The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 109: We freeze her to death?

Zara paced like a caged animal, her bare feet scraping furiously against the stone floor. The room was stifling. Every breath felt like fire in her chest, and every second stretched like torture. Her nails itched to scratch something—someone—but all she had were hide dresses and a useless fur bed that mocked her with its stillness.

She stopped suddenly, fists clenched, jaw tight, her breath ragged.

Where was Kian?

Where was the man who was supposed to kneel at her feet, offer her the world with a single look? It had been an entire day. One full day of silence. One entire sun cycle since she’d made a scene before the whole village—begging, crying, humiliating herself just to make him glance her way. And what did she get?

Not even a shadow of him.

He hadn’t visited. Hadn’t passed by. Hadn’t even looked in her direction.

Her throat burned with suppressed screams. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she swallowed them down, letting fury take root instead.

It was her. That cursed woman.

Isabella.

Zara hissed the name like poison on her tongue. That arrogant little pest who walked like she owned the stars. Who spoke to everyone like they were beneath her—even Kian. Kian! The man who ruled with a glance, who crushed rebellion with silence. And yet he let her speak to him with bold eyes and sharp tongue, like he was some village boy who didn’t know his place.

It made Zara sick.

Today had been the final blow.

She’d searched for Kian like a desperate fool, thinking maybe—just maybe—he’d come to his senses. That he’d realized how far she was willing to go just to love him. But instead, she found him... holding that woman in his arms like she was something delicate. Precious.

Zara had frozen on the spot. Her insides had turned to ash.

She had stood there, invisible, as the sight branded itself into her memory. The gentle way he looked at Isabella. The way his fingers had brushed her cheek. The way his magic wrapped around her.

He had never looked at Zara like that.

Never.

Hatred flooded her veins like wildfire. It curled around her heart and sank its claws into her skull. She could barely see straight from the blinding heat of it.

How dare she?

How dare Isabella walk into their world and take what was hers? How dare she exist so... flawlessly. With that ridiculous hair, those cursed lips, the eyes that pretended not to care, and that height that made her stand out like she was chosen by the stars.

Zara wanted to rip it all apart.

If she couldn’t make Kian hate her, then fine. She would make him mourn her.

And mourning was eternal.

Zara’s lips curled into a bitter smile, and her voice came out soft, nearly a whisper.

"If I can’t have him, no one can."

She turned toward the entrance, her nails dragging along the wall, eyes gleaming with a mad, dangerous light.

It was time to make sure that perfect little witch never smiled again.

MEANWHILE... WHERE SANITY STILL EXISTED...

"Okay. I have officially lost it." Shelia’s voice shot up as her eyes ping-ponged between Cyrus and Kian like she was watching a match made in madness. "You—him—are you—Kian, are you actually—? No. No!"

She waved both hands in the air like she was trying to fan away the insanity, blinking hard. "Tell me you’re not seriously listening to this strange man!?"

Her voice cracked at the end, disbelief bleeding through. She stared at her brother, hoping he’d snap out of whatever spell Cyrus had cast. But Kian didn’t flinch. He stood there like stone—quiet, contemplative, unreadable.

"You’re joking," Shelia said, her tone dropping. Her lips trembled as the awful realization dawned. He wasn’t joking. Kian was seriously going to follow this lunatic’s advice.

Look, she knows she said she’d never question her brother’s judgment. She’d even said it to herself—if Kian decides, I’ll trust him. But this?

This was a lot.

"So what you’re saying is..." Luca stepped forward slowly, one brow raised, voice coated in disbelief. "We freeze her to death?"

His words hit like a slap.

"She never said to death!" Opehlia cut in, but even her voice wobbled. She turned toward Luca, trying to appear calm, but the look on her face said otherwise.

Then her eyes shifted back to Cyrus—and widened, she immediately thought Luca words made sense!

She’d been trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. Trying to believe that anyone who looked at Isabella the way he did couldn’t possibly mean harm.

But this?

This was madness.

Opehlia’s spine stiffened. She glared at Cyrus now, like he’d personally threatened her. "You’re asking us to do something insane, and you expect us to just trust you?! Who even are you?!"

The distrust was spreading like wildfire.

And yet Cyrus stood still. Unbothered. Calm, even.

Which only pissed Shelia off more.

"Oh, look at him," she snapped, pointing a finger. "All calm and mysterious, like he’s the main character of some twisted fable. What next, you want us to toss her off a cliff for spiritual clarity?!"

"Shelia—" Kian warned softly, but she ignored him.

"She’s barely breathing, Kian! Her pulse is weak! Her body is fragile! And now you want us to drop her into ice like it’s tea therapy?!"

In the corner of the room, Glimora lay curled beside Isabella’s limp form. Her usually twitchy ears were pressed flat, tail unmoving. There was a hollowness to her, something heavy. The beast that once chased shadows was now nothing more than a grieving lump of fur.

Opehlia had tried to lift her earlier—just to clean the space—but Glimora had hissed. Hissed. Her eyes had gone wild, and she’d snapped at Opehlia’s wrist with such ferocity, it had shocked everyone.

The room had gone tense ever since. No one dared go near her now.

The silence dragged, thick with tension.

All they could do was watch. Wait. And try to make sense of the madness. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

And hope—pray—that this stranger with frost on his tongue wasn’t secretly planning to bury Isabella in a frozen grave.