Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 92

Over the past few weeks, Felicity had been posting countless clips of herself and Dames riding her motorcycle on TikTok.

For five years, her account had hovered at just over two thousand followers. Every time she uploaded one of her so–called “epic” ride videos, it was always the same rowdy group of friends–liking, commenting, and hyping her up.

But the first time Felicity posted a video of her and Dames riding together, everything changed.

That very night, she realized she’d gone viral.

After that, she made a habit of taking Dames along for her rides, and every new clip of them together racked up a million views in no time.

Felicity, always eager for attention, saw her chance. For a whole month, she doubled down–posting daily, watching her follower count explode to over a million.

Of course, the more famous she got, the louder the naysayers became. But Felicity couldn’t care less.

“They’re just jealous,” she told herself.

After all, who else would dare take a five–year–old on a heavy motorcycle?

But this past week, Felicity noticed something troubling: her latest motorcycle videos featuring Dames were barely pulling in 200,000 views.

People were getting bored. The novelty had worn off.

So, after some brainstorming with her friends, Felicity decided it was time to up the ante.

On their next ride, with the bike roaring down the highway, she folded her arms across her chest and let her five–year–old take the handlebars.

Then, out of nowhere, Felicity pulled a bottle of red wine and a wine glass from her bag.

Sitting on the back of the speeding motorcycle, she poured herself a glass, swirling the wine as if she were lounging in a luxury hotel rather than tearing down the open road.

Her friend captured everything on camera, whispering excitedly into her headset,

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Chapter 92

“Perfect!”

“Flick, I bet you’ll get at least a hundred thousand likes on this one!”

Selene’s days followed the same steady routine. After dropping Daph off at school each morning, she’d hurry home to study–methodically working through the same university–level courses she’d taken years ago. She was determined to reclaim the knowledge she’d lost over the past five years, racing against the clock to make up for lost time.

In the evenings, after dinner with Daph, they’d drive over to the Shaw family estate.

Across the room, Theodore’s grip tightened on his cane, the veins in his hand

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