Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 122: I’m a Beta

The door clicks shut behind , the sound dissolving into the vast stillness of my office.

The city beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass walls glows in distant constellations of white and gold. Skyscrapers blink like silent witnesses.

My eyes find the couch imdiately.

He’s still there.

Deniz.

Curled on the stiff leather like a forgotten thing, his body folded into a position no one could sleep comfortably in.

His brow is furrowed even in rest, that sa line of worry carved between his eyes. His arms are wrapped around himself, as if even in sleep he’s trying to hold together sothing that’s breaking.

I stop breathing.

He waited. The whole day.

While I slept in the warm, soft bed behind that door, he stayed here.

On this hard couch. In this cold room. Waiting for to wake up.

My feet carry forward without permission. I sink onto the couch beside him, close enough to feel the faint chill radiating from his skin.

He’s shivering, just slightly, even in sleep.

I shrug off my jacket and lay it over him. The movent is careful, tender, my fingers brushing his shoulder as I tuck it around him.

His eyes open instantly.

He sits up so fast the jacket slips. His gaze finds , scans —head to toe, desperate and searching, as if confirming I’m real, I’m here, I’m okay.

"Deniz—"

He stands. Then he kneels.

On the cold floor. In front of . His hands reach for mine, and I let him take them. His fingers are cold, trembling.

"Zyren." His voice is barely a whisper, raw and broken.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t an to hurt you."

I can’t speak. His eyes—those dark, gentle eyes I love—are wet.

Shining.

A tear slips free, trailing down his cheek.

He squeezes my hands.

"Zyren. Please."

I find my voice. "Deniz. Stand up. The floor is cold."

"Please forgive ." Another tear falls. Then another.

"I made you cry. I saw you crying and it was because of and I—"

I cup his face. My thumbs catch his tears, brushing them away before they can fall. His skin is cold under my palms.

"I’m not hurt. I was overwheld. That’s all. You don’t need to feel guilty. Please. Stand up."

He shakes his head, stubborn even in this.

"No. It’s my fault. I don’t know what happened to but I—I hurt you."

"You didn’t hurt ." I wipe another tear.

"Deniz. Look at ."

He does. His eyes are red-rimd, lost.

"I’m not angry. I’m not hurt. Believe ."

He searches my face, desperate for the lie. He doesn’t find one.

"Are you serious?"

I smile. Small. Real. "Yes. Now please, stand up."

He doesn’t. Instead, his head drops forward, resting on my lap. His forehead presses against my knee, his hair spilling dark across my thighs. His shoulders shake once, then still.

"I don’t know what happened to ," he murmurs into the fabric of my pants. "I don’t know why I—" He stops. Swallows.

"I couldn’t control it. Whatever that was. I couldn’t stop."

I stroke his hair. Slow. Gentle. My fingers card through the black strands, over and over, a rhythm ant to soothe.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t rember the stranger who wore his face.

The possession. The claim.

My touch is light, tender. I look down at him—this man who knelt on a cold floor for my forgiveness, who waited all day just to make sure I was okay.

Beta. Alpha. I don’t care.

He’s mine in the only way that matters.

He lifts his head slowly, eting my eyes. His are still wet, but the panic has faded, replaced by sothing quieter. Hopeful.

"Zyren."

"Hmm?"

"Can you..." He looks away. His throat moves.

"Can you stay at my place tonight?"

My heart stops for half a beat. I stare at him.

He misreads my silence. His gaze drops.

"If you don’t want to, then—"

I laugh. Soft.

Surprised.

He looks up, confused.

I squeeze his cheeks gently between my fingers. "This is the first ti you’ve ever invited . I’m always the one begging to stay at your place."

A flush creeps up his neck, warming his cheeks under my touch.

"My place is yours too. Whenever you want. You don’t need an invitation."

Before I can answer, my stomach announces itself.

*Grrrrowwwl. *

Loud. Shaless. Perfect timing.

My cheeks ignite. He blinks. Then a small, genuine smile touches his lips—the first real one I’ve seen since before... whatever happened.

"You’re hungry?"

I nod, unable to speak, my face burning.

"Starving," I manage.

He stands, pulling up with him. Our hands stay linked.

Warm. Certain.

"Then let’s go."

I smile and let him lead toward the door. His fingers lace with mine, steady and sure.

Deniz and I sit in the back of the car, the city lights blurring past the windows. Our hands are still joined, fingers laced together like we’re afraid letting go might break sothing.

A soft smile plays on his lips. On mine, too.

I steal a glance at him. His profile is calm, beautiful in the dim light. The question burns on my tongue, pressing against my teeth.

Should I ask?

Should I just leave it alone?

I take a breath. Slow. Quiet.

"Deniz."

He turns to , his dark eyes soft.

"Hmm?"

I hesitate. The words tangle. "Are you sure...?" I stop. Start again.

"Are you sure you’re a Beta?"

He stares at . Not with anger, not with confusion—just a quiet, searching look that makes my skin warm.

Then he speaks.

"Why are you asking?"

I look away, out the window at the passing streetlights.

"I just... no reason. I just wondered—"

Oh, Neon. Why did you ask that?

What are you even trying to find out?

His hand leaves mine. For a mont, my heart drops. Then his fingers find my chin, gentle but firm, turning my face back toward him.

I blink, caught in his gaze.

"I’m a Beta," he says quietly.

"When I was little, the doctors made that clear. Tests, evaluations. I’m a Beta."

I stay silent. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure.

But sothing in whispers: Then what was that? In the office?

That presence, that scent, that claim—that wasn’t a Beta.

I don’t say it. I just look at him, at this man I love, and wonder if he even knows what lives inside him.