The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 292

The morning sun blazed defiantly through the half-shuttered windows of the clinic, throwing jagged patterns of light across the dusty floors and fresh paint buckets scattered around.

Alex had already summoned carpenters and painters to breathe new life into the place after the incident, so the scent of fresh timber and varnish lingered thickly.

Josephine stood by the reception counter, diligently arranging scattered documents when the door swung open, letting in a gust of hot, dry air.

Lyra Thompson strode in, radiant and poised, her presence commanding attention amidst the half-built chaos.

"Ms. Thompson!" Josephine’s eyes widened with surprise and admiration.

"Josephine," Lyra chuckled warmly, placing a comforting hand on the young girl's shoulder, her tone filled with playful scolding.

"How many times must I tell you? Call me Lyra. You’re practically family."

Josephine smiled shyly, eyes downcast, still not fully believing she was allowed such intimacy.

"I'll try, Lyra," she murmured softly.

“Good,” Lyra smiled.

"Lyra?" Alex's voice echoed from deeper within the clinic, his footsteps echoing confidently across the tiled hallway.

He emerged with a questioning glance, wiping his hands on a rag, remnants of the renovation evident on his clothes.

"A bit early for your usual pick-up, isn't it?"

Lyra leaned against the counter, raising a finely sculpted eyebrow.

"Not about pills today, Alex. It’s about our high-profile patient. You remember, don't you?"

His eyes lit with curiosity, stepping closer. "Today already?"

She nodded smoothly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Indeed. Flew in this morning, making rounds through his empire. Quite the banking mogul, you know."

Alex crossed his arms, intrigued. "Who exactly are we talking about here?"

Lyra laughed lightly, eyes teasing. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

She turned gracefully toward Josephine, offering her hand gently. "Care to join us sweetheart?"

Josephine hesitated briefly, casting an apologetic glance at the scattered papers.

"I’d better stay, make sure they don’t ruin anything. Someone's gotta keep an eye on these renovations."

"Fair enough," Lyra replied easily, then hooked her arm through Alex’s, tugging him toward the door.

"We'll bring something delicious back for you."

Twenty minutes later, their sleek black sedan eased through the iron gates of the Morgan estate, wheels crunching softly on gravel pathways framed by meticulously manicured gardens.

The mansion rose before them like a monument to wealth—vast, imposing, and brimming with silent grandeur.

Inside, a servant led them to a luxurious sitting room that commanded a sweeping view of the lush gardens.

Alex’s gaze drifted appreciatively across antique furnishings and priceless artwork.

"Alright, Lyra," Alex whispered, his voice laced with mild impatience and curiosity. "Time to spill. Who exactly are we meeting?"

"David Morgan of London," she announced calmly, watching his reaction closely.

Alex's brow furrowed in thoughtful recognition. "Morgan, huh? I've heard the name."

"Chairman of Wealth Bank, Alex. Controls a third of the country's economy. People call him Richie Morgan—has fingers dipped in every lucrative pie imaginable."

Alex gave a slow, knowing nod, understanding sinking in. "Right. And why does Richie need my help?"

Lyra's voice lowered.

“Morgan’s seriously ill. Every doctor we've seen has given up. The miracle pill can only keep him alive a little longer—it’s not a cure. That’s why I came straight to you—the one who created it, the so-called miracle worker.”

Just then, sharp clicks of high heels rang out like gunfire from the hallway.

A woman entered, clothed in extravagance and holding her Hermes bag like a weapon. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, her lips curved cruelly.

"Well, if it isn’t Ms. Thompson," Rose Marshall drawled, voice slick with disdain.

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