The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 93: Why was she protecting him?

"Take her away."

Kian’s voice cut through the tension like a blade dipped in ice.

For a moment, Zara just... froze.

Like the words hadn’t registered. Like she genuinely thought she had misheard him.

Then realization hit.

Her lips parted in disbelief. A nervous, broken little laugh bubbled out. "Wha...?"

She took a shaky step forward, eyes searching his face, looking for—what? Mercy? Regret? A sign that this was all a joke?

She found nothing.

"I’m sorry, Kian," she whispered.

Then—she dropped.

Right onto her knees.

With trembling hands, she clutched at his feet, her fingers digging in desperately. "Don’t hate me more, please," she begged, voice breaking into sobs so raw that even a few villagers shifted uneasily.

A tragic sight.

A woman who had once held her head high, now reduced to this.

But Kian?

His expression didn’t flicker.

Not an inch. Not even the tiniest hint of hesitation.

"I said, take her away."

This time, his tone was even colder. Colder.

Like the universe itself had lost interest in Zara’s existence.

Two men stepped forward, grabbed her arms, and without another word—dragged her away.

She screamed.

She thrashed.

"Nooooo! Kian, please! You promised! Don’t do this! Don’t throw me away!"

Some people turned their heads, uncomfortable.

Others shook their heads, unimpressed.

And Isabella?

She simply narrowed her eyes.

Because this wasn’t love.

This was obsession.

The kind that led to disturbing things. Secret things.

The kind that made people do things behind closed doors.

She really hoped she was wrong.

She really did.

But something about the way Zara clawed at the dirt as she was dragged away, the way her cries weren’t just of sorrow but something uglier—something darker—made Isabella’s stomach twist.

But then again...

"Ophelia, let go," Isabella sighed, only now realizing her arm was being squeezed tight.

Ophelia, bless her soft, chubby heart, hesitated before slowly letting go, her wide, innocent eyes darting between Isabella and Zara’s retreating form.

"She scares me," she whispered.

Isabella turned, taking in her friend’s round, worried face.

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Me too." (Lies.)

Then—she blinked.

Because sitting very comfortably atop her head, watching all of this unfold with an air of pure majesty, was Glimora.

Isabella exhaled, rolling her eyes.

If she were a mystical beast, she would totally be doing the same thing.

She reached up, plucked Glimora off her head, and ran a hand over the creature’s ridiculously perfect nose.

Gosh, she would never get tired of how stupidly pretty this creature was.

Silence fell over the crowd again.

And that’s when Isabella noticed—

Kian still hadn’t spoken.

The village still waited.

Zara had been dragged away, her screams long faded into the distance.

And yet...

Kian said nothing.

Nothing at all.

And for some reason, that was the most unsettling part of all.

The air was still heavy from Zara’s dramatic removal when Kian finally spoke. His voice was as cold and absolute as ever.

"He can stay. But only under my watch." His blue eyes locked onto Cyrus. "You will live in the palace. Under close observation."

A tense silence fell over the gathered villagers. Some nodded, thinking this was a fair decision. Others glanced at Isabella, waiting for her reaction.

Cyrus, however, did not react outwardly. But Isabella, standing so close, felt the shift in his energy. His shoulders tensed slightly, his jaw clenched just enough to be noticed. It was subtle, but to someone like her—who was practically an expert in reading emotionally unavailable and brooding men—it was a dead giveaway.

He didn’t like that.

No, scratch that.

He hated that.

And she could guess why.

That tone Kian used? That wasn’t just authority. That was possession. It was the kind of tone someone used when they wanted to control something—or someone.

Her eyes flickered to Cyrus, then back to Kian.

Cyrus on the other hand hated the way he said it because that was how his master at the city usually spoke about him.

Yeah. No. Not happening.

Not only because it was unjust to force him into the palace, but also because her system points were on the line.

With newfound determination, she took a step closer to Cyrus. She didn’t just stand beside him—she placed a hand on his chest.

A warm, firm, reassuring hand.

Kian’s eye twitched.

The villagers collectively held their breath.

Cyrus? Oh, Cyrus felt that.

His heart—normally calm and steady—skipped a beat.

The warmth of her touch seeped into his skin, the softness of her hand standing in direct contrast to his usual reality of cold survival and battle-worn exhaustion. Something unfamiliar twisted inside him, an instinctive reaction so sudden that his own hands moved before his brain could process it.

"Oh no no, my brother brother stays with me" She said with longing and a little bit of forced desperation.

His fingers lifted slightly, reaching toward Isabella’s waist.

Because that’s where they belonged, right?

That was the natural order of things. Right?

But just as he was about to touch her—

She moved.

Not away from him in horror or disgust, no. She just had no idea what she had done to him in the first place.

She simply let go and walked away, moving toward the gathered villagers and Kian. Her arms adjusted Glimora, balancing the majestic creature effortlessly, while she launched into a full-on speech mode.

As if she hadn’t just casually wrecked a grown man’s composure.

Cyrus blinked, his hands lowering awkwardly, as if he had just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Kian saw it.

Kian saw everything.

The way Isabella had protected this stranger.

The way she had touched him.

And the way Cyrus had looked like he wanted more.

A slow, dangerous realization settled in Kian’s chest. He had tolerated Isabella’s strange interest in this outsider at first. But now?

Now, she was touching him?

Defending him with emotion?

Acting as though she had some deep connection with him? It was clear he wasn’t her relative, maybe only clear to him. So why was she acting like she really knew him?

Why was she protecting him?