"Let go of her, Dorrent! Now!"

Guron’s voice resonated with an authority of a high-tier Alpha, a command so potent it felt like a physical shockwave. Before Dorrent could even process the order, an invisible, crushing weight slammed into his forearms, forcing his fingers to uncurl from Jannah’s throat.

Jannah slumped to the floor, a heap of pale skin and black lace, gasping for air as her lungs burned. She curled into herself, her small frame shaking violently, though her eyes remained fixed on the man who had just tried to end her.

Dorrent stumbled back against the bedpost, his chest heaving, his face a mask of primal, unhinged fury. He pointed a shaking finger at the girl on the floor, his voice a jagged, guttural snarl.

"Father! This... this filthy gutter-rat! She’s ruined me!" Dorrent roared, his crimson eyes glowing with a lethal light. "She took advantage of my state! While I was unconscious, while I was drugged by her foul herbs, she molested me! Look at her! Look at the marks! She forced herself onto me to tie me to her through a claim!"

Guron stepped into the center of the room, his expression unreadable, though a faint, weary sigh escaped his lips. He simply crossed his arms, looking like a man dealing with a petulant child rather than the CEO of a global tech company.

"There is no claim, Dorrent," Guron said, his voice flat and devoid of the drama his son was projecting. "And there was no sex. She hasn’t slept with you."

Dorrent froze, his jaw hanging open slightly. The silence in the room became heavy, pressing. He looked at Jannah, then back at his father. "What? Look at her! The hickeys... the bruises... she said...I...that I...! She admitted it!"

Guron glanced down at Jannah, who was still rubbing her neck, a dark, vengeful glint still shimmering in her eyes. "It was a trick, Dorrent. A plot for your own ego. She used a simple topical irritant to create those marks on herself while you slept. She wanted to see you break, and clearly, you were more than willing to oblige her."

Jannah let out a small, jagged cough, her lips curling into a bloody, defiant smile. She didn’t deny it. She had wanted to see the great S-tier Alpha reduced to a panicked, insecure mess, and she had succeeded.

Dorrent’s face went through a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, denial, and finally, a deep, simmering humiliation. But then, he looked at his own body. He felt the dull, heavy ache in his muscles, the peculiar soreness that radiated from his shoulders to his thighs.

"Then why does my body feel like this?" Dorrent demanded, his voice trembling with a different kind of intensity. "My skin is sensitive. My muscles are sore all over, Father. If nothing happened, why do I feel like I’ve been through a physical war?"

Guron sighed, stepping toward the nightstand and picking up a small, empty ceramic jar. "Because of this. It’s an ointment Jannah recommended—a deep-tissue herbal stimulant designed to wake up your dormant nerves. She was too ’shy’ to apply it to a naked man herself, so she gave it to me."

Dorrent’s eyes widened. "You? You applied this... this sludge to me?"

"I did," Guron replied matter-of-factly. "While you were out cold. It required vigorous application to penetrate the S-tier dermis."

Dorrent’s lip curled in a mixture of disgust and confusion. "Vigorous? Father, I feel like I’ve been trampled. Why were you so aggressive with the application? It feels like you were trying to skin me alive!"

"To ensure the ointment was effective, Dorrent," Guron said, his voice laced with a hidden, sharp amusement. "Your nerves have been dead for five years. They needed a harsh wake-up call. Now, enough of this. Dress yourself. You are a CEO, not a wild animal."

Dorrent’s gaze snapped back to Jannah. The rage was still there, but it was now tempered by a crushing sense of embarrassment. He reached down, grabbed a heavy silk sheet from the edge of the bed, and threw it with violent force toward her. It landed over her head, draping her like a shroud.

"Cover yourself," Dorrent spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Cover that shapeless, pathetic body. It is unpleasing to the eyes, and the sight of your filth in my room makes me want to vomit."

Jannah pulled the silk down, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders as she sat on the floor, her eyes meeting his with a cold, unyielding fire. She didn’t look like a girl who had lost. She looked like a girl who was just getting started.

Guron watched the exchange, a strange, calculating look passing over his face. He stepped closer to his son, his golden eyes narrowing.

"Shapeless, Dorrent?" Guron asked, his tone deceptively mild. "Is that truly what you see? Or are you simply lying to yourself to protect what’s left of your pride?"

Dorrent stiffened. "I see a peasant. A dirty, unkempt omega who has no place in this house."

"Interesting," Guron mused, pacing the room slowly. "Because if I recall properly, your taste has always been quite specific. Before the affliction, you never looked at the voluptuous high-bred Alphas. You always preferred the slim ones. The pale ones. The ones with sharp, hidden curves... exactly like Jannah. Or did your taste change the moment you became impotent?"

The air in the room seemed to vanish. Jannah lifted her eyes, her gaze locking onto Dorrent’s. She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, the brief, flickering memory of a preference he had buried deep under years of frustration and coldness. She was exactly his type—the very thing he should have been able to want, but couldn’t have.

Dorrent stared at her, his jaw clenching so hard it looked as if his teeth might shatter. The silence stretched until it was agonizing. Finally, he looked away, his voice coming out as a cold, hollow rasp.

"My taste just changed."