The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 562: Isabella, breathe. Please breathe

Chapter 562: Chapter 562: Isabella, breathe. Please breathe

The moment Ophelia said those words, Isabella stopped breathing.

He left the village this morning.

Her vision flickered. Her heartbeat stumbled. Every thought in her mind shattered into pieces.

Cyrus left.

Cyrus left.

Cyrus left.

Ophelia looked at her with wide, round eyes, clutching Glimora close because even the beast sensed the sudden change of air around Isabella.

"What do you mean he left," Isabella whispered, but her whisper was sharp enough to cut stone.

Ophelia bit her bottom lip nervously. "He left this morning. Before sunrise. Nobody saw him leave. Valen only noticed his scent fading and then he told the elders."

Isabella’s expression cracked.

Her lips parted.

Her voice trembled.

"Where did he go."

Ophelia shook her head quickly. "I do not know."

"What direction."

"I do not know."

"What reason."

Ophelia’s voice went small and apologetic. "I do not know."

Isabella felt a punch to her gut. She grabbed Ophelia’s shoulders.

"What did he say before leaving. What did he say, Ophelia. Tell me."

Ophelia blinked in distress. "Isabella, I really do not know. He did not tell me anything. He only said goodbye to the chief and left."

"Why did nobody stop him," Isabella snapped.

Ophelia puffed out her cheeks in a pout. "How do we stop him. He is a gentle man, but when he decides something, nobody can move him."

Isabella clenched her jaw.

Panic rose like fire in her chest.

She could not lose Cyrus.

Not the man she yelled at.

Not the man she loved quietly.

Not the man whose cooking she missed every day.

Not the man whose necklace protected her on the mountain.

Not the father of her children.

Her hand shook.

"Did he leave any message," Isabella asked, voice cracking.

Ophelia lowered her head.

"No."

That one word made Isabella’s entire heart collapse.

She stared at her feet. The world felt heavier. Her throat tightened.

Ophelia panicked, touching her shoulder. "Isabella, wait, do not cry. Please, do not cry. I do not know anything. But maybe Valen knows."

Right at that moment, Valen appeared around the corner like a blessing from the gods. Calm, towering, protective, always hovering around his sweet mate like a guardian spirit.

"Isabella," he greeted with a respectful nod.

Isabella tried to straighten herself but her voice betrayed her.

"Valen," she said, "do you know where Cyrus went."

Valen exchanged a look with Ophelia. Then he looked back at Isabella, his face solemn.

"I overheard your conversation," he said. "He did not tell anyone his destination. But I heard something else. Cyrus said he does not have a particular location in mind. He will stay around for a while. Close enough to know when you return. Then he will decide where his next stop will be."

Isabella froze.

Her breath caught painfully.

"So he is still nearby."

Valen paused. "Possibly. His scent did not disappear fully. Only faded."

Isabella’s hand flew to her necklace instinctively. She held the gemstone Cyrus gifted her. The necklace that protected her. The necklace that carried a part of him.

Her heart stung.

"But why did he leave," she whispered.

Her voice broke in the middle.

She hated that it did.

She hated that she knew why.

She hated that her emotions betrayed her.

She hated how vulnerable she sounded.

Ophelia grabbed her hand gently. "Isabella. I think you should ask Zyran. He is the reason Cyrus left."

Isabella’s expression went blank.

Then it darkened like a storm.

Her jaw tightened. Her fists clenched. She muttered one name under her breath, voice trembling with anger.

"Zyran."

As if summoned by the devil himself, Zyran burst out from behind a nearby wall.

"What did I do," he barked with a smirk. "He was the one who said you do not want him anymore. All I did was give him a little push."

Ophelia gasped softly. "Zyran. Stop it."

Valen raised a brow, already stepping forward protectively.

But Isabella was no longer in the mood for diplomacy.

Her anger snapped like a whip.

Her eyes shot to the left.

A small clay pot sat peacefully on a wooden table.

She grabbed it.

And without hesitation, without warning, she threw it at Zyran’s head with all her might.

The pot flew so fast that even the wind screamed.

Zyran jerked to the side barely in time. The pot missed him by a hair and smashed into the tree behind him with a loud crack.

The entire village froze.

Everyone stared.

For the first time in their lives, they witnessed Isabella actually throw something.

Not threaten to throw it.

Not raise it halfway.

Not hold it dramatically.

But actually throw it.

Men stopped breathing.

Women clutched their skirts.

Children widened their eyes in awe.

Even Glimora froze mid chew.

Zyran swallowed loudly.

He put his hands up very slowly. "Isabella. Calm down. I am not lying."

"You," Isabella shouted, pointing at him with shaking hands, "you shut up. You shut up right now. I never said that to Cyrus. I never said anything like that."

Zyran frowned. "That means he lied with your name."

"He is not a liar," she snapped. "You are."

Zyran flinched.

Because she never shouted like that at him before.

Not like this.

Not with real pain behind her voice.

He stared at her chest heaving, her eyes red, her face twisted with fear and heartbreak.

For once, even the psychotic panther felt guilty.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I only told him what I thought he should hear. I did not mean to make you upset."

Isabella was no longer listening.

Her eyes were glossy.

Her breathing uneven.

Her hands shaking.

The panic was rising too fast.

Her emotions spiraling.

Her heart breaking in real time.

Ophelia touched her arm. "Isabella, breathe. Please breathe."

Valen intervened quietly. "Everyone should give her some space."

People nodded immediately.

Nobody wanted to be near an emotional pregnant Isabella.

That was a natural disaster waiting to happen.

One by one, villagers backed away.

Women carried their children.

Men stepped aside respectfully.

Even Zyran retreated a step, lowering his head.

Within seconds, the area grew quiet.

Only Isabella stood there in the middle of the clearing, trembling.

She clenched her hands against her chest.

Her vision blurred.

Her knees weakened.

And finally, everything inside her cracked.

A sob escaped her throat.

She covered her face with both hands and cried.

Not just a little tear.

Not just soft sniffles.

She cried painfully.

Heartbroken.

Guilt ridden.

Terrified tears.

The kind she never let anyone see.

The kind she kept buried until it finally forced itself out.

Ophelia dropped to her side and hugged her tightly.

Glimora climbed into Isabella’s lap and licked her chin.

Valen stood guard with a loyal stance.

Even Zyran stood frozen, unable to speak, unable to breathe, unable to move.

He had never seen her cry like this.

He never wanted to see it again.

And somehow, it broke something inside his cold heart.