The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

"Gosh, Bubu, you're so annoying," Isabella muttered internally with a deep, theatrical frown as she rolled her eyes to the sky, hoping the heavens might strike her irritating system with lightning—or at least disable it for an hour.

"Of course I'll be annoying," Bubu fired back instantly, its smug voice echoing directly in her mind like the world's most sarcastic mosquito. "When all you do is sit around and shamelessly assault a man with your eyes."

Isabella's eye twitched.

A dramatic sigh left her lips as she leaned back on her hands, glaring up at the floating translucent icon Bubu had summoned just to annoy her further. "Excuse me? Assault? I'm simply... appreciating the craftsmanship of the universe," she argued, placing a hand over her chest like she was making a heartfelt declaration to some celestial judge. "Besides, I just made shampoo. What else do you want from me—blood sacrifice? Want me to kill myself next?"

"You call that shampoo?" Bubu asked, spinning slowly midair like it was doing pirouettes just to mock her. "You used moonwater, frostleaf, and a root that literally hisses. And you're acting like you invented fire."

"I did invent shampoo in this backwards village, thank you very much," Isabella shot back proudly. "Also—he is not just any man, he is my man. My best man," she added with a soft little smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

And just like that—just with those last two words—her cheeks turned red.

She tried to suppress it, but it was too late. It was already creeping up her neck like warm ink soaking into parchment.

Bubu stared.

And then grimaced like it just tasted soap. "Oh, Gods. I never thought I'd live to see the day you— you, Isabella Devereaux—caught feelings. What's next? Fall in love? Write a poem? Compose a love ballad?"

But Bubu didn't get the smirk or snappy comeback it expected.

Because Isabella froze.

That word—love—it hit her like a stone between the eyes.

Love?

She didn't believe in love.

Not the romantic kind. Not the soul-consuming, head-over-heels, forever-and-ever nonsense. She believed in survival. In control. In passion, sure. Lust, definitely. But love? No.

It was fiction. Pretty, deadly fiction.

Her chest tensed as the echo of Bubu's voice lingered.

Fall in love.

Her jaw clenched.

"Never," she said quietly, but her voice didn't sound like it belonged to her. It was smaller, softer. A little too fragile. As if the sentence itself didn't believe her either.

"I don't believe in love…" she repeated, more to herself than to anyone else.

And then, snapping herself out of it, she sat up straighter and barked the first thing that came to mind—an entirely different train of thought—anything to shift the atmosphere.

"Also, my hair has never looked like a bird's nest, ok?" she snapped, jabbing a finger in the air like she could physically scold the system back into submission.

"Yes, yes. You're right." Bubu's tone turned eerily neutral, almost like it pitied her, and without another word, it disappeared from her vision with a faint little ping.

"Gosh… so annoying." Isabella mumbled again, now lying back fully on the grass, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes like a heroine in distress. But her words felt heavier than before, as if her own mind had turned traitor.

A deep breath filled her lungs. Then another. Her heartbeat slowed, calmed.

"Love, my foot," she grumbled again, staring up at the sky—but her gaze drifted just a bit... sideways.

Her eyes found Kian.

Still working.

Still quiet.

Still completely unaware—or maybe pretending to be—of the emotional whirlwind spiraling just ten feet away from him.

The light hit his silver-streaked hair. His back flexed slightly as he carried the last gourd, arms glistening from the effort. The muscles in his jaw twitched subtly—something he always did when he was focused. And Isabella's chest did that stupid fluttery thing again.

She bit her bottom lip.

Not because she was trying to be seductive this time.

But because if she didn't, she might actually smile like a total idiot.

And she couldn't allow that. Not yet. Not in front of him. Not when she didn't even know what this… thing between them was.

Still, she stared. Quietly. Softly. Letting herself feel the warmth of something she couldn't name yet. Something terrifying.

And for a few minutes… there was peace.

Until—

A sound cut through the air. A happy squeal.

Tiny but unmistakable.

And then—

"Luca…" Isabella muttered under her breath, sitting up and twisting her body to follow the sound.

Out stepped Luca.

Playing.

With a now fully awake, overly energetic Glimora bouncing in his arms like she was a gift from the gods and chaos combined. Her little white tail flicked excitedly as she cooed and used her legs on Luca's cheeks, while he, ever the troublemaker, made exaggerated expressions and tickled her belly.

They looked like they belonged in a painting titled 'Distraction and Disaster.'

Isabella squinted at the sight.

Then pinched the bridge of her nose with a groan.

Because whatever calm she had managed to build in the last few minutes? Gone.

Gone in a flurry of giggles and sparkly white fur.

"Why the hell did you wake her up?" Isabella asked sharply, her entire expression folding into pure frustration. Her brows drew in, lips slightly parted in that familiar 'I'm about to lose it' way, and her arms instinctively folded across her chest like a warning siren about to go off.

Luca froze.

Literally. His legs twitched like he considered sprinting back into the hut.

But before he could defend himself, a soft thump landed at his feet.

Glimora.

The small, cloud-like creature stood there for only half a heartbeat, her bright, glowing eyes catching Isabella's from across the clearing.

And then—

"Squeeeee—!"

The noise was shrill, borderline aggressive in cuteness, as Glimora launched herself across the grass like a sugar-charged projectile. Her entire body wiggled with joy mid-air.

Isabella's eyes widened slightly, but her arms moved with practiced ease. She caught Glimora mid-flight like this was routine, as if she'd been built to be the emotional support wall of overexcited mythical animals.

"Hey," Isabella mumbled, her expression still semi-annoyed—but melting fast as Glimora wiggled happily in her arms and immediately began nuzzling against her collarbone with a purr that sounded more like a squeaky snore.

The little menace buried her soft head under Isabella's chin, making a content sound that could probably end wars if bottled and sold.

Isabella glanced down.

And sighed.

Because deep down, Isabella had always been soft for things that chose her without question.

Still, her eyes slowly lifted—and locked on Luca.

He was standing there awkwardly, hands behind his back, trying very hard to act like the picture of innocence.

"I went inside to keep the fruit and she woke up herself," he said with a bright, overly innocent smile.

Which would've been fine...

If he hadn't said it way too fast.

And if he didn't look like a guilty six-year-old who just got caught eating berries he swore weren't ripe.

Isabella's brows lifted.

Her head tilted.

Her lips parted just slightly, and her expression slowly slid into a flat, unimpressed glare that screamed:

"Really? That's your story?"