Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 457

Harrison was about ready to explode. Now he was under round-the-clock surveillance by Leo’s men, and once he got off this godforsaken mountain, he was hell-bent on finding out exactly who’d roughed him up earlier.

“You just wait and see!” he fumed to himself, mentally adding Leo’s so-called security team to his growing list of grievances. How could they even call themselves bodyguards when they didn’t bother to keep him safe?

“Mr. Vaughn, we work for Mr. Leo,” one of the guards said flatly. “If you try to take it out on us, that’s a direct insult to Mr. Leo.”

Harrison took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “Once I’m out of here, I’ll make sure my uncle knows you’ve done a miserable job protecting me.”

The guard just shrugged. “Mr. Vaughn, keeping you safe isn’t really in our job description. Mr. Leo only told us to keep you in sight. As long as you’re still breathing, we’ve done our job.”

Harrison was speechless.

After the beating he’d taken in the bathhouse, he felt filthier than ever. He didn’t even dare risk a shower, afraid those same thugs would barge in while he was undressed and put a bag over his head—now, that would be humiliating.

How had he, the CEO of Vaughn Enterprises, ended up in such a ridiculous predicament?

He filled a basin with water and slipped back into his room. After soaking a towel and wringing it out, he began to wipe himself down, his jaw clenched in frustration. He’d never had to endure this kind of suffering in his life.

He wanted to scrub himself raw, but every time he lifted his arm, the bruises from his earlier scuffle throbbed with pain.

“Damn it,” Harrison hissed through gritted teeth.

The pain was unbearable, so he settled for a half-hearted wipe-down, then changed into a clean pair of trousers and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a stethoscope.

Sunlight streamed through the window bars, illuminating his bare torso and catching the faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips.

Anyone passing by just then would’ve found it odd—what was so fascinating about a stethoscope?

But to Harrison, it was something special.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the moment Selene had used that same stethoscope to catch him by the neck—a memory vivid as flame. He could still feel the rush of breathlessness, the dizzying heat flooding his head, his blood pounding, muscles tensed to the point of aching—everything about him on edge.

He swallowed hard, forcing his face back into a mask of seriousness.

What the hell was he thinking?

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