One Hundred Years Later: The New Era Belongs To Me

Alice stared at the lifeless line crawling across the monitor, her brow knitting as her mind refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.

Impossible. The tumor had been cleanly excised. Every vessel had been preserved. There was no medical reason for cardiac arrest.

A sharp, grief-stricken cry tore through the silence. "Father is dead—she killed him!" Josie screamed, her voice cracking.

She pointed a trembling finger at Alice, her eyes blazing with hatred. "He could have lived a little longer! Long enough for us to say goodbye! But you… you stole even that! You murderer!"

Michael felt the world tilt beneath his feet.

This was his fault. If he hadn't let this strange woman into the estate… if he hadn't believed her impossible claims… his father would still be breathing. He had trusted her—and in doing so, had handed her the knife that destroyed everything.

His grief hardened into something dark and venomous. "Security," he said slowly, each word soaked in fury. "I want her to suffer so much that she'll beg for death."

Immediately, armed guards flooded the corridor, rifles raised, black muzzles locking onto Alice from every direction.

Michael stared at her with bloodshot eyes. "Kneel. If you beg properly, I might grant you a quick death."

Alice didn't react. She didn't even look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the monitor, her thoughts racing.

"My operation was flawless," she said calmly, her voice carrying an unmistakable authority. "Your father is not dead. I need to examine him again."

She stepped toward the bed. Before she could reach it, Bruce—consumed by wrath—raised his pistol.

"Examine my backside!" he spat. "Michael, what are you waiting for? Are you too enchanted by her face to pull the trigger? If you won't kill her, I will."

He fired—three times in rapid succession. The bullets sliced through the air, aimed straight at Alice's head.

Every eye in the room followed their trajectory, certain she would collapse lifelessly at any moment.

Yet, Alice didn't flinch. Instead, she reached out, her hand extending toward the very bullets.

Josie scoffed bitterly. "Catching bullets barehanded? Does she think she's some kind of—"

Her words died in her throat.

In the next heartbeat—

Alice opened her palm. Three mangled bullets lay there, crushed into twisted scrap metal. She squeezed her fist, and silver dust spilled between her fingers, scattering across the floor with a faint, mocking chime.

The Wright family stood frozen, disbelief hollowing their faces.

"I told you," Alice said, stepping in front of the bed, her presence radiating terrifying authority. "Dami is not dead. Interfere again—and I will no longer show restraint."

Michael's face twisted with terror and madness.

"Fire!" he roared. "I don't care what she is—burn this place down if you must! I want her dead!"

Alice's expression hardened.

In an instant, the room erupted into chaos. Machine guns roared to life, a tempest of bullets surging forward.

She lunged ahead, covering Damien's frail body with her own, her back absorbing the storm.

The scorching rounds struck her, ricocheting off her impossibly dense muscle and bone.

Yet there were too many.

A relentless barrage of bullets rained down upon her, the cumulative force finally overwhelming her defenses.

A sharp, tearing sound echoed as three rounds grazed her cheek. Pain flared, hot and sudden.

Crimson droplets splattered from her face, landing precisely on Damien's parched, slightly parted lips.

Smoke filled the room like a ghostly shroud. As the gunfire ceased, a sight that defied reality unfolded: the bullets that had burrowed into Alice's flesh were being expelled, one by one, clattering to the ground like worthless pebbles.

Every gaze remained fixed on her in horror.

Then, right before their astonished eyes, the gruesome gunshot wounds began to mend.

Skin knitted itself together, muscle reformed, and blood vanished. Within seconds, only faint pink traces remained, as though the injuries had never existed.

"What… what kind of monster are you?" Michael stumbled backward, his voice trembling.

Alice paid him no heed. She bent down, her fingers swiftly checking Damien's vitals.

Then— Like a spark igniting in the depths of darkness, the old man's withered fingers twitched.

Under the family's incredulous stares, Damien slowly opened his eyes.

The cloudiness faded, inch by inch, until his gaze settled on Alice's face.

Summoning strength no one believed he still possessed, the legendary tycoon—the man whose name had once made the world tremble—struggled upright. He ignored his children, his empire, his wealth. He slid from the bed and fell to his knees before the young woman.

His cracked lips trembled.

And in a voice thin with age yet heavy enough to shake the room, he whispered a single word—"Mom."