Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 97

Harrison didn’t really care about winning this race. He wasn’t a professional driver; the only reason he brought Dark Hole onto the track was to honor Natalie’s

memory.

Adrian slid into the passenger seat of Solarius and glanced over, catching Selene staring at Dark Hole, lost in thought.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Selene blinked, her lashes brushing against the inside of her helmet. With the visor down, Adrian couldn’t see her expression.

“I just don’t like that car,” she admitted quietly.

Adrian’s voice was lazy, almost teasing. “Take first place, and you get to pick any three cars from Harrison’s garage. When that time comes, choose Dark Hole and send it straight to the junkyard.”

Selene couldn’t help but laugh, the gloom that had been clinging to her finally lifting. She remembered the first time she’d seen Dark Hole in the Vaughn family’s garage. The car had caught her eye immediately, and when she noticed the door was unlocked, she’d slid right into the driver’s seat.

She was running her fingers across the dashboard when Harrison yanked her out.

Back then, she’d been pregnant–carrying twins, her belly unmistakable. She landed hard on the concrete floor.

Harrison stood over her by the car door, looking down from above, his presence cold and unyielding, a wall of ice between them.

“Don’t get my car dirty.”

“Harrison, I’m your wife-”

She wanted to tell him she actually knew a thing or two about racing, and how surprised she was to find a custom–built supercar in the family garage. She’d been genuinely excited to meet a kindred spirit.

She’d imagined what it would be like to see Dark Hole and Solarius tearing up the track together.

She was his wife. Why shouldn’t she sit in his car in their own garage?

8. 52

Chapter 97

Selene reached for the car to pull herself up, but the chill coming off Harrison was enough to make her draw her hand back, as if invisible arrows were threatening to pierce right through her.

She looked over her shoulder from the floor and saw him standing by the elevator, not leaving, just watching–still radiating that same unrelenting pressure.

Her fingers trembled. Whatever courage she’d had to touch the car evaporated.

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