"Get out," Guron commanded, his voice slicing through the frozen air of the study. He turned his gaze toward Shadron and Dorrent, his jaw locked in a hard line. "Both of you. Outside, right now. I will talk to my wife alone."

"There is no need for that, Guron!" Himelda snapped instantly, her voice rising to a sharp, trembling register. She stepped further into the room, her elegant heels clicking against the floorboards as she glared at her husband. "I have to talk. I am going to explain everything to him right here, right now!"

"You have nothing to talk about, Himelda! You need to calm down this instant," Guron roared, his chest heaving as he marched toward her. He grabbed her firmly by the upper arm, trying to physically steer her back toward the corridor. "We can discuss whatever ridiculous things you have on your mind in the privacy of our bedroom. Move."

"Let go of me!" Himelda shrieked, tearing her arm out of his grip with fury. She stood her ground, her eyes burning like hot coals as she pointed a finger at her son. "I don’t need to calm down! I need to talk to Dorrent! He is my son, and he is the one whose life is hanging by a thread under this roof!"

"I said she has nothing to talk about, Dorrent! Get outside!" Guron bellowed, stepping directly between his wife and his son, his presence flaring up to completely dominate the room.

"Enough! Both of you, stop right there!"

Dorrent’s voice boomed like sudden thunder, halting both of his parents. He stepped forward, his frame radiating an intense, dangerous authority as he slammed his hand against the edge of the desk. His silver eyes darted between Guron’s rigid back and Himelda’s pale face, his expression twisted into frustration.

"Do not touch her, Father. Let me listen to my mother," Dorrent delivered coldly, his chest expanding with a ragged breath. "I am confused by the absolute absurdity of your behavior. Both of you are reacting like psychopathic madmen, screaming and tearing this house apart because of a simple, fragile little girl from the 3rd Street slums! It makes no sense, and I want answers right now."

"A simple girl?!" Himelda let out a sharp, hysterical laugh that echoed bitterly off the high ceilings. "She is not simple as she looks, Dorrent! She is a walking curse! You need to listen to me right now if you want to keep breathing!"

Before Guron could intercept her again, Himelda spun around with a fierce, manic energy. She shoved Shadron toward the open doorway and pointed into the dark hall, her voice dripping with command. "Out! Both of you, get the hell out of this study! Shadron, leave us! Guron, get out of my sight!"

Shadron didn’t need to be told twice; he bowed his head and stepped backward into the corridor. Guron stood frozen for a second, his fists clenching. He knew he couldn’t force his wife out without triggering an absolute war in front of their son. Realizing he had lost this round, Guron turned his head, locking his sharp eyes onto Dorrent with seriousness.

"Do not listen to a single word she says, Dorrent," Guron warned roughly, his voice dropping into a dark, threatening growl. "She is completely hysterical and letting old, irrelevant ghosts dictate her mind. Remember what I told you about your duty to this bloodline." With those final words, Guron turned and marched out, slamming the doors shut behind him.

Himelda took a long breath, smoothing down her dress as she tried to regain a shred of her composure. She turned to her son, her eyes filled with grief. She gestured with a shaking hand toward the chair opposite the desk.

"Sit down, Dorrent," Himelda said quietly, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Sit down and listen to your mother."

Dorrent didn’t sit. He remained standing like an immovable stone statue, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes tracking her every movement with suspicion. "I am listening, Mother. Speak."

Himelda let out a weak, exhausted sigh and leaned against the edge of the desk, staring down at the shattered glass on the floor. "Tell me, Dorrent... do you remember your uncle? My younger brother, Dean?"

Dorrent’s brow furrowed, his expression softening for a a second as the name pulled a deeply buried memory from his childhood. "Of course I remember Uncle Dean," he replied, his voice rough but clear. "He used to live with us more than twenty years ago. I was only thirteen years old when he passed."

A faint, bittersweet memory flashed through Dorrent’s mind. He recalled a cheerful, vibrant young man in his early twenties who always had a bright smile on his face. Dean was the one who used to drive the sports cars through the estate gates, always insisting on picking Dorrent up from his academy. He had loved his uncle deeply; Dean had been his idol, the one man who always brought a sense of warmth into the cold environment of the Grefo family.

