CHAPTER 218: CHAPTER 219: THIS IS DEFINITELY BECAUSE I’M ON MY STUPID PERIOD

She hated this.

Hated how her stomach twisted every time she thought of him looking at someone else.

Of him smiling at some faceless girl in his past.

Of him holding someone, whispering to her, cooking for her, taking care of her—

She sat up straighter, lips curled in irritation. "Gods, I need wine."

Instead, all she had was that stupid smile he’d given her earlier when he offered her soup.

The one she’d rejected.

The one she now regretted.

Ugh.

She dragged her hands down her face, muttering under her breath.

"Stupid, gorgeous idiot. Couldn’t just say no and save me the headache."

She kicked a pebble into the river.

It plunked.

Isabella stared after it.

Still alone.

Still pretty.

Still falling—against her will—for the one man she should never want.

"I don’t believe in love," Isabella muttered to herself as she yanked off the ridiculous dress clinging to her like it had a vendetta.

"I really do not," she added, voice sharper now, clenching her teeth as she rolled her eyes so hard it felt like her skull might dislocate.

She tore off her pad next. The thing gave a soft hum as it cleaned itself automatically. "At least you understand boundaries," she muttered, watching it dissolve into faint sparkles before zipping into her system space. She winced, pressing a hand to her belly. Stupid uterus.

"This is definitely because I’m on my stupid period," she said with the type of disgust usually reserved for betrayal. "Why else would I be...feeling things?"

Her fingers paused mid-way down her thighs as she tugged the fabric toward her knees. Her brow furrowed. Her eyes narrowed.

"What if I start ovulating in a few weeks?" she whispered.

Her eyes widened in sheer horror as she froze, one hand still gripping her dress, the other now clamped over her mouth.

"Oh no. I’ll be doomed," she cried out dramatically like the tragic heroine in a fantasy opera. "Absolutely, irrevocably—DOOMED."

With an angry grunt, she kicked the poor, innocent dress up into the air and caught it with flair as she stormed into the river, her bare feet splashing into the cold water like she meant to punish it.

The river, as always, was icy and smug about it. It didn’t care about her emotional breakdown.

She gritted her teeth and hissed but didn’t say a word. She had too much pride to whine in front of a river. The moonlight bathed her shoulders in silver as she started scrubbing the dress, muttering to herself.

"Why do we even feel anything?" she snapped, pouting as she yanked the fabric through the water. "It’s inefficient! Love? Useless. Lust? Distracting. Affection? Hazardous to survival. Emotions are a scam."

A familiar chime floated through the air. Isabella paused.

She turned slowly. Her eye twitched.

"Oh. You again."

Bubu, the system avatar that looked like a glowing bunny with judgmental brows, hovered beside her shoulder like an annoying little moon.

The judgment in its eyes was... potent.

"What is it, Bubu?" Isabella asked, voice flat, dripping with exhaustion.

"Why are you talking to yourself, User?" Bubu asked with faux sympathy. The kind of voice that screamed I am mocking you and enjoying every second of it.

"You know why." She narrowed her eyes and flung the wet dress at Bubu with the grace of a drama queen. It vanished into her space with a shimmer.

Bubu blinked, unimpressed.

Then the dress dropped back on her face with a wet plop.

"Oh my god!" she whisper-shouted. "Bubu! What is wrong with you?"

The system avatar vanished like it had never existed.

"Bubu! You little gremlin—I swear, I will rewrite your entire codebase with my teeth."

Muttering curses, she opened her system panel with a flick of her wrist and stuffed the dress into her space again. Bubu didn’t return.

"To me," she muttered, rubbing her forehead, "Bubu is like that demonic sibling I never had. And never asked for."

She finished bathing quickly, with clean, practiced movements. When she was done, she reached for her space again.

"Access to space denied," Bubu’s voice rang out smugly.

Isabella stared at the air like she could set it on fire with her mind.

She didn’t say a word for a full thirty seconds. Just stood there, dripping, moonlight washing over her bare skin, lips pressed in a line. Murder on her mind.

"Apologize," Bubu said sweetly, and the night grew darker.

"...Why would I—" She bit her tongue. "You know what? I’m sorry, okay? There. You happy?"

"Access granted."

With dead eyes, Isabella summoned her clothes, grabbing her night dress. She gave Bubu’s last flickering form a long, deadpan glare that could’ve curdled milk before yanking the dress over her head and slipping into the warm, clean fabric.

She slid a fresh pad into place with a sigh. The scent wafted up—a pleasant floral undertone that paired beautifully with the soap she just used. At least she could still smell good while being emotionally unstable.

Of course, she noticed the stares these days. Everyone noticed. Her soaps, her perfumes, her pads—and now people will be using the products she’d introduced like it was a cult. And she loved that for them. She deserved praise. Worship, even.

But her mind wasn’t on them tonight.

She ran her hand down the fabric of her dress, remembering the man from earlier that day. The dress he’d given her still felt different. Like his hands had left a memory in the fibers.

She should stop thinking about him.

Just as her thoughts started drifting to his eyes—ugh, those eyes—a sudden noise snapped her out of it.

A rustle.

Something running through the trees.

Her heart jumped. Her head snapped up.

"Cyrus? Ophelia?" she called out, her voice lowered but tense.

No reply.

And she knew Cyrus wouldn’t skulk around like a creepy forest lurker.

"Okay, maybe coming here every night to bathe alone was a bad idea," she whispered, eyes scanning through the trees. The trees were shadows against the moonlight, their branches reaching like claws.

Another sound. Closer now. The soft crunch of leaves underfoot.

"Bubu," she whispered sharply, "I know it’s not been 24 hours, but please—release my fan. Please. Pretty please."

No response.

She reached for her system, but it was already too late.

Something—someone—was behind her.

A warm, solid presence pressed into her back. A strong hand wrapped around her waist, not roughly—but like it belonged there.

Her eyes flew wide. Breath caught in her throat.

"Are you scared, little temptress?" a deep voice murmured against her ear.

Isabella didn’t move.

Her breath hitched, eyes locked ahead, every nerve in her body suddenly lit up like stars had exploded in her bloodstream.