The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 433

“No—Bella, you can’t— you can’t do this to me!” Charles screamed.

Panic shredded his voice. Minutes ago he’d been on the edge of everything he’d wanted. This couldn’t be the end.

He refused to accept it. He had sacrificed too much to get here — fought, schemed, and clawed his way to the top.

He wasn’t about to lose everything now.

Bella’s face was a blade. “You kill my man and think you’ll walk away untouched?”

She spat. “Think you’re invincible? That the world spins for you?”

“Bella, please,” Charles croaked, clutching at air. “I have Guise’s will—inheritance. I’ll pay. Money will fix this. A billion—ten billion—anything. Just let me go.”

Her laugh was low and cruel. “Why should I hand you what’s mine? All that money will be mine once you’re dead. I only need your eyes and your fingerprints.”

“How do you—?” Charles gasped.

“I paid Mike,” Bella growled. “You think Mike’s on your side?” Her eyes were cold steel. “Now give me your eyes and your hands.”

“Take Paris,” Charles babbled, his voice raw with panic.

“Take the state and all the money — you don’t need my eyes or my fingerprints. I’ll sign everything over. Put it all in your name. I want nothing. Just leave me alive. Please.”

Regret hit him like ice; too late he understood the cost of his choices.

“No,” Bella said, voice cold and hard. “I don’t want your money, nor your state. I want Alex alive. Can you give me that?”

Charles went still, the color draining from his face.

“Then you’ll suffer for what you’ve done.” Bella’s voice had no softness left. “Cut his eyes, his hands, his tongue—but keep him alive.”

“No—no! Please, don’t!” Charles screamed, voice raw and ragged. “Please—please—”

The two bodyguards moved with machine precision: silent, efficient, pitiless.

They worked with surgical calm. Taking Charles eyes without anesthesia, cutting his hands and even cut his tongue.

They bound and cut just enough to leave a breathing corpse—powerless, humiliated.

A van door opened. They dumped Charles into the middle of a crowded street.

His blood-slicked body hit pavement.

“Help—” he tried to scream, but blood choked the sound. Nothing came out.

Phones rose like a tide. Faces leaned in to capture the spectacle. No one rushed; everyone filmed.

“Isn’t that Charles Kingston?” someone muttered. “The one who kills at the orphanage?”

The whispered accusations circled him. Hands held out phones instead of help. The crowd closed, hungry for scandal.

“No—” Charles sobbed, tears tangled with blood.

‘This is not the dream I wanted. This is not the life I wanted. Please—please—'

He had acted like a god and forgotten he was only a man.

A few hours later, Alfred Kingston sat in the hospital room, eyes glued to the screen. The live feed showed Charles Kingston on the pavement: blood everywhere, blind, without hands.

“This just in — Charles Kingston was found in the street, blinded, tongueless, and missing both hands. He’s being rushed to the hospital and will be held for questioning in connection with the murders he’s accused of,” the anchor said, voice steady and clinical.

“Impossible,” Alfred whispered, the word hollow. “My son… how could this happen to my son?”

Jessica’s face went white. Her voice shook. “Please tell me that’s not our son, Alfred.”

A man stepped through the hospital doors — a preacher, calm and certain, not fitting the panic around him.

He introduced himself cleanly: “Mr. and Mrs. Kingston, my name is Daniel Brown. I came to preach.”

Alfred bristled. “We don’t want—”

Daniel held up one hand, slow and deliberate. “Desire will lead you to destruction. Wealth is the seed of ruin. If you’d chosen kindness over greed, none of this would have happened.”

“Shut up. Get out of here,” Alfred snapped.

Daniel did not leave. He reached into his coat and produced a handgun.

The movement was too small to be theatrical and too real to ignore. “Bella promised me ten million dollars,” he said, voice flat. “With that, hundreds of poor children could be saved. They could be educated. For the good of the world.”

Jessica lurched forward, panic flaring. She fumbled for the nurse call button but her hands trembled and her fingers missed.

“No—no,” she cried.

Daniel moved closer to Alfred and pressed the gun against his forehead, as if making the point physically.

“You killed the poor. You killed Bella’s father. You ruined that whole family.” His eyes were ice.

“Do you think it’s fair that you can kill and not be touched? Do unto others as you wish done to you. This is justice, Alfred Kingston. I am its instrument.”

“If you plant only good seeds, only good things will grow in your life,” Daniel said, voice calm but steady. “But you planted evil too much, Alfred. And now, it’s come to collect.”

“No…” Alfred’s breath broke. Regret flooded his eyes like water behind glass.

He saw it all — every mistake, every selfish decision that had built his empire and destroyed his family.

There were a thousand ways I could’ve lived differently. I could’ve been a good governor. I could’ve ignored greed. I could’ve just… lived in peace with Jasmine and our grandchildren.

“Why don’t you just kill Charles?” she had asked him. “My father said you’re powerful enough to do it.”

Alex had smiled faintly, eyes distant.

“It’s complicated, Bella. There are things you don’t understand.” Then his tone softened. “But can you promise me one thing?”

She tilted her head. “What is it?”

“If Charles ever gets his hands on Guise’s inheritance,” Alex said slowly, “promise me you’ll do something about that money.”

“I’m serious,” Alex said, stepping closer. His voice lowered, almost pleading. “You’re the only one I trust with this. Promise me.”

Bella’s confidence faltered under the weight of his gaze.

“Alright,” she said softly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Alex took her hand, his grip firm and warm. He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear as he whispered a secret that froze her in place.

Her eyes widened. “That’s impossible,” she whispered.

Alex smiled faintly. “Not with your intelligence. If we pull this off, Bella, we can change this entire country.”

She cupped his cheek tenderly, her thumb tracing the edge of his jaw. Her eyes shimmered with love and unspoken devotion.

“I’ll do anything for you, Alex,” she whispered, voice trembling like a vow.

Time seemed to stop. The air thickened around them, humming with the pull of something larger than either of them.

Every heartbeat felt synchronized — her breath, his gaze, the gravity that drew them closer.

Then she leaned in, and their lips met — slow, deep, inevitable.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was surrender. A silent promise that whatever came next, their souls were already bound.

On the Governor’s estate in Paris, Sophia stood motionless, her hands trembling as the secretary spoke in a careful, professional tone.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sophia,” the woman said quietly, eyes downcast. “We’ve just received confirmation from Vancouver General Hospital.”

Dead.

The word felt unreal.