The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 421

Alfred Kingston was inside his mansion when the alarm ripped through the halls.

“What the hell is happening?” he muttered.

He rushed to the window and saw the nightmare outside—hundreds of people swarming the gate, pounding and tearing at the iron bars as if they meant to rip the estate apart.

Inside, the mansion guards were already in position.

One squad crouched near the entry hall windows with machine guns leveled, sweat dripping down their brows as they waited for the order.

Their leader barked out, his voice sharp as steel:

“Don’t you dare break that gate! Cross the line and we’ll open fire!”

“You Kingston dog!” someone spat. “Can’t you see he’s killing us? Next he’ll come for you and your whole family. How can you stand there and still back him?” The crowd roared back, unmoved by the warning.

Alfred snatched up his smartphone, desperate for answers. “Why the hell don’t I know anything about this?”

But the screen mocked him—no signal, no service. Dead silence.

Then came the pounding at his study door, urgent and relentless.

“Enter,” Alfred commanded.

His secretary burst in, breathless, pale, and trembling. “Sir, we have an emergency.”

“What is it?”

“Our communications are down. Completely dead. But the rebels? Their channels are alive and organized. They’re striking with precision—government offices, banks, politician mansion, military posts, you name it. Someone is orchestrating this.”

The man’s chest heaved as he spoke, his shirt clinging with sweat.

“I ran here straight from the streets. I saw it with my own eyes. All of Los Angeles is burning. People everywhere are rioting, protesting, destroying everything in sight.”

“General Mark… the High Judge… senators… they’re gone. Cut down by rebel hands.”

Alfred’s jaw tightened. Something didn’t add up.

“That’s impossible. General Mark had a thousand trained soldiers, fully armed. And they were facing—what? A rabble of eight thousand homeless with nothing but empty hands? Together with at best, two hundred rebels?”

He shook his head, disbelief hardening his voice. “They couldn’t have lost. Not like this.”

The secretary’s eyes widened with grim certainty.

“Sir, believe me. Those eight thousand weren’t just homeless beggars. They had guns. Heavy weapons. And they’ve rallied ten, maybe twenty thousand more to join the chaos.”

He swallowed hard. “And the rebels—there aren’t just two hundred. I’ve heard Vermont sent five hundred of their elite soldiers, mixed in with the crowd. They’re tearing through our forces.”

Alfred staggered back, stunned. “Vermont? Are you telling me Vermont is behind this? Supplying weapons to vagrants? Sending soldiers to slaughter us?”

The secretary nodded. “The weapons came from them, smuggled straight into the hands of the so-called homeless.”

Alfred’s chest burned with rage. “Vermont…” he whispered, the name tasting like poison.

“I planned this war down to the last detail. I accounted for every move, every outcome. It was foolproof.”

But now, as the alarm shrieked through the mansion and the crowd outside pounded harder at the gate, his perfect plan was unraveling—collapsing like sand slipping through his fists.

‘Man proposes, Heaven disposes.’

“Control the chaos. Get me connected to the governors — now. I need answers. Why is Vermont attacking us? This breaks every peace treaty we ever signed.”

“But, sir…” the secretary stammered, panic tightening his voice. “All connections are dead. Nothing is working.”

“The governor’s secure line can’t be cut,” Alfred snapped.

He turned on his heel, marched back into his study, pulled open the hidden panel, and activated the covert video channel.

The screen flickered, the signal locked in, and the call connected—clean, fast, unbroken.

When Alfred entered the online room, a grid of faces filled the screen — every governor online, pulled into an emergency session.

“Well, well, well,” Bella Kane purred into the microphone, smiling like a blade. “Governor Kingston finally joins us. We tried calling you, but your phones went silent. Did all of Los Angeles lose connection?”

Alfred didn’t flinch. He’d weathered taunts from men twice her age. He kept his voice flat and diplomatic. “Bella Kane. Reports say your troops moved into Los Angeles and attacked our citizens.”

Bella laughed, sharp as glass. “You accuse me without proof. Is your word evidence now? Show me actual proof, Alfred. Or shut up.”

Logan leaned into his camera. “Bella, if Vermont’s behind attacks on Los Angeles, we won’t stand by. You’ll answer for this.”

Bella’s smile widened. “And where’s your proof, Governor Logan? Or should I believe every rumor that pops off in a panic?”

She shrugged. “Turns out Vermont isn’t that poor. They turned the buyers in. And a hundred or more of your people? They’re sitting in my jails right now.”

Alfred couldn’t believe how calmly Bella had turned his world inside out.

“Bella,” Logan cut in, voice steady as a judge, “we see what you’re doing. But don’t expect us to swallow everything you feed us without chewing.”

Bella tilted her head, amused. “Oh? And why not?”

Logan laughed, low and dangerous. “For starters, there are rumors—Kingswell forces striking in Vancouver. Maybe this time the king decided to slaughter people in Los Angeles and pin it on Kingston.”

A few governors shifted, nodding like vultures smelling blood.

Bella’s smile narrowed. “Kingswell always plays in the open. What happened in Los Angeles was done by cowards hiding in plain sight—people too scared to admit they pulled the trigger.”

“You’re still green, Bella,” Logan said, looking down his nose at her. “Smart won’t win you the helm. Leadership takes humility, and you don’t have that.”

He didn’t stop there. “Even if you show the world proof, it might not be enough. Ask the governors here—see how many will simply believe you.”

Another governor, blunt and plain-spoken, cut in.

“I don’t believe Bella,” he said. Behind him, others hummed agreement. Logan’s power was obvious; his allies answered for him like soldiers.

One by one they voiced their doubts. The room grew colder, the older politicians circling like snakes Bella had failed to count.

Their faces were thick with self-preservation, hearts black with the shamelessness of men who had wielded power too long.

Logan leaned forward, eyes flat. “The king is ordering attacks on Los Angeles. Kingston’s left holding the wreckage. Now look where we are.”

“Do you all think a king who plays at conquest and leaves women and children to die still deserves the crown?”

He smirked; the smirk tasted of ambition. “Especially when he asks people to kill the Guise family—the rightful, legal governors. The king’s become ruthless.”

The room hummed with what wasn’t said: if the king faltered, if the throne split, there would be movers and takers.

Logan’s smile said plainly he would be ready to take.

Bella’s eyes narrowed, her voice turning to steel. “If I were you, Logan, I’d be careful. Ambition is a fire that eats its own master.”

Logan leaned forward, a thin smile curling on his lips. “And if I were you, I’d start worrying about whether I’ll still be alive by morning.”