The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

For a long moment, Isabella didn't move. She sat there, tucked into her bedding, her eyes flicking toward the door as if the wood itself might start explaining things to her.

The knock hadn't come again, but it lingered in her ears like an echo. She hugged her knees, lips pursing as her thoughts started spiraling.

Should she open it?

Should she stay put?

Honestly, who even dared to knock this early?

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the door. If it's Zyran again… She exhaled sharply through her nose, already imagining the nonsense he'd spout the moment she cracked it open. Something about soup portions, or joining her bed for "safety," or gods forbid, another door project.

Her mind drifted to Kian next. She frowned. He'd been far too quiet last night, the kind of quiet that unsettled her more than all of Zyran's antics combined. She still hadn't forgotten the little betrayal of finding out he'd act claimed the room right next to hers without even mentioning it.

But then—her thoughts softened. Because then there was Cyrus.

The corners of her mouth tilted upward without permission. She could still remember how flustered he'd looked, the way his calm composure had cracked, how the faintest brush of her smile had turned him into a bundle of emotions he probably didn't even have names for.

"Eh," she muttered under her breath, cheeks warming despite herself, "last night was… a bit chaotic."

She chuckled quietly and shook her head, but even then, she made no move to rise. The bedding was warm. Glimora was still curled up, blissfully snoozing without a care in the world. And Isabella? She was feeling very lazy.

No knock, no smell, no man alive could convince her to get out of bed at that moment.

She just sat there, staring at the stupid door, waiting for it to somehow answer her questions about life.

Then, like a sudden bolt of lightning, it hit her.

Her brows shot up. "Wait a second…"

She squinted at the door, tilting her head in disbelief.

"…How the hell is it even locked?"

Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the realization smacked her full in the face. Zyran, in his bizarre, chaotic glory, had slapped that door into existence last night—but had he made a key? No. Definitely not. She hadn't seen a key. She hadn't heard of a key. Which meant…

Her eyes widened, the most dramatic dawning of horror.

"…Zyran."

It was always him.

Before she could spiral further, a sound drew her attention. From one of the side rooms, a curtain shifted, and a figure stepped quietly into the morning light.

Cyrus.

His movements were unhurried, his presence steady as always. But when his eyes landed on her, his steps faltered ever so slightly.

Isabella's breath caught.

She froze where she was, still sitting in bed with her knees hugged close, hair messy from sleep, heart still racing from her ridiculous thoughts. And there he was—standing there, curtain drawn back, looking at her like the quiet dawn itself.

And then it happened.

They stared.

She stared at him. He stared at her. Neither moved, neither spoke. It was ridiculous, maybe even awkward, but there was something almost cute about it. Like the morning itself had decided to stop and hold its breath until one of them gave in.

The silence between them lingered a moment longer before Isabella, finally breaking it, lifted her hand in a lazy little wave. Her lips curved into a sleepy smile.

"Good morning."

Her voice came out softer than she intended, like it hadn't fully woken up yet.

Cyrus blinked at her, and in that instant, his entire expression transformed. His usual calm features brightened, blooming into the kind of smile that looked like it was stitched together from pure sunlight.

He didn't just look happy—he looked… radiant.

It was so obvious, so unrestrained, Isabella instantly knew: she had done that. She'd made him that happy just by existing, just by greeting him.

Her chest warmed.

Cyrus inclined his head slightly, the gesture neat and respectful as always, but his eyes were soft in a way that felt far less controlled. "Good morning, Isabella. Did you sleep well?"

Isabella tilted her head and pretended to consider. "Hmm. Not bad. I suppose you helped," she teased lightly, then sniffed the air, her nose twitching like a curious cat.

The aroma hit her fully then—rich, warm, mouthwatering. It curled around her senses, dragging her deeper into wakefulness. Her brows shot up, and she blinked at Cyrus.

"What is that? That sweet smell?" she asked, leaning forward like her body was about to leave the bed without her permission.

Cyrus's lips twitched, his expression turning mischievously secretive in a way she didn't expect. "It's a surprise."

Isabella gasped dramatically and clutched her chest as though he'd struck her with a dagger. "A surprise? How cruel of you to tempt me first thing in the morning."

Her playful tone made Cyrus chuckle under his breath, and for a second, everything in the room felt lighter.

But then her amusement dimmed as a sudden realization struck her. Her brows furrowed hard enough to crease her forehead.

"Wait…" she said slowly, glancing back toward the stubbornly still door. "How come the door is locked?"

Cyrus followed her gaze, eyes cool and assessing. After a beat, he shook his head. "It's not locked."

Isabella narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "Not locked? Then why…" She pointed toward the door with exaggerated drama. "…is the person outside knocking like a lost spirit?"

Cyrus didn't even flinch. His tone was matter-of-fact as he said, "It's Zyran."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know?"

Cyrus tilted his head slightly, as though listening. "He's whistling. Quietly. But I can hear it. It's his habit when he waits."

Isabella's jaw dropped. "Whistling? That lunatic is standing behind the door whistling?!"

Before Cyrus could answer, a familiar voice rang out, muffled through the wood but annoyingly smug:

"Stop gossiping about me. I can hear both of you clearly. My ears are still good, you know."

Isabella jerked so fast, she nearly sent her fur hide sliding across the floor. "Ahhh! Don't you dare come inside!" she shouted, pointing furiously at the door like he could see her through it.

Her voice pitched higher in panic as she scrambled upright. "Zyran, I swear, if you open that—"

And of course, because the universe hated her…

That was exactly when the door handle turned.

And Zyran walked in.