Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 329

Harrison called Nadine. “Hey, do you happen to know what size shoes Selene wears?”

“What?” Nadine stared out the window, half-expecting to see a comet crashing into earth. This was a first—Harrison, of all people, asking about Selene’s shoe size.

Why on earth did he even need to know that?

Relying on a vague memory, Nadine rattled off Selene’s size.

Harrison passed the information to the sales assistant.

The woman smiled at him. “Buying shoes for your girlfriend, sir?”

He hesitated. “What makes you think they’re for my girlfriend?”

Under his gaze, the sales assistant flushed. “Well, she must be someone new, right? Since you don’t know her size.”

It felt as though Harrison had swallowed a wad of paper—his throat blocked, making it hard to breathe.

He’d been married to Selene for seven years, and yet, he couldn’t even remember her birthday.

He could’ve looked it up, easily—every detail about Selene was at his fingertips if he ever cared to check. But he never bothered. To him, she had always been unimportant.

*

Harrison stepped out of the car with a neatly wrapped shoebox, standing beneath the iron gates of Verdant Heights. He walked into the building, pausing at the apartment door.

He had to mentally brace himself before turning the key and stepping inside.

The lights flickered on, revealing an empty, echoing space—his own apartment, the one he’d bought, now stripped bare.

He wandered deeper in, stopping at the very spot where he’d once been handcuffed.

The cuffs were gone. The walls had been freshly painted, not a single mark left behind.

All the tools he’d left in the room were missing, too. The place looked as if no one had ever set foot in it.

Had Selene cleared out every trace to destroy the evidence of his captivity?

Harrison took a shaky step back, pulling out his phone to call his driver. “Get over here right now and start going through the dumpsters—no, actually, get a team and search the entire landfill. I want you to find something for me!”

Even as he said the words, Harrison realized how pointless it was.

“Sir, is there something you want us to find?” Lacy, his assistant, asked.

Harrison sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the floor. “Is this… curable?”

The psychologist gave him a reassuring smile. “Adults often have their quirks. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your life or put others in harm’s way, embracing these harmless preferences can actually be good for your mental health.

My advice? Maybe it’s time to accept this side of yourself.”

“…”

Harrison stared at the diagnosis for a long, long time.

He left the office, head spinning, and caught a glimpse of someone in the hallway—someone familiar.

He stopped in his tracks, watching as Adrian slipped into another consulting room.

Curiosity piqued, Harrison trailed after him, glancing up at the sign above the door:

Urology Room 1

Adrian… was seeing a urologist?