Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 315

Felicity whipped around, scrambling to explain to Victor.

“Dad! It’s not what you think! I didn’t play that video!”

But Victor had lost all composure. In front of the entire company—staff, executives, shareholders—his scandalous video with his secretary had just been broadcast for all to see. And the person who exposed him? His own daughter.

Only moments earlier, he’d stood on that very stage, beaming with pride as he announced to everyone that both his daughters had joined Thompson Victory Technologies, promising they’d work together as a family to build a brighter future.

His stirring speech still echoed in the hall, and now, his dutiful daughter Felicity had driven a knife right into his back.

Victor wanted nothing more than to rip Felicity’s head off and use it for target practice.

“You wretch! I’ll kill you!”

He raised his foot and aimed a vicious kick at Felicity’s head.

He truly wanted to crush her skull right then and there.

Terrified, Felicity scrambled out of the way, nearly tripping over herself as she crawled across the stage.

She looked desperately at Selene. Surely, with so many people watching, Selene wouldn’t just stand by and let her be beaten to death?

But when she looked, Selene was kneeling on the floor, shaking Matilda’s shoulders.

“Mom! Wake up! Please, wake up!”

Selene pressed her fingers to Matilda’s upper lip, but Matilda’s brow was tightly furrowed.

Clearly overwhelmed, Matilda opened her eyes for a split second, gasped, “It hurts!”—then promptly fainted again.

Selene could tell her mother was faking it.

In times like this, playing the victim was the only way to claim the moral high ground.

So Selene played the devoted daughter, fussing over her mother, making herself look too preoccupied to intervene as Victor unleashed his rage on Felicity.

Felicity’s screams rang out through the auditorium.

The employees kept their heads down, unwilling to get involved; Victor was, after all, their boss. One word from him and anyone could be fired on the spot.

The executives and shareholders reacted differently: some were on the phone, faces drawn and anxious, others whispered urgently among themselves.

Victor’s affair with his secretary was hardly news within the company. But for a video this explicit to be exposed in public—right in front of reporters—was a disaster of a different magnitude.

Now, all anyone in management cared about was how to minimize the damage to Thompson Victory Technologies.

“Enough! Stop filming!”

She lay in bed, straining to figure out what it was.

Childhood trauma had left Selene deeply unsettled whenever she felt unsafe.

She slipped out of her room to investigate and found Clayton Thompson curled up at the turn of the staircase, Victor standing over him, whipping him with a leather belt.

In the dim light, the belt lashed through the air, drawing arcs of dark red blood across the wallpaper.

Clayton curled in on himself like a wounded animal. His back was raw and bleeding, but he didn’t make a sound—not even a whimper.

Suddenly, as if sensing her, Clayton looked up and met Selene’s gaze on the stairs.

His eyes were hollow and empty.

When he recognized her, a wild, thorny hatred erupted in his stare.

Selene’s heart clenched with fear. She hurried back to her room, desperate not to be seen by Victor.

The next morning, the wallpaper at the base of the stairs had been replaced, and the wood was scrubbed spotless—no trace of the previous night remained.

Clayton didn’t come down for breakfast. When Selene asked about him off-handedly, Matilda replied that he was sick.

Selene poured herself some coffee and took a plate of toast to Clayton’s room. As soon as she opened the door, the stench of blood hit her in the face.