Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 140: I Have An Offer For You

The living room holds its breath.

Moon’s eyes are still on , waiting. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.

Aren’t I your family too?

I don’t answer. Can’t answer. The words stick in my throat, trapped behind layers of confusion and exhaustion and sothing I don’t want to na.

The silence stretches. Thickens. Becos a living thing between us.

Then he moves.

He rises from the couch slowly, deliberately, like soone who has all the ti in the world. His movents are calm, unhurried, comfortable—the ease of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.

My eyes follow him against my will, tracking every step as he crosses the space between us.

He sits beside .

Close.

Too close.

Our shoulders press together, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my clothes, settling into my skin like it belongs there. I can feel the solid line of his body against mine, the rise and fall of his breathing.

I shift away, creating space.

He shifts too. Closer. Sticking to like he belongs there, like the distance I’m trying to create is an insult he won’t tolerate.

"What the hell are you doing?"

My voice cos out sharp, frayed at the edges, more exhausted than angry.

A slow, playful smile curves his lips. It’s the smile of soone who’s enjoying this, who’s savoring every mont of my frustration, every twitch of irritation I can’t hide.

His fingers slide between mine—warm, deliberate, inevitable—lacing together, binding us.

I try to pull away.

Useless.

His grip is always strong. Always unbreakable.

I’ve learned this lesson before, in elevators and offices and hospital rooms. Moon Arden doesn’t let go of things he wants.

I look away, a frustrated sigh escaping . The warmth of his body against my side is impossible to ignore, a constant, burning presence.

He rests his head on my shoulder. Casual. Intimate. Like he has every right to be there. His hair brushes my cheek, soft and faintly scented with amber wood—dark, warm, unmistakably him.

"Give my answer," he murmurs. His voice is low, close to my ear, sending an unwanted shiver down my spine.

My face is a ss of tired and frustrated and angry.

I’ve had no sleep. I’ve had a day of chaos. I’ve had Angel crying in my arms and rumors spreading like fire and Deniz’s ring hidden against my chest and now this—this impossible, infuriating Alpha who won’t leave alone.

The words tear out of , sharp and raw.

"What do you want to hear?!"

His smile widens. Brightens. Like I’ve given him exactly what he wanted, like my outburst is a gift.

"Call hubby."

My eyes fly wide. My face ignites—burning, scalding, impossible heat flooding my cheeks, my ears, my neck.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

I shove against him, trying to stand, trying to escape this absurdity.

"Leave alone!"

I jerk my hand free and lurch upward—

His hand catches my wrist.

Pulls.

I fall back, off balance, and land across his lap. The world tilts, spins, settles into the impossible reality of my body pressed against his thighs, his chest, his warmth.

I try to move. To scramble away. To reclaim so dignity.

But he’s faster.

Always faster.

His arm slides around my waist, locking in place. His other hand cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. His lips brush my neck—warm, deliberate, devastating.

"Where are you running?" he murmurs against my skin. His voice is a low vibration that I feel in my chest, my stomach, places I don’t want to acknowledge.

"I’m not done yet."

My cheeks burn. My heart races. My voice cos out thin, desperate.

"Moon. Leave . "

His other hand traces the side of my neck. Slow. Searching.

His fingers find the edge of the small bandage—the one Deniz placed so carefully this morning, the one ant to hide evidence of a night I can barely rember.

He pauses.

Then he peels it off. Slow and deliberate, milliter by milliter. The adhesive tugs at my skin, a small, sharp sting.

Underneath, the bite mark is exposed.

Dark. Visible. Claid.

His playful smile vanishes.

The air changes. Thickens. Becos sothing I can’t breathe.

His fingers trace the mark. Light at first, almost reverent. Then pressing, as if he’s testing its reality, its permanence.

His eyes darken with sothing I can’t na—sothing that makes my heart stutter and my breath catch.

"An Oga couldn’t leave a mark like this," he says quietly.

His voice is flat. asured. Dangerous.

"Moon—" My protest is weak, swallowed by the tension.

He leans closer. His nose brushes my neck, my skin, inhaling deeply. I feel his breath, warm and slow, traveling over the marks Deniz left, over the scent that clings to even after hours.

When he speaks again, his voice is different. Harder.

"Red rose."

A pause. His lips curve against my neck, but it’s not a happy smile. It’s sothing else. Sothing that makes my stomach clench.

"That’s not an Oga."

He pulls back just enough to look at . His eyes are burning—blue flas that see too much, know too much.

"Zyren." His voice drops. Low. Quiet. The kind of quiet that cos before sothing breaks.

"Don’t tell you spread your legs for so Alpha."

The words hit like a physical blow.

Anger and embarrassnt flood through in equal asure, burning, choking, stealing my breath. My face is on fire. My hands shake.

"Moon!" The shout tears from , raw and cracking.

"Do you want to die?! Leave alone, you pathetic bastard!"

I thrash against his hold, desperate to escape, to hide, to disappear from those burning eyes and that knowing voice.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. His grip doesn’t loosen.

His eyes stay on , steady and cold.

His voice, when it cos, is ice.

"I have an offer for you."

I freeze.

Every muscle in my body goes still. The fight drains out of , replaced by sothing cold and wary.

An offer..?