Chapter 19: The Irritating Man

Chapter 19: Chapter 19: The Irritating Man "You deserve better," Isabella told Ophelia, brushing some imaginary dust off her shoulder. "Trust me, anything is better than this thing in front of us." A hush fell over the crowd. All eyes flickered toward the man, who, despite being insulted into oblivion, hadn’t moved. In fact—he was staring at Isabella. Hard. His expression shifted. His sneer wavered. His gaze lingered a little too long on her face, trailing from her bright, intelligent eyes down to her delicate features, then lower, taking in the way she stood with effortless poise. Isabella immediately caught on. She folded her arms, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh no. Don’t tell me." The man blinked, snapping out of whatever delusion he was slipping into. "Please tell me you’re not about to fall in love after I just dragged you across the metaphorical floor," Isabella sighed. "That would be tragic." The crowd chuckled. The man’s face twisted, but before he could speak, a soft, sweet voice interjected. "It’s okay, darling." Isabella turned. A woman stood beside the man, her posture graceful, her expression warm—too warm. Her soft, honeyed tone carried the exact wrong type of confidence, the kind that came from someone who had never been challenged before. She reached for the man’s arm, stroking it lightly. "You don’t have to insult that woman just because of me." Isabella’s lips twitched. Oh, this one was dangerous. The fake sweet type. The type that pretends to be understanding while fanning the flames. The crowd subtly leaned in, waiting for Isabella’s response. She turned back to Ophelia instead. "What’s your name?" The woman, still wiping tears from her cheeks, hesitated before answering, "O-Ophelia." Isabella hummed, tilting her head. "Ophelia," she repeated, drawing out the name. "You disappoint me." Ophelia flinched. The crowd gasped. "You are so pretty," Isabella continued, shaking her head. "Yes, you need some—adjustments—" She waved vaguely at Ophelia’s figure. "Shaping up, if you will. But really? For a man like this?" It is true, the woman did need some Shaping up, and Isabella wasn’t talking about her slimming down. She could still be chubby and cute. Isabella was talking about making her look healthy, fixing her hair, fixing her skin that seem like it was broken. Really really, she was starting to see why this world needed her, she turned back to see the man now fuming, from the public disgrace. The insult landed squarely on its target. The man stiffened, his ego wounded all over again. "Excuse me?" he barked. "Who the hell do you think you are?" Isabella turned back to him, her expression unreadable. "Oh, I’m sorry," she said flatly. "Did I forget to introduce myself?" She placed a hand on her chest. "I’m Isabella. Professional nuisance. Ruiner of fragile male egos. And, as of today, the reason you’ll never sleep peacefully again." The crowd erupted into raucous laughter. Ophelia covered her mouth, her eyes wide. The man’s face burned red. "I don’t have to take this from you!" "Then don’t," Isabella shot back, exasperated. "Yet here you are. Standing. Listening. Being humiliated. You’re doing this to yourself." The man clenched his fists. "Women like you—" "Are smarter than you? Yes. Glad we agree." Isabella smirked. More laughter. The man’s mouth flapped open, struggling for a comeback. "And as for you," Isabella turned back to Ophelia, "Give me a couple of months." Ophelia blinked. "What?" The crowd murmured in confusion. "You heard me." Isabella flicked her wrist dismissively. "Give me a couple of months, and when you see Ophelia again, you won’t even believe it’s her." The whispers exploded. "What is she saying?" "How can she change her?" "What kind of miracle is this?" Even Ophelia herself looked taken aback. Her hands clutched at her dress, a whirlwind of emotions flashing across her face. Gratefulness. Hope. Embarrassment. Seeing how confident Isabella was made her feel something strange—like maybe, just maybe, she could be more. But the woman beside the man finally had enough of being ignored. She stepped forward, smiling in that same irritatingly sweet way. "I think you’re being awfully dramatic," she cooed. Isabella barely spared her a glance. "Please don’t disgust me," she sighed. The woman’s smile faltered. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," Isabella said, feigning a yawn. "I’ve dealt with your type before. The oh-no-I’m-not-bad-I’m-just-kind-and-soft-spoken types. The I-would-never-start-drama-but-oh-no-I-said-something-that-caused-an-entire-fight types." She met the woman’s eyes, gaze sharp. "I see right through you." The woman bristled, her fake kindness evaporating. "I was just trying to be civil." "And I’m just trying to be done with this conversation," Isabella replied. "Look, I know it must be hard being second choice—" she flicked her eyes toward the man—"or possibly third or fourth, given his personality. But don’t drag me into whatever delusion you’re selling." The woman gasped. "How dare you?" "Easily." Isabella smirked. "Want me to do it again?" The woman huffed, turning her face away. The man still stood there, stunned into silence. Isabella clapped her hands together. "Alright, show’s over!" She waved the crowd away. "Go on, go do something useful with your day!" The crowd hesitated, still buzzing with whispers. "She’s so pretty..." "She’s so confident." "She’s too much..." But, one by one, they started dispersing, sneaking in glances at Isabella as they left. Isabella exhaled, turning back to Ophelia. "You. Come with me." Ophelia hesitated, then nodded. Isabella smirked. Game on. Just as Isabella and Ophelia were about to leave, a breathless voice rang out. "Ophelia!" The sound of hurried footsteps followed, and when Isabella turned, she saw a woman running toward them, panting, her face flushed from exertion. Ophelia gasped. "Shelia?" Her eyes lit up, and before Isabella could blink, Ophelia bolted toward the woman, throwing her arms around her. They embraced tightly, Ophelia gripping her as if she were afraid she might disappear. Isabella, still standing in place, stared at the two of them. "And... who is this?" she asked, arching a brow. If one did not know Isabella personality, they’d think she was being rude. Which is exactly what she sounded like. Rude.