CHAPTER 217: CHAPTER 218: IT’S NOT GOOD FOR YOUR BODY TO BE STRESSED

Isabella’s face remained frozen.

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

Her lips still held that perfect curve—a smile she’d perfected over the years, one that could lie without blinking, soothe without caring, kill without mercy. But in that moment, it felt like porcelain. Too tight. Too smooth. Cracking from within.

She blinked once, slowly, almost theatrically.

"Ilyana, love," Isabella said in a soft, velvety voice, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "You’re asking for something impossible."

Ilyana tilted her head. "Why?"

"Well." Isabella let out a gentle sigh, the kind that looked empathetic on the outside but was really her trying not to scream. "Cyrus... once he makes up his mind, he doesn’t go back. He’s stubborn like that. Locked in. Tunnel vision. You could be naked, on fire, and dangling a fresh rabbit in front of him, and he still wouldn’t blink."

Ilyana’s shoulders slumped.

Isabella inwardly celebrated.

But just as quickly, Ilyana’s hands clasped together. "Please, Isabella. Please just try. Just speak to him. I can tell he respects you so much. Maybe... if you just told him how perfect we’d be together—"

Perfect? Isabella’s jaw tightened, but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her face composed. Perfect my ass.

"Ilyana, it’s not that simple—"

"I’ll do anything!" Ilyana leaned closer, practically kneeling beside her now, like a tragic lover in a play. Please, just try talking to him. I don’t know why, but the moment I saw him—something just clicked. I know I’m not like you... I’m not as beautiful or confident, but I want to be by his side."

Isabella blinked at her, stunned. This was... pathetic. It should’ve been funny. Actually, it was funny. A laugh bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it back down.

Instead, she placed a hand delicately on Ilyana’s shoulder, as if she were some small child asking for the moon.

"Alright," Isabella said with a dramatic sigh, her voice tinged with false reluctance. "I’ll try."

The way Ilyana lit up could have powered this small village.

"Thank you, thank you!" Ilyana all but squealed, throwing her arms around Isabella in a hug that was far too tight for comfort.

Isabella stiffened, letting her arms hover mid-air before gently patting the girl’s back like she was burping a baby. "Don’t thank me yet, darling. I said try, not succeed."

But Ilyana didn’t care. She bounced up to her feet, cheeks pink with excitement, practically glowing.

And that was when Isabella saw them.

Two tall figures approached in the moonlight—broad-shouldered, their long shadows stretching across the ground before them. One had tousled black hair, the other a warm chestnut brown, both faces half-lit by silver glow. Their eyes glinted sharp and focused, like polished obsidian. Their walk was quiet, controlled, yet unmistakably possessive. They didn’t glance around, didn’t pause.

Their gazes locked straight onto Ilyana.

Immediately, Isabella’s body straightened. Her smile dropped.

Ilyana followed her gaze and beamed. "Oh! These are my mates."

Isabella blinked slowly. "Your what?"

"My mates," Ilyana repeated cheerfully, like it was the most normal thing in the world to beg for another man’s heart while having two gorgeous men chasing after you. But then again it was over here.

"They insisted on walking me back. They worry."

Of course they do.

The two men reached them and immediately their eyes shifted to Ilyana not noticing Isabella at first.

Worried about Ilyana.

One of them stepped closer holding Ilyana, his tone softening. "We’ve been looking for you. You shouldn’t wander off after dark."

The other stepped closer to her side, eyes briefly scanning her face before narrowing at Isabella. "You weren’t alone?"

"We just talked," Ilyana said, quickly.

Then came the pause.

Both men turned—slowly—to take a full look at Isabella.

Their stances straightened, something unfamiliar flickering behind their eyes. Not desire. Not challenge. Just... recognition. Of something rare.

One of them finally spoke, voice lower now. "Are you alright?"

"You shouldn’t be out here this late," the second added. "It’s not good for your body to be stressed. Not someone like you."

Isabella raised a single brow, unimpressed. "Someone like me?"

The first man tilted his head. "Beautiful. Delicate in appearance. Unusual."

Isabella folded her arms. "I’m not delicate. I just dress better than everyone else."

The second gave a short grunt, almost amused. "Still. We suggest you walk back with us. You shouldn’t be alone."

"I am alone," Isabella said with an elegant shrug. "And that’s exactly how I like it."

The air shifted.

Even Ilyana looked slightly confused. "You don’t want to be escorted back?"

"Sweetheart," Isabella said, brushing invisible dust from her shoulder. "If I needed to be escorted, I’d whistle and ten palace guards would form a queue. I’m fine."

The two men looked at each other, then back at her—clearly intrigued.

She gave them a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Run along now, darlings. Your mate looks like she might faint from happiness."

Ilyana flushed. "I—I’ll see you tomorrow, Isabella!"

"Mmhmm." Isabella waved a lazy hand, already turning away.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

Her heart was thudding in her chest, but her face was carved from calm marble.

She walked a few more steps, slow, elegant, her feet barely making a sound on the gravel path.

Then finally—finally—when she reached the large rock near the quiet river, she sat.

Not gracefully.

Not elegantly.

She just... dropped onto it, like her knees had given up on pretending.

Silence swallowed her.

A breeze rustled the leaves. Crickets whispered in the shadows. The moon stared down like an old nosy friend.

She pulled her knees up, rested her chin on them, and stared ahead blankly.

He has someone he wants.

Someone he can’t have.

And somehow... that made it worse.

It wasn’t Ilyana. It wasn’t even a real person, maybe. Just a possibility. A hope. A fantasy. And still, it was someone that wasn’t her.

Isabella sniffed, more in annoyance than emotion. She didn’t cry over boys. Never had. Never would.

Right?

But her chest... it felt like it was wrapped in thorns.

And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she cared so damn much.