The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 350

Everyone saw Michael launch forward, rage blazing in his eyes as he charged at Alex.

While Alex, fueled by his own fiery anger, threw out a swift jab to meet him.

The spectators held their breath, convinced Alex had sealed his own fate.

Michael, known as the Thunder Fist, was notorious for shattering ten-inch concrete walls with a single punch.

Against a mere human body, survival was impossible.

A deafening explosion shattered the tension.

In an instant, Michael hurtled backward through the air like a ragdoll, crashing brutally onto the VIP seats with a sickening crunch.

The chairs splintered under his weight, sending terrified VIPs scattering in panic.

Michael lay motionless amid the wreckage, eyes wide open but empty, limbs twisted unnaturally beneath him.

The arena plunged into stunned, deathly silence.

No one could process what had just happened.

Michael, the Paris undefeated champion, lay broken and lifeless, defeated by nothing more than a single jab from Alex.

“What the hell just happened?” someone finally muttered, breaking the heavy silence.

“Impossible! Did Michael really lose?”

The whispers quickly became cries of disbelief, growing louder and more frantic.

“This is rigged! That little bastard must’ve cheated! Someone’s messing with the bets!” shouted one furious spectator.

Shock rippled through the crowd, and heads shook in denial.

Lyra gripped the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white.

A tremor surged through her, then another—until her whole body shuddered. Her legs tightened, her breath caught in her throat, and then—

Orgasm.

Release.

A raw, overwhelming climax tore through her as she just won: $300 billion.

She moaned—a deep, primal sound—as her body convulsed with the force of it.

Her vision blurred. Her spine arched. Every nerve in her body lit up like fire, electricity ripping through her veins.

As she collapsed back into the leather, chest heaving, lips parted in a euphoric gasp, a slow smile curled across her face.

***

Meanwhile, in the private room overlooking the arena, Gilbert and his associates stood frozen in shock, their faces drained of color.

“How the hell did Michael lose?” Gilbert roared, grabbing a chair and hurling it violently at the arena manager, who flinched but didn't dare dodge.

“Are you absolutely certain Michael didn’t throw the fight?”

The manager, dripping sweat, trembled as he stammered, “He wouldn’t dare, sir. We have his son and daughter under control.”

“Then explain this goddamn disaster!” Gilbert roared, his voice cracking with rage. His eyes burned like wildfire, fists clenched at his sides.

He wanted blood.

He wanted Alex’s head on a spike after that ambush at the hotel.

But this? This was beyond revenge.

This was humiliation.

And it was tearing him apart.

No one dared speak. Silence reigned until the door burst open abruptly, and another manager stumbled in, panic etched across his face.

“Sir Gilbert, we have a serious problem!”

“What now?” Gilbert snapped, clenching his fists.

“A woman named Lyra placed a bet on Alex’s fight against Bill. She put a billion dollars.”

“How much?” Gilbert’s voice cracked in disbelief.

“A billion,” the manager said again, his voice barely above a whisper. A bead of sweat slid down his temple.

“She placed a one-billion-dollar bet… and won fifteen times over.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting like a man delivering a death sentence.

Gilbert, blind with rage, seized another chair and smack it at the manager.

“Where the hell are we supposed to find fifteen billion dollars?” he bellowed.

“That…that’s not the issue, sir,” the manager stammered, blood trickling down his forehead.

Gilbert paused, realizing he might have misunderstood.

He drew a slow, shaky breath, forcing steel into his voice.

“I’m sorry. I lost control,” he said, his voice strained with effort—right as he hurled the chair across the room.

“Now… explain clearly. What exactly is the problem?”

He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing.

“As long as it’s not fifteen billion… we’re fine. Right?”

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