Chapter 371: Chapter 371: I’ll make it my business until you acknowledge me
Isabella blinked once.
Kian blinked once.
Zyran blinked once.
And then—like a man waking up from a nightmare—Cyrus blinked once too.
It wasn’t the blinking that was the problem. It was the words that had just left his mouth, words that hung in the air like a stray arrow that refused to fall.
"Because you’re very beautiful."
The silence afterward was loud. Too loud.
Isabella’s eyes widened to the size of the rice bowls on the table. Color rushed to her cheeks so fast she thought she might combust. She could feel the heat spreading down her neck, into her chest, making her feel like a tomato left in the sun too long.
Kian, however, was no longer looking at her. His piercing blue eyes—cold as winter steel—shifted with slow inevitability to Cyrus.
Zyran’s head followed like a predator spotting a rival. He was practically vibrating with smug opportunity.
Isabella, who had been prepared to laugh this off, now wanted the ground to split open and swallow her whole. No way was she going to be the one to break this silence. Absolutely not. She ducked her head and suddenly found her nails fascinating, turning her hand this way and that as though she’d never seen fingers before.
Kian kept staring. Silent. Composed. The kind of silence that made even grown men rethink their life choices.
Cyrus sat stiffly, his calm mask slipping. His pink eyes flickered, betraying the smallest flicker of panic. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The words had escaped him, and now the weight of them sat heavy in the air.
But of course, Zyran had to ruin everything.
"Why are you complimenting your sister?"
The words cracked the silence in half.
He made sure to emphasize the word "sister" making it clear that his statement had nothing to do with Cyrus’ compliment.
Isabella’s head snapped up. Her whole face twisted in exasperation. She let out a loud groan, clutching her forehead. "Stop calling me his sister!"
She blurted before she could stop herself, that term was now irritating her so much nowadays. Especially when it was Zyran using it with her and Cyrus.
"Oh?" Zyran leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with that infuriating smirk. "So you’re saying you’re not his sister? You’re saying it was all a lie?"
"Why do you enjoy frustrating people so much?" Isabella snapped, glaring at him.
"Frustrating?" He put a hand to his chest in mock innocence. "No, no, I’m not frustrating. I simply don’t understand why he gets to spend all day with you—watching you, cooking for you, making you laugh—while I’m pushed to the sidelines."
"Because it’s none of your business!" Isabella shot back.
"I’ll make it my business until you acknowledge me," Zyran said, leaning forward, his red eyes burning.
Isabella flushed scarlet. Her voice wavered between fury and embarrassment. "When did I take anyone as mine? Tell me, when?"
"Oh, don’t make me start listing things." Zyran’s smile widened. "I can give you plenty of reasons."
Kian’s gaze sharpened, a blade sliding out of its sheath. He didn’t move, but the weight of his stare fell on Zyran like a stone.
Isabella blinked, utterly baffled. "Are you even normal? You talk too much. You’re exhausting!"
"I’m exhausting?" Zyran raised his brows, mock-offended. "Forgive me for wanting to be taken seriously. I only want you to accept me as one of yours." His tone dripped with sarcasm, but underneath it, there was a flash of genuine frustration.
Isabella’s fingers twitched like she wanted to claw his smug face. She took a steadying breath. "I didn’t take anyone as mine."
"Oh really?" Zyran tilted his head, sly. "Then what was all that about Cyrus being your brother?"
"Fine," Isabella shot back, her patience fraying. "If you want to be my brother, I’ll gladly take you as my brother. There’s nothing wrong with that."
Kian’s lips curved into the barest smile, the kind of smile that said good answer without him needing to speak. His hand even flexed against her waist, like he approved.
Zyran, however, laughed low, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Fine, then I’ll be your brother. But that means I get to sleep in your room too, doesn’t it?"
Kian’s smile died instantly. It didn’t just vanish—it was murdered on the spot. His jaw clenched, his hand tightened on Isabella’s waist like he was trying to fuse her to his lap permanently, and his eyes locked on Zyran with the promise of violence.
Cyrus, who had been carefully neutral the whole time, finally looked up at Zyran. For once, his calm face cracked. His pink eyes narrowed, his lips thinned, and the displeasure there was unmistakable. It wasn’t just annoyance—it was the quiet, terrifying expression of a man who looked like he was already imagining ways to politely poison Zyran’s breakfast.
Isabella pointed at Zyran as if identifying a dangerous wild animal. "You’re insane. Absolutely insane. I’ve never met anyone as chaotic as you. Wherever you go, trouble follows." She jabbed her finger toward the door. "Get out. Stand up, take your nonsense, and leave this room!"
Zyran reclined casually, as if her fury amused him. "If I’m leaving, they’re leaving. I won’t walk out alone."
The air shifted.
Kian stood. The scrape of his chair was slow and deliberate. His tall frame loomed like a storm rolling in. "If you don’t leave now," his voice was flat, lethal, "you won’t like what happens."
Cyrus rose too, less dramatic, but the firmness in his stance made the air grow heavier.
Zyran laughed, though the sound was strained. He spread his hands wide. "Unfair! Two against one? Always ganging up on me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!"
Isabella slumped back in her chair, dragging her hands down her face. She sighed loud enough for all of them to hear.
At that exact moment, Glimora—perched smugly on the table like a furry judge—let out a low growl. Her tiny teeth bared, her blue eyes narrowed at Zyran like she was ready to pounce.
Zyran’s jaw twitched. He looked at the beast, then at the three humans (well, beastmen and human), and shook his head in disbelief. "Really? Do you all hate me that much?"
"Yes!" Isabella shouted without hesitation.
"Please leave," she added, her tone sharper than any knife.
For a heartbeat, Zyran’s expression changed. The smirk dropped, and his red eyes flickered with something raw—hurt, maybe, or anger so deep it was almost the same thing. His voice lowered, serious now. "Fine. If that’s what you want. But this is only the beginning. Sooner or later, you’ll need me."
He pushed back his chair, standing with a flare of his cloak. His movements were sharp, fueled by fury, but not fear. His pride wouldn’t let him cower before Kian or Cyrus. No, he left because Isabella told him to. He left because her words cut deeper than claws.
As the door slammed behind him, the air in the room seemed to sigh in relief.
But Isabella wasn’t done. She spun toward Kian, eyes blazing. "You! This is all your fault. You’re the reason he’s even here. You never should’ve let him stay in the palace in the first place!"
Kian blinked once, slow, unbothered, as if her fury couldn’t pierce his calm.
Isabella’s nostrils flared. She shoved back her chair and stood, her skirt swishing around her legs as she stalked out of the room.
Her last glance at Kian was pure fire. Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of rice and coconut buttermilk in the heavy silence.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Cyrus and Kian alone at the table.