The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 287

At the modest clinic, Alex let out a slow, quiet breath, the weight on his shoulders dissolving into the sterile air like mist at dawn.

He ended the call with the kind of calm that only comes from repetition—each silence afterward landing exactly where it had so many times before, in the aching corners of old wounds.

She always shattered the calm like it was made of glass—every word from her a spark, every conversation a storm.

And yet, some fragile, hopeless part of him still waited for the day she'd understand. The day love wouldn’t feel like a war.

Trouble had worn a path to his door so often, its knocks no longer stirred fear—only a tired familiarity.

He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the quiet thud beneath his ribs, and whispered with a faint, bitter smile, “Still holding on, huh? Why are you so damn stubborn, heart?”

Then softer, almost like a confession to the emptiness around him:

“What are you waiting for? Why not just let go… aren’t you tired yet?”

Outside, the abrasive honking of a limousine shattered the quiet of the clinic’s entrance, its ostentatious length glinting under the harsh afternoon sun.

Charles Kingston emerged with practiced arrogance, chin tilted skyward as if he owned the air he breathed.

Beside him lumbered a hulking brute of a bodyguard, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, expression as stone-cold as his employer's heart.

Charles crinkled his nose dramatically as he swaggered into the clinic, disdain dripping from every word.

"I didn't plan on dirtying myself by coming to your filthy little shack," he sneered, scrutinizing Alex from head to toe with blatant contempt.

Alex leaned back casually, his eyes narrowing with weary amusement.

"Well, nobody rolled out the red carpet for you, Kingston. You’re free to leave anytime—hell, I'll even open the door for you."

Charles snorted, his expression darkening as he tossed a sleek black card onto Alex’s desk.

"Listen here, peasant. Consider yourself lucky I even stepped foot in this dump. I'm offering you wealth beyond your pitiful imagination—fifty million dollars for the main ingredient of the Emerald Elixir.”

“Enough cash to buy you out of your squalid existence and let you die comfortably in oblivion."

Alex burst out laughing, sharp and merciless, his eyes twinkling with savage mockery.

"Fifty million? Is that all you scraped together after gambling away mommy’s fortune? Pathetic. If you can't hit ten billion, don't waste my damn time pretending you have money."

Charles flushed crimson, his jaw tightening visibly, his carefully controlled facade cracking at the edges.

"Don't get cocky, Alex," he growled dangerously. "Jasmine tossed you a mere million and you licked her boots clean. I'm giving you a chance to walk away rich and free. Don't be stupid enough to pass it up."

"Rich and free?" Alex's voice turned icy, his expression hardening to steel.

"Keep your dirty money. I’m not interested in scraps thrown by a spoiled, washed-up brat."

Charles slammed his fist down on the table, teeth bared in fury.

"Careful now, Alex. My patience is razor-thin. You either accept my generous offer and join forces with the Kingston name, or make yourself our sworn enemy. Believe me, friend, you won’t survive choosing the wrong side."

Alex's laugh this time was brutal and biting.

"Enemy? Friend? You're deluded, Kingston. Last I heard, mommy and daddy disowned your sorry ass after you torched their legacy.”

“Are you even allowed to call yourself a Kingston anymore, or are you just scavenging the scraps of your family’s ruined reputation?"

Charles’s fists shook, rage boiling in his veins, eyes burning with venomous hatred.

"You insolent little bastard," he hissed, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Don't think Jasmine can shield you forever. I'll crush you into dust without breaking a sweat. You want war? Fine. Consider it declared."

Alex leaned forward, his expression fearless, voice dangerously calm.

"Bring it, Charles. But don't forget—Jasmine Kingston still holds the power, not you. Cross me and you'll find yourself buried even deeper than your family's dwindling fortune."

Charles staggered back slightly, momentarily struck dumb by Alex’s cold confidence.

The realization dawned painfully that Alex held every card, every advantage, and had effortlessly ripped his facade to pieces.

"You’ll regret this," Charles spat venomously, his voice trembling with raw fury. "I'll show you what happens when you cross me."

Hanging grotesquely by the doorway was the gray dog Josephine had rescued, limp and lifeless, stomach viciously torn open, intestines spilling onto the ground.

Blood dripped slowly, pooling ominously at the entrance, painting a sickening picture of cruelty.

Alex felt nausea claw at his throat, rage blistering beneath his skin.

He pushed through the door and stepped outside, fury blazing in his eyes.

And there it was, stark and undeniable. Thick splashes of dark crimson smeared across walls and windows, streaking down in macabre trails—a chilling signature left behind by butchers of innocence.

The stench of blood and death saturated the morning air, choking him.

Ten souls, butchered mercilessly, their torn bodies strewn throughout the clinic, each carcass a brutal, agonizing declaration of war.

At that very moment, tires crunched against gravel. A sleek limousine—the same damned limousine from yesterday—slowed to a mocking stop.

Its tinted window descended slowly, revealing Charles’s smug face, lit with sickening amusement.

“You filthy son of a—Did you do this?” Alex growled, his voice dangerously low, a tempest brewing beneath his skin.

“Oh please, Alex,” Charles purred, mock sincerity dripping from every word, his eyes glittering maliciously.

“Such an unfortunate tragedy. You must have truly angered some powerful enemies. Keep refusing good graces and kindnesses, and you'll see horrors far worse than this.”

“You’re really going down this path?” Alex's voice was ice-cold, seething with restrained fury.

“I'm simply passing by, offering friendly advice,” Charles sneered mockingly. “Whether you heed it or not, it’s entirely your miserable—”

But Alex had already moved, quick as a striking snake.

His palm slammed viciously into Charles’s face, an explosive crack echoing as bone shattered beneath skin.

Charles reeled backward, blood spurting from his broken nose, shock painted clearly on his once-arrogant face.

“You want a war, Charles? Consider it started.”