The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 116: It’s Suddenly Snowing In Summer?

Isabella slipped into the private room prepared for nominees and sponsors, her assistant chatting excitedly beside her. The room sparkled—gold chandeliers, polished glass tables, champagne flutes clinking. People laughed too loudly. Posed too hard. Faked too well.

Her smile wavered. What is this feeling?

She was used to fake. She was fake. A product of contour, contracts, and couture. But something tonight itched under her skin. Like the glitter had gotten in her eyes and wouldn’t come out. Everything felt... wrong.

"Excuse me," she muttered to her assistant, already halfway to the balcony doors.

The moment she stepped out, the world softened. Quieter. Colder. She leaned on the railing, took in a shaky breath. Her diamond earrings clinked against her shoulder. "What the hell is going on with me?"

"Hey, Isa."

She nearly jumped.

It was him—Dorian Lane, her male co-star. The male lead of Desire in the Dunes. Or some other dumb title with shirtless horseback scenes, she thought. He walked toward her with a grin too big for his face.

"I got a haircut," he said proudly, pushing back his gelled waves. "Be honest. I needed it, right?"

She blinked. "It’s... okay."

"Oh come on." He laughed. "It’s amazing. And I trimmed my beard line too. See that?"

She did. Unfortunately.

He moved closer. "Anyway. You look—like, actually insane tonight. Just. Gorgeous. You always look gorgeous, but tonight it’s like... next level." He was grinning so wide she thought his face might split in half.

"I know," she said flatly.

He chuckled, a little thrown. "No seriously. You’re perfect. Like Barbie-level perfect. Your skin, your dress, that corset? My god. How are you even real?"

Isabella stared into the night, completely uninterested. Why does he sound like a talking hair product ad? She barely registered his voice anymore. Something else was tugging at her mind. Something was off.

Dorian kept going.

"You know, I always said if you weren’t so serious about acting, you could be an influencer. A real one. Like skincare queen vibes. I mean, you are kind of the whole package."

She tuned him out.

Something’s not right. She squinted past the balcony lights. Her breath fogged.

Wait.

What?

A white flake landed on her arm. Then another.

She glanced up.

Snow.

Big, lazy, white flakes fell from the sky. Covering the hotel garden. Coating the fountain. It was... snowing.

She spun to Dorian. "Wait—is it snowing?"

He blinked. "Uh... yeah. Has been all week?"

She stared at him. "What? No. No, that’s not right. It’s summer. I literally tanned in the sun this morning. I wore open-toe heels today because it’s summer, Dorian."

He laughed like she was being cute. "Well, it’s definitely not summer anymore. Global warming, right?"

"No. No! It is summer!" she snapped.

He looked confused, smiling like an idiot. "I mean, I get it, you’re stressed. Award season does that. But don’t worry, if you win Best Actress—"

"—Dorian."

She turned to him fully, reaching her limit. Her perfectly curled hair bounced. Her diamonds swung like weapons.

"First of all," she said icily, "I know I’m fucking perfect."

His mouth opened.

"Second, I don’t like you, and I never will."

His mouth closed.

"And third—" she gestured around wildly. "It’s. Fucking. Summer. THERE IS NO SNOW IN SUMMER."

She stomped away without a backward glance, heels stabbing into the tile like she was trying to kill the Earth.

Dorian stood frozen, mouth half open, soul visibly leaving his body.

Just when he thought it was over, she turned back around, marching right past him, snatched her sparkly clutch off the balcony railing, and paused.

"And lastly—" she spun on her heel, giving him a death glare over her shoulder— "your hair looks like someone shaved a chihuahua and glued it back on drunk."

She walked off with the force of a Disney villain exit—cape (if she had one) definitely billowing.

And Dorian? ƒгeewёbnovel.com

Still standing there.

In the snow.

In the middle of summer.

"...So, we’re still co-presenting tonight, right?"

Isabella stormed back inside, clutching her purse like a weapon. Her assistant saw her coming and wisely pretended to check her phone. The moment Isabella sat down in the plush velvet chair reserved for nominees, the world went back to glittering fake perfection.

Champagne glasses clinked. Laughter floated. Camera flashes popped like tiny, happy explosions.

What the hell is going on?

She leaned over to the actress beside her—an over-tanned A-lister in a plunging gold dress.

"Hey," Isabella whispered, trying to sound casual. "Quick question. What season are we in right now?"

The woman blinked. "Winter."

Isabella stared. "Sorry, what?"

"Winter," the actress repeated with a practiced smile. "You okay?"

No. No, she was not okay.

She turned to the celebrity on her other side—an indie darling with dramatic eyeliner and a strategically ripped suit.

"Sorry, I know this is weird, but... it’s winter?"

He laughed. "Obviously. You didn’t notice the snow?"

"But it’s April."

"It’s December, hon," he said gently. "Do you need water or something?"

December? Isabella pulled back in her seat. Her breath hitched. Why is everyone acting like this is normal?

She looked around. Everyone was glowing. Happy. Perfect. Clapping politely as another award was presented. Nodding. Sipping. Smiling like wax figures.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Is it me? Am I losing it?

Her fingers gripped the clutch tighter. Maybe she’d had a breakdown. Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe the corset was cutting off oxygen to her brain.

She could still feel the soft fur hide from the beastworld under her feet. The warmth of the caves. The weird, primal peace. The way time felt real there. Not like this—

Fake. Glitter. Scripted.

The lights dimmed. Music swelled.

A booming voice echoed across the room. "And now, the nominees for Best Actress in an Ongoing Streamed Drama Series..."

People began clapping. The screen above the stage lit up with glossy clips. Her heart climbed up her throat.

"Angelique Cortez... ’Betrayal in the Bay’."

Soft applause.

"Lana DuVall... ’Wired Hearts’."

Bigger applause. Lana waved gracefully. Of course.

Isabella swallowed.

"Cassandra Fields... ’The Surgeon’s Desire’."

Oh god, Cassandra’s scene was a crying monologue. The audience murmured. More clapping.

(Y’all what if I’m just trying to like, tease my future novels? <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠> Hehe *laughs evilly* Just joking!)

"And... Isabella Devereaux... ’Desire in the Dunes’."

Her face lit up the screen. Windswept hair. Eyes filled with heat. Fake tears rolling down perfectly contoured cheeks.

The applause was thunderous. She smiled automatically. Nodded once. Sat frozen.

She didn’t want it. Not like she used to.

"And the winner... for Best Actress..."

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"...goes to..."

Don’t be me. Please don’t be me. No—wait. Be me. I don’t know what I want anymore.

"Isabella Devereaux!"