Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 281

Harrison’s face darkened, his jaw set and eyes stormy.

Leo saw right through him. “Altair is your cousin. What, is it so hard to apologize to your own younger cousin? Or is Mr. Vaughn above saying sorry?”

By family ties, Altair was indeed Harrison’s cousin—though Altair and Dames were the same age. And Altair was only Leo’s adopted son; in the Vaughn family hierarchy, his status was still beneath Dames’s.

To make him, a grown man, apologize to Altair? Harrison simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Leo’s voice dropped to a cold warning. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Gemma stepped forward, her tone bristling with anxiety. “Leo, what are you doing? Why force Harrison to apologize to Altair? He’s a grown man—won’t it just upset the child?”

She caught herself as she said the last words, lowering her voice, knowing she was out of line. She hoped that Leo, always so detached, would let it slide.

“Harrison. Hold out your hand. Palm up.”

Leo’s tone didn’t change, his authority as an elder as fathomless as the ocean.

A sense of dread crawled over Harrison, but it was as if some invisible force compelled him—he stretched out his hand.

Leo gave his assistant a look. The assistant produced a wooden ruler and brought it down across Harrison’s palm with a sharp crack.

SMACK. The sound split the air. Gemma flinched, and Dames—crying in his hospital bed—jerked, his wails abruptly cut off.

A white mark bloomed on Harrison’s palm, then flushed a deep red, swelling before their eyes.

That ruler landed on Harrison’s hand, but the pain shot straight to Gemma’s heart. The old woman’s lips trembled as she watched, her whole being torn with anguish.

“Oh—oh…” she stammered, struck speechless. She knew Leo had done this as a warning to her.

Leo sat upright in his wheelchair, back ramrod straight, as unyielding as an oak.

“Your son shows no respect to Altair, I punish you. Your mother speaks out of turn, you pay the price,” Leo declared.

He turned to Gemma. “If you cross the line again, I’ll see to it that Harrison gets a slap across the mouth next time.”

Gemma could hardly breathe.

Sweat beaded on Harrison’s forehead, pain from his palm twisting and throbbing as if thorns were digging into his skin.

It hit him then—he’d been married to Selene for seven years, yet he barely knew her.

He’d always assumed she did nothing at home but care for the kids and keep the house running.

Skimming through five years of footage, the flickering glow of the monitor painted his features in shifting shadows, his expression growing darker with every minute.

It was always the children… always her studies. And what about him?

Turns out, his suits were pressed by the housekeeper. His bathwater was drawn by the staff. Selene only did a quick check before he got home.

He scanned the kitchen cameras and made another discovery—Selene fed him microwaved meals.

But for the kids, she prepared every dish from scratch. Why did she treat them so differently?

Just then, Harrison’s phone rang.

Before he could speak, Dames’s voice came through, soft and tearful. “Daddy, I want Mommy’s soup.”