The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts
Chapter 251 - 252: If we keep dragging this out, it’ll just stir more fire

Chapter 251: Chapter 252: If we keep dragging this out, it’ll just stir more fire

"Now that is a very good question," Isabella purred, lips curling as she leaned lazily against the stone wall, arms folding with feline grace. Her eyes sparkled with something sharp, something cold, something that should have made Opehlia shiver. "Where are they being punished, Opehlia?"

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, a sound that echoed faintly like bone on stone. Her gaze cut sideways like a blade.

Glimora, picking up the shift in her mama’s tone, tensed at Isabella’s feet. Her tiny nose twitched like she’d sniffed out tension in the air—then she gave the softest sneeze. The noise broke the silence for a second, but it only made Isabella’s gaze narrow further.

Opehlia blinked and let out a nervous laugh. "Oh please, Isabella. Can we not do this now. It’s such a nice day. The sky is blue, your dress matches your mood—furious but fashionable. Maybe we can just—"

"Where," Isabella repeated, her voice lilting now, dangerously sweet, "are they being punished?"

Opehlia fidgeted. "No," she said quickly, voice rising a bit too fast. "I won’t tell."

Isabella tilted her head. "You won’t tell?" She smiled wider, lips parting just enough to show her teeth. "You’re adorable. I wasn’t asking if you wanted to."

Opehlia gave a nervous giggle and clasped her hands together like a scolded child trying to stay brave. "It’s just that... I think it’s best if we all let this go. You know. Like fallen leaves into the river. Light and unbothered."

"Unbothered?" Isabella echoed, blinking slowly. "That man hit you. In public. Like a sack of grain with legs."

"Yes, but—"

"In front of others. And you think I should just... what? Pat his head and say, ’Better luck next time, darling’?"

"Well..." Opehlia’s hands twisted tighter. "That does sound very civilized."

"I’m not civilized," Isabella snapped, and then softened her voice into a grin again. "I’m creative. There’s a difference."

Glimora sneezed again, this time with a tiny squeak, as if she could feel the heat rising off Isabella’s mood.

"Look," Opehlia tried again, stepping closer. "If we keep dragging this out, it’ll just stir more fire. And not the funny Glimora kind. Real anger. Let’s not make enemies of each other’s enemies. Please."

"Enemies?" Isabella echoed. "Oh, sweet thing. You’re assuming I consider him an enemy."

"You don’t?" Opehlia asked hopefully.

"No," Isabella smiled, tapping her chin. "Enemies are worthy of strategy. That thing’s a pest. You crush pests."

There was a beat. Then:

"So you’re really not going to tell me," Isabella said, tone soft again, but this time lacking any real charm. "Where are they being punished?"

Opehlia inhaled, then exhaled—slow, calm, like a child about to confess to something small and silly.

"No," she said again. "I’m not."

The silence that followed cracked the air like dry bark underfoot.

Isabella’s grin vanished like mist in morning sun.

But she didn’t speak.

Valen did.

"Why?" His voice wasn’t angry. Not yet. It was soft—confused. Hurt. "Why would you protect someone like that?"

Opehlia looked at him, and her expression was the same as always—gentle, tender, full of a warmth that made you want to believe the world could be better than it was. "I’m not protecting him," she said, almost pleading. "I’m protecting us."

Valen frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I mean..." Opehlia looked down at her fingers, fidgeting with the strings of her wrap, twisting them together like braiding words that wouldn’t form. "If we go around hurting each other for every wrong—if we don’t try to... to soften the blow somewhere... then what’s the point of healing at all?"

Valen’s jaw tensed. He took a slow breath. "He didn’t wrong you, Opehlia. He struck you. Do you think that should be met with kindness?"

"I don’t want to be like him," she whispered.

"You’re not," Valen said sharply. "But letting him go? Pretending it’s nothing? That’s not goodness. That’s rot." His voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. "That man doesn’t deserve to breathe, let alone walk free."

Opehlia flinched, but not from fear. From sorrow. "You don’t know him," she said softly.

Valen took a slow, careful step toward her, lowering his voice again like someone trying not to frighten a wounded creature. "And you do? Opehlia, he put his hand on you. That should’ve been enough. That should be enough. He doesn’t deserve your gentleness."

"Everyone deserves a little gentleness," she said, eyes wet.

"No," he said firmly. "Not everyone. A man like Gerwin... no. That kind of man doesn’t change because someone forgives him. That kind of man changes when someone makes him afraid to do it again."

Opehlia looked away, lips trembling. "I don’t want to live in a world where fear is how we teach."

"You don’t get to choose the world," Valen said, softer now. "You just survive in the one you’re given."

Opehlia shook her head, but it was small, like she wasn’t sure if she was shaking it at him or at herself. "Maybe he was just having a bad day," she said. "Maybe something pushed him too far."

Valen stared at Opehlia for a long moment, then turned sharply to Isabella. His voice was tight with disbelief. "You don’t actually think Gerwin’s not a bad person, do you?"

Isabella’s head snapped toward him so fast it made Glimora flinch.

Her eyes gleamed, not with hesitation, but with something colder—something final.

"Bad?" she echoed, like the word insulted her. "Gerwin is vile. A walking disease with fists for brains. I don’t care if the moon fell on his hut or his beast instincts are acting up or his mother forgot to hug him as a child. The moment he raised his hand to a woman, he stopped being a person and became a target."

She took a slow step forward, arms still folded, her voice calm but slicing. "I’m not the one who makes excuses for monsters. I erase them."

Glimora looked up at her, blinking slowly—then let out a tiny approving huff that made the tension in the room hitch oddly.

Valen gave a slight nod, clearly satisfied. "Good. Just checking."

Isabella scoffed. "Please. Don’t insult me."

Opehlia stepped between them quickly. "He said sorry," she blurted, like it would fix everything.

Valen’s mouth opened, then closed.

"He said sorry when he was on break from punishment this morning" Opehlia continued. "He came with berries and a carved shell and said he didn’t know what came over him. He said he was ashamed. He said he’d leave me alone forever."

"That’s not repentance," Valen said coldly. "That’s fear."

"Fear of what he did," Opehlia argued. "Isn’t that good enough?"

"It’s fear of punishment," Valen corrected. "And it should be. But if you forgive too quickly, it becomes fear of nothing at all."

Silence again. The kind that sat heavy on the chest.

Glimora whimpered softly by Isabella’s feet. She touched Isabella’s leg like a child trying to comfort a mother who wasn’t speaking. She looked up at her, waiting for a reaction.

Opehlia noticed too.

She turned. And what she saw in Isabella’s face made her breath catch.

Isabella hadn’t said a word during the last stretch of conversation. She hadn’t interrupted, hadn’t rolled her eyes, hadn’t snorted or smirked.

But her silence wasn’t soft.

It was quiet fury.

Her eyes were locked on Opehlia, not with the playful fire she usually carried, but with something darker. Something old. Something buried and cracked open again.

Opehlia took a step back without realizing it.

"That..." Isabella said slowly, her voice so low it sounded like it came from deep underground, "was so not cool."