The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 237 - 238: Fine. I will apologize

Isabella placed her hands on her hips. "What, because I said no to one belly rub? Just one?"

Glimora, still turned away, let out the faintest huff through her nose.

"Oh, so now you’re mad at me for not rubbing your tummy the instant you flopped over like a pink pancake?" Isabella groaned, crouching down to face her. "Seriously, you act like I denied you water in the desert."

Glimora finally turned her head slightly—just enough to shoot Isabella a betrayed glare, those sparkly eyes big and glistening, like she’d just been personally victimized by her own mother.

"You rolled over at the worst moment Glimora,. I wasn’t ignoring you—I was trying to get a grip of myself at that moment"

The beast blinked slowly, clearly unmoved by the logic.

"Oh my god," Isabella muttered, then looked up at Cyrus for backup. "Can you believe this? She wanted a belly rub while I was literally being insulted—called talkative like it was a crime. What did she expect me to do? Defend my honor with one hand and rub her belly with the other?"

Cyrus gave a tiny shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Isabella turned back to Glimora and sighed dramatically. "You know what? Fine. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you the longest belly rub in beast history. I’ll even sing while I do it—make it a whole spa session. Roasted meat. Sweet fruits. Fluffy pillow. Name it."

At the sound of roasted meat, Glimora’s ears twitched.

Isabella caught it. "Ah! You heard that one, huh?"

The little beast turned around slowly, inching toward her with hesitant limbs, head slightly lowered, ears twitching. She was clearly tempted—but just when Isabella thought she’d won her over, Glimora dramatically spun back around with a flick of her tail, presenting her back once more like an offended queen turning away from her court.

"Oh, really?" Isabella threw up her hands. "You’re impossible!"

She let out a sigh so loud it echoed faintly through the stone hallway, then dragged a hand through her long, silky blonde hair, pulling it back like she was fighting the urge to scream. Her blue eyes narrowed at the puff of white fluff now acting like she hadn’t just spent the last minute creeping toward forgiveness.

"Absolutely spoiled. Ridiculously dramatic. Completely demanding. I should’ve named you Drama," Isabella muttered, pointing accusingly at the little back-turned body. "Or maybe Duchess. You’ve got palace levels of entitlement packed in that tiny furry body."

Glimora gave a sassy flick of her ear in response, her tail twitching again with exaggerated insult, like she’d understood every single word and was currently filing them away for emotional warfare later.

Isabella narrowed her eyes further. "And now you’re giving me tail. Real mature."

Isabella sighed dramatically. "Fine. Fine. I will apologize."

She took a deep breath, stepped up to Glimora, and clasped her hands together in front of her chest.

"Oh, noble fluff ball of ancient tantrums," she began, eyes wide and solemn, "I, the ever-fabulous Isabella, humbly apologize for my crimes against your tiny highness. May you find it in your fuzzy heart to forgive me for the unspeakable horror that was—not giving you a belly rub when you needed it most"

Glimora turned her head slightly. Just slightly. But it was enough.

Isabella’s eyes lit up. "See? She’s listening!"

She leaned closer and gently patted the beast’s head. "How about this, hmm? When we get back to the the room, I’ll roast you the best meat you’ve ever had. I’ll drizzle it with honey, glaze it with herbs. And then I’ll give you sweet fruits. All your favorites. Mango, lotus pear, maybe even those squishy blue berries."

Glimora blinked, her white ears twitching.

"And soup," Isabella added quickly, "The good kind. Not the one that man with no seasoning made the last time. I’ll add spices. That tingly green one you love? I’ll use extra."

Glimora turned fully to face her now, snuggling deeper into Cyrus’ arms but looking almost... intrigued.

"And after all that?" Isabella continued, her voice rising like a merchant on market day, "I’ll braid your fur. With little flowers. You’ll look like a fairy beast from the divine realms."

A pause.

Then, Glimora let out the tiniest, gentlest squeak—and nudged her head into Isabella’s palm.

"Aha! See! I’m forgiven!" Isabella beamed.

"She still looks mad," Cyrus offered softly.

"Shh. Let me have my moment," Isabella whispered back, rubbing her cheek against Glimora’s forehead. "I need a win today. A single win."

The creature gave a soft purr, nestling into Isabella’s arm as she scooped her up from Cyrus. Once nestled, Glimora released a long sigh—almost like she’d never been angry at all—and rested her tiny head against Isabella’s collarbone.

"Awwww," Isabella cooed. "There we go, my white nightmare. Don’t be mad. I only bully the ones I love."

Cyrus raised a brow.

"I said what I said," she declared before he could speak.

He smiled as he pushed aside the final curtain, revealing a rising tunnel of carved stone that would lead them back to the main levels of the palace above. "We should get going. Before someone else shows up with another smart remark."

"Honestly," Isabella muttered as they stepped out into the open, "why is everyone suddenly brave this week? It’s like they don’t fear death anymore."

The dim firelight flickered across the stone walls as they passed through the narrow hallway, hide curtains swaying gently behind them. The palace was quiet—eerily so—save for the soft hush of their footsteps on cool stone.

The shadows above blinked like stars through the gaps in the rough ceiling stone, faint glimmers from torches hidden deeper in the corridors. Glimora was now half-asleep in her arms again, her head bobbing softly with every step.

Cyrus slithered beside her, his tail coiled and silent behind him, eyes scanning the shadows protectively.

"You know," Isabella said after a moment, glancing up at him. "I still can’t believe you held me back earlier. You really dared to say no to me."

"You looked like you were going to break someone’s face," he said softly.

"I was going to break someone’s face," she muttered.

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he just smiled again—that calm, unreadable, soft-as-clouds smile that made her chest feel too tight for comfort.

She glanced down at Glimora, still curled in her arms.

"Alright, little traitor," she murmured, gently stroking her fur, "Let’s go sleep. You’ve disturbed me a lot today"

Glimora twitched once, then sighed again.

As they moved through the winding stone corridors, dim torchlight guiding their steps, Isabella hummed softly under her breath—determined not to think about all the chaos still waiting for her tomorrow.

For now? She had Cyrus beside her, Glimora in her arms, and meat to bribe a grumpy furball with.

What else could a goddess want?

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