The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 200 - 201: Why are you all staring at me like I grew a second head?

Chapter 200: Chapter 201: Why are you all staring at me like I grew a second head?

The shrill tone split the air, grating like nails on stone.

Isabella rolled her eyes before she even turned. Here we go. That voice. That pitch. That attitude.

It had prejudice written all over it.

Every single time someone saw Cyrus in his true form, there was always one dramatic idiot ready to scream demon or curse or abomination. And from the way that voice sounded—sharp, judgmental, absolutely annoying—this girl was the idiot of the day.

Isabella turned, squinting toward the noise, and spotted the culprit.

Two women had stepped out from behind the guests.

Twins.

Pretty in a raw, earthy sort of way—sun-kissed skin, long limbs, thick hair that looked like it had been brushed with fingers instead of combs. Their clothes were made from soft animal hide, stitched tight in all the right places, showing off curves clearly meant to draw attention.

One was glaring at Cyrus in open horror, her mouth already half-open again like she was about to launch into a prayer of exorcism.

The other tilted her head slightly, squinting at him like she couldn’t decide if he was dangerous... or interesting.

Still, that didn’t stop the irritation crawling up Isabella’s spine.

"Yes, do you have a problem with that?" she asked, stepping forward casually, every word laced with razor-edged sweetness. Her tone was polite.

Her eyes were not.

All attention shifted to her again—exactly how she liked it.

"And who are you?" the rude one asked, voice clipped and condescending, her lips curling like she’d just stepped in something unpleasant.

"Isabella," she said simply, flashing a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Assistant to chaos, builder of strange things, breaker of arrogant men, and—judging by the way you’re looking at me—your new insecurity."

The gasp that followed from the dark-haired woman echoed like a dropped teacup. Heads lowered. Some of her entourage visibly flinched. A few even bowed their heads, as if preparing for judgment day.

Isabella caught the twitch of movement with a flick of her eyes. Huh. So they worked for her.

The haughty woman blinked rapidly, like she couldn’t believe someone dared speak to her that way. Her nostrils flared. Lips curled. A storm gathered.

"Oh, you’re the one everyone’s been calling a goddess," the other woman said before her sister could explode. Her tone was curious, almost... reverent. Wide-eyed, like she’d just discovered a mythical bird preening in their midst. "You’re even prettier than the rumors."

Isabella’s smile softened—genuinely, this time. She could already tell. This one would be far more tolerable. Maybe even... sweet.

"Well, aren’t you a delight," Isabella said, returning the warm look. "I like you already."

The warm smile she received in return was practically a beam of sunshine. But it was immediately smothered by a pointed glare from the angry sister.

"Oh, please. She’s no goddess," the rude one snapped, voice tight, like she’d bitten into something sour. "She’s just some glorified peasant the villagers are obsessed with."

"But she does look like one, sister," the kind one insisted, her soft expression unbothered by the sneer aimed her way.

"Will you shut it, Ilyana?" the rude sister hissed, cutting her off with a glare sharp enough to kill. "You’re a princ—"

A subtle, well-timed cough interrupted her mid-word. She clamped her mouth shut immediately, lips going flat.

Isabella tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. That cough had come from behind the crowd. She turned and saw him—oh, right. The annoyingly smug guy from the well, the one who’d strutted around like he’d invented water.

Garan.

He was watching her expectantly, smiling with that practiced "I’m important" charm that nobles always wore like perfume. His chest was slightly puffed. Chin lifted like he was waiting for her to acknowledge him.

Isabella stared for half a second. Then she turned her head—deliberately—right back to the two sisters, like Garan didn’t exist. Not today, noble boy. freewebnσvel.cøm

The effect was immediate.

Garan blinked, visibly stunned. His smile wobbled. Euphim, standing nearby with arms lazily crossed, barked a quiet laugh. He didn’t bother hiding it.

"Wow," his face seemed to say. "That’s two times in a row."

Garan’s jaw clenched. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

"Sorry, Isolde," Ilyana whispered, shrinking slightly. She bit her lip, clearly embarrassed by her own slip earlier.

Isolde didn’t respond. Her eyes had turned sharp again, but this time not at Isabella. No, now she swiveled toward Kian.

"Kian, I didn’t realize you were accepting monsters like this into your village," she said, voice drenched in disdain as she gestured toward Cyrus.

Her tone held that dangerous lilt. The kind that came from someone used to talking down to others. Someone used to people agreeing with her just to avoid her wrath.

Isabella folded her arms and raised a brow. Oh, that was cute. Playing the monster card. Classic move. She wondered how often Isolde used that line to make herself feel taller.

Kian didn’t flinch.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Cyrus.

"Let him go," he said flatly, voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Cyrus, still squeezing the semi-conscious, soap-drenched Gerwin with his tail, didn’t react right away—not even sparing Kian a glance.

He just... stood there.

Staring.

At Isabella.

Everyone turned to look at her too. Even Gerwin, despite his closed eyes, twitched like he could feel the shift in attention.

Isabella, completely unaware, was inspecting her nails.

"They’re uneven," she muttered with a grimace, tilting her hand in the light. "And dirty. That’s just cruel."

She sighed.

She needed a solution. A file. Personal nail set. Possibly a ritual to banish the grime. Anything.

But what she didn’t realize—what no one told her—was that the entire clearing had gone still. Frozen.

Because Cyrus hadn’t moved.

Because Cyrus was waiting.

Waiting on her.

Kian’s jaw ticked slightly. His eyes flicked between the beastman and Isabella, and something dark flickered in their depths. Annoyance? Frustration? Or was that...

Jealousy?

Isolde noticed it too. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something sharp—something mean—but she bit it back.

Of course she did. Her brothers were watching her like hawks. And she already looked ridiculous enough for one day.

Cyrus’s grip on Gerwin loosened ever so slightly, but his gaze remained fixed.

Isabella finally looked up, blinking as she noticed the eerie silence. Her brows pulled together. "What?" she asked. "Why are you all staring at me like I grew a second head?"

Cyrus’s eyes glinted. He didn’t say a word. Just waited.

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