The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 469

“I chose…” Baroness Wolfsbane faltered, then drew a hard, rattling breath.

Her mind spun, laying out outcomes like cards on a table. She counted them, then made her call.

“Listen to me, you bastard—Rosenheim!” she snapped, the name cracking across the room like a rifle shot.

“You ought to know,” she said, eyes aflame, “when I was young there was only one Saint-Claire—Marquis Saint-Claire. No Rosenheim. Only a poor servant with the name Rosenheim.” Her words struck the air like a war drum.

“My granddaughter Sofina is married to Alexander Saint-Claire. He is the rightful heir of the Marquis Saint-Claire. You—Rosenheim, ungrateful servant and thief—how dare you lift a hand and make me your enemy? Do you think I fear you? You are nothing but a thief.”

Silence fell. Even Alex’s breath caught. As he watched the woman who had hated him to the bone turn, in an instant, into his fiercest ally.

Katarina’s face went hard. Fury stole color into her cheek.

“Want to die, old woman? You reek of earth—half-buried already—and yet you still have the nerve to stir trouble?”

Baroness Wolfsbane’s laugh was a low animal sound. “I’ve fought wars before you were born,” she said.

“Who do you think you are? Alexander Saint-Claire will be part of the Wolfsbane name. I will recognize his claim. He is the heir of the Saint-Claires. The Wolfsbanes will back him and take back every property you stole. I am the one who will make war on the thief and the faithless servant.”

“You—” Katarina sputtered, face flushing crimson. “You keep calling him a servant. That’s it. Guards, seize that old hag. Give her a lesson!”

“Guards,” Baroness Wolfsbane barked, “give her two slaps.”

At the command, the two groups of android guards lunged. Rosenheim’s guards were new—sleek models bristling with modern weaponry.

Wolfsbane’s guards moved like veterans—older, scarred, and harsher. They met in the room’s center with a metallic roar.

Steel rang. Shouts filled the air.

Everyone expected Rosenheim to win.

But when the first clash ended, the Rosenheim androids were locked up tight by Wolfsbane’s guards. The two sides stood their ground in a bitter stalemate.

“Unbelievable,” a noble muttered. “How can the old models hold against the newest units?”

Whispers spread fast: maybe Rosenheim bought cheap knockoffs. Robots that looked new but weren’t.

People leaned in, hungry for the spectacle. It was the first noble feud in decades—and everyone wanted to witness how it all unraveled.

Katarina’s face went beet-red. Her family’s newest model had been routed by machines that were decades older. Humiliation burned through her.

“What are you doing?” Katarina barked. “Use your latest weapon—now! Show them these relics what real firepower looks like!”

A Rosenheim android’s hands and bodies began to split open, panels peeling back to reveal a terrible weapon—something that could turn the banquet into ruin in a heartbeat.

Glasses went still. Sofina’s hand clenched. Other guests paled.

Eve blinked, slow and mechanical. The Rosenheim unit stalled.

It folded its panels back as if reconsidering. The Wolfsbane guards swarmed and drove a brutal blow into the exposed metal. The would-be weapon never fired.

Laughter broke out. The room filled with the sound—hard, relieved, merciless.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a robot this dumb!” someone crowed.

“Lazy programming,” another snorted. “All flash, no grit.”

Katarina was too shocked to comprehend what was happening. How could her android guards suddenly ignore her command—lower their weapons—and let themselves be attacked instead?

Baroness Wolfsbane fixed her eyes on Beatrix and Annabella. “Both of you—don’t just stand there. Go teach our enemy some manners. Slap her a few times. We’re at war now.”

Beatrix and Annabella locked eyes. Both had been humiliated at this banquet; both burned for the sweet rush of payback. They moved toward Katarina with slow, deliberate steps, their faces carved in cold resolve.

“You bastards of the Wolfsbane name—don’t you dare!” Katarina spat, voice trembling as she tried to claw back control. “I warn you—I am Baroness Rosenheim!”

Beatrix and Annabella laughed—short, sharp. “We’re baronesses too,” Beatrix said, voice like a knife. “From the older line. Not like you—stealing a title, a mere servant pretending to be noble.”

Beatrix’s palm snapped across Katarina’s right cheek. Katarina’s head whipped to the side. Annabella didn’t want to be outdone—she struck Katarina’s left cheek just as hard.

Katarina staggered, humiliated and burning.

Beatrix didn’t hesitate. Her palm snapped across Katarina’s cheek with a hard, practiced motion.

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