The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 366: You haven’t had anything this morning
"Why did you have to distract her?" Zyran’s voice came sharp, his tone twisted with annoyance. But anyone with eyes could see—it wasn’t about the rice. It was never about the rice. He just hated the fact Cyrus had pulled Isabella’s attention away before he even got to boast about his rice.
And the worst part? Cyrus didn’t even have to try. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t smirked, hadn’t even tossed his silky hair like Zyran sometimes did. Isabella’s attention had just slid over to him naturally, like water obeying gravity.
Why was he the only one who had to announce himself before she noticed him? Why did he have to work for every ounce of attention, while Cyrus walked in with a bowl and suddenly Isabella’s entire world was tilted in his direction? Zyran’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. He really, really did not like it.
Isabella ignored him on purpose, not even sparing him a glance. Her gaze was locked on Cyrus, her sea-blue eyes shining with excitement as he approached. Her hands twitched against her thighs, fingers curling and uncurling as if they couldn’t wait any longer.
Cyrus stopped beside her, the bowl balanced in his hands, steam rising in thin curls that kissed the air. The scent was so thick Isabella could practically taste it. She leaned forward, barely restraining herself, and the moment he set the bowl down in front of her, she reached for the wooden lid.
But his hand caught her wrist before she could lift it.
His touch was soft—warm, firm, steady in a way that made her breath freeze mid-throat. Her fingers curled instinctively against his palm, not pulling away.
Isabella blinked up at him, confused. Her lips parted, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
Cyrus gave her a small, sweet smile. The kind that made her stomach flutter uncomfortably. He shook his head slowly, like he was scolding a stubborn child who’d just tried to snatch fruit before dinner. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚
"You haven’t had anything this morning," he said gently. "It’s not proper to eat sweets first."
Isabella groaned immediately, throwing her head back in pure exasperation. "Why do you all keep using my own teachings against me?" she demanded, cheeks puffing as she glared at him. "You do not teach the teacher! It is perfectly fine if I have a taste first."
Cyrus’s smile only softened further, which somehow irritated her more. He shook his head, his pink eyes calm. "No," he said firmly. "You must eat something before you have it."
Her mouth dropped open. "Who are you to tell me what to do?" she snapped, turning sharply to Kian with her most dramatic pout, silently begging him for backup.
But Kian’s face was blank as stone. Not a flicker of hesitation. "You will eat first before you have it."
Her whole world collapsed in that moment. She shouldn’t have even looked in his direction. Her own chest tightened as betrayal washed through her. She really thought he’d help her, but no—of course not. He was a brick wall disguised as a man.
Her throat tightened, her eyes almost misty with frustration. She had been so excited to finally taste the sweet scent she’d been chasing all morning, and now her own men were conspiring against her.
Just as she thought she might actually cry—Zyran’s voice cut in.
"I think it is fine if she has it," he said smoothly. His gaze lingered on her, his lips tugging upward. "Just a little won’t harm her."
Isabella whipped her head around, hope flaring bright. Someone was finally on her side! Her smile was already forming.
But then she realized who it was.
Her smile snapped in half like brittle wood. "...I’d rather eat first before having it."
Zyran froze. He felt the rejection stab him right through the ribs. He almost dropped his spoon. What the hell?!
His chest heaved with outrage. ’How is it that even when I side with her, they’re all against me?’ He wanted to scream, to slam his fist on the table, to shout the walls down. Why—why did she dislike him so much?
A small, strange sound broke the air. It sounded suspiciously like... laughter.
Everyone turned.
And there she was.
Glimora.
Curled on Isabella’s lap, the little beast was shaking softly, her tiny mouth curved in the most smug, wicked grin. The sound she made was delicate, airy—an honest-to-goodness giggle.
Isabella blinked down at her, stunned. It was the first time she’d ever heard Glimora laugh.
But this wasn’t just laughter. Oh no. This was mockery. Pure, delicious mockery. She was laughing at Zyran’s suffering. She was tiny, but she was brutal, and right now, she was absolutely delighted that he was burning alive.
Zyran stared at her, fury seething in his veins. That little fluffball. That demon in fur. That white ball of evil judgment. She was so small, and yet she managed to make him feel like an absolute fool.
He imagined flinging her across the room. Just once. He’d never actually do it, but god—he wanted to. His fangs pressed against his lips; his eyes narrowed with unholy irritation.
Glimora noticed his glare. She shrugged. Shrugged. Then tucked her tiny face into Isabella’s arm like she owned the place. Her tail swished lazily, her body smug and relaxed. That evil grin only grew sharper. She was still plotting something.
The others turned their attention away, trying to act like nothing happened. Isabella sighed, torn between sadness at being denied her sweet and excitement that the rice was finally hers. She decided to let it go—at least for now.
Her smile returned as she picked up her spoon. Her voice was lighter, softer. "Let me eat in peace, Zyran." She said already sensing Zyran was about to say something to irritate her again.
Zyran’s jaw twitched. "You know," he said bitterly, "I brought this rice for you. To eat. To be happy." His tone was sharp, accusing, even as Cyrus quietly sat down beside her, his focus already returning to her plate.
Isabella didn’t even glance at him. "I don’t care, Zyran," she said firmly, eyes bright with hunger. "Let me eat in peace."
She reached for her spoon.
Cyrus moved first, leaning in, his hand steady as he began spooning soft rice into her bowl. He didn’t look at her; he just worked carefully, adding measured scoops, layering meat, placing vegetables, balancing the colors like a craftsman building a painting.
The steam rose around them, curling between their faces. Isabella’s lips parted slightly as she watched him, her cheeks warming from more than the food. Her fingers brushed the edge of the bowl, tapping nervously.
Kian, silent but sharp, leaned in as well. His hand reached out—solid, precise. He moved to add something of his own.
At the same exact moment, Cyrus reached for the small dish of foraged brined berries.
Their hands collided.
A sharp pause fell across the table.
Every muscle in Isabella’s body stiffened. Her spoon froze mid-air.
Everyone stared.
Cyrus’s pink eyes flicked down at the point of contact. Kian’s blue ones narrowed slightly, a subtle warning in the cold depth of his gaze.
Neither man moved. Their hands stayed exactly where they were, both gripping the dish at the same time.
Even Glimora stopped plotting for a moment, peeking out with wide eyes.
The room held its breath.
