"Why did you have to distract her?" Zyran's voice came sharp, his tone twisted with annoyance. But anyone with eyes could see—it wasn't about the rice. It was never about the rice. He just hated the fact Cyrus had pulled Isabella's attention away before he even got to boast about his rice.
And the worst part? Cyrus didn't even have to try. He hadn't spoken, hadn't smirked, hadn't even tossed his silky hair like Zyran sometimes did. Isabella's attention had just slid over to him naturally, like water obeying gravity.
Why was he the only one who had to announce himself before she noticed him? Why did he have to work for every ounce of attention, while Cyrus walked in with a bowl and suddenly Isabella's entire world was tilted in his direction? Zyran's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. He really, really did not like it.
