Chapter 380: Chapter 380: Let’s see what kind of nonsense you’ve pulled now
Isabella immediately became embarrassed as she turned a light shade of pink. Her ears burned, and she almost wanted to hide under the water again.
"I think you finally got her, Lydia," the first woman said knowingly, her lips twitching.
Lydia chuckled, clearly proud of herself. "Of course I did. Can you not see the way she is so red?" she replied mischievously, her grin widening as she shared a look with the others.
Isabella blinked in disbelief. The betrayal was real. They were all in on it.
And she realized a second later that Lydia’s words had been some kind of secret signal. Because somehow, without Isabella even noticing, Lydia had summoned all the surrounding older women closer.
One second they were tending to other girls. The next second—bam. They were all circling Isabella like curious hawks spotting a rabbit in the grass.
The weight of their gazes fell on her instantly, their eyes filled with curiosity and something far worse—excitement.
Isabella felt her heart drop. Oh no.
She already knew where this was going. And she hated it.
She slowly sank lower into the water, hoping they would lose interest if she disappeared. Inch by inch, she let herself slip beneath the surface.
Her nose, her eyes, her hair disappeared under the rippling bath. She didn’t stop until even her head was fully submerged.
A second later, bubbles floated to the surface as she released the breath she’d been holding. Then... stillness. The water went quiet, the ripples faded, and Isabella was gone.
The women all exchanged a look.
And then the smiles came. Mischievous, knowing smiles. Smiles that said this poor girl thinks she can escape us.
They had lived long enough to know an opportunity when it landed right in front of them. And Isabella had just given them the best one yet.
How could they possibly let it slip away?
...
By nightfall, the village had transformed.
The air smelled of delicious roasted meat, juicy fat dripping over fires that crackled merrily. The scent drifted through the air, making even the most disciplined men and women lick their lips.
Children ran around shrieking with laughter, playing wildly under the moonlight, their shadows darting across the dirt like sprites. Women dressed themselves up, decorating their hair and skin with the accessories their men had made for them. Their pride shone brighter than the firelight as they admired one another.
A group of young boys sat together beating drums and plucking at stringed instruments. The rhythm pulsed through the village, weaving into the laughter and chatter, filling the air with festival spirit.
It should have been perfect. A scene straight out of a dream.
But Isabella’s case was... different.
Because the women from earlier? The ones who had nearly drowned her in embarrassment? They hadn’t stopped teasing her all evening. Every chance they got, they whispered something sly, laughed behind their hands, or winked like co-conspirators. It was torture.
And now, to make matters worse, some of the younger women had insisted on dressing her up themselves.
"No, no, sit down. We’ll do it."
"Yes, just relax. You’ll look even prettier this way."
"You want our King’s eyes to fall out of his head tonight, don’t you?"
Isabella wanted to scream. But instead, she sat stiffly in front of the mirror while they played with her hair, brushing it out, weaving strands, adjusting pins. Every once in a while they broke into giggles, asking questions about her and Kian’s "relationship" with far too much interest.
Was she going to take him in? Were they sharing a room? Did she already know the Moon Mother’s blessing would fall on her tonight?
Isabella groaned internally. She was almost certain she had officially become the talk of the entire village. She just couldn’t prove it yet.
Finally, after what felt like years, the women finished. They clapped their hands proudly, turning her toward the mirror.
All the women in the room looked radiant. More than radiant—they looked beautiful in a way they hadn’t before. Their skin glowed, their hair shone, their smiles were wide. They knew it too. Some of them could even compare themselves to the pampered women of the high-ranking cities.
And it was all because of Isabella’s products.
They hadn’t forgotten that. That was why they were grateful to her. That was why they wanted her to shine tonight too.
But the moment Isabella stepped out into the night in her white dress, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Gasps rang out from all corners. Conversations cut off. Eyes widened.
They had never seen a dress like this before. Never seen such fine craftsmanship. The material was too beautiful, too perfect. It flowed around her body like water, shimmering softly under the moonlight.
Whispers started immediately, spreading through the crowd like wildfire.
"Where did she get that?"
"Look at the stitching—have you ever seen anything like it?"
"That fabric... it doesn’t even look like it came from here."
Confusion rippled among the villagers. They admired her beauty, but they also wondered how she had gotten her hands on something so fine.
