Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 285

I regret driving you away. I miss the soup you used to make for me, the lactose-free cakes you baked.

Dames bit down on his lower lip, limping toward the cluster of stray cats.

He shooed them away, picked up the disposable plastic bowl from the ground, and began scooping the cold rice soup into his mouth with his hand, shoving the grains past his chapped lips.

The soup was cold now, but the taste of home—his mother’s love—finally returned to him.

Tears streamed down Dames’s face as he ate.

One of the cats hissed at him in protest, and another leapt onto his leg, trying to claw the bowl back for itself.

“Dames, what the hell are you doing?!”

Harrison strode over, voice sharp with disbelief.

Dames turned, and Harrison saw his son’s tear-streaked face, dotted with stray grains of rice.

“Why are you stealing food from the cats? Have you lost your mind?!”

He’d watched Dames snatch the cats’ bowl. At first, Harrison thought maybe his son was just going to throw it out, but when he saw Dames scoop the rice straight into his mouth, rage and helplessness threatened to overwhelm him.

Sniffling, Dames looked up at him. “This is Mom’s soup. Dad, you haven’t tasted her soup in a long time, have you?”

He held the bowl in both hands, offering it. “Do you want some? After all, it’s not like we’ll ever get to eat Mom’s soup again.”

Harrison opened his mouth, but it felt as if someone had shoved a handful of sand down his throat; not a single word could escape.

Selene hadn’t cooked for him in ages. Even the meals he ate at home rarely came from her hands.

He used to think it was because Selene wanted to make something special for him, that she tailored his plates to suit his tastes. But after seeing the security footage, Harrison realized how wrong he’d been.

He felt like a fool, tricked for years, and all he could do was laugh at the absurdity of it.

He crouched down and gently took the plastic bowl from Dames.

“Don’t eat this anymore. I’ll bring her back—I’ll make sure she cooks for you again.”

He lifted his head, handsome features set in a determined expression, and there was a wild glint in his shadowed eyes.

His voice was soft, even smiling as he spoke: “This time, I won’t give her a chance to leave us. Not ever again.”

*

“I never have,” Gwyneth replied with a shrug.

For some reason, the comment made Selene think of Matilda, who never liked shoes either.

The thought flickered and vanished as Gwyneth settled in beside her. More men appeared, one offering a hairdryer, another carefully combing out her hair.

Once Gwyneth’s hair was dry and perfectly arranged, she finally spoke up, voice languid and amused. “Miss Thompson, do you know why I asked you here?”

“Because of my father?” Selene guessed.

“No,” Gwyneth leaned forward, eyes bright. “I want Thompson Victory Technologies. Let’s work together.”

“And why would I ever want to do that?” Selene shot back.

Gwyneth’s smile blazed, fierce as a rose in flame. “Because I can help you bring Thompson Victory Technologies to its knees.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know your secret. I know you hate your parents.”

“You weren’t switched at birth by accident. Matilda wanted a son, someone to carry on the Thompson name—her ticket into the family. When she gave birth to a girl, she bought a baby boy and gave you away.”

“And while you were with your first adoptive parents, you suffered... things no child should ever have to endure.”