The Almighty Dominance

The morning sun blazed defiantly through the half-shuttered windows of the clinic, throwing jagged patterns of light across the dusty floors and fresh paint buckets scattered around.

Alex had already summoned carpenters and painters to breathe new life into the place after the incident, so the scent of fresh timber and varnish lingered thickly.

Josephine stood by the reception counter, diligently arranging scattered documents when the door swung open, letting in a gust of hot, dry air.

Lyra Thompson strode in, radiant and poised, her presence commanding attention amidst the half-built chaos.

"Ms. Thompson!" Josephine's eyes widened with surprise and admiration.

"Josephine," Lyra chuckled warmly, placing a comforting hand on the young girl's shoulder, her tone filled with playful scolding.

"How many times must I tell you? Call me Lyra. You're practically family."

Josephine smiled shyly, eyes downcast, still not fully believing she was allowed such intimacy.

"I'll try, Lyra," she murmured softly.

"Good," Lyra smiled.

"Lyra?" Alex's voice echoed from deeper within the clinic, his footsteps echoing confidently across the tiled hallway.

He emerged with a questioning glance, wiping his hands on a rag, remnants of the renovation evident on his clothes.

"A bit early for your usual pick-up, isn't it?"

Lyra leaned against the counter, raising a finely sculpted eyebrow.

"Not about pills today, Alex. It's about our high-profile patient. You remember, don't you?"

His eyes lit with curiosity, stepping closer. "Today already?"

She nodded smoothly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Indeed. Flew in this morning, making rounds through his empire. Quite the banking mogul, you know."

Alex crossed his arms, intrigued. "Who exactly are we talking about here?"

Lyra laughed lightly, eyes teasing. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

She turned gracefully toward Josephine, offering her hand gently. "Care to join us sweetheart?"

Josephine hesitated briefly, casting an apologetic glance at the scattered papers. "I'd better stay, make sure they don't ruin anything. Someone's gotta keep an eye on these renovations."

"Fair enough," Lyra replied easily, then hooked her arm through Alex's, tugging him toward the door.

"We'll bring something delicious back for you."

Twenty minutes later, their sleek black sedan eased through the iron gates of the Morgan estate, wheels crunching softly on gravel pathways framed by meticulously manicured gardens.

The mansion rose before them like a monument to wealth-vast, imposing, and brimming with silent grandeur.

Inside, a servant led them to a luxurious sitting room that commanded a sweeping view of the lush gardens.

Alex's gaze drifted appreciatively across antique furnishings and priceless artwork.

"Alright, Lyra," Alex whispered, his voice laced with mild impatience and curiosity. "Time to spill. Who exactly are we meeting?"

"David Morgan of London," she announced calmly, watching his reaction closely.

Alex's brow furrowed in thoughtful recognition. "Morgan, huh? I've heard the name."

"Chairman of Wealth Bank, Alex. Controls a third of the country's economy. People call him Richie Morgan-has fingers dipped in every lucrative pie imaginable."

Alex gave a slow, knowing nod, understanding sinking in. "Right. And why does Richie need my help?"

Lyra's voice lowered.

"Morgan's seriously ill. Every doctor we've seen has given up. The miracle pill can only keep him alive a little longer-it's not a cure. That's why I came straight to you-the one who created it, the so-called miracle worker."

Just then, sharp clicks of high heels rang out like gunfire from the hallway.

A woman entered, clothed in extravagance and holding her Hermes bag like a weapon. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, her lips curved cruelly.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. Thompson," Rose Marshall drawled, voice slick with disdain. Lyra turned smoothly, expression perfectly composed despite the venomous greeting.

"Mrs. Morgan. Lovely to see you. Is Mr. Morgan ready for us?"

Rose's laughter came brittle and cutting, eyes narrowed with barely concealed jealousy.

"Ready for you? Desperate as ever, I see. Still hoping he'll make you wife number four?"

Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone remained cool and firm. "Strictly business, Rose. Nothing more."

Rose's lip curled further, voice sharp enough to slice steel.

"Business, indeed. Funny how your 'business' always seems to happen behind closed doors. And who's this

delightful young specimen? A

doctor? Or just another pet from

your collection? You certainly have

eclectic tastes, Lyra. The perfect

cougar act, is it?"

"Careful, Rose. Gossip travels both ways, and I've heard you've quite the

collection yourself. Best keep your glass house intact."

Rose's face twisted in a sneer, her eyes narrowing further.noveldrama

Lyra's expression grew rigid, but she kept her dignity intact, silently enduring the

barbs out of sheer respect for the place she stood.

But Alex was done playing nice. His patience snapped like brittle twigs beneath a boot heel.

"Who let this rabid mutt off her leash?" he snarled, his eyes narrowing into icy slits.

"If you're losing your damned mind, the hospital's down the street. Now quit yapping your madness in here."

Rose gasped, her face a furious mask of indignation.

"You worthless leech! Have you even the faintest clue who you're speaking to?"

"Should I care?" Alex drawled with ruthless contempt. His gaze slid down her with exaggerated disgust.

"You dress like a woman, yet yap like a mongrel in heat. Every sound from your filthy mouth reeks of rot. Maybe scrub out that cesspool between your teeth before barking more nonsense."

Rose's eyes widened, her carefully cultivated poise shattering under his relentless mockery.

"How dare you insult me in my own house!"

She was Richie Morgan prized trophy, a woman whose mere shadow made

grown men fall over themselves to lick her boots clean.

Yet this cocky little bastard had dared to spit venom straight into her face. He had

nerves of steel or a death wish-probably both.

Alex took a defiant step forward, eyes blazing with raw defiance.

"And what if I did insult you, huh? Keep flapping that filthy mouth at Lyra, and I

swear you'll taste the back of my hand. Mark my words."

Lyra leaned back, her eyes shimmering like moonlight reflecting off a calm river, resting her cheek tenderly in the curve of her palm.

She watched Alex with a gentle smile, savoring the fierce loyalty burning within

him.

"You worthless parasite!" Rose snarled, cheeks flushed crimson with outrage.

"Drop to your knees and beg my forgiveness right now, or God help me, you'll regret every breath you've taken today!"

Alex chuckled cruelly, the sound dripping with contempt. "Kneel before you? Honey, I've scraped better than you off my boots."

He eyed her mockingly, then cocked his head, a shadow of twisted amusement spreading over his lips.

"Besides, lady, instead of screeching like a mangy alley cat, you ought to head down to the clinic. You're clearly carrying something nasty."

Rose's jaw clenched so hard her teeth nearly cracked. "You're the diseased one,

you miserable bastard! You and your entire bloodline are rotten from the inside

out!"

Alex snorted derisively, shaking his

head as though she were hopelessly foolish. "That's adorable. Your neck's swollen, your breath rasps like sandpaper, and unless I'm blind, that rash spreading up your wrist isn't makeup. You've got HIV,

sweetheart."

"H-HIV?" Rose stammered, her voice thin as frayed thread, her face turning

ghostly pale.

Every ounce of fight vanished from her body in a heartbeat, replaced by a suffocating terror that coiled around her throat like barbed wire.

Alex's words had sliced too close, and memories of reckless nights spent in heated passion flooded back, making her stomach churn violently.

Lyra straightened slightly, her composure slipping for the first time, voice catching with wary disbelief.

"Alex, are you certain? This isn't something to joke about."

Alex's gaze softened as it settled on Lyra, the harsh lines of his expression

easing. "I can swear my life on it, trust me I'm rarely wrong."

A bitter laugh suddenly escaped him. "Now it all makes sense why Morgan never fully recovers. If he insists on sharing his bed with this toxic woman, he'll keep getting infected as fast as the medicine cure him. She's his real sickness."