CHAPTER 343: CHAPTER 343: YOUR CYRUS?

"Spoiling your Cyrus?"

The words slipped from Kian’s lips low and deliberate, carrying the weight of a blade sliding free from its sheath. His gaze, cool as a winter stream, flicked toward Isabella with a coldness that made the air itself tense.

Isabella’s breath hitched. That tone—so flat, so dangerously calm—always meant trouble.

He repeated it slower, as if testing each word on his tongue. "Your. Cyrus."

For the first time in his life, Kian found himself... offended. And Kian didn’t do offense. He lived above such things, or at least he told himself he did. But this? This was a revelation.

HER Cyrus.

Not just Cyrus anymore. Oh no, that ship had apparently sailed without his permission. HER Cyrus.

And what made it sting worse? He hadn’t even realized the shift had happened until today.

It wasn’t just offensive—it was humiliating.

His jaw tightened, but his face stayed maddeningly neutral. Inside, though, something twisted, sharp and unpleasant.

As if that wasn’t enough, she’d added insult to injury: calling him bad and secretive.

Kian never thought of himself in such terms, but apparently that was how Isabella saw him. Bad. Secretive. A man to be mistrusted. Fascinating, really. Nothing like being gutted alive with a smile.

He let it sink in, coldly cataloguing the feeling. So that’s how she viewed him. Not the strong one, not the capable one—no, just the shadow behind her "Cyrus."

Wonderful.

Across from him, Isabella’s eyes had gone wide. Panic flashed in them as she finally realized what she had said. She scrambled mentally, words tripping over themselves in her head before her mouth managed to spit out the absolute worst possible explanation:

"Duh, Cyrus belongs to me! I brought him here, not you. He isn’t one of your men, he is mine. So he belongs to me."

Kian’s brows lifted just slightly, the only betrayal of his thoughts. If she meant to save herself, she had failed spectacularly. This wasn’t patching a hole; this was setting the entire tent on fire.

Isabella froze again, her words hanging in the air like smoke. She stared back at him, waiting, bracing herself, utterly unsure of what he’d do next.

Kian just stared. Silent. Blank. His icy eyes locked with hers, steady and unreadable.

The tension between them built. It was so sharp you could almost hear it creak, like a rope about to snap.

Even Glimora, nestled in Isabella’s arms, seemed to pick up on it. Her little ears twitched, her head moving back and forth between them like she was trying to follow a tennis match she didn’t understand. Her tiny furry brows knitted together as if to say: Why are you both staring like that? Someone blink already.

But neither did.

Seconds stretched. One beat. Then another. Isabella’s lips parted slightly, then closed again. Her eyes flicked once, twice, as if she were about to say something—anything—to break the stalemate. But no words came.

Then, out of nowhere, Kian chuckled.

It was low, deep, rolling from his chest in a way that sent a shiver straight down Isabella’s spine.

It wasn’t mocking, not entirely. It wasn’t warm either. It was... something else.

And that made it worse.

Both Isabella and Glimora blinked up at him in unison, mirroring each other’s wide-eyed confusion. Isabella’s brows arched so high she thought they’d disappear into her hairline.

"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath.

Glancing down at Glimora for reassurance, Isabella found the little creature giving her the same baffled expression she wore. Then, as if trying to confirm reality, Isabella raised one brow at Glimora, then back at Kian.

The chuckle deepened.

Kian, stone-faced Kian, the man who barely spoke a dozen words a day, was laughing at her.

Oh, this was new. And entirely disarming.

Isabella didn’t speak. Her lips parted slightly as if she might, but the words never came. She just stared at him, blue eyes uncertain, her face caught somewhere between confusion and indignation.

Kian, however, only looked at her with that maddening calm—no, worse, with the kind of amusement that made her feel like she was already losing a game she hadn’t even realized she was playing.

And then he moved.

Slow, deliberate, like a predator lowering itself to meet its prey, Kian crouched down until his face was level with hers. The air shifted—suddenly warmer, suddenly heavier. His presence filled every corner of her space, and Isabella’s chest grew tight.

What the hell was he doing being this close?

Her breath stuttered. She could see the faint shadow of his lashes, the controlled stillness of his mouth, the sharp perfection of his jawline that could’ve been carved from stone. Heat crawled up her neck and painted her cheeks pink before she could stop it.

And then—his voice. Low, deep, carrying that dangerous calm.

"Your Cyrus?" he repeated, slow and deliberate, as though tasting the words.

"Yes." Her voice cracked, and she scrambled to correct herself. "I mean—no! Not like that."

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, like her fluster had satisfied him. He tilted his head, leaning just a fraction closer, close enough that she could feel the ghost of his breath graze her cheek.

"That is just... amazing, Isabella." His voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "At this point, I think I really am falling for you. Because of how cute you are."

Her heart stopped.

"Really?" The word slipped out before she could stop it, small and breathless, betraying her.

Kian didn’t even flinch. He just gave her that infamous deadpan stare, a look that carried the weight of stone and the certainty of night. And that was how she knew he wasn’t joking.

Isabella’s smile wavered, then disappeared altogether. The warmth in her chest twisted into something else entirely—something that made her heart race even faster.

"You really amaze me," he said, his tone cool but heavy, like each syllable was meant to sink deep inside her. "He is your Cyrus now. That’s the way you address him. Amazing."

Her brows furrowed as she finally found her tongue. "Wait... are you jealous?"

He didn’t look away.

"Jealous?" His lips twitched, not in humor but in admission. His voice dropped again, rougher, uncharacteristically raw. "Hell yeah, I’m jealous. I’m jealous that you look at him with that smile. That you call him yours when he’s not. I’m jealous of every word you give him that isn’t mine. I’m jealous of the way he stands so close to you and you let him. I’m jealous of..."

He stopped himself, exhaling slowly, but his gaze burned into her with a ferocity that made her feel pinned in place.

Then he leaned just slightly closer, his mouth near her ear now, his voice lowering to a whisper that scraped across her skin like fire.

"I don’t like you being close with other men, Isabella. It pisses me off."

And just like that—silence crashed down, thick and heavy, swallowing the entire room whole.