left a final directive for the girl."
Himelda snatched the paper with a sudden, manic energy, her nails digging into the rough edges as her eyes scanned the messy handwriting. As she reached the final lines, anger twisted her elegant features. With a sharp gasp of disgust, she balled the paper into a tight fist and hurled it across the room, watching it bounce uselessly off an armchair.
"That old bastard!" Himelda shrieked, her voice rising into a sharp, trembling register that pierced the quiet of the suite. "He did this on purpose, Guron! He just wanted to dump his miserable, cursed granddaughter onto our son because he thinks the Grefo name and Dorrent’s S-tier power can protect her from all the mess he left behind! He knew she was a target, and he used his dying breath to tie her to our house! And now... now my son will be in constant, mortal danger!"
She lunged forward, her fingers clawing into the silk sheets as she stared wildly up at her husband. "I even wonder whether that wretched girl even knows the truth yet, Guron! Does Jannah know that it was Dorrent who brutally slaughtered her parents?! I hope to God she knows her place and has enough basic human decency to refuse this ridiculous marriage! Because if she doesn’t... if she dares to accept this alliance and steps one foot into our lineage, she is going to live to face my unmitigated wrath under this roof!"
Guron let out a low, rumbling growl, his chest expanding as he stepped closer to the edge of the mattress. He climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the plush mattress as he tried to get close to her, his hands reaching out to anchor her waist.
"Calm down, Himelda," Guron rumbled as he leaned down, trying to press his lips against her temple to soothe her hysterical frequency. "You are letting old ghosts cloud your judgment. Look at the wider picture. The Enigma grandkids are the single most important biological prize this family will ever encounter. They are worth any amount of localized friction. Understand the strategy."
"Get off of me!" Himelda screamed, aggressively slamming her palms against his broad chest and shoving him away with a frantic, desperate strength. She twisted her torso out of his grip, her eyes burning like hot coals. "Don’t you dare touch me with that disgusting, ambitious look in your eye! Dorrent will have died a bloody, horrific death before he even gets to impregnate that girl! Do you not care about your only son’s security at all, Guron?! Are you completely blind?!"
She stood up on the mattress, her silk gown billowing around her trembling frame as she pointed a finger at his face. "All you see are those hypothetical Enigma grandchildren! You are completely obsessed with a biological weapon that might or might not even come to fruition! You are willing to watch your own flesh and blood risk his life—or worse, die a brutal death trying to get them from a broken slum rat!"
Guron straightened his spine, sitting back on his heels as his face hardened into authority. His eyes flashed with an intense, icy resolve that brooked no further argument.
"Of course I care for my son’s life, Himelda!" Guron countered. "But I know the metrics of my own bloodline. Dorrent is an S-tier beast. He is incredibly strong, ruthlessly powerful, and he will be more than capable of fighting off whatever scavengers are currently lurking around in the dark. And we are not helpless; we will deploy every single multi-billion credit resource our family possesses to protect their relationship."
"I will never accept that girl under my roof, no matter what ridiculous words you hurl at me!" Himelda spat back, stepping off the bed onto the cold floor, her knuckles white as she wrapped her gown tightly around her waist. "Never! She is a walking curse! I will look for another woman for Dorrent myself if I have to. Since we have dismissed the Moscow contract, I feel sorry for poor Joanne. She is an elite lady who actually deserved a proper place."
Guron let out a loud, mocking scoff that sounded entirely devoid of sympathy. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, looking at his wife with a cold, analytical amusement.
"Joanne Moscow was already facing a living hell with our son, Himelda," Guron reminded her flatly, his jaw clenching as he laid bare the crude, biological reality. "Dorrent couldn’t get hard for her. Not even a fraction of an inch. His five-year psychological impotence remained absolute whenever she entered his space. It would have been an act of extreme cruelty to get that poor girl married to him just to be deprived of sex for the rest of her life. Don’t you think that would have been unfair to the Vice President’s daughter? To be tied to a husband who views her as nothing but a piece of marble?"
He stood up and stepped toward his wife. "Since it is only Jannah—only that delicate little slum herbalist—who possesses the specific genetic frequency capable of making our son erect, then she is the only perfect fit for his bed. The data don’t lie, Himelda. If you can somehow find another woman in this city who can make Dorrent get hard the moment she touches his skin, then by all means, introduce her to me and I will see what to do with the marriage layout. But until then, shut your mouth about other options."
Himelda’s jaw tightened, her face turning into fury as his words stripped away her arguments. Without offering a single word in response, she spun on her heel and began to march toward the door.
"Where the hell do you think you are going at this hour, Himelda?" Guron called out, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits.
"I am going to check on my future daughter-in-law," Himelda delivered smoothly. She pushed the doors open and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor.
Guron didn’t hesitate for a second. He pulled a robe over his shoulders, tying the cord with a swift, aggressive motion as he marched out immediately behind her. He didn’t trust the manic, protective frequency rolling off his wife’s shoulders; he knew perfectly well that Himelda was fully capable of treating Jannah like a stray dog if left unmonitored.
As Himelda reached the threshold of Jannah’s bedroom door, the handle clicked, and the door swung open.
Dorrent stepped out into the hallway.
The S-tier tycoon looked completely unravelled. His silver eyes were dark, his posture slightly slumped, and his jaw was locked into a tight, frustrated line that made him look like a man who had just been defeated in his own territory. His shirt was torn, his bottom lip slightly swollen and stained with a faint trace of his own blood where Jannah had bitten him.
Himelda didn’t even pause to acknowledge his broken state. With a cold, dismissive tilt of her chin, she bypassed her son’s frame, her gown rustling loudly against the doorframe as she headed straight inside the room.
Dorrent spun around instantly and blocked his father from stepping further into the threshold. He glared over his shoulder at his mother’s retreating back, his deep voice dropping into a dangerous, threatening growl. "I hope you are not in here to say anything silly to the girl, Mother. Jannah is hurt."
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