The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 420

Prime Hospital, Los Angeles.

Charles Kingston pushed through the glass doors with the kind of stride that said the world still bent for him.

Behind him, his girlfriend limped pitifully, her face twisted with pain—yet all she carried was a single scratch on her arm.

A long line snaked past the reception desk.

Charles didn't join it. He cut in front of the nearest man without a second thought.

“Hey,” the man protested. Charles kept walking.

At the desk Charles leaned in, voice sharp as a knife. “Nurse. Get me the best doctor you have. Now.”

The receptionist, a young woman—already irritated from seeing them cut the line—glanced once at the woman clinging desperately to Charles.

Her arm bore nothing more than a shallow scratch, blood already dried into thin red lines. Yet the woman sobbed like her life was slipping away.

Even a five-year-old wouldn’t cry this hard over something so small, the nurse thought. But the woman pressed harder into Charles, wailing:

“Darling, what’s happening to me? Am I going to die? I don’t want to die—please, please help me.”

The nurse’s patience snapped. Her tone was clipped, professional but sharp.

“The best doctor is in surgery. If you go to triage, a nurse can clean and dress it. Or you can cross the street and buy a bandage. You’ll be fine. And next time—don’t cut the line. Next.”

Charles slammed his palm on the counter until the wood rang. The reception area froze.

“You damn nurse,” he spat. “Don’t you know who I am? My girlfriend is bleeding. Call your best doctor, now.”

The nurse didn't flinch. “Sir, I don’t care who you are. If you make trouble, I’ll call security and you’ll be asked to leave.”

Charles laughed, a cold, high sound. “You, a little nurse, threatening to call security on me?”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he barked and hooked five fingers under the nurse’s collar and dragged him closer.

“Call the best doctor now,” Charles hissed. “Or you’ll regret it.”

A man behind Charles—the one he’d shoved out of line—stepped forward and clamped a firm hand on Charles’ shoulder.

“Leave the nurse alone,” he said, voice steady. “She already told you. Your woman just needs a bandage. Stop making a damn scene.”

Charles spun, rage burning in his eyes.

“Take your hand off me, bastard.” His face twisted into something wild, the kind of look that made normal men wonder if he was drunk, high, or just rotting with arrogance.

The stranger saw the madness burning in Charles’ eyes and chose not to push further. He lifted both hands in surrender.

“Whatever, man. But remember this—arrogance brings loss. Humility brings gain.”

Charles sneered, lip curling like a whip. “Yeah? Save those words for the poor fools like you.”

Then he hauled the nurse forward. “Call the doctor. Now.”

“I can’t!” the nurse shouted, voice cracking. “Doctor Hendrick is in the OR. He’s in the middle of a procedure. I can’t—”

“Then pull him out!” Charles barked. “This is an emergency too!”

“I can’t!” the nurse repeated, helpless and steady all at once.

Charles lost it. The thin mask of barely-there politeness ripped away, and the fury beneath—always as fragile as tissue divided ten times over—shattered in an instant.

He grabbed a fistful of the nurse’s long hair and slammed the young woman’s head against the counter.

Red spattered the reception wood. The nurse’s nose burst open and blood ran hot across her lip.

“When I tell you to call the doctor, you call him,” Charles roared. “Don’t make me wait, you asshole. Don’t make me decide if you live.”

“Enough.” The man on Charles back grabbed Charles’ shoulder hard, trying to stop the madness.

Charles spun and aimed a blow at him. “Back off, you little shit. You think you can touch me like anyone else? I am Charles Kingston!”

Man showed a shocked, “Oh, Charles Kingston… sorry. Thought you were just another asshole.”

Charles sneered. “So you finally know who I am?”

“A famous asshole,” the man shot back. “A bastard beyond help.”

Charles’ face went red. He leaned in, venom in his voice. “Don’t make me decide if you live.”

The man laughed, loud and ugly. “Oh, you’ll decide? Last time you played judge, the courthouse filed a restraining order against your ego.”

That broke something in Charles.

He didn’t argue.

He closed the distance and slammed his fist into the man’s nose.

Bone cracked, blood sprayed, and the man folded to the tile in a stunned heap.

People in the queue closed in, faces sharp with fear and anger. “Hey—what the hell are you doing?” someone shouted. “This ain’t right. Stop it.”

“Stop now, or we take you down together,” another voice warned.

Charles laughed, a cold hard sound. “You gonna take me? You’ll regret the day you were born.”

He turned his head and barked, “Guards! What are you waiting for? Do you want me knocked down before you act? Break their noses. Do it.”

Four of Charles’ guards burst in, wheeling Kelly Kingston behind them, her legs mangled and bleeding.

They had chased after Charles when he bolted ahead with his girlfriend, leaving Kelly behind without a second thought.

Dragging her through the halls in a wheelchair, they fought to keep her alive.

But the moment her chair cleared the doorway, they found Charles already in the middle of a riot.

Shouts rose, chaos churned, and his orders cracked like whips.

The guards had no choice—they let Kelly go and dove into the crowd, plowing through bodies with brutal, practiced force, obeying Charles as always.

Chaos spilled across the reception. Shouts, scuffling feet, someone’s phone clattering to the floor.

Charles hauled the nurse up by her hair again, the young woman’s face streaked with blood.

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