(Now, to answer the question running through your head:)
Mini scene of how Isabella got this dress.
Earlier, before stepping out, Isabella had shooed everyone away from her small hut. She needed privacy to change. The plan was simple: pull out one of her dresses from her space—the ones Zyran had given her the first time they met.
But then... she paused.
Because surprisingly, sitting on a log next to one of her pots, was a small black and red box.
Waiting for her.
Her eyes narrowed as she stood frozen, staring at it.
She didn’t move, only assessed it with quiet suspicion.
It looked really unique in design. The box itself was nothing like she had ever seen in this village. Not even close. It stood out immediately, sharp and clean, every corner perfectly cut, every line intentional. It was so out of place among the rough wood and clay of her hut that it almost felt like someone had dropped it from another world entirely.
And honestly? It was quite amazing.
While she studied the design of the box, her brain betrayed her. Because the more she looked at it, the more it reminded her of someone. Someone she absolutely did not want to acknowledge. Someone who always left his fingerprints all over everything he did, whether he meant to or not.
She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.
She let out a sigh, annoyed at herself for even thinking about him. But curiosity was a wicked thing. And Isabella was nothing if not curious.
"Ugh, fine," she muttered under her breath, marching toward it. "Let’s see what kind of nonsense you’ve pulled now."
Her fingers slipped under the lid, and the box opened with a soft creak.
And then—
Her breath caught.
Inside was the most beautiful white dress she had ever seen in her entire life.
A tiny gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her hands trembled as she dropped the box to the floor and lifted the dress out with both arms, the fabric cascading like liquid light.
"Oh my..." she whispered, completely stunned.
It was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.
If there was one thing Isabella loved more than food, it was beauty and fashion. Those two things were her holy grails, her comfort zones, her indulgences. And this dress? This dress was the kind of thing that made her heart race and her lips curl into a smile even when she didn’t want to.
It was one of the most beautiful things she had seen since she arrived in this ridiculous, dangerous, confusing world.
And more than the beauty itself, it made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time—happiness. That bubbling, giddy kind of happiness she used to feel back in her past life, when she could walk into a boutique, see something shiny, and convince herself she needed it even if her wallet cried.
Here, things were different. Before she ever got her hands on anything nice, before she even dared to think of dresses or shoes, it had always meant sacrifice. Spending precious points. Wasting resources. Choosing beauty over survival. It had been hard. Like really, really hard.
And let’s be honest—the craftsmanship in this village? She hated to say it, but it was the worst she had ever seen. Their idea of "fashion" sometimes depressed her so much she had to look away.
So to see a dress like this now, so perfect, so finely made, so much better even than the one Zyran had shoved at her the first time they met?
It lit something inside her.
She wouldn’t lie. She was happy. Stupidly, ridiculously happy.
And there was no way she was turning this down. Not a chance. Even if it came from him. Even if she hated Zyran so much she sometimes dreamed about using this very box to smack his smug, stupid face until he cried—she was not letting this dress go.
In fact, if more dresses like this showed up on her doorstep, she’d happily accept them all. Let Zyran dig his own ego-shaped grave if he wanted. She wasn’t about to say no to beauty.
A light giggle escaped her lips as she pressed the dress against her shoulders. She held the hem out by her side and twirled, laughing lightly as the fabric swirled around her.
"Gosh, it really is so beautiful," she whispered, her grin wide and unguarded.
Then her eyes dropped, and she saw Glimora on the ground staring at her like a judgmental cat.
Isabella laughed, scooping her up. "It’s so good, baby, right?" she asked.
Glimora gave a slow blink, then let out a little happy sound, nodding as if to say, Yes, mama. You’re stunning. As always.
Isabella’s smile softened. She pressed a kiss against Glimora’s cheek, her heart swelling.
"I know, I know," she said with dramatic flair. "God, I’ll be the center of attention tonight. I just know it."
And honestly? That was how it was supposed to be.
All the attention. Always on her.
So when Isabella finally stepped out of her hut that night, dress shimmering like moonlight poured into fabric, just as she expected, every single eye turned to her.
The air filled instantly with gasps and awe. Mouths fell open. Women froze mid-step, men forgot how to blink, children stopped running.
And Isabella? Isabella was filled with nothing but pride.
Because this—this moment right here—felt like she was back in her prime.
(Not like she ever actually left it.)