The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 393

In the Prescott family’s estate in Lexington, the air was thick with dread.

On the grand bed lay Samuel Prescott, the bald, aging patriarch. His once-commanding frame had withered, his skin pale as parchment, his breath shallow and labored.

Around him, the Prescott bloodline gathered in tense silence, their faces shadowed with worry.

“Benjamin!” Henry’s voice cracked as he paced the floor, his nerves unraveling. “Father was fine yesterday. How could he collapse so suddenly?”

Benjamin’s jaw tightened. “Don’t start pointing fingers at me,” he snapped.

“Father brought this on himself. Trying to break past level one hundred at his age—it was madness. No one’s ever done it, and now look where it’s gotten him.”

Henry stopped in his tracks, fists clenched, his face twisted with helpless anger. “Why does he keep pushing himself like this?”

A sudden cry split the air. “Grandfather’s coughing up blood!” Frederick Prescott, Benjamin’s broad-shouldered son, lurched forward, eyes wide with shock.

“We need Dr. Owen,” Benjamin cut in sharply. “He’s the only one who can stabilize him. So why isn’t he here yet?”

“Uncle!” Lawrence forced his way to the front, his hands trembling as he held out a small pill in an open box. “I have a healing pill—please, let Grandfather take it!”

Frederick’s eyes narrowed at the pill. “That thing looks dangerous. Where the hell did you get it?”

“From Lyra Thompson, the governor of Chicago,” Lawrence replied, “This is a miracle pill.”

Frederick let out a harsh laugh. “That scheming woman is selling miracle pills now? More like poison wrapped in a pretty shell.”

“Grandfather is dying before our eyes!” Lawrence’s voice rose, desperate.

“I paid everything I had—borrowed money even—to get this. I can’t just watch him fade away without trying!”

“I said no!” Frederick’s roar shook the chamber.

He slapped the pill from Lawrence’s hand, the tiny bead clattering to the marble floor.

Before Lawrence could reach for it, Frederick ground it beneath his heel, crushing it to dust.

“We don’t need your poison. You’re not even worthy to stand here.”

“You—” Lawrence’s face flushed with fury, his hands curling into fists.

“What?” Frederick stepped forward, chest swelling, fists raised. His thick arms bulged with barely restrained violence. “You want to fight me over this?”

The room stilled. Everyone knew the truth.

The Prescotts were a family forged in war, their legacy carved by martial strength. Frederick, powerful and proud, embodied that heritage.

Lawrence, slight and bookish, did not.

One punch from Frederick would break him in half. In the family’s eyes, Lawrence was a shadow, tolerated only because he kept quiet.

“Frederick, you’ve gone too far!” Lawrence’s voice shook, but not with fear—with rage. He had nothing of the heir’s swagger, no hope of standing tall in the contest for succession.

All he wanted was to save the old man who had once carried him on his shoulders, who had been more than a patriarch—he had been his world.

Lawrence had sacrificed everything, emptied his pockets, begged and borrowed, for that single pill.

And now Frederick had destroyed it before his eyes.

“Nonsense!” Benjamin barked, puffing up with arrogance. “My son only cares about his grandfather’s safety. Who knows what poison you tried to sneak in here?”

“That’s right,” Frederick added smugly, folding his arms with his father’s backing.

“What if you’re plotting to harm Grandfather? That pill of yours looked more like poison than medicine.”

“Enough!” Henry’s tone cracked like a whip. His authority silenced the room. “Father is dying, and you’re bickering like children. What do you think you’re doing?”

The tense silence broke when the butler rushed in, breathless. “They’re here! Dr. Jonathan Owen has arrived!”

At once, Benjamin hurried forward. “Doctor Owen, thank God. Please, you must save my father.”

He ushered the physician to the bedside.

“Remain calm, all of you,” Jonathan said.

He set down his bag, took Samuel’s wrist with practiced care, and placed his instruments against the old man’s fading pulse.

The room held its breath.

Minutes passed before Jonathan finally spoke, his brow furrowed deep with concern. “His nerves… they’re shattered. He pushed himself far beyond his limits in pursuit of advancement. I’m afraid…”

He exhaled, grim and final. “With my skills, there is little I can do.”

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