The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 166: Are you trying to eat the smell off her skin?!

Chapter 166: Chapter 166: Are you trying to eat the smell off her skin?!

Isabella glanced sideways—and choked on a laugh.

Luca had his eyes closed, head tilted slightly back, nostrils flaring like a bloodhound on a royal hunt. He took in a long, deliberate breath.

Another one.

And another.

He looked like he was trying to inhale her entire existence.

"Luca!" Isabella elbowed him harder, barely keeping her composure. "Are you trying to eat the smell off her skin?!"

His eyes flew open, blinking in confusion. "What? I—no! I was just—just trying to figure out what the scent is. It’s... It’s very... present."

"Present?!" Isabella snorted. "You were practically levitating."

Ophelia burst into giggles again, covering her mouth with one hand. Her shoulders shook, and her bun wobbled on her head like it was about to fall apart.

Luca rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks slightly pink. "I mean... it smells... good. She smells... good. Not in a weird way. Just... nice. Floral. Natural. Like a breeze in spring... with legs."

"Oh my god," Isabella wheezed, bending over with laughter. "Like a breeze in spring with legs?! Luca, what even is that description?!"

"I panicked, okay!"

Ophelia was nearly doubled over with laughter now too, clutching her little gourd of soap like it was a lucky charm.

Isabella straightened and wiped a tear from her eye. "You’re such a wolf. Ophelia walks out smelling like heaven, and you act like your brain just short-circuited."

Luca opened his mouth, then closed it again. His ears twitched slightly, clearly trying to recover some dignity. "I was simply... analyzing the aroma."

"Oh sure," Isabella teased, smirking. "You were seconds away from rolling in the grass with joy. Be honest."

Luca sniffed and crossed his arms, clearly offended—though the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. "It was a dignified appreciation."

"Uh-huh. Tell that to your wagging tail." Isabella shot back.

"I don’t have a tail right now."

"Not visibly."

Ophelia burst out laughing again, doubling forward as she clutched the little gourd of soap to her chest like it was her baby. "Stop it, you two, I’m going to drop this!"

Isabella stepped closer, placing her hands on her hips as she gave Ophelia a mock-serious look. "Alright, Miss Sparkle-Skin, you’ve officially passed. Glowy cheeks, flowy dress, and a scent strong enough to short out the senses of a grown beast. That’s premium soap performance."

Ophelia flushed even pinker and gave a playful twirl, the hem of her hide dress fluttering around her legs like petals in a breeze.

Luca looked away, mumbling something suspiciously close to a compliment under his breath.

And under the fading gold of the sun, with the hut behind them and wildflowers swaying gently around their feet, the laughter felt too pure, too light, too warm to be anything ordinary.

It felt like home.

Like something worth guarding with claws and teeth.

Isabella turned back to Ophelia, mouth already parting to start her next round of questions—then abruptly froze, eyes dropping to the small gourd in Ophelia’s hands.

The very moment Ophelia sensed what was coming, her fingers twitched like they’d been caught stealing. Her thumbs, which had been innocently resting on the cap, suddenly clamped down with all the might of someone guarding a national treasure. The poor gourd squeaked faintly under the pressure, as if begging for mercy.

Ophelia swallowed.

Isabella’s eyes narrowed, her head snapping up so fast even Luca flinched in the background. Her glare could’ve peeled bark off a tree. She looked back down at the gourd like it had personally betrayed her.

"Give me that," she said flatly, voice calm but laced with the kind of danger that made grown men apologize just for breathing too loud.

But Ophelia—sweet, innocent, soap-scented Ophelia—shook her head with rapid desperation, like a squirrel refusing to surrender its last winter nut. Her cheeks puffed, brows scrunched, and she clutched the gourd tighter to her chest like a baby bird in danger.

"No?" Isabella blinked, tone sharp. "Oh, we’re doing this."

She didn’t wait for permission. Her hands shot forward with speed that could rival lightning, grabbing the gourd and yanking—but Ophelia had it in a death grip. The two of them stood frozen in a ridiculous tug-of-war, the gourd bobbing between them like the world’s most pitiful prize.

"Let go. Now." Isabella said, low and deadly.

Ophelia squeaked.

Immediately, her fingers sprang open like she’d touched fire, and the gourd flopped into Isabella’s hand. Ophelia stepped back, looking appropriately scandalized, then began wiping her sweaty palms on her hide skirt as if trying to erase the evidence. Her eyes were huge, lips puckered into the saddest little pout imaginable.

Isabella gave her one last glare before sighing, already knowing what she’d find but checking anyway. She slowly uncapped the gourd, squinting with a sliver of hope...

Empty.

"Really?" she asked, voice dangerously calm, one brow twitching.

Ophelia giggled nervously. It was the kind of giggle that sounded like it should be followed by angel wings fluttering or baby animals sneezing. It only made her look guiltier and more precious.

Isabella’s will to scold her wavered. She really wanted to lecture her—needed to—but the sheer cuteness was a lethal distraction.

She couldn’t let this slide. If Ophelia got away with draining the soap, Luca might try next. Then the others. And none of them would understand the trauma of climbing that demonic mountain again just to harvest ingredients.

Yes, she had the fancy necklace Cyrus gave her now—but that only meant Bubu could gleefully trap her up there for a month with a never-ending to-do list. And knowing Bubu’s mood lately?

That little gremlin system would absolutely do it.

"I told you not to use everything, Ophelia," Isabella said, stern and serious.

Ophelia flinched like a scolded puppy and her lip wobbled. She hated getting screamed at—sure—but being scolded by Isabella? Her favorite person? That was pure heartbreak.

"I’m sorry! It was just... so fun!" she blurted. "At first I only washed my body like you said, carefully, really really carefully—but then I washed my hair!"

She was already bouncing on her toes now, both hands flailing dramatically as she reenacted her excitement. The gourd was long forgotten—her inner theater star had taken the stage.

"And it foamed! Like, it REALLY foamed! Just like you said!"