The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 84: The Son Of Anubis

THE UNDERWORLD

Zyran, son of Anubis, lounged lazily on a cushioned divan, one arm draped over the back while his long black tail flicked idly over the floor.

His panther-like ears twitched as the distant murmurs of the underworld seeped into his chamber, but he paid them no mind.

Instead, he toyed with a golden pendant between his fingers, the ankh symbol warm against his skin.

The dim torchlight cast shifting shadows over the sandstone walls, reflecting the smirk playing on his lips.

Before him, a scrying bowl shimmered with visions of the mortal realm—pitiful creatures scurrying through their short lives, blissfully unaware of the divine forces watching them.

Zyran exhaled a slow, amused breath, rolling his shoulders.

His tail curled lazily around his leg as he reached for a goblet of wine, taking an unhurried sip.

"Mortals are so predictable," he mused, voice smooth as silk. "But they do make for entertaining distractions."

His red eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned back, debating whether to meddle in their affairs... or simply enjoy the show.

Zyran swirled the wine in his goblet, but his thoughts were far from the drink. No matter how many times he tried to distract himself, his mind kept returning to her.

That mortal woman.

She had been perfect, almost unnaturally so—golden hair that shimmered under the sun like divine silk, skin so flawless it could be mistaken for polished porcelain, and those eyes... Bright, mischievous, but holding a depth that made him want to unravel her secrets.

She had carried herself with a strange contradiction—shy, yet confident, as if she knew her worth but had no need to flaunt it. A mere mortal, yet something about her had snared his attention in a way no goddess, no celestial being, ever had.

At first, he had brushed it off as fleeting amusement. But when he sought her out in his scrying bowl... nothing. She simply did not appear. No matter how many times he tried, no matter how deeply he peered into the threads of fate, she remained beyond his reach.

Zyran’s tail flicked sharply in frustration.

Now, he knew—she was no ordinary woman. Something about her defied the very laws he had spent lifetimes manipulating. And if she thought she could slip past his gaze forever... she was sorely mistaken.

His lips curled into a smirk as a plan formed in his mind.

If he couldn’t watch her from afar, then he’d just have to find her in person.

His red eyes gleamed with anticipation. He just had to wait for the right moment—perhaps when his father grew too preoccupied with the affairs of the underworld. Then, like a shadow in the night, he would slip away.

And this time... he wouldn’t let her vanish so easily.

But, as always, peace never lasted.

Just as he was lost in thoughts of that mysterious woman, his door burst open.

Zyran sighed, already regretting not locking his door. He didn’t even bother turning around—he knew that voice anywhere.

"Brother, you thief! You stole my clothes, didn’t you? Oh, I know you did! Why else would you take me to the mortal realm and suddenly—poof—my clothes disappear?!"

The poor girl barely paused for breath, her words tumbling out in an endless stream of accusation.

Zyran finally turned, deliberately scratching his ear, a silent complaint about how much she yelled. His tail flicked lazily as he arched a brow. "Have you considered," he drawled, "that perhaps you lost them yourself? Maybe a mortal stole them. I hear they’re quite fond of collecting things they shouldn’t touch."

His sister’s glare could have melted solid gold. "I did not lose them, Zyran! You did something, I know you did! Just admit it so I can—"

Zyran held up a hand, cutting her off. "Alright, alright. Let’s say I did take them." He leaned back against the divan, smirking. "What exactly do you plan to do about it?"

Her red eyes blazed with divine fury, and Zyran almost felt bad. Almost.

But honestly? Watching her get all worked up was far too entertaining.

Zyran watched with amusement as realization dawned on Violet’s face.

"Oh, oh, I see what’s going on here now," she said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You stole them for a mortal."

His brows lifted—not in shock, but in mock surprise, the kind that said, Wow, you’ve become so smart. I’m impressed.

Violet saw right through it, and her frustration soared. He was always so infuriatingly smug!

To be fair, she wasn’t just mad because of the theft.

No, what truly made her want to wail was the fact that she had handsewn those clothes herself.

A daughter of a god, personally crafting something with mortal materials—an impossible task, according to her underworld friends.

Mortal fabrics are weak and lifeless, they had said. Nothing magical can come from them.

But Violet had wanted to prove them wrong. So, when Zyran had taken her on one of his little strolls through the mortal realm a few days ago, she’d seized the chance.

She had found fabrics that caught her eye, worked tirelessly on them, and when she was finally done—poof. Gone.

And if something mysteriously disappeared in the underworld? It was always Zyran’s doing.

Her other siblings barely acknowledged her existence, let alone stole from her. But Zyran? What didn’t Zyran do? He was a menace.

And now, he had the audacity to steal her handicraft? Did he think it was easy for a goddess to sew by hand? She had to tell on him.

"There’s no way you actually gave them to a mortal, right?" she demanded, her voice sharp with suspicion. "My power must have leaked into them, and if that’s the case, they’ll attract way too much attention!"

Zyran smirked, utterly unbothered. "I could have simply used my own power to suppress it, so no need to worry about the mortal." His tone was laced with arrogance, like he’d done her a favor.

Violet’s eyes widened. They almost popped out of her skull.

Wow. She had always known her brother was shameless, but this shameless?!

"So you’re admitting that you not only stole them," she gasped, "but you also gave them to a lover?!"