The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 75: Then… I want to come too

The stone chamber was dimly lit, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows across the cold, uneven walls.

The air inside was heavy with the faint scent of herbs and damp fur, but despite the warmth of the animal pelt beneath her, Zara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

She lay stretched out on the thick fur, her dark wild hair cascading over the soft surface, her body frail from the supposed illness that had left her bedridden for two days now or maybe three?.

Or rather, from the poison she had so stupidly ingested in her failed attempt to frame Isabella.

Seated beside her, Kian radiated cold indifference, his sharp blue eyes watching her with the same interest one might have for an insect crawling too close to their food.

He sat upright, his posture effortlessly regal, his powerful frame untouched by concern.

His presence alone was intimidating, yet he had not spoken since entering the room, as if he were merely enduring her existence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his deep voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

"How are you feeling?"

Zara’s lashes fluttered as she feigned weakness, the edges of her lips curling into a soft, delicate smile.

She attempted to sit up, her arms trembling ever so slightly—just enough to appear frail, helpless.

But the moment she pushed herself up, a sharp sting shot through her muscles, and she winced dramatically.

She expected him to react. To reach out. To offer even a sliver of assistance.

But Kian merely stared.

Unmoved. Unbothered.

His expression remained frigid, as if the sight of her struggling wasn’t worth the slightest shift in his demeanor.

A flicker of irritation flared in Zara’s chest, but she masked it swiftly.

Instead, she let out a small, pitiful sigh and reached for his arm, her fingers grazing his firm muscle, as she clung to him delicately, like a fragile thing seeking protection.

This time, she pulled herself up properly, her body pressing ever so slightly against his in the process.

Once she was upright, she forced a sweet, sickeningly innocent smile onto her lips.

"I’m fine," she breathed softly, her voice laced with vulnerability. "I’m getting better."

Kian’s eyes dragged over her, slow and unforgiving, taking in every detail of her pale face, the way her fingers still rested on his arm, the unnatural gentleness in her tone.

And then, coldly—so cold it sent a chill down her spine—he said:

"You still don’t want to tell me how you got poisoned?" His voice was flat, devoid of warmth. "Because you weren’t sick, Zara. You were poisoned."

The shift in the air was immediate.

Zara’s fingers tensed for half a second—barely noticeable, but Kian caught it instantly. His gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing in quiet suspicion.

What was she hiding?

Zara quickly forced her body to relax, schooling her expression into one of mild confusion, as if the accusation itself was absurd.

"Poisoned?" She let out a breathy laugh—soft, uncertain. "I... I don’t know what you mean, Kian."

She met his gaze with wide, innocent eyes, the very picture of a wronged maiden.

"Maybe someone tried to harm me," she murmured, her tone so gentle, so pitiful, it was almost enraging. "But why would anyone do that? I’ve done nothing wrong."

Nothing wrong.

If only Kian knew how utterly idiotic she had been.

The only reason she was in this humiliating state was because of her own stupidity.

She had gathered the poisonous herbs herself, carefully selecting them with the intention of framing Isabella—because that wretched girl loved gathering herbs, didn’t she? It would’ve been so easy to blame her, to turn the others against her. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

But before she could execute her plan, Isabella had gone missing.

And just like that, her carefully crafted scheme had collapsed before her eyes.

With no other option, she had pretended to be ill, fabricating symptoms of sickness to gain sympathy, to make Kian see her as something precious and delicate.

But in the end, it had backfired spectacularly.

She had almost died, and in her desperation, she had been forced to seek Kian’s help. His power had saved her, but at what cost?

Kian watched her, his stare unrelenting, sharp. It was as if he were waiting for her to slip up.

But Zara was used to this.

She had spent her entire life perfecting the art of deception.

So she merely smiled weakly, tilting her head ever so slightly, a silent plea for kindness.

"I don’t understand what happened," she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound believable. "I only gathered a few herbs... Maybe someone tampered with them? I... I was just trying to help."

Just trying to help.

How infuriating.

How disgustingly manipulative.

The way she tilted her head so sweetly, the way her lips trembled as if she were on the verge of tears—everything about her was designed to make someone else the villain.

Even as she sat there, drenched in her own self-inflicted misery, she was trying to shift the blame elsewhere.

Kian exhaled slowly through his nose, his patience thinning.

He had no interest in unraveling her web of lies.

So he stood.

The moment he did, Zara’s hand shot out, grasping his wrist.

Her fingers trembled around him as she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Where are you going?" Her voice was soft, fragile. Desperate.

She already knew where he was going.

Hours ago, Shelia had burst into the room, her eyes bright with excitement as she announced Isabella’s return.

Zara had seen it.

The way Kian’s entire demeanor had shifted, how his usually cold gaze had flickered with something dangerous and urgent.

He had been ready to leave immediately.

And if she hadn’t interrupted—if she hadn’t clutched at her stomach, let her voice waver as she claimed she felt "so, so weak"—he would have gone.

Shelia had seen right through her. The way the girl’s face had twisted in absolute disgust before she stormed out made that much painfully clear.

But it didn’t matter.

Because Kian had stayed.

And now, as he looked down at her, expression unreadable, Zara already knew his answer.

Still, she held onto his wrist tighter.

Because she needed to delay him.

Because she needed more time.

Because if she could just—

"I’m going to see Isabella," Kian said.

Zara’s body stiffened.

And then—before he could say another word—

She smiled weakly, tilting her head like a delicate flower in the wind.

"Then... I want to come too."