Chapter 226 - 227: If the wrong ears hear this—we lose our chance to do anything

Words : 1171 Updated : Oct 10th, 2025

Chapter 226: Chapter 227: If the wrong ears hear this—we lose our chance to do anything Isabella had just stepped into the stone palace, her slippers flapping softly against the cold ground, the air cool and faintly laced with the scent of wild mint and burning herbs. But none of that registered. Her mind was still an absolute mess. Her mind was a battlefield. Thoughts clawed for dominance, colliding like waves in a storm—waves that all had one ridiculous red-eyed cause: Zyran. Zyran, with his shameless flirting and devilish smirks. Zyran, with his stupid pout and that ridiculous line—"this one." Oh, who was he even calling this one? That man. That ridiculous, overconfident, sinfully hot menace of a man. Her fingers twitched as she muttered under her breath. "How can someone as fabulous as me be this stressed out over one stupid walking red flag?" she hissed, then paused dramatically, pointing at herself with both thumbs. "Me. I am the main character. I’ve got the walk, the waist, the face, the everything." Thinking about everything made her even more fustrated, she couldn’t stop muttering under her breath like a noblewoman possessed. "Ridiculous... I mean, of all the people to drive me insane, it has to be him? A walking red flag with abs! I’m perfect. Perfect! I shouldn’t be stressed over a man who probably flirts with his reflection!" She spun with a frustrated sigh, only to feel a hand gently reach for hers. Warm. Careful. Steady. She paused. "What is it now, Cyrus?" Her voice came out sharper than intended, and she winced internally. Her tongue had a mind of its own these days. But the moment she met his eyes—those soft, pink irises like dawn reflected in water—her posture eased just a little. He didn’t flinch at her tone, didn’t pull back. Of course not. Cyrus knew her too well. He was calm like spring rain, always quiet in the storm that was her. His kind expression remained unchanged, warm and calm like a lake at dawn. He was used to this—her sharpness. It wasn’t cruelty. It was simply her shield. One he’d grown to read between. "It’s about Shelia," he said softly, his voice like cotton wrapped in sadness. That made her blink. Just hearing the name sent a jolt through Isabella’s spine. Her stormy expression faltered. Her lips parted. Her irritation dissolved like steam on hot stones. "Oh my gods," she said, eyes narrowing with renewed focus. "Why didn’t you say so earlier?" Her voice still had that teasing edge, but it was quickly fading. "We could’ve escaped that drama-loving demon hours ago!" She turned, half-walking away already, muttering again. "And here I was acting like my love life was the priority. Ugh. Never again. No man will ever—wait, what’s wrong with your face?" Because Cyrus hadn’t moved. He hadn’t smiled either. Isabella stepped back toward him, her brows furrowed now. "Cyrus?" she asked, a bit more gently. He looked down at her, swallowing once. His throat moved slowly, like the words were too heavy to push out. "She’s dying." The words cut through the hallway like a blade dipped in ice. The next sound wasn’t from Isabella. Before Isabella could even make sense of those words—before her chest could register the pang in her heart—a voice broke through the tension like a lightning strike. "SHE’S DYING?!" It was Ophelia. Sweet, loud, emotionally fragile Ophelia. She stood down the hallway, face pale and eyes comically wide. Ophelia’s voice shattered the silence like a stone crashing through a glass lake. "Goddess, shut up!" Isabella hissed, turning around so fast her dress flared. She practically leapt across the hallway and slapped a hand over Ophelia’s mouth. The girl’s eyes were wide and glossy, panic already blooming. Ophelia’s panicked eyes stared up at her, still glistening with tears on the brink of collapse. Her tiny frame trembled like a leaf in a storm. "Are you trying to announce it to the whole beastmen realm?" Isabella snapped, pressing her fingers tighter over the girl’s lips. "You want it broadcasted over the hills and sung into the rivers too? Huh?" Ophelia squeaked under her hand, her chest rising and falling like a baby bird’s. Cyrus winced behind them, casting a worried glance toward the end of the corridor where two guards were barely visible shadows. The beastmen’s ears could probably hear a flea hiccup. Glimora, in Ophelia’s arms, tilted her head in confusion, its blue eyes blinking up at the chaos. Ophelia’s tears were falling now—fat, hot droplets rolling down her cheeks. But she nodded quickly, the realization finally dawning on her that this wasn’t the time to melt. "Take a deep breath. Don’t you dare wail," Isabella instructed slowly, her tone firm yet soothing. "I need your head, not your lungs, right now." Seeing Opehlia looked like she’d still cry Isabella said; "Ophelia. Deep breaths. You’re doing that thing again," Isabella said, moving her hand away just a crack. "The thing where you turn into a siren in distress." "I-I’m not—" Ophelia whimpered. "Don’t wail," Isabella warned, wagging a finger in front of her face. "If you wail, I’ll cry too, and trust me, I am far too beautiful to sob in public." Ophelia sniffled. Glimora, the fuzzy silver-furred creature curled in Ophelia’s arms, let out a low, curious chirp. Then, as if on cue, it leapt from her hands and landed gracefully on Isabella’s shoulder. "Glimora, seriously?" Isabella muttered, flinching as the beast nuzzled against her neck. "You wanna fight, don’t you? Don’t mistake this face for tolerance." But the little creature only blinked, nestling deeper against her like it knew this wasn’t the time for her dramatics. Isabella rolled her eyes, even as her hands subtly gripped Ophelia’s shoulders and lowered her voice. "Listen to me," she whispered, voice just for the two of them. "You want Shelia to live, right? You want to see her again, talk to her, laugh with her?" Ophelia nodded frantically, tears slipping down her cheeks even as she tried to hold it all in. "Then don’t scream, don’t panic, don’t make noise," Isabella said firmly, voice soft but commanding. "Because if we alert the wrong people—if the wrong ears hear this—we lose our chance to do anything." "C-can you save her?" Ophelia asked, clinging to Isabella’s arm like a lifeline, her voice small and trembling. Isabella’s eyes locked onto hers. For the first time in the past ten minutes, she didn’t have a snarky comeback. No dramatic retort, no quip, no eye roll. Just silence. She looked at Cyrus, who met her gaze with the same quiet weight in his. She could see the answer in his face. Could they save Shelia? Could she? She didn’t know. She didn’t know if this was something her boldness, her charm, her sharp tongue or dazzling looks could fix. Isabella turned back to Ophelia, feeling the beast’s soft fur brushing her cheek, feeling the warmth of Opehlia’s hand on her wrist. She hesitated. And then—

Chapter 226 - 227: If the wrong ears hear this—we lose our chance to do anything

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