The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Ok, now there was absolutely no way we were all going to forget about Glimora. That poor fluffball had been practically vibrating with anticipation the second Cyrus started to rise from his seat. Her whole body language screamed, Yes! Yes! My moment has come!

But the instant Cyrus sat back down, it was like watching a dream shatter in slow motion. The excitement drained from her posture, replaced by visible confusion. Her big, watery blue eyes blinked up at Isabella, and there was no mistaking it—pure betrayal.

And Isabella… oh, Isabella knew exactly what was happening. She could feel Glimora's gaze drilling into her side, silently accusing her of some great crime. Still, she chose to keep eating, casually pretending nothing was wrong, her spoon moving with slow, deliberate disinterest.

The first thing that clearly popped into poor Glimora's mind was that her "mama" must be mad at her. And why? Well, in Glimora logic, it had to be because she'd been shaking her little bum earlier in front of everyone like some shameless runway model. Maybe that had offended Isabella's delicate sensibilities. Maybe this was punishment.

Her fluffy expression morphed into tragedy incarnate. Shoulders sagging, tail drooping, she walked toward Isabella in slow, pitiful steps—like each paw weighed ten pounds.

When she finally reached her, Glimora didn't bark or whine loudly. No, she went for the emotional kill shot. She pressed her soft head gently against Isabella's leg, eyes tilted up, letting out the kind of faint, wounded whimper that could split a diamond in half.

Isabella, meanwhile, was still in "evil mastermind" mode. She'd been acting like she was deeply engrossed in her meal—completely unaware of the furry guilt-trip beside her—until, with perfect timing, she slowly lowered her gaze in feigned surprise.

"Oh… what's wrong, baby?" she asked in the softest, sweetest voice, as if she'd just now realized her beloved companion was there.

From the other side of the table, Zyran, Kian, and Cyrus all looked over, but their faces told different stories.

Cyrus wore the quiet patience of a man who knew this was about to turn into something. His eyes softened, but his jaw stayed firm.

Kian's brows rose ever so slightly, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze—he always seemed interested when Isabella shifted into this deliberately sweet mode.

Zyran? He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance. If Isabella was being sugary sweet, it usually meant trouble.

Glimora, sensing the attention, upped her performance. She turned away from Isabella without a sound and padded toward her own food bowl, her steps slow, regal, and just a little tragic.

The sheer composure of her walk almost broke Isabella's self-control. She had to bite her inner cheek to keep from laughing. It was rare to see Glimora like this—so calm, so measured. Usually the little beast was a storm of wagging tails and clumsy limbs. Apparently, food could bring out an entirely new personality in her.

From Zyran's seat, the whole display was starting to look suspicious. He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the silent exchange between woman and mystical-like fluff, wondering why Isabella suddenly seemed so invested in the pet's behavior.

Isabella, on the other hand, was positively glowing inside. She'd decided on the spot to use Glimora as part of her petty revenge plan. Zyran had been pushing her buttons for quite sometime now—little comments here, playful jabs there. Tonight, she was going to push back.

She didn't have to look at him to know Zyran was already analyzing her every movement, probably trying to figure out what she was plotting. Good. Let him stew.

Cyrus still hadn't moved, though his eyes darted once between Isabella and Glimora as if silently asking, Do you want me to…? When she didn't give a nod or any sign, he stayed put, settling deeper into his chair.

Kian glanced from Cyrus to Isabella, his lips twitching like he wanted to smile but wasn't sure if it was safe. The tension at the table was strange now—not hostile, but almost… playful. The kind of unspoken challenge that hung in the air when everyone was waiting to see who would make the first real move.

And in the middle of it all, Glimora sat near her bowl, perfectly poised, as if she'd been trained for a royal feast.

Isabella couldn't stop herself from smiling faintly. Only food could make you behave like this, she thought fondly.

Isabella had been casually observing Glimora out of the corner of her eye, watching as the fluffball dragged her bowl across the floor at a glacial pace, nails clicking softly against the stone. When she finally stopped, it was right at Isabella's feet, where she plopped herself down with the gravity of someone delivering very serious news.

"Oh, you're done with your food?" Isabella asked, feigning wide-eyed surprise, tilting her head slightly like she'd never seen Glimora eat before in her life.

Glimora, ever the dramatic one, shook her head—actually shook it—then looked up with an expression that could melt glaciers. She was clearly trying to communicate that she was only done with the first round, but her stomach was now auditioning for round two.

Across the table, Zyran paused mid-chew, his eyes narrowing. He didn't know why yet, but something about this little interaction screamed setup. His instincts told him Isabella's attention was rarely innocent—especially when she smiled like that.

"But there's no more soup," Isabella said in the same tone one might use to inform someone there was no oxygen left in the room.

Zyran, who'd been swallowing his bite of bread, nearly choked. He coughed once, eyes darting toward her suspiciously, his brain already pulling out a corkboard and red string. Why keep repeating that? And more importantly, why now?

Cyrus glanced between them, brow furrowed. He didn't understand why Isabella was suddenly treating the soup situation like a diplomatic crisis. He personally had no problem sharing when it came to her—or Glimora for that matter. If the baby beast wanted it, she could have it.