The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 178: Wait—do you always come here to wash up?

Chapter 178: Chapter 178: Wait—do you always come here to wash up?

It was simple, natural... and yet, with her long blonde hair still slightly damp and trailing down her back, her blue eyes bright from the hot spring’s heat, and her soft pink lips parted with a breath, Isabella looked like something pulled out of a forgotten dream.

She didn’t wear makeup here—there was no need. Not when the moonlight kissed her skin and the night air brushed gently against her cheeks. She gave herself a once-over, fluffed her hair, and grinned.

Cute enough, she thought.

Then she turned and made her way toward him.

Kian hadn’t moved from his spot. He was seated at the edge of the spring, broad back turned to her, his silhouette still as stone. One leg stretched out, the other bent casually at the knee.

His short white hair was damp, the strands sticking slightly to the nape of his neck, catching the glow of the moonlight like frost on stone. The steam wrapped around him like he belonged to the night itself.

He looked like he was carved out of silence.

Isabella approached softly, her bare feet making no sound on the cool stone. When she was close enough to almost touch his shoulder, she leaned forward and whispered with playful mischief, "Boo."

He didn’t react.

Not immediately.

For a moment, it was like speaking to a statue. Then, slowly—almost reluctantly—he turned.

And when his eyes landed on her...

There was a pause. A flicker. Something in his face cracked—not visibly, not loud—but just enough that she saw it.

It wasn’t awe. Not quite hunger. Not even surprise.

It was more like...

Recognition. A strange, subtle shift. As if something deep within him had stirred for a moment and tried to claw its way to the surface before he shoved it back down.

"I look cute, right?" Isabella giggled, suddenly self-aware. She swayed slightly from side to side, letting the dress float around her thighs, like she didn’t just notice how intently he was staring.

He said nothing at first. Then, finally, a small smile ghosted across his lips.

Small. Faint.

But real.

And coming from him—that meant more than a thousand compliments from any other man.

What he felt? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was annoyance. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something older, buried, something he had never bothered naming before tonight.

Her presence—it pulled at the edges of his control.

She looked too innocent in that dress. Too soft for someone with eyes that didn’t match her smiles. There was something dangerous about her—the kind of danger that came not from claws or teeth but from warmth. From the way she laughed even when she was scared. From the way she touched him earlier like it meant nothing... and everything.

Isabella, meanwhile, caught his eyes again and shrugged like his silence didn’t matter.

But it did.

To both of them.

Her gaze drifted away, finally breaking the moment. She noticed the small clay bowl sitting near the stones, its lid still firmly in place.

She reached her hand out and picked up the small clay bowl. It was warm from sitting close to the rocks, the lid smooth beneath her fingertips. With a soft pop, she cracked it open.

Inside... still plenty left.

The thick, creamy balm looked perfect under the moonlight, its scent subtle but rich—cool herbs, sweet oils, something like warm citrus. She had made it herself, after all. And seeing how much of it remained sparked a puff of pride in her chest.

If only everyone were like him, she thought with a soft smile. And Ophelia... The name slipped out in a quiet giggle.

That giggle, innocent as it was, caught Kian’s attention. His brows lifted ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of curiosity sparking in his cold eyes. What on earth was this strange woman laughing at now? His gaze locked on her, sharp and piercing, like a blade that made her heart skip.

Isabella looked up, meeting that intense stare and felt heat creep up her neck. She quickly masked it with a casual grin. "It’ll last you a while," she said, voice low and teasing. "So... what do you think?"

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she reached out and took his hand.

His huge veiny hand.

Her fingers barely fit around his palm. It was rough and calloused, probably from stone blades or fights—or maybe just a lifetime of being annoyingly competent. Her own hands looked like a joke in comparison. But she placed the bowl in his palm like it was a gift from the gods, feeling the strength in his fingers curl protectively around it.

"You can distribute it to them," Kian said finally, his voice gruff but approving.

Isabella’s smile grew wider, almost radiant. That little victory felt good.

But then a flicker of curiosity swept over her face. "Do you always come here to wash up?" she asked, voice soft, genuine.

Kian just gave her a slow, almost smug smile that said Yes, and that answers everything.

Isabella blinked, suddenly understanding why he always looked so put-together and smelled like a goddamn forest in spring.

Since they were trading questions now, Kian’s voice cut through the silence with a hint of teasing, "So... where did you magically get a new set of clothes? And what happened to your old ones?"

Isabella froze for a heartbeat. Then, with a mischievous curl of her lips, she mimicked that same rare smile Kian had flashed earlier.

Her eyes sparkled with playful defiance as she held his gaze.

Kian’s lips twitched—an involuntary flicker of amusement breaking through his usual stoic mask.

There it was. That tiny twitch of amusement again. This woman. This strange, loud, chaotic little creature... she never ceased to amaze him. She was like a wildfire wrapped in a pretty dress and too many opinions.

But he didn’t press.

He didn’t need to.

He would get everything from her eventually. Piece by piece. Lie by lie.

Suddenly, Kian stood up. His presence was commanding, a dark shadow growing over her.

Before she could react, his strong hand curled around her waist, pulling her in close. Her breath hitched, eyes widening as the familiar, delicious tension sparked between them.

Kian leaned close. Close enough that his breath brushed her ear, low and velvet-smooth. "You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here, Bella."

She froze.

Everything inside her—brain, lungs, thoughts—froze.

Those words hit her harder than any kiss or touch ever could, and her chest stuttered, lips parted in speechless confusion.

The weight of those words hit her hard. She froze, cheeks flaming, heart pounding a frantic rhythm. The poor woman barely had time to blush before Kian’s lips brushed just beneath her ear, hot and intoxicating.

"Oh wait, no, no—"

Poof.

The world twisted, and before she could protest, they were standing right in front of the towering stone palace again.

She shoved against him and stumbled, dropping to a crouch. Hands on her knees, her blonde hair falling forward as she bent down, chest heaving.

"I swear to all the stars—fuck you, Kian," she muttered, dizzy and weak.

She felt sick. Violated. Betrayed by teleportation. Again.

She also felt like crying.

But before she could wallow properly, something shifted in the atmosphere.

There was another presence.

Not one of the guards near the gates.

No.

Someone else.

Isabella froze, her spine locking tight.

And slowly, her eyes turned toward the side.

Cyrus stood there. Silent. Watching.

But he wasn’t looking at her.

He was staring directly at Kian.