Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 146: Why Are You Like This?

The warm water cascades over my pale skin, steam rising around in soft, lazy curls. I stand beneath the spray, letting it beat against my shoulders, my back, hoping it can wash away the frustration tangled in my mind.

What did he an? "Do you feel like my secret lover?"

I run a hand through my wet hair, pushing it back from my face, as if I can push the thoughts away too.

Hell no. Why would I feel like that?

He’s the one who always acts like so obsessive, possessive, completely insane Alpha who can’t seem to leave alone.

I close my eyes, letting the water run over my face.

I had such a good morning. Waking up slowly. The sunlight. The peace. The mory of Angel’s laughter still warm in my chest.

Then Moon appeared. And ruined it.

My fists clench at my sides, the water sluicing over them.

But... he did it.

The rumors are gone. Erased. Replaced by sothing soft and sweet and completely unexpected. Angel is safe. Angel is protected. Angel can walk into the world without fear.

Why did he use the bracelet?

The thought won’t leave alone.

He could have used anything. Any prop, any photo, any excuse. But he used the bracelet I made.

The one I put my ti into, my effort, my—

I turn off the water.

Of course he used it. He’s a lunatic.

He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without thinking about how it affects anyone else.

Especially .

I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist, the fabric rough against my skin.

Neon.

Just give him what he wants and end this deal. Whatever it is. Money, the video, an apology—just give it and be done.

Then you can go back to your life. Back to Deniz.

The thought of him makes smile. Deniz. His dark eyes. His gentle hands. His scent—clean red rose, warm and safe. I want to hug him so badly. To hold him and never let go.

I just need to get ready quickly. Go to the office. Find him. Pull him into my arms and—

I step out of the bathroom, still thinking of Deniz, still smiling—

And freeze.

Moon is still in my room.

He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees.

His posture is relaxed, casual, like he has every right to be here. Like my space is his space.

I’m standing here in nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist. Water still drips from my silver hair onto my bare shoulders, my chest, tracing slow paths down my pale skin.

His gaze shifts to .

The playful smile on his lips fades.

Slowly. Completely.

His blue eyes fix on , unblinking, and I watch them travel—slowly, deliberately—down my body. From my wet hair to my face to my neck to my chest to my waist to my legs and back up again.

He’s morizing. Cataloging. Every drop of water. Every curve of skin.

My face burns.

"Why the hell are you still here?!"

The shout tears from , raw and sharp.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

Instead, he stands.

My eyes widen. He’s walking toward . Slow. Steady. Inevitable.

I step back. One step. Two.

Run. Run to the bathroom. Slam the door. Lock it.

I turn—

His hand slams against the wall beside my head.

I’m caged. One arm braced against the wall beside my head, the other trapping in place, his body close enough that I can feel the heat of him. The cold marble presses against my back.

I look back at him, my heart hamring.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

He still doesn’t speak. Just stares. His eyes are dark, burning with sothing I can’t na.

God, Neon.

You should have worn a bathrobe. A full bathrobe. With a lock.

He’s looking at like he wants to devour alive.

I press my palms against his chest, shoving. He doesn’t move. It’s like pushing against stone.

"Moon! Are you listening to ?!"

Finally, he speaks.

"Why are you like this?"

His voice is cold. Quiet. There’s no playfulness, no teasing, no warmth. Just... sothing I can’t understand.

His fingers lift. Slowly. They brush my ear, pushing aside the wet strands of silver hair clinging to my skin. Water drips onto his hand.

His fingers trace down.

My jaw. My neck. Featherlight. Burning.

"Zyren." His voice is barely a whisper.

"You’re so soft."

My face is on fire. My fists clench against his chest, gripping his shirt.

"Don’t touch !"

He doesn’t listen. It’s like he’s sowhere else entirely, lost in a world I can’t see. His eyes are unfocused, his touch automatic, reverent.

He leans closer. Closer. My heart is a wild animal in my chest, throwing itself against my ribs.

"Hy—what are you doing? Moon!"

His nose presses against my neck. He inhales deeply, a long, slow breath that seems to pull sothing from .

"So good," he murmurs against my skin.

Then it happens.

His scent—amber wood, warm and dark and everywhere—floods the room. It’s not just there. It’s thick. Overwhelming.

It wraps around , seeps into my skin, fills my lungs with every desperate breath I take.

My eyes close. My body starts to burn, to weaken.

What is this? Why do I feel so—

His eyes catch sothing. The silver chain around my neck. The ring resting against my chest.

He stops.

Goes completely still.

His gaze fixes on the ring—Deniz’s ring, hidden beneath the chain, resting over my heart. He stares at it for a long, terrible mont.

Then he pushes back.

Two steps. Creating distance. Space. Cold.

His eyes are still on the chain, on the ring, on the proof of sothing he wasn’t ant to see.

His voice, when it cos, is flat. Controlled. Empty.

"Let’s talk at dinner. About our deal."

Before I can speak, before I can move, before I can even process what just happened—he turns and walks out.

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

I stand there, pressed against the wall, my chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. My skin burns where he touched. My lungs are full of his scent. My heart won’t stop racing.

What the hell was that?