The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 196 - 197: Gosh, you probably don’t even clean yourself

Hell no, he wasn’t walking away from this.

She raised her chin, eyes glittering with a fierce, unyielding fire as she addressed the group. "Okay, ladies. If you’re angry—really angry at this man. If you’ve been waiting for a chance to get back at him, to show him he can’t just do whatever he wants... Raise your hands."

Without hesitation, every woman’s hand shot into the air like a spark lighting a wildfire. The air buzzed with tension and defiance, trembling with years of hidden rage finally given a voice.

Even the children, innocent and wide-eyed, mimicked the gesture, their small hands rising in solidarity.

Isabella’s gaze fell on one little girl in particular—a raggedy thing with a gap-toothed smile that belied the fierce sorrow in her eyes. "Why did you raise your hand, little one?" she asked gently, crouching down so their eyes met.

The girl’s gaze never wavered as she spoke with surprising clarity for her age. "Because one time, my mama came home crying. He had beaten my fox father so badly... None of my siblings could stop him. And back then, my mama didn’t have many mates to protect us, so she had to take a lot." Her voice cracked with emotion, but there was steel beneath the tears.

Isabella’s heart clenched, a pang of sorrow and anger knotting in her chest. "I’m so sorry that happened," she said softly, reaching out to squeeze the woman’s hand in comfort.

Turning away, Isabella’s eyes locked back onto the man still caught in Cyrus’s firm grip.

"You—" she began, fury rolling off her in waves.

But before she could finish, the man spat at her—slick, hateful saliva shooting straight for her face.

Thank God, Isabella was quick. She darted to the side just in time, the spit landing with a sickening plop on the dusty ground beside her.

The act didn’t just disgust her—it enraged her.

"You bastard!" she snapped, stepping forward and delivering a sharp, echoing slap across his cheek.

But one wasn’t enough. She slapped him again. And again. Each strike ringing out like thunder, each fueled by the pain he’d caused, by the cowardice he’d shown.

Finally, she stepped back, breathing hard, her face flushed with adrenaline. "I look too good, smell too good, and feel too good to be tainted by your stupid morning spit," she said, voice dripping with scorn.

She wrinkled her nose, holding it as if the stench had seeped into her very skin. "Gosh, you probably don’t even clean yourself. You stink, boo."

The bitter odor of unwashed breath and malice hit her nostrils, almost gagging her.

"Ugh, irritating," she muttered, eyes flicking to Opehlia with a silent message that didn’t need words: Is this the man you’ve been crying over?

Opehlia gave a small scoff, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Please stop staring at me like that, it scares me," she whispered, voice thick with shame and something softer—hope, maybe?

Isabella just smiled, a quiet promise hanging between them.

Then, turning with a flourish, she held up the soap.

"So, ladies," she began, her tone bright and teasing, "while I was planning to share this soap I brought for all of you, I thought I’d teach you how to use it properly. I was going to just tell you about the consequences of getting this in the wrong places..." She held the bowl aloft, the creamy liquid shimmering as it dripped into a clay bowl beneath.

"But I’ve changed my mind," she said with a sly grin, "and I have a better idea."

Gerwin, cheeks still stinging from her slaps, watched warily as Isabella’s hands moved with purpose, swirling the soap between her fingers.

"I thought—why just tell you," she said, eyes glinting with mischief, "when I could show you?"

The women blinked in confusion, but curiosity won over hesitation. They nodded eagerly, hunger for knowledge and justice shining bright.

Opehlia’s eyes went wide, and she let out a quiet breath, stealing a quick glance at Isabella that earned her a sharp side-eye in return.

"Ok, good," Isabella said, her voice bubbling with excitement as she scooped up a generous dollop of the thick, creamy soap from the clay bowl. The faint scent of herbs and citrus wafted from it, sharp and clean against the dusty air. "Luca, would you be kind enough to help me hold this?" She stretched out her hand, balancing the bowl carefully. Luca stepped forward smoothly, his steady fingers wrapping around the rim, steadying it without hesitation.

Rubbing her hands together, Isabella fixed her gaze on Gerwin, who was still glaring at her with a mixture of confusion and growing fear.

"W-what are you doing?" Gerwin stammered, eyes flickering with panic.

Isabella ignored him, her smile widening, sharp and confident. "Now, watch closely, ladies," she said, turning her back to Gerwin’s protests as she dipped her fingers into the soap.

Without warning, she pressed her soapy fingers into his eyes.

"Aaaaaa!" Gerwin screamed, the sound ripping through the tense silence like a jagged knife. He flailed wildly, trying to bite at her hand, teeth snapping mere inches from her skin.

But Isabella was fast—too fast for him. She twisted her body gracefully, stepping aside before his teeth could make contact. The air was thick with the sharp tang of soap and raw pain.

"See?" Isabella said, gesturing dramatically toward him as he howled, clutching at his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. "This is what happens if you get soap in your eyes."

Her voice was calm and instructional, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.

The gathered women watched silently, their expressions a mix of horror and fascination as Gerwin writhed, his agonized screams echoing off the cracked walls.

"When soap gets in your eyes, it burns like fire. It stings, and you can barely see. It’s nearly unbearable."

A few women shivered, clutching their own hands. If just a little soap could cause such agony, they thought, they’d better be careful.

Isabella’s tone softened as she added, "And there are other places you must never let this soap touch—your mouth and your nose."

She glanced pointedly at Gerwin, who was now slumped against Cyrus’s firm hold, his face pale and wet with tears.p

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