Chapter 47: Paranoid

Words : 1139 Updated : Sep 22nd, 2025

Here is Chapter 47 of "The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts": Chapter 47: Chapter 47: Paranoid Now, for the next step. She had the boys pour the thick,... Don’t miss it!

Chapter 47: Chapter 47: Paranoid Now, for the next step. She had the boys pour the thick, sticky clay-water mixture into the leaf-lined hole. The plan? Let the heavier rocks and sand sink to the bottom. Pour the cleaner clay-water mixture into the next hole. Let it settle overnight. Tomorrow, drain the excess water and collect the smooth, usable clay. Genius, right? Isabella wiped her hands on her animal-hide dress and admired her work. Was it scientifically correct? She had no clue. Did it look impressive? Absolutely. Once everything was set up, the boys hesitated, shifting awkwardly again. "Um... so," the taller one said, rubbing his nose, "do you, uh, need anything else?" Isabella, who was currently pretending to be a clay expert, waved them off. "No, no. That’s all for today." They nodded but didn’t immediately leave. Instead, as they walked away, she caught snippets of their hushed conversation. "She’s really something, huh?" "Yeah... weird, but kinda cool." "And pretty." "Obviously." Isabella smirked, hands on her hips. Even covered in dirt and clay, she still had that main character energy. She rolled her shoulders, stretched her arms, and sighed. Now, all she had to do was wait until tomorrow and hope this totally improvised method actually worked. The moment Isabella finished setting up her makeshift clay-filtering system, she heard the familiar light footsteps approaching. She turned just in time to see Ophelia striding toward the hut, her usual energy evident in her quick steps. Her round cheeks were flushed, her expression bright, and she seemed to be in an unusually good mood. "Hey, you seem happy," Isabella greeted with a grin. Ophelia beamed. "I am! Shelia and I roasted some meat. It was so good!" Isabella chuckled. "Nice. At least one of us had a decent meal." Ophelia tilted her head. "You didn’t eat?" "I did, I did." Isabella waved it off. "Just fruits, though. Speaking of which—" She gestured toward her hut. "If you’re hungry, I picked some extra. They’re already washed and in the basket. Help yourself." Ophelia’s eyes lit up. "Really?" "Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I let you starve?" Ophelia nodded enthusiastically, her chubby cheeks bouncing with the movement. "Thank you, Isabella!" God, this girl was cute. Just as Ophelia was about to head inside, her gaze drifted to the freshly dug holes near the hut. She paused. Frowned. Tilted her head. "What’s that for?" "Oh, that?" Isabella stretched her arms, feeling the day’s exhaustion settle in. "I’m making pots." For a second, Ophelia’s face went blank. Then her eyes widened as if something clicked. "Pots," she repeated. A second passed. Then—realization. Her jaw dropped. "Wait! You talked about that before!" Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Did I?" "Yes! Yesterday—or the day before? You were talking to Kian about pots, pans, and a lot of other things!" Oh. Right. That conversation. Ophelia bounced on her toes. "You said pots can make food even more delicious!" Isabella smirked. "That I did." Suddenly, Ophelia’s excitement exploded. She gasped dramatically and clutched her hands together like a child hearing about a new toy. "Can I help?!" she asked, practically vibrating in place. Isabella nearly sagged in relief. Finally. Someone willing to help her with this madness. She smiled. "Don’t worry—if you learn fast, I’ll gladly let you make all of them." Ophelia gasped again, eyes shining with gratitude. "Really?! Thank you, Isabella! You’re the best!" ...The poor thing didn’t realize she’d just been assigned free labor. But, well. Who was Isabella to correct that? She stretched again and sighed. "Alright, I’m heading to the river to wash up. You enjoy the fruits. I’ll be back soon." Ophelia nodded eagerly, already munching on a fruit. "Okay! Be careful!" With that, Isabella turned, feeling victorious. She had clay. She had help. Now, all she needed was a bath. By the time Isabella reached the river, the evening air had cooled, and the water shimmered under the dimming sunlight. The soft rustling of leaves, the occasional chirp of birds, and the gentle flow of water should have been calming. Should have been. But the moment she crouched near the water, she froze. Her eyes darted to the towering trees far from her. A red python. A huge red python. She had seen it with her own two eyes just hours ago. It had been curled up, looking like a sleeping monster among the branches. And she? She had smartly snuck away like some fruit thief. What if it wasn’t sleeping? What if it had seen her, remembered her scent, and was now slithering in her direction, holding a grudge? Paranoia hit her full force. Nope. No way. She was not about to die naked and afraid by a river. Without wasting another second, Isabella shoved her hands into the water, splashing herself aggressively. She didn’t even care that the water was crystal clear or that it shimmered beautifully under the light—her only focus was getting this over with before something found her. Soap? Who needed it? She was getting the important areas and getting out. "This is the fastest bath in history," she muttered, scrubbing down with the urgency of someone who had just been told there was a time bomb nearby. She kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see that gigantic snake slinking toward her with murder in its reptilian eyes. "The trees are far," she whispered to herself, trying to calm down. "The trees are far. It probably already left. It probably forgot about me." But what if it didn’t? What if it was just waiting for her to feel safe? What if it was just as petty as she was and had been tracking her every move, thinking: ’Oh, you think you can just take my moment of peace and leave?’ That was it. Bath over. With a final splash, Isabella shot up from the water, reached into her space storage, and pulled out her clothes. She fumbled into them so fast that if this were a competition, she would’ve taken gold. After successfully dressing without being ambushed, she let out a deep breath. Step one: Survive. ✅ Step two: Get the hell out of here. ✅ But—she still had to wash the clothes she had been wearing. She groaned. If she left them unwashed, they’d stink. But if she stayed too long, she might get eaten. Isabella weighed her options. Hygiene vs. Survival. "...Fine." She mumbled and dunked her dirty clothes in the river. Real fast. She scrubbed like her life depended on it (because honestly, it might). Once she was done, she wrung them out and slung them over her shoulder. No way she was leaving them behind. With one last paranoid glance at the trees, she booked it back to her hut, muttering curses the whole way.

Chapter 47: Paranoid

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