CHAPTER 341: CHAPTER 341: STOP IT, CYRUS—YOU’RE MAKING ME CURIOUS NOW

"It’s very tasty," he said. "So creamy... so smooth... it practically melts on the tongue."

Isabella blinked, lips parting in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that. Not from Cyrus, whose words were usually clipped, clean, straight to the point. This wasn’t just persuasion—it was borderline teasing.

Her brows arched. "Creamy?" she repeated, trying not to laugh. "Since when do you describe food like that?"

And that—oh, that was the magic touch.

Glimora’s ears flicked. A small twitch at first, so small anyone else might have missed it. But Isabella saw. Cyrus saw. Both their eyes zeroed in on it like hawks.

Her ears perked again. Higher this time. Her little nose twitched, whiskers brushing the air, and though her face remained fixed in her glare, her body betrayed her.

"Oh, gods..." Isabella whispered, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. "It’s working."

Cyrus’ smile softened, warm and unexpectedly pretty, the kind of smile that made Isabella’s chest flutter before she even realized it. His voice followed, low and silken, carrying a gentleness that wrapped around her like a quiet promise.

"Yes," he murmured. "So creamy. So tasty. A flavor you won’t find anywhere else."

Isabella pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling her laughter. "Stop it, Cyrus—you’re making me curious now."

But he didn’t stop. He leaned his elbow on his knee, resting his chin against his hand with maddening composure, as though he had all the time in the world to string them both along.

Glimora, traitor that she was, turned her head ever so slightly in his direction. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but her ears—oh, her ears—were now fully perked, standing tall like banners in the wind.

"You noticed too, right?" Isabella whispered conspiratorially to Cyrus, excitement dancing in her eyes. "She’s listening."

Cyrus gave the faintest nod, warmth glinting in his dark gaze. For a man so gentle at heart, that small, earnest smile felt like sunlight breaking through after a long night—quiet, steady, and meant only for her.

Isabella gave a little gasp, clutching Glimora closer to her chest. "Wait... are you actually being serious? This surprise is for me too?" Isabella said as she realized, it must be the delicious scent in the air.

Cyrus’ gaze slid to hers. For a moment, his eyes softened in a way that made Isabella’s stomach flip. His voice dropped, quieter now, but with a warmth that wrapped around her like sunlight.

"Of course," he said simply. "It’s for you and her. Both of you."

Isabella’s heart gave a ridiculous flutter. She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the way he said them. But gods, he didn’t even realize how dangerously charming he sounded when he talked like that.

Meanwhile, Glimora was shifting restlessly in Isabella’s lap now, her tiny claws kneading into the blanket as though trying to resist the pull of her own curiosity. Her glare at Zyran’s absence had not faded entirely, but now there was something else—hesitation. Interest.

The room buzzed with it. Cyrus knew it. Isabella knew it. And Glimora, no matter how hard she tried, couldn’t fight it.

And in that moment, satisfaction radiated off Cyrus like heat. He’d cracked the uncrackable. He’d bent the stubborn little queen of fur with nothing but words.

"Hold up—don’t tell me that’s what I’m smelling." Isabella’s nose twitched as she sniffed the air, eyes narrowing like she was suddenly the lead investigator in some grand mystery. "Because something is definitely scenting in here, and I swear it’s not just Cyrus’ stupid smugness."

Cyrus’ gaze softened, the faintest spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. "A surprise is a surprise."

Her jaw dropped. "Oh, no. Don’t you dare give me that vague, mysterious crap. Not after you tempted me with creamy and tasty! What is it? Bread? Stew? Something roasted? Oh—don’t tell me it’s soup? Is it soup?"

Cyrus tilted his head, cool as ever, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. "If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore."

She gasped dramatically, clutching Glimora to her chest like he’d just betrayed her. "Oh my gods, did you just turn my own line against me?"

"Yes." His tone was flat, calm, almost proud. "You taught me that."

"Don’t use my teachings against me, mister!" Isabella wagged her finger at him, her cheeks puffed out in indignation. "That’s foul play. I’m supposed to be the witty one in this room. Not you."

Cyrus blinked once. "I’m only reminding you of your wisdom."

"Wisdom?" she scoffed. "Please. I was being dramatic at the time."

"And yet," he said, voice steady, "it applies perfectly now."

"Ughhh!" Isabella flopped back onto the bed like her soul had just left her body. "Do you hear this, Glimora? He’s corrupted. He’s weaponized my own words."

Glancing down at the little furball in her lap, she half-expected support. But Glimora was still glaring across the room in the general direction Zyran had vanished.

"Fine," Isabella huffed, sitting back up, eyes narrowing on Cyrus again. "If you won’t tell me directly, then I’ll just keep asking until you crack. How about that? Hm? You think you can outlast me?"

Cyrus folded his arms neatly, his expression as calm as a still pond. "Yes."

She deflated. "Damn it."

Still, her stubborn streak flared. She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mock seriousness. "What exactly are you making? Just give me one hint. Just one. Something I can work with."

"No hints," Cyrus said simply, his voice unyielding but not unkind.

"Not even... the main ingredient?"

"No."

"Not even the color?"

"No."

"The texture?"

Cyrus’ eyes glimmered faintly. "You already know it’s creamy."

She froze, then pointed at him like she’d just caught him in a crime. "Aha! See? You did give me a hint! You cracked! You cracked first, not me!"

But Cyrus didn’t so much as blink. "That wasn’t a hint. That was confirmation."

Isabella’s jaw dropped again. "Oh my gods, you’re insufferable. Do you practice being this annoyingly composed, or were you born like this?"

Cyrus tilted his head slightly, his version of a shrug. "Born, I suppose."

She groaned, burying her face in Glimora’s fur. "Unfair. Completely unfair. I’m surrounded by men who drive me insane."

And just as she said it, a sudden noise made Glimora jolt upright. Her fur bristled, tail flicking like a whip. The little creature crouched low, ready to pounce, her bright blue eyes locked on the door.

"Wait, no—baby—" Isabella tried to grab her, but Glimora was already preparing to launch.

The door creaked open.

"Zyran," Isabella muttered darkly.