Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 291

“There’s no problem a good beating can’t fix. And if one doesn’t work, two should do the trick.”

“Thank you for standing up for me, Ms. Lockridge,” Selene said quietly, glancing at Quentin. “But violence rarely solves things at the root.”

Gwyneth just smirked, snapping her fingers at the muscle-bound man beside her. “Time to change my shoes.”

He dropped to his knees, gently cradling her foot in his hands as he slipped a black stiletto onto it, reverent as if he were performing a ritual.

Once her shoes were on, Gwyneth lifted the hem of her silk robe, took aim, and drove the pointed toe hard into Quentin’s lower back.

He yelped, tears springing to his eyes.

Standing over him like a queen dispensing judgment, Gwyneth warned, “From now on, Selene is under my protection. Try laying a hand on her again—”

“I didn’t—” Quentin started, but Gwyneth shut him up by pressing the sole of her heel against his mouth.

Grinding her shoe into his lips, she hissed, “You’re not local, are you? Go ask around. See what they say about Gwyneth Lockridge.”

Turning away from him, Gwyneth flashed Selene a dazzling smile. “That’s the benefit of working with me.”

She beckoned to the man in the black robe, who promptly handed her a paper bag.

Gwyneth offered it to Selene. “Heels are a woman’s weapon of choice. Consider this my welcome gift.”

Selene regarded Gwyneth, who looked dangerous even with a few loose strands of hair falling across her flawless face. She’d pinned her dark hair up with an ebony hair stick, but their scuffle had left it slightly undone, the stray locks only highlighting her icy beauty.

Her looks were lethal, but it was the century-old Lockridge family fortune that made her truly fearless.

To befriend or oppose someone like her—either way, it was never easy.

Selene accepted the gift. “Thank you, Ms. Lockridge. I’ll treasure it.”

She shot Quentin a cold glance. He shrank back, arms covering his head, desperate to disappear.

Gwyneth watched Selene walk away, lips curled in satisfaction. No one could resist her charm—least of all a woman like Selene, who’d spent seven years as a housewife. Show her a little kindness, and she’d be forever grateful.

Before leaving, Gwyneth tossed one last insult at Quentin. “Don’t let me see you again. Know your place—stop aiming for women far out of your league.”

Once Gwyneth was gone, the foreigner finally helped Quentin up.

He asked, “That Selene—what’s her connection to Leo?”

Quentin was still curled on the ground, groaning in pain. “Hickey! Take me to the hospital, will you?”

Hickey shook Quentin’s shoulder, utterly unsympathetic. Quentin rolled his eyes, wincing.

“Come on, tell me! That woman you were pestering—does she know Leo?”

But what caught her breath was the black collar around his neck.

Selene zoomed in, feeling her cheeks flush.

Before she could savor it, Adrian recalled the photo.

What the—? So free previews only last three seconds now? Want to see more, you have to pay for premium?

She fumed.

Another selfie arrived: this time, the collar was clipped to a leash, and Adrian held the other end, eyebrow raised.

“When will you take me for a walk?”

Selene shivered, tongue running over her teeth. That was… shameless.

Suddenly, she noticed the chemical smell in the elevator was getting stronger.

Senses on high alert, she pressed the emergency button.

As her vision began to blur, her phone slipped from her hand and landed at her feet.

Her last thought before the darkness crept in: Pretty boys are nothing but trouble.