The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts
Chapter 263 - 264: I wonder who made my little flame angry

Chapter 263: Chapter 264: I wonder who made my little flame angry

"No," Isabella snapped without hesitation, already turning away with a dramatic flip of her hair—

"AHHH!"

Her scream pierced the air the moment her eyes landed on a figure standing just a breath behind her.

Kian.

Leaning casually like a well-posed statue carved by a particularly smug god, arms folded, blue eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

"Kian?!" Isabella blurted, pressing a hand to her chest, half from surprise, half from the tiny heart attack she just survived. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here raising a brow? No—what are you even doing here in the first place?" Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she panted, cheeks flushed and wild hair clinging to her forehead.

Kian raised the other brow, the way he always did when he was either amused or plotting something deadly.

"I wonder who made my little flame angry," he said calmly, gazing down at her like she was a puzzle he already knew the answer to. His voice was so smooth, so collected, it made her want to throw the cauldron at him.

That damn straight face. That perfect, unmoving expression. She hated it. And hated how much she didn’t.

"Who is small?" she hissed through clenched teeth, her jaw tightening as she looked up at him, chin raised like a cornered fox trying to bluff a lion.

"You are," Kian replied without missing a beat, completely unbothered. No twitch, no hesitation, like he’d just told her the sky was blue and water was wet.

Isabella scoffed so hard she almost choked on her own indignation.

"Hah. I see." She nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the side like she was calculating how much time she’d serve if she accidentally stabbed him.

"You are all just... you’re all just set out to frustrate me today. Aren’t you?"

There was a smile on her face—but not the real kind. No, this one was stitched from sarcasm, frayed with disbelief. She looked down briefly, like she was praying for strength from whatever gods hadn’t yet abandoned her, then looked back up—

"But you are really small," Kian added, head tilting slightly, voice still as calm as a breeze. "I can see the top of your head."

That was it.

Her head snapped up so fast it was a miracle her neck didn’t crack.

This man—this absolute menace—didn’t know when to shut his beautiful, irritating mouth.

"You are still speaking!" she growled, stepping forward like she might physically shove the words back into his throat.

But Kian didn’t flinch. Not even a blink. He stood there, tall and composed, a small smirk now curling at the edge of his lips like he was thoroughly enjoying her meltdown.

Of course he was.

Of course he was.

He was Kian.

...

Isabella’s eyes widened at the sight of that smirk.

Oh, that smirk.

That smug, slow, infuriating curve of lips that said "I know I’m right" and "you can’t do anything about it" all in one breath.

Kian had perfected that smirk over the few weeks she’d known him, and at this point, it had burned itself into the walls of her soul.

"You are still speaking!" Isabella snapped, taking a step forward with her arms dramatically flaring like a squawking bird about to peck the life out of its mate. Her brows were furrowed, her teeth clenched, and her hair was a glorious mess, frizzing and falling out in every direction like it had given up on her mood hours ago. She looked like a beautiful disaster wrapped in righteous fury.

Kian didn’t budge. He simply tilted his head, watching her advance like she was a delightful little experiment that he couldn’t wait to poke more holes into. His eyes, that haunting shade of sea blue, flicked down to her hands—which were balled into fists—and then back up to her flushed face.

"Are you going to hit me?" he asked, genuinely curious. Not afraid. Not mocking. Just... intrigued.

Isabella’s chest heaved. "I might."

"Would it help?"

Her jaw dropped open for a second, completely thrown off by his answer. "What?"

"If I let you hit me," he continued calmly, "would you feel better?"

That stunned her.

Not because it was kind. No, no, nothing about Kian ever felt kind. His version of kindness was like wrapping barbed wire in silk—you’d bleed anyway, just slower.

Her mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. "You—! You can’t just walk up here and say stuff like that, like—like you’re some noble sacrifice!"

"I’m just saying," Kian replied with a shrug, "if your emotions are too much to bear, maybe transferring a portion of them onto my face would help."

She pointed a shaking finger at him. "You are so weird."

"Weird?" He questioned.

"Weird means strange" Isabella answered annoyed. "You’re strange".

"I get that a lot."

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her entire mood was already at war—between the frustrating weight of dragging a cauldron, thinking about Cyrus and Ilyana, Opehlia making her mad, and now this. Now him. Tall and smug and maddening.

He was leaning against a nearby tree like the most comfortable bastard to ever walk the beastworld. His arms were crossed like he had all the time in the world and his shoulders gleamed with a light sheen of sweat from wherever he’d walked from—which only made her more irritated for reasons she couldn’t explain.

"You know what?" she snapped, jabbing her finger in the air like she was marking her next victim. "I don’t even care why you’re here. Just go. Take your eyebrow and your smirk and your weird poetic sacrifice offer and go."

Kian blinked. "You sound... tense."

"Tense?! Tense? I’m about to explode like an overfed frog—"

"Now that," he cut in smoothly, "is an image."

Her shoulders dropped. Her mouth hung open in exhausted disbelief.

"I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this," she muttered, half to herself, half to the silent gods of the beastworld. "Maybe I cursed a kind old man. Maybe I slapped a priestess. Maybe I was a man who touched too many women."

Kian’s brow quirked again. "And what does that say about who you are now?"

She turned her full attention to him then. Her eyes darkened. Her lashes fluttered from frustration more than flirtation. Her voice dropped an octave.

"It says I’m haunted, Kian. By you."

He said nothing to that. Just stared.

And that silence?

Oh, it was the worst.