The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 524: No. Stop. Just stop.

The tent sealed shut behind Isabella with a soft zip that sounded too final. Too heavy. Too absolute. It echoed inside her chest like a door closing on something she did not want to think about.

She sank to her knees first.

Then to her hands.

Then she just sat there on the padded floor of the tent, hunched over, breathing shallowly.

Outside, the cavern murmured with distant monster sounds. The heat pressed through the fabric in waves, but inside the tent it felt muted, softer, quieter. Like she had stepped into her own pocket world. A world where she did not need to pretend she was fine.

The fruit she had been eating earlier was still stuck in her throat. Her appetite had died the moment Osiris asked that cursed question.

Her mate.

That one word had undone the entire fragile structure she had built around her heart.

She lifted her knees toward her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on top. The war inside her thoughts grew louder. She tried to push them away, but once they came, they refused to leave.

Cyrus.

His name lit up every corner of her mind like a stubborn lantern.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Stop," she whispered to herself.

The silence inside the tent felt too honest. Too revealing. It stripped everything away until she was left alone with her thoughts, trapped with memories she had tried so hard to bury.

She swallowed hard.

At first she was just sad. Just quiet. Just staring at nothing.

She hated that Osiris pushed her. She hated that he had unknowingly grabbed the deepest wound she carried and ripped the cloth open again.

She pressed her forehead against her knees.

Cyrus had been kind. Too kind. The type of kind that made people like her suspicious.

He always spoke softly to her. Always smiled gently. Always chose his words carefully. Always reached out his hand like he was afraid she might break.

She had pushed him away anyway.

She told herself it was because she did not care. Because he annoyed her. Because it was all fun and games. Because she had better things to do.

But that was not true.

Not even close.

She pushed him because she was terrified.

Her mother’s warnings echoed like ghosts.

Do not trust men.

Do not believe tenderness.

Do not fall too deep.

Do not let love fool you.

Once he gets close, he will show you who he really is.

Once you rely on him, he will turn on you.

Once you love him, he will crush you.

She had grown up watching her mother break over and over again. Eyes swollen from crying. Voice cracking from yelling. Laughing one day, begging the next. Loving too hard. Loving the wrong man. Loving until it destroyed her.

Isabella had promised herself she would never repeat that cycle.

Never.

She had sworn it on everything she had.

She would never let a man turn her into a version of her mother.

Never let love make her vulnerable.

Never let tenderness sink into her bones.

Never let affection steal her mind.

But then Cyrus came. And everything became complicated.

She sniffed once, then covered her mouth.

She blinked harder.

He had been patient. Too patient. Always letting her talk. Always listening. Always stepping back when she pushed him. Always waiting.

And she hated that caring made her chest warm. Hated that it felt safe. Hated that he had never raised his voice at her. Never snapped. Never said one cruel thing. Never made her flinch.

He treated her like she mattered. Like she was worth something.

That was the problem.

Because she believed it. Even if it was for a moment.

She believed him.

Isabella shook her head rapidly, like she could shake him out of her skull. "I do not care," she told herself.

Her voice cracked.

"I do not. I really do not."

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her clothes, annoyed at the warmth pooling behind her eyes.

Why did everything remind her of him. Why did every thought circle back to him. Why did the children in her belly feel like a constant reminder of a life she ran away from.

Was he still in the village now.

Was he still searching for her.

Was he angry.

Was he hurt.

Was he eating properly.

Was he sleeping.

Was he even thinking about her.

She shook her head again.

"No. Stop. Just stop."

Her voice failed halfway through the sentence.

A single tear gathered at the corner of her eye, clinging there stubbornly, refusing to fall.

She tried to hold it.

Tried so desperately. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Until one memory broke through. A simple one. One she hated the most.

His smile.

Not a big smile.

Not a flirty smile.

Not a stupid grin.

Just the small one he gave her when she did something childish. When she threw a fit. When she said something dramatic. When she pretended she did not care. When she tried to push him again.

That smile that said he saw her. All of her. And did not run away.

Her breath hitched.

The tear fell.

Then another.

Then more.

She pressed her sleeve to her eyes, but it was useless. The more she tried to stop, the harder the tears came. They rolled down her cheeks silently at first. Quiet. Gentle. Like rain beginning to fall.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold it all in.

She finally let out a tiny sob. Just one. Barely a sound. But once it escaped, more followed.

Sobs trembled out of her chest, quiet and desperate. Not loud. Not dramatic. Not the kind of crying she wanted anyone to hear.

Just the kind that breaks a person from the inside first.

She curled her body tighter, hugging herself, tears dripping onto her clothes, breath shaking.

She cried until her thoughts blurred. Until her chest loosened. Until her mind grew heavy and exhausted.

Eventually she lay down on her side, still wiping her cheeks. Her breath steadied little by little. The tent grew quieter. Softer. Like it wrapped around her with invisible arms.

Her tears slowed.

Her breathing calmed.

In a few minutes, she fell asleep. Still puffy eyed. Still exhausted.

...

Sitting outside the tent with his arms crossed. His expression unreadable. His pride still bruised.

He had been muttering to himself about how unreasonable she was. How small. How annoying. How dramatic. He replayed their argument in his head, complaining internally, convinced he was right.

Then he heard it.

The first tiny sound.

A muffled sniff.

He froze.

He leaned closer without meaning to. Not enough to touch the tent. Just enough to listen.

Another sound.

A soft sob.

Osiris’ wings stiffened.

That was not frustration.

Not anger.

Not irritation.

That was grief.

He felt something uncomfortable tighten in his chest. Foreign. Unwanted. Heavy.

He frowned.

He listened again.

The crying continued, soft and uneven.

He clenched his jaw. "She is crying."

He said it like he did not believe his own ears.

Glimora peeked out from behind her rock and squeaked sadly.

Osiris looked at the tent again.

She was crying because of that question.

Because of her mate.

Because of something he did not understand.

He looked away, but his expression had softened without his permission.

Maybe the male was bad.

Maybe he mistreated her.

Maybe he broke her.

Maybe he abandoned her.

Maybe he hurt her in ways she refused to speak about.

Osiris narrowed his eyes slightly. The muscles in his shoulders tightened with something close to anger, but not directed at her.

"Perhaps he was a bad male," he muttered slowly. "Perhaps he was the kind who harms his female. I have heard of them."

He rested his forearms on his knees, staring into the dim cavern.

"They are rare," he whispered. "But they exist."

His jaw tightened.

Maybe Isabella had fallen victim to such a man.

He looked at the tent again, listening to the last fading sobs.

For the first time that night, Osiris did not insult her.

He just sat there.

Still.

Quiet.

And he stayed awake, listening, until her breathing finally softened into sleep.