Chapter 124: She was dealing with the one and only Opehlia

Words : 1096 Updated : Sep 30th, 2025

Chapter 124 of "The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts" starts with thrilling twists: Chapter 124: Chapter 124: She was dealing with the one and only Opehlia Her chest moved.... Continue the story!

Chapter 124: Chapter 124: She was dealing with the one and only Opehlia Her chest moved. Once. Shallow. Then again. She was breathing. But her face— Her face was gone. The skin had peeled in ribbons, melted away in uneven patches. Her once-soft features were now unrecognizable—shrunken, raw, and ravaged. Like something had dragged claws down her beauty and taken it for keeps. Asael collapsed sideways, bracing himself with a shaking arm. He was drenched in sweat, heart pounding, vision blurred. His mouth opened to speak but only a weak gasp came out. Kian stared at his sister. Something sharp and dark twisted in his chest. But he said nothing. Not yet. Kian didn’t thank Asael with words. He gave him a look. One filled with something rare and heavy. Gratitude. And behind it? Murderous intent. Because whoever did this had made two mistakes. They thought Shelia would die. And they thought Kian wouldn’t destroy them for it. ... Opehlia bounced in like a cheerful dumpling, carrying a steaming bowl of soup with both hands. Her cheeks were flushed from excitement, and her bright eyes sparkled as she approached the now smiling Isabella. Isabella, struggled to sit straighter. Her fingers curled around the warm bowl, and she gave the chubby little Opehlia a soft smile. "Thank you." She didn’t say much—but her heart, oh, her heart was soft. Like melting snow. ’These girls’... She looked down at the bowl, the golden broth glistening with the richness of care. ’They make me feel like I belong. No one’s ever done that before.’ A bitter memory crept in like cold wind under a door—back in her past life, whenever she was sick, her parents were always "too busy." Even if they were home, they’d float past like smoke, more interested in phone calls and meetings than their coughing daughter. They used to say things like, "You’ll be fine, just take some medicine." But medicine doesn’t fill the hollowness of loneliness. Now, with girls like Opehlia and Shelia bustling around her like overprotective hens, she almost felt... lucky. Her eyes drifted to the soup again. The color was rich. The aroma, as always, comforting. She’d been teaching them for barely a few weeks, and yet they were improving like gifted disciples on a cultivation path. Fast learners, all of them. It made her proud. Though, honestly... it’s all thanks to that stupid redhead. Cyrus had pushed them to keep learning and training, even when she wasn’t around. Her brows pinched faintly. Where is that noodle-brained idiot, anyway? He hadn’t come to see her. Not even once since she’d woken up. ’Tch. Not like I care. But still... a single visit wouldn’t kill him. Useless freeloader. I took him in, fed him, gave him fur—and this is the thanks I get?’ She huffed mentally, already planning the verbal thrashing he’d get once she saw his smug face again. Meanwhile, Opehlia stood by the bed, bouncing on her toes like a child waiting for praise. Isabella peeked up—and couldn’t help it. A giggle slipped out. ’Gosh... she’s really too cute.’ She dipped the spoon into the soup, stirred it slowly, and brought it to her lips— Then froze. Her nose twitched. That scent. A sharp, piercing aroma cut through the warmth like a knife through silk. Abilus poison fruit. Her pupils contracted. She knew this scent. She knew it too well. It had nearly killed her in her first days here, when Bubu had been hellbent on "tempering her constitution" like some mad cultivator system master. That fruit would have nearly burned through her organs, if not for one thing. And yet, somehow, she’d lived. But only because fate had yet to be done with her. Now someone had slipped it into her food. Only one name entered her mind, like a shadow rising from the depths. Zara. That two-faced fox in sheep’s skin. ’A wisp of mockery touched her lips. Did she think I was just a pretty face? That I wouldn’t notice? That I’d fall for such an obvious trap like a lovesick fool chasing after a jewel in the mud?’ So laughable. So lowly. ’There are hundreds of herbs, fruits, and leaves that can kill—but you picked this one? The one with a scent loud enough to wake the dead?’ How stupid can a schemer be? No. This wasn’t about cleverness. This was madness. Obsession disguised as love. Zara had shown her hand. And now Isabella knew the type of enemy she was dealing with—one who would kill without blinking, just to win a man’s heart. She exhaled slowly. A cold, delicate smirk curled at the corner of her lips. To deal with a lunatic, you have to be ten times madder. From this moment on, Zara was no longer just a thorn on the path. She was a target. And Isabella had all the time in the world to break her. Slowly. Carefully. Like peeling skin from a snake. Opehlia’s smile had long flown out the window like a startled bird. Her round cheeks deflated, her eyes widened, and her soul practically left her body. ’She doesn’t like it...? She doesn’t like it!!!’ Her brain short-circuited on the spot. Panic Mode: Activated. She was already composing her tragic apology speech in her head—"I, Opehlia of the Round Cheeks, am willing to scrub clay pots for three moons as punishment!" ’But why? Why?! Shelia and I slaved over this soup like devoted temple nuns! We even added the pretty purple flowers for aesthetics!’ Before she could voice any of that, Isabella suddenly raised the clay bowl with an air of cold majesty, as if handing a decree from the heavens. "Throw everything away," she said frostily. —BOOM. Opehlia’s internal world shattered into a million dumpling pieces. Her lips trembled, her eyes shimmered, and her fists clenched at her sides like a tiny warrior trying not to cry on the battlefield. She bit her lower lip hard. ’Don’t cry. Don’t cry. If you cry, she’ll call you a soggy radish again—’ She had failed. Utterly. As a friend. As a cook. As a breathing organism. Tonight, she would go to bed hungry. Isabella blinked, finally glancing up—’Why so quiet?’ Then she saw it. Opehlia’s face. A tragic portrait worthy of an ancient scroll. Mouth quivering. Eyes glistening. Whole body vibrating like an overstuffed steamed bun left too long in the steamer. Isabella’s brow jumped in amusement. ’Ah... right. I forgot.’ She was dealing with the one and only Opehlia.

Chapter 124: She was dealing with the one and only Opehlia

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