The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 395: When you said no… stop means stop
The silence in the room stretched, heavy as stone. The sound of rain outside was the only thing that dared to move.
Kian sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his head lowered. The glow that had once flared through his markings was gone now, but the memory of it still lingered in the air — a faint hum, a scent of burnt air and fear.
Isabella swallowed, her throat dry. "Kian," she said softly, her voice small in the cavernous quiet.
No answer.
She hesitated for a long moment before she tried again, a little louder. "Kian, what happened?"
Her voice trembled on the last word. She pushed herself up on shaky legs, her feet brushing against the furs as she tried to approach him. But the moment she took a step closer—
"Stay away."
The words cut through the air like a blade.
Isabella froze mid-step, her heart thudding painfully. His tone—cold, distant, sharp—wasn’t one she’d ever heard from him before. Kian had growled, commanded, teased, and even frightened her before, but never this. Never a voice that sounded like he was afraid of himself.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She could only stare at his back, at the way his shoulders were tense, the muscles in his arms trembling faintly as if he were holding something inside.
"Kian..." she whispered again, barely audible this time.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even glance at her. Slowly, he got to his feet. The heavy air between them seemed to thicken as he straightened, the movement of a man carrying a weight that wasn’t visible but impossible to ignore.
When he finally turned, his expression was unreadable. His eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but they weren’t calm either. They looked hollow, stormy — a man staring at something he couldn’t forgive himself for.
Her breath caught.
He started to walk away. Each step felt like it echoed against her chest.
When he reached the doorway, he stopped. The torches threw his shadow long against the wall, stretching toward her like something torn in half.
His gaze lifted—not to her—but to Cyrus, who still stood near the far end of the chamber. The serpent’s tail had vanished, but the shimmer of scales still lingered faintly on his arms. His expression was calm now. Too calm.
The two men locked eyes for a long, wordless second, and the air between them went sharp — dangerous — like the split-second before a lightning strike. Kian’s gaze was heavy, unreadable, weighed down by something almost like guilt. But Cyrus’s eyes—his eyes were burning.
They didn’t glow this time, not like when he’d fought, but the fury in them was alive all the same. Cold, coiled fury. The kind that didn’t need to shout to be heard.
His jaw was tight enough to crack. His hands were clenched at his sides, the faint shimmer of scales still flickering along his knuckles, betraying how close he was to losing control again.
If Isabella hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t begged him to stop earlier, Cyrus wasn’t sure he could’ve restrained himself now. He’d never hated Kian before — not really — but in that moment, standing in the wreckage of what almost happened, he could barely look at him without wanting to rip the beast apart.
And yet he didn’t move. He just stared at Kian with the kind of quiet rage that said you don’t deserve her, even if the words never left his mouth.
The tension between them was suffocating — two predators standing in the same room, but one still seething, the other already retreating into the dark.
"Take care of her," Kian said finally, his voice low but steady.
And then he walked out.
The curtain shuffled behind him with a dull flip.
For a moment, Isabella could only stand there staring at the door, her mind struggling to catch up.
"What..." Her voice came out small, almost disbelieving. "What the fuck is going on? What does he mean by that?"
Her words hung in the air, unanswered.
Then movement—Cyrus crossed the distance between them in an instant. A soft ripple of light passed through his palm, and fabric appeared there — clean, soft, warm. Without a word, he draped it over her shoulders, wrapping her carefully as if she might shatter at any second.
"Are you okay?" His voice came out tight, rushed, too full of concern. "Are you hurt anywhere? Does anything ache? Do you feel dizzy?"
He was practically panicking, his hands hovering near her shoulders, her arms, as if he was afraid to touch her too much. His composure—the calm, gentle Cyrus she knew—was gone, replaced by a man who didn’t know what to do with his fear.
Isabella blinked at him, overwhelmed. "I’m fine," she said finally, shaking her head. "I’m fine, Cyrus. Really."
But she wasn’t fine. Not in the slightest.
Inside, everything was a storm. The image of Kian’s face — that expression, that voice telling her to stay away — kept replaying in her head, twisting something sharp in her chest. He’d never looked at her like that before. Never turned his back on her like that.
It stung more than she expected.
He just rejected me, she thought, a small, bitter laugh escaping before she could stop it. Kian actually rejected me.
The great Isabella — who never got rejected, who could walk into any room and have every eye turn — had just been told to stay away. By the one man she’d been trying to get closer to.
Her pride ached. Her heart too, though she’d never admit it.
Cyrus watched her quietly, reading every flicker of emotion across her face. Guilt settled heavy in his chest.
He should have done more.
No man should ever treat a woman that way. No king. No beast. Not even one losing control. And yet... he couldn’t bring himself to hate Kian completely. Because when Isabella had screamed his name, there had been something in Kian’s eyes—something lost, something that wasn’t him.
Still, Cyrus’s jaw tightened. "He should have stopped," he muttered, almost to himself. "When you said no... stop means stop."
Isabella didn’t reply. She just hugged the fabric closer around her, her mind far away.
Cyrus sighed softly. "I’ll take you back to your room," he said gently. "Glimora’s already asleep."
That made her look up, finally. Her lips curved into a small, tired smile. "Oh... alright."
He extended a hand toward her, helping her stand. The warmth of his palm steadied her even if her thoughts were still scattered.
Together, they left Kian’s chamber, the heavy silence of the palace pressing down on them both.
Isabella didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Because she wasn’t sure what would hurt more—seeing Kian still there... or realizing that he was truly gone.
