The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 434

Charles was screaming in the hospital corridor, his voice mangled and desperate.

“I’m Charles Kingston! I have Gilbert Guise’s will! I’m the Governor of Paris! You can’t arrest me!”

But after his tongue had been cut, every word came out broken, barely understandable.

Nurses and patients stared in confusion. The officers exchanged uneasy looks.

One policeman — older, calm, steady — stepped closer and tried to make sense of the gibberish.

He leaned in, listened carefully, and finally pieced together enough of what Charles meant.

He sighed. “Mr. Kingston,” he said firmly, “even if you were the Prime Minister himself — the law is the law. When a man kills, he answers for it. You might be the Governor, but you’re not above justice. You’re under arrest.”

Charles shook his head violently, spit flying. “No! No! The will— Gilbert’s will— it says I inherit everything if I kill Alex! His position, his title— I’m the rightful Governor!”

The officer strained again to understand, asking him to repeat it — once, twice, a third time — until the meaning was clear.

He straightened, eyes ice. “Let’s be honest,” he said, voice low.

“No one wants a governor who’s blind, tongueless, and without hands. If you’re lucky, you’ll rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

“If you’re not, you’ll get the death penalty — the Kingswells won’t let this go. They’ve already lined up judges to make sure it happens.”

The truth hit Charles harder than any blade.

For the first time, he fell silent. The man who thought he owned Paris now sat trembling.

In another hospital room, Josephine clung to Alex’s lifeless body, sobbing into his chest.

“No… Alex, please, you can’t leave me,” she whispered.

Moments later, the door burst open. A team of men in dark uniforms strode in, faces cold and official.

“Miss,” one snapped, voice like a steel blade, “Alex is a Kingswell asset. As per protocol, his remains must be transferred to the capital immediately — for security and protection.”

Josephine’s tear-streaked face turned to them, horrified. “No. You can’t take him. Please.”

“Orders from the top,” the man said flatly. “There are enemies everywhere. We can’t risk his body being found.”

She threw herself in front of them, trying to block their way, but they didn’t hesitate.

Two of them pulled her back while another lifted Alex’s body and placed it in a polished black coffin.

“No! No!” Josephine screamed, fighting them with every ounce of strength she had, but it was useless.

‘A dream of happiness fades — and hearts turn to dust.’

They carried the coffin down the hall, out onto the roof. The blades of a massive helicopter thundered overhead.

Josephine broke free just in time to see them load the coffin inside.

The doors shut, the machine rose into the sky, and the love of her life vanished into the clouds.

She fell to her knees, her heart hollow, her cries drowned out by the fading roar of the rotors.

From the rooftop entrance, José and Lucia stood watching in silence. The wind tugged at their clothes, carrying Josephine’s grief through the sky.

Lucia rushed forward, tears in her eyes, and wrapped her arms around Josephine.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, even though both of them knew it wasn’t.

José walked up slowly, his expression heavy with grief. He rested a hand on Josephine’s shoulder.

“Welcome back, my King,” said Samuel, Keaton and Logan bowed beside him, reverent.

Alex stretched his neck, cracking it slightly, and looked at them with quiet authority.

“I’m leaving this country,” he said. “It’s time to build something greater — a future where our land will never be last again. Guard this country. Keep it stable. And remember…”

His gaze hardened.

“Bella is everything. Protect her. Back her. She’s the key.”

“Yes, my King,” the three men said in unison, their heads lowered in absolute loyalty.

Three years later — Winchester City, one of Prussia’s most powerful industrial capitals.

The grand ballroom glittered with chandeliers and murmured gossip. The music stopped abruptly when a sharp slap cracked across the room.

Katarina Rosenheim stood before Alexander Saint-Claire — the man the world now knew as a total loser — her eyes blazing.

“How dare you show your face here,” she hissed.

“I was invited,” he said as he bowed. “Mr. Heinrich Schiller called for me personally.”

Heinrich Schiller, a young handsome man, raised both hands in mock disgust.

“Me? Call you?” He laughed coldly.

“Don’t insult me, Alex. I wouldn’t waste a breath on a man like you. You’re a disgrace — an animal pretending to matter. Your very presence here lowers the room’s intelligence.”

“How dare you lie to me!” Katarina’s fury boiled over. She slapped Alex hard, the sound echoing through the grand ballroom.

“Get out of this banquet!” she snapped.