The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts
Chapter 252 - 253: That does sound very civilized

Chapter 252: Chapter 253: That does sound very civilized

"You make me seem like I’m a bad person, Opehlia. Like I’m just too much and I don’t have a good reason for being this way. It hurts."

Isabella’s voice wasn’t loud—not yet—but the weight behind it hung thick in the air like smoke from a damp fire. Her arms were folded, but not in that usual lazy, flippant way she held herself. No, this was different. Her spine was straight. Chin tilted just so. Eyes locked on Opehlia with a look that was all storm and no rain—yet.

Opehlia stepped back, her hands wringing together like they were praying for an escape. "Let’s not do this now," she said quickly. "It’s such a nice day."

Isabella scoffed, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "A nice day? A man beat you in public, and you want to talk about the damn weather?"

Glimora, who had been curled near Isabella’s feet, let out a confused little huff, her ears twitching. She stood and walked over to Isabella’s side, leaning against her leg as if sensing the mood brewing.

"I won’t tell," Opehlia added quickly, voice smaller now. "It’s over."

Isabella blinked, stunned for a moment, then took a slow step forward.

"So you’re not going to tell me where Gerwin is now?" Her voice was still soft, but her tone sharpened like a blade being whetted. "You’re just going to let this slide? You think I enjoy being angry all the time? You think this is fun for me?"

"I think it’s best if we all let this go," Opehlia whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Let it go?" Isabella laughed—but there was no humor in it. "Oh, baby, no. That’s what he’s hoping you’ll do. That’s how men like him keep getting away with it. You let it go, and he picks the next girl. And then the next."

She stared at Opehlia for a beat longer, her voice tightening. "You think you’re helping by turning your back on it? You think silence is peace? It’s just a shield he gets to hide behind."

"Like fallen leaves into the river," Opehlia murmured, her voice dreamy, as if saying it prettier would make it more true. "Light and unbothered."

Isabella blinked—hard. She was visibly trying to process the absurdity of what she’d just heard. Her mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

Glimora blinked too, then slowly turned her wide, beady eyes toward Isabella, as if silently asking, Did she really just say that?

Isabella took another step forward, Glimora’s tiny feet padding along beside her. "This isn’t poetry hour, Opehlia! You’re not a river. You’re not a leaf. You’re a person. A person who got hit and is now trying to romanticize it like he wrote you a damn love letter."

"That does sound very civilized," Opehlia said softly, almost to herself. (Isabella is regretting teaching her all these terms)

"Civilized?" Isabella repeated, eyes wide. "Civilized is punishing abusers before they do it again. Civilized is having boundaries. Civilized is not letting a man think a carved shell and a handful of moldy berries counts as an apology for bruising your cheek!"

"If we keep dragging this out," Opehlia said, trying to stand straighter, "it’ll just stir more fire."

"Good!" Isabella shouted. "Let it burn! Maybe the fire will finally scare people into acting right!"

"Let’s not make enemies of each other’s enemies," Opehlia said quickly, like it was a magical phrase that might douse the flames. "Like I said I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting us."

"You’re protecting him," Isabella snapped. "Because it’s easier than admitting that someone you were nice to turned out to be disgusting. And that’s the part that hurts, isn’t it? That you saw something good in him—and it wasn’t there."

"If we go around hurting each other for every wrong..." Opehlia’s voice cracked slightly. "What’s the point of healing at all?"

Isabella froze, then slowly tilted her head, that familiar smirk twitching back to life—this time bitter. "Sweetheart. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. Healing is knowing better, and doing better. Healing is standing up when someone knocks you down—not kissing the feet that stomped on your ribs."

Opehlia was shaking her head now. "I don’t want to be like him."

"You think you hitting someone who attacked you is the same thing as what he did to you?" Isabella laughed in disbelief. "You think me, punishing a man who used you like a rag, puts me on his level?"

"Everyone deserves a little gentleness."

Isabella stepped back, her face unreadable. "Not everyone. Some people deserve consequences."

"I don’t want to live in a world where fear is how we teach," Opehlia said quietly.

Isabella barked a sharp laugh. "Then you’re not paying attention, darling. This world? This beast-eat-beast nightmare? It already is ruled by fear. I’m just flipping the chain around. Because if fear keeps the next girl safe—then so be it."

Opehlia blinked hard, her voice turning pleading now. "Maybe he was just having a bad day."

Isabella stared at her like she’d grown a second head. "He used his bad day to turn you into his punching rock, and you’re still making excuses?"

"He said sorry."

"He said sorry after you bled," Isabella growled. "That’s not sorry, that’s strategy."

"He came with berries and a carved shell."

"He came with scraps and sea trash, and you’re calling it love."

"He said he’d leave me alone forever." Opehlia’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Isn’t that good enough?"

Isabella’s jaw clenched. The words that followed came out slow, deliberate.

"No. No, it’s not good enough. And it shouldn’t be."

There was a long silence.

Glimora, sensing the quiet shift, looked up at Isabella, then back at Opehlia. Her tiny limb reached up, patting Isabella’s foot. Even she didn’t like this tension. But Isabella didn’t move. She was breathing slowly, like she was trying to keep herself from snapping completely.

And then, finally, Opehlia looked up at her, her eyes wide and sad and stubborn.

"But I just think he needs a gentle hand."