CHAPTER 483: CHAPTER 483: YOU’RE TOO SMALL FOR ME

Isabella ignored him with the devotion of a saint on the brink of smiting someone. She scooped Glimora into her arms—Glimora made a soft, sleepy chirp and snuggled closer to her chest—and without sparing Osiris a glance, she began walking.

Osiris followed.

Of course he followed.

He followed with that annoyingly smooth stride, hands clasped behind his back like a prince surveying peasants. His steps made no noise, his expression was unreadable, and yet somehow he radiated "I think I’m irresistible."

She could feel it behind her, like arrogance had a temperature.

She tried walking faster.

He matched her speed.

She slowed down.

He slowed down.

Finally, she spun around and shouted, "WHY ARE YOU STILL BEHIND ME?!"

He blinked once. Calm. Deadpan. Fully unbothered.

"I’m walking."

"That’s not walking. That’s orbiting."

He tilted his head. "Orbiting?"

Isabella’s patience finally snapped like a dry twig.

"Yes!" she barked, jabbing a finger at him so aggressively her whole arm trembled. Her eyes were wide, shiny with frustration, her chest rising and falling fast. "Like a stupid, annoying little moon that CONSTANTLY circles around me!"

Her voice cracked at the end—half fury, half emotional exhaustion.

Osiris blinked once, slowly, as if downloading her words into his soul. His expression didn’t shift much, but something in his eyes narrowed, just a fraction.

"Do I look small like a moon to you?"

The way he said it—calm, offended on a cosmic level—made her jaw drop in disbelief. Was this man really prioritizing size in this conversation?

"You look like a mosquito!"

Her voice pitched higher, full of pure wounded pride. The insult flew out with enough emotional weight to collapse a building. She practically vibrated with indignation, face flushed, nostrils flaring like an angry deer.

Osiris frowned—deeply. Not hurt, not insulted, but genuinely puzzled.

A mosquito?

Him?

HER?

He tilted his head as if she had just introduced a new species into his worldview.

"I don’t see wings," he said coolly.

The deadpan in his tone nearly ended her bloodline right there.

Isabella let out a strangled sound—a noise somewhere between a scream, a sob, and a prayer for strength. She dragged her hands down her face so hard she nearly peeled her own skin off. Her fingers curled at her temples like she was holding her brain in place.

"Oh my god," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "Save me from this man."

Her shoulders sagged, her whole body deflated like a disappointed balloon. Glimora, perched on her arm, even reached out and patted her sympathetically.

Because at this point?

Everyone agreed:

This man was going to give her wrinkles before childbirth even tried.

She turned around again, clutching Glimora protectively, and stomped onward through the rice-filled clearing. The mountain breeze tugged her hair, soft grass cushioned her steps, Glimora squeaked softly in her arms... and behind her, Osiris STILL followed like her personal shadow.

Finally, he spoke.

"Where are you going again?" he asked, voice filled with genuine curiosity and a sprinkle of judgment. "I thought that small house was where you stayed."

Isabella clenched her jaw.

She refused—REFUSED—to answer.

He waited patiently.

She remained silent.

He tried again, louder this time. "Where are you going?"

Nothing.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Why are you always so moody and stubborn?"

Isabella stopped walking. She closed her eyes. She inhaled. She exhaled. She reminded herself that murder was frowned upon, even on a mystical mountain.

She turned slowly—dangerously slowly.

"You’re asking me," she said through her teeth, "why I don’t feel like socializing with a man who tried to kiss me in my sleep?"

Osiris didn’t even look guilty. In fact, he shrugged.

"You left your little house open."

"That doesn’t mean you should shove your whole face into mine!"

"I was checking if you were alive."

"Then why were you inches from my mouth?!"

He blinked. "Because I was also going to kiss you."

Isabella nearly threw Glimora at him.

Glimora, sensing feminine rage, clung tighter to her shirt.

She spun around again and resumed marching through the clearing. The breeze rustled her clothes, her fan bumped softly against her hip, and she looked every inch like a dramatic pregnant heroine determined to never speak to the annoying man behind her.

His footsteps followed anyway.

She hissed under her breath like a tired cat.

He tilted his head and asked, "Why do you walk so fast?"

"Because I want to leave you behind."

"Why?"

"Because you annoy me."

"Why?"

She stopped, trembling with rage.

"Are you a child?!"

"No."

"Then WHY do you keep asking WHY?!"

"Because you won’t answer my first question."

She screamed inside her mind.

This man is going to kill me. I will die. He will be the death of me, not the mountain, not the creatures, not the tasks—him. HIM.

She started walking again, stomping like she was crushing demons under her feet.

He watched her small, angry figure storm ahead and thought—

Cute.

He actually smirked at her back, the arrogant bastard.

She could FEEL it—even without looking. That smirk. That cocky male-lead smirk that said "I am handsome and I know it and I will cause drama because it entertains me."

Isabella couldn’t take it anymore.

She spun around so fast her braid smacked her shoulder like a whip.

"ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH ME?!"

Osiris blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me! Are you obsessed? Infatuated? Enchanted? Do you like following me? Is this your kink? Your hobby? Why are you ALWAYS beside me?!"

Osiris raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Why," he asked calmly, "would I be obsessed with you?"

Isabella froze.

Her eye twitched.

Her lips parted.

"...Excuse me?"

"You asked," he said with a bored shrug. "I answered."

"Oh, please!" Isabella threw her hand dramatically into the air. "Everyone wants me! I am PERFECT!"

"You’re too small for me."

Her soul left her body.

She looked down at her chest. At her hips. At her legs. At her height.

Then she looked up at Osiris, who had the audacity—the AUDACITY—to be looking down at her like he was a god descending to judge mortals.

She was about to explode.