Isabella stared at Osiris like she had just discovered a new species of idiot. Which, honestly, she kind of had. Because it hit her. It hit her so hard she almost dropped dead right there.
He was not helpless.
He was not incapable.
He was not oppressed.
He was not some delicate little featherless prince who could not roast meat.
He simply wanted to eat her food.
Her. Food.
Her eyes widened slowly. Her pupils shrank. A twitch formed at the corner of her lip.
Osiris blinked in confusion. "Why are you staring at me like that."
"Oh my god," Isabella whispered. "Oh my actual god."
"What," he asked again.
She pointed at him. "You. You are the problem."
Osiris frowned. "I do not understand."
"You never understand," she snapped. "You understand nothing. You live to annoy me. You breathe to irritate me. Your entire existence is built around making me cook for you."
Osiris crossed his arms at her accusation. "That is not true."
