The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 522: Stop coughing like an old goat

Isabella stared at him.

Osiris stared at the ground like he had just confessed to murder.

The words hung in the air.

"I am the ugly one."

It echoed in her head. It bounced around her skull. It replayed itself over and over again until her lips twitched.

Then her shoulders shook.

Then her chest trembled.

Then she absolutely exploded.

She fell backward onto the stone with a loud, undignified shriek of laughter.

Osiris flinched. Hard.

She kept laughing. Loud. Ugly. Violent. Unrestrained. Her laughter ricocheted off the cavern walls like a demon being exorcised.

Glimora gasped at the noise, then slowly began laughing too, not because she understood anything, but because laughter is contagious and she wanted to participate. She pressed her paws to her cheeks and giggled.

Osiris sat there like a betrayed god. His face tightened. His neck stiffened. His ears turned red. His pride ripped itself into a thousand tiny phoenix feathers.

She clutched her stomach. "You. You actually. You said it. You really said it."

Osiris refused to look at her. "It was a strategic decision."

"Strategic," she choked out. "Strategic to call yourself ugly."

"It was necessary."

"Because you wanted fruit."

He stayed silent.

That silence told her everything.

She rolled onto her side, wheezing. "Oh my goddess. Oh my goddess. This is my peak. Nothing in my life will ever beat this moment."

"Isabella," Osiris muttered, "stop."

She laughed harder.

"This is humiliation," he added.

"Good," she gasped.

"Isabella."

"You idiot."

Osiris clenched his jaw. His veins twitched like angry snakes. His pride was screaming inside his soul. She could practically see his phoenix ancestors watching him in horror.

He glared at her with wounded dignity. "I do not like this."

"Oh I love it," she said, wiping tears off her cheeks. "I am going to tell everyone. I am going to tell my child. I will tell strangers on the road. I will tell the universe."

"You will not."

"I will."

"You will not."

She smirked, leaning in with pure evil. "You are ugly."

His entire body jolted. "I am not."

"You said it."

"You forced me."

"You admitted it."

"It was a lie."

"It was the truth you fought for your entire life."

"It was manipulation."

"It was justice."

Osiris groaned and pressed both of his hands to his face. "I hate this conversation."

She smiled sweetly. "Good."

He peeked at her through his fingers. "Give me fruit."

She lifted her chin proudly. "Beg."

"I will not beg."

"Then starve."

He reached toward her bag. She slapped his hand away.

He stared at her like she had committed a war crime. "You are evil."

"You are ugly."

"I am not ugly."

"You said you are."

"We are not discussing this again."

"We are."

Osiris turned away dramatically and stared into the darkness like he was contemplating death.

Isabella sighed with satisfaction. She finally, finally grabbed a handful of fruits from her space and threw them into his lap.

He caught one before it fell and stared at it with deep emotional confusion. "So now you give it."

"Yes."

"After destroying my pride."

"Yes."

He picked the fruit up slowly and bit into it like he was performing a tragic opera.

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Stop acting like you died."

"I did," he murmured. "Inside."

"Good. Eat."

Glimora happily reached for more fruit. Isabella placed two in her tiny hands, earning an excited squeal. The little beast curled up beside her thigh, munching with full cheeks.

Osiris chewed quietly, his pride glaring at her through the silence.

The awkwardness settled in like an annoying mosquito. They were quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Not romantic quiet. More like... forced quiet. Hostage quiet. Hostile quiet with poor air quality.

The cave crackled faintly. Pebbles shifted. Something howled far above them, reminding them that monsters existed and wanted their flesh. Isabella ignored it. She was tired. She was pregnant. She was annoyed. She was seated next to a man who claimed he did not want her but stared at her like he needed oxygen from her lungs.

Osiris finished one fruit and reached for another.

He kept glancing at her.

She did not look at him.

He coughed dramatically.

She did not respond.

He coughed again, louder.

She shut her eyes. "Stop coughing like an old goat."

"I am not coughing like a goat," he argued. "I am clearing my throat."

"Then clear it quietly."

"I cannot. I am injured."

"Your throat is not injured."

"You do not know that."

She looked at him slowly. "Osiris. Eat your fruit."

He nodded and ate more, but the silence was killing him. Absolutely murdering him. His phoenix brain could not handle silence. Phoenixes were dramatic by nature. They were emotional. They needed an audience. They needed someone to witness their existence.

He was suffering.

After three full minutes of painful quiet, he finally cracked.

"Isabella."

She ignored him.

"Isabella," he repeated.

She chewed on her fruit aggressively.

He scooted half an inch closer.

She noticed. She gave him the most threatening side eye in existence.

Osiris flinched but he still spoke. "Do you want to know something interesting."

"No."

"It is very interesting."

"No."

"It concerns survival."

"No."

He leaned closer. "It also concerns food."

She paused mid chew. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

He smirked like he had caught her. "So you do want to know."

"No I do not."

"Yes you do."

"No."

He ignored the denial. "Phoenixes never sleep alone in caves. It is culturally forbidden. We sleep beside something warm or we become cold. And if we become cold, we die."

She stared at him blandly. "Then die."

He gasped. "You are a wicked woman."

"You are a dramatic bird."

He squinted. "You are small."

"You are ugly."

His eye twitched. "Stop saying that."

"You said it first."

"I take it back."

"I do not care."

He groaned again and shoved another fruit into his mouth. She continued eating silently, enjoying how uncomfortable he looked.

Eventually, he gave up on lecturing her about phoenix tradition. His dramatic energy fizzled. His arrogance dimmed slightly. He ate slower now, his posture relaxing even though his face refused to.

Then, just when she thought he had finally shut up for the rest of the night, he spoke again.

"Isabella."

She exhaled tiredly. "What."

He brushed imaginary dust off his knee, clearly preparing for another useless speech. "I have been thinking."

"Oh no."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Thinking is important."

"For who."

"For phoenixes."

"Not for you."

He chose to ignore that insult with the skill of a man used to suffering.

He finished chewing, swallowed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

The cave settled into a quieter hum, the distant circling noises soft but present. Their corner was dim and warm and far from safe, but safer than the open cavern.

He adjusted his sitting position again. Isabella rolled her eyes at how much noise he made just trying to sit still.

Finally he spoke.

"I want to ask you something."

She groaned. "Do not ask me anything."

"I will ask."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

She slapped her palm to her face. "Osiris. I swear on everything in existence. If you ask me something stupid like why the moon glows, I will bury you in this cave."

"It is not a stupid question."

"Debatable."

He inhaled.

She raised a brow.

He hesitated.

She waited.

His pride vibrated like a dying insect.

Finally, very slowly, he turned his head to look at her.

"What tribe," he said, "is your mate from."

Isabella froze.

Her fruit slipped from her fingers.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her pulse thudded once. Twice.

Everything inside her stilled.

Her mate.

Her mate.

Her mate.