Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 282

Harrison’s handsome features were clouded by a dark scowl.

“Tell the housekeeper to make it for you!” he snapped.

His son always came up with the most outlandish requests.

Why was Dames suddenly so obsessed with Selene, and why did Harrison have to be the one tortured by it?

He had no patience for wasting time on such trivial matters.

But Dames was stubborn. He wailed, “I want the soup that Mom makes! Waaaah!”

His whining over the phone pierced Harrison’s ears, a shrill, needling sound that made his eardrums ache as if a thousand pins were jabbing at them.

“Fine,” Harrison shot back, frustration boiling over. “Should I chop off her hands and make the soup for you, would that make you happy?”

Dames went dead silent, his face blanching in shock.

“Dad! How can you say that? I want Mom—”

“Don’t let me hear you say ‘Mom’ again!” Harrison cut him off coldly, ending the call with a decisive click.

His chest heaved, each breath sending a stab of pain through his heart.

It felt as if the blood in his veins was vaporizing in the fire of his anger. Veins snaked across the back of his hand, standing out as he clenched his phone until his knuckles whitened.

He still didn’t want to believe it. He told himself that Selene’s indifference throughout their marriage had to be a coincidence.

But what about the Scotch eggs?

Those intricate, time-consuming Scotch eggs—Selene always made them by hand for him, didn’t she?

Driven by a sudden need for reassurance, Harrison pulled up this year’s kitchen footage on his computer, searching for the day Selene made Scotch eggs for him and the kids.

He watched Selene carefully handling every step of the recipe, assembling the eggs with practiced hands.

A wave of relief swept over him, and he sagged back in his chair, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.

But something caught his eye. He leaned forward for a closer look. Selene seemed to be making only two portions.

Had Selene been feeding him prepackaged meals all these years?

He scrolled through more kitchen footage, searching for scenes of Selene preparing his lunches.

The housekeeper always said Selene would get up early and stay up late to make those “lovingly prepared” lunches, never giving up even when Harrison routinely tossed them out after she dropped them off at Vaughn Enterprises.

But the footage told another story. Only in the first year had Selene actually cooked for him. After that, she never prepared lunch in the kitchen again.

Every day, she locked herself away in the kitchen, forbade the staff from coming in, pulled up a chair, and sat reading, doing research on her iPad, or scrolling through academic papers.

When it was almost time, she’d walk out carrying an empty lunchbox.

Yet whenever she delivered lunch to his office, the container was always filled to the brim.

Was she just buying takeout and packing it into lunchboxes for him?

Another memory surfaced—two years ago, Selene had given him a scarf, claiming she’d knitted it herself.