Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 296

Harrison’s eyes flew wide open as he watched, stunned, while the bodyguards obeyed Selene’s command without hesitation.

They pulled out their phones, training their cameras on him from every possible angle, ready to record his humiliation for posterity.

Selene raised a thin cane—its surface pale and smooth, almost delicate in her hands. With a sharp crack, she brought it down across Harrison’s cheek. A red welt bloomed instantly on his skin.

Fury surged through him, hot as fire. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his mouth, tasting the blood rising beneath the burning flesh.

“Selene!” he bellowed, the outrage in his voice echoing off the walls. He tried to spit out another insult, but the words caught in his throat. He’d never looked at Selene from this angle before—never seen her like this.

She stood before him, cane in hand, her expression icy and remote. Her lashes were long and dark, casting shadows over her eyes, hiding whatever emotion flickered there.

She was beautiful—she always had been. But now, she was something more: sharp-edged, dangerous, as if the real Selene had finally unsheathed her claws. For the first time, Harrison saw the steel beneath her surface.

Selene raised the cane again.

Harrison’s eyes went even wider; instinctively, he held his breath.

“You shouldn’t use your wrist to hit someone with a cane,” came a voice from behind her—Luke Holloway’s, calm and authoritative.

He stepped forward, his large hand enveloping hers, steadying her grip. “Use your upper arm, rotate your elbow, open up your shoulder. Let your waist drive your strike. That way, you don’t hurt your own hand.”

With a single, practiced motion, he guided her arm. The cane lashed down, landing squarely on Harrison’s shoulder.

Pain exploded across Harrison’s body, radiating like wildfire. He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing into icy slits as he glared at Luke standing behind Selene.

From where Harrison sat, Selene’s back was pressed almost flush against Luke’s broad chest. The man stood over her like a mountain—tall, solid, utterly unwavering.

A glimmer of amusement sparkled in Selene’s eyes. “You’re right. This way, it’s much easier on the hand.”

Luke nodded, his warm hand lingering for a moment before letting go.

From across the room, Leo—silent in his wheelchair—watched Luke’s retreating figure, a thoughtful shadow in his gaze.

Another sharp crack split the air. Pain bloomed in Harrison’s chest, forcing his hands into fists, sweat beading on his brow.

“From now on,” Selene said coldly, “you don’t go to the bathroom without my permission. You don’t eat unless I say so. If you can’t hold it anymore… you can beg me.”

She threw his own words right back at him, word for word.

Harrison let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, his eyes darkening with rage. “You really—”

Before he could finish, Selene drove the point of her stiletto hard into the spot on his abdomen where he’d already been kicked.

He howled in pain.

The very shoes he’d once chosen for her were now grinding him into the ground.

It felt like a dull blade pressing into his body, weighing him down without ever offering release. He never imagined Selene would have the upper hand, not even for a moment.

He’d kidnapped her without a second thought, knowing that Luke, Leo, or even Adrian would track her down soon enough. Even if the police got involved, he could walk away with little more than a slap on the wrist. He’d planned to teach Selene a lesson—one that would haunt her long after she was rescued.

But Selene had turned the tables—in exactly the same way.

He was the CEO of Vaughn Enterprises, born into privilege, always in control.

Now, he was nothing but Selene’s prisoner.

How could he possibly accept this?

If looks could kill, Selene would have been scorched to ashes by now.

“Harrison, how does it feel to be at my mercy?” Selene asked, flicking the cane in a delicate arc.

The cane cracked against his face, sharp and rapid like the popping of firecrackers.

He bit down so hard to keep from crying out, he thought he might shatter his own molars.

Sweat streamed down his face, running in twisting lines, as his complexion faded from angry red to ashen pale.