The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 293

"You lying scum!" Rose exploded, clawing desperately at her fading dignity.

"I just left the hospital today, got a clean bill of health, and you dare frighten me with this filthy slander?"

Alex merely shrugged, utterly unfazed, his eyes glinting like sharpened steel. "Suit yourself, princess. Believe whatever helps you sleep at night."

"You insufferable wretch! You dare humiliate me in public?!" Rose roared, her voice splintering under the weight of her rage and shame.

She spun furiously to her muscle-bound bodyguard. "William! Smash his smug face into the ground—right now!"

William, muscles flexing like iron beneath taut skin, took one imposing step forward, fists clenched, eyes darkening with silent menace as tension crackled like a prairie fire.

But before he got close, Alex raised a casual, commanding hand.

"Think twice, big guy," he warned.

"I'm not joking about her condition. If she spits on you, God help you—you might end up counting your days right alongside her. Are you sure you don’t want to get her treated first?"

William froze, muscles tensed, confusion furrowing his brow as he glanced back uncertainly at Rose.

"Mrs. Morgan... perhaps we ought to—"

"You're hesitating, you spineless oaf? Hit him already!" Rose shrieked, her voice cracking in rage and humiliation. "You're absolutely useless!"

Finally, Lyra’s soft voice came. "Mrs. Morgan, you might do well to heed Alex's warning. He doesn't bluff about medical matters."

"What the hell is going on here?" thundered David Morgan.

"Oh, darling!" Rose cried, lurching toward him in a clumsy, exaggerated stagger, her every step a spectacle of manufactured despair.

"They’re tormenting me—mocking me in public! You must protect me!"

She buried her face theatrically in her trembling hands, sobbing loudly enough for everyone to turn and stare.

Her tears streaked mascara down her cheeks, painting a grotesque mask of feigned victimhood.

"This fraud—this charlatan—dared to call me a shrew," Rose wailed, pointing an accusatory finger at Alex, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch.

"He claimed I have some filthy disease! David, if you let them get away with this, I'll be too ashamed to ever leave the house again! I might just go die."

David patted Rose gently on the shoulder, soothing her theatrics while turning eyes as cold as gunmetal toward Lyra and Alex.

Lyra barely raised an eyebrow, her expression unmoved by his commanding presence.

"Explain what? Alex gave your wife an honest opinion. She couldn't handle the truth—that's hardly our fault."

"Liar!" Rose screamed, her voice cracking from rage.

"You're all conspiring against me, humiliating me in front of everyone!"

"Maybe try a little self-awareness," Alex shot back, unflinching. "I was genuinely concerned for your health."

Rose turned desperately back to her husband, gripping his sleeve as if she might collapse.

"Did you hear him, David? He's still slandering me, saying I'm sick!"

Alex tilted his head slightly, "I stated a fact. You are sick. Why pretend that's an insult?"

"Alright then, smart guy—exactly what sickness does my wife supposedly have?" David snarled.

Alex spoke with icy, brutal simplicity. "HIV."

"That's impossible!" David whirled to face Lyra, eyes burning with fury and suspicion.

"Ms. Thompson, perhaps you can shed some real light on this disgraceful situation."

Lyra faced him steadily, her voice calm and measured.

"I've got connections at the military hospital. They'll fly right here, tests done in fifteen minutes flat. Easy money—if you're clean."

David eyed them suspiciously, then relented with a cold laugh.

"Fine. Test them all. But when this blows up in your face, I want a dozen of those miracle pills you’ve been selling."

"Done," Lyra snapped, already dialing her phone. "Might as well test everyone in your precious household. Let's clear the air."

Barely ten minutes passed before the thunderous blades of a helicopter drowned out every thought, landing swiftly on David's immaculate lawn.

A female doctor, flanked by three efficient nurses, jumped out, equipment already in hand, moving swiftly like a precision military strike.

Within the tense hour that followed, a stunned hush consumed the estate.

The results came in, stark and brutal.

Eleven out of the thirty tested were positive.

David's personal guards, men who shadowed his every move, carried the virus.

The handsome gardeners, who meticulously maintained David’s pristine lawns, and the loyal drivers who chauffeured him and Rose everywhere, also tested positive.

Rose stood frozen, horror etched deeply into her delicate features as her two trusted bodyguards joined her in shameful diagnosis.

Then the final blow, delivered straight into David Morgan’s heart—his own result staring back at him, mercilessly positive.

Shock drained the color from his face. His voice cracked, breaking the silence with desperate denial.

"This can’t be true. I've never touched anyone but my wife."

A deafening stillness descended over the room, realization like a suffocating shroud tightening around everyone present.

All eyes slowly, painfully, turned towards Rose, whose face had transformed from panic to an unmistakable mask of guilt.