"I miss him," Dorrent muttered, a rare shadow of genuine vulnerability crossing his features. "I still wish death hadn’t stolen him so early on that rainy day. It was a horrific car accident."

"It was not a normal car accident, Dorrent," Himelda delivered flatly, her voice turning cold as she locked her eyes onto his face. "His death had everything to do with Jannah’s family."

Dorrent stiffened, his body locking up as his brain tried to process the bizarre statement. "What the hell are you talking about? Jannah is from the bogs. Dean died in the high districts."

"Listen to me carefully," Himelda commanded, her jaw clenching as she began to narrate the dark, bloody history. She laid bare the entire truth about Jannah’s biological lineage, explaining every dirty detail of the past. She told him about Frost, Jannah’s mother, a woman who possessed an otherworldly, hypnotic beauty that had completely enslaved the minds of every dominant Alpha in the districts. She described how Dean had become helplessly infatuated with her, abandoning his duties and chasing her through the dangerous lower sectors, only to be brutally murdered on that bridge by rivals who orchestrated the crash to eliminate him from the competition.

"Frost carried a hidden genetic data, Dorrent," Himelda whispered, her eyes wide with a lingering terror. "A framework that allows her bloodline to give birth to an Enigma—the ultimate sovereign ruler who can effortlessly dominate, suppress, and crush every single S-tier Alpha on this planet. Every elite family wanted that biological weapon. But Frost rejected them all and fled to the bogs with a dangerous martial artist Beta... Jannah’s father."

Dorrent stood frozen, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs as the pieces of the puzzle slammed together in his mind.

An Enigma.

The moment that word left his mother’s lips, a sudden, blinding realization hit his brain like a physical blow. His mind flashed back to the bullet that had torn through Jannah’s flesh. Now, the terrifying truth unfolded.

Bellero wasn’t just launching a war—the old bastard was desperately fighting to secure a woman who could give him an Enigma grandchild.

Dorrent let out a breathy whistle, a smirk slowly creeping onto his lips. He was surprised at how his quiet, delicate little herbalist turned out to be such an incredibly mysterious, priceless prize. She wasn’t just a stray from the gutters; she was the key to absolute global dominance.

He lifted his gaze, looking at his mother with resolve. "I don’t care about the danger, Mother or whatever shadow war is lurking around my perimeter."

"Are you completely insane, Dorrent?!" Himelda screamed, slamming her hand down. "Did you not hear a single word I just said?! Your uncle died because of that bloodline! You will lose your life!"

"I am not losing anything!" Dorrent barked back, his aura exploding through the study, causing the curtains to rustle. "She is the only woman I can fuck! My body functions purely for her skin, and I am not about to lose the only woman who makes me a real man just because some lords are scared of a fight! If she can give birth to an Enigma, then I will make this family prouder than it has ever been. I will drag her back to my bed, keep her pinned under my weight, and I will be the one to get Jannah pregnant. Our family will hold the ultimate sovereign ruler."

Himelda stared at her son, her face twisting into a look of sickening pity. She shook her head slowly, a bitter smile touching her lips as she prepared to deliver the final, devastating blow to his pride.

"You are dreaming a pathetic, beautiful dream of keeping a girl who is probably planning your execution this very second, Dorrent," Himelda sneered, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "You are willing to risk everything just to satisfy your cock, while she is actively counting down the days until you are in the ground."

Dorrent froze, his silver eyes narrowing into sharp slits as a sudden shock rippled through his chest. "What did you just say? How could you possibly know that Jannah wants me dead?" He leaned forward over the desk, his voice laced with confusion. "Why the hell would Jannah want me dead? Why would she want my life?!"

Himelda leaned in close, her eyes locked onto his shocked expression as she delivered the final, horrific truth.

"Because nine years ago, during that terrible black cycle rut... you were the one who brutally slaughtered Jannah’s parents in the 3rd Street gutters."