CHAPTER 216: CHAPTER 217: I... I LIKE YOU

Isabella bit her lower lip, hard enough that she felt the faintest sting. Her fingers curled slightly around her lap, nails digging into the soft fabric of her skirt. Her thoughts were a mess—slippery, loud, annoying.

She didn’t even know what kind of answer she was hoping for from Cyrus.

Part of her—some ridiculous, hormonal part—wanted him to say yes. Another part, the one trying desperately to keep her sane, wanted him to say no.

Hell, why did she even care?

She didn’t. Obviously. She was just... curious. That was all. Totally normal ’sister-’ type concern. Logical.

Liar.

She inhaled sharply, pretending to scratch her cheek so no one would notice the rising heat across it. She didn’t care. Not one bit.

In fact, maybe she should be helping him. Yes, that’s right. She should be rooting for him. She should want him to find a good, suitable woman. Someone gentle. Kind. Beautiful.

Just like... Ilyana.

Her chest tightened at the thought, an invisible rope pulling hard across her ribs. Her lungs felt too small.

Cyrus was looking at her when he answered.

"Yes. I do."

The moment the words slipped out, soft but certain, her head jerked up.

"What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The word came out breathy, startled. Like a secret had been revealed too soon.

Her gaze locked onto his.

Cyrus didn’t flinch.

And yet—Isabella wasn’t the only one reacting.

Beside her, Ilyana’s lips parted. A tiny "oh" left her mouth, and it was heartbreaking in its simplicity. The sound wasn’t loud, but it rang loud in Isabella’s ears. The girl looked like someone had just shattered something delicate right in front of her.

Isabella blinked quickly and tried to regain control.

"Why did you not tell me, Cyrus?" she asked, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite sound natural. "Who is she?"

She aimed for calm and casual. She really did. But her voice wobbled on the last word, like a drunk ballerina struggling to keep her footing.

Her heart banged against her chest like it was trying to make a jailbreak. Calm down, she told herself. You’re not a crazy person. You’re not a jealous freak with an emotional attachment to your fake brother. You’re normal.

Except she wasn’t. Not right now.

And to make things worse, Cyrus looked away.

He looked away.

Cyrus never avoided her gaze. It was the one constant in this upside-down world—his calm, steady eyes always finding hers.

Now he couldn’t meet them.

Her breath caught.

"She doesn’t know I want her yet," he said simply.

For a moment, everything blurred. The fire crackled softly, trees whispered in the wind, and somewhere outside, insects chirped like nothing had just shifted inside her. But something had.

Isabella’s spine relaxed just a bit. Her shoulders, which had unconsciously risen, began to lower. Her brain, dear sweet idiot brain, had already started building a story.

Yes, of course. That made sense.

Cyrus had probably fallen for someone before he fled here—someone he left behind. Maybe a rich man’s daughter. Or a village girl. Someone sweet and brave and probably boring.

Someone he’d never confessed to. So she didn’t know. She’d never know.

It was a tragic, beautiful, faraway kind of love.

The kind that doesn’t threaten her peace.

Isabella let out a tiny breath, almost a sigh, as a small smile touched her lips. The storm inside her eased for just a second.

But the relief didn’t last long.

She turned her head slightly, feeling a presence still lingering beside her—right, Ilyana.

The poor girl looked like she’d just been dumped after a ten-year engagement. Her shoulders were slumped, her mouth tight, eyes dimmed like someone had turned down the brightness of her soul.

Isabella’s smile faded as guilt crept up. She reached over and gently patted Ilyana’s hand.

It wasn’t much. But it was all she could offer.

She gave a slight shake of her head, a soft tilt that said I’m sorry. That said maybe it’s time to let this one go.

Ilyana didn’t say anything at first. Her fingers trembled slightly beneath Isabella’s hand.

Then, softly, "Um... Cyrus, are you sure...?" Her voice was timid, uncertain. "You can have me. I... I like you."

Isabella’s hand froze in place.

Oh god.

She’d forgotten for a moment—Sheila’s words. Women in this world didn’t waste time with pride. They were... shameless.

Isabella didn’t know whether to admire it or scream.

Her head turned sharply, eyes flicking toward Cyrus.

His face was unreadable. But his eyes—those didn’t lie.

They were locked on Ilyana.

But there was no spark. No warmth. No flinch of confusion. No conflict.

Just cold, unwavering clarity.

"I only have eyes for her," he said. "And no one else."

There it was. Plain. Unfiltered.

He hadn’t stuttered. He hadn’t hesitated. He just laid it out like a blade across a table, daring her to pick it up.

Isabella felt something inside her snap. Not in a dramatic, oh-my-god-she’s-losing-it way. But in a slow, God-please-let-this-conversation-end kind of way.

Her eyes darted to the bowl still in Cyrus’ hand.

"I want water, Cyrus. No more soup," she said flatly.

The air around her had changed—gone sharp, cold, jagged. Her tone was all edges.

Cyrus blinked. "But—"

"I’m not hungry anymore," she cut in, tone final.

He paused. He hadn’t even given her her refill yet. In fact, he had planned to hand over his own share, just in case she asked.

But the look on her face said: Boy, if you speak one more word, I swear I will drown you in that soup.

So he nodded once, the corners of his lips twitching in confusion.

"...Mmh," he said softly. Then he turned and walked away, quiet and careful.

The moment he was out of earshot, Isabella’s hand tightened around Ilyana’s again, her nails digging just slightly into her skin before releasing it entirely.

Her stomach twisted.

What if he really liked that woman? The one he hadn’t confessed to?

And... and what?

So what?

It didn’t matter!

She didn’t care!

She slapped her palm against her own thigh in frustration.

Gosh—

"Isabella," Ilyana whispered, her voice barely audible.

Isabella flinched at the sound, her head jerking up.

"Yes, love?" she replied with her signature smile—perfect, polished, and fake. Her lips curved just right, the mask of charm firmly back in place.

Ilyana looked at her with those huge, wet, hopeful eyes.

"He is your brother... right?"

That smile cracked. Just a hairline fracture, invisible to most. But it was there.

Isabella stared at her.

Now she was really regretting that stupid lie. It had seemed harmless at the time—convenient, even.

But now it was biting her in the ass with teeth.

Still, she couldn’t exactly take it back now.

"Yes," she said calmly.

Ilyana’s entire face lit up. She gripped Isabella’s hands tightly, stars practically twinkling in her eyes.

"Then help me convince him to mate with me."

And just like that—

Isabella froze.