Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 152: You’re The Reason

Moon swipes the key card, and the door unlocks with a soft, electronic click. The sound is small, insignificant, but it feels like sothing sliding into place—sothing I can’t undo.

He pushes it open and steps inside without looking back.

I follow, still wrapped in the heavy silence that has hung between us. The door closes behind with a quiet thud, and I step into the penthouse.

And stop.

The room stretches before , vast and open, but it’s not the size that steals my breath. It’s the darkness. Not an empty darkness—a living one.

Candles flicker everywhere, their flas dancing in the still air, casting warm golden light across every surface. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. They line the windowsills, cluster on side tables, float in glass bowls on the coffee table.

The floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the city, a dinner table is set for two. White linen. Shining silverware. A centerpiece of fresh flowers.

Beyond the glass, the city glitters in the darkness like a mirror of the candles inside—thousands of tiny lights scattered across the velvet night.

I stand frozen, my eyes scanning every corner, every flickering fla.

It looks like... it looks like a romantic candlelight dinner. The kind people plan for anniversaries.

For proposals. For lovers.

Moon turns and looks back at , his expression curious.

"What happened?"

I find my voice, sharp and cold.

"What the hell is this?"

He blinks. Then he looks around the room as if seeing it for the first ti, as if the candles and flowers and carefully arranged table are a surprise to him too.

His brow furrows slightly.

"I didn’t plan this."

A pause. "It must have been the staff. They probably assud we were..." He trails off, but the word hangs in the air between us anyway.

Couples.

I step forward, my anger finally finding a target.

"Don’t lie to ."

I move past him, my eyes scanning the walls, searching. There—the light switches. I cross the room quickly and flip them all on at once.

The overhead lights blaze to life, harsh and white, destroying the intimate glow of the candles.

The room transforms from sothing romantic into sothing ordinary. Cold.

Moon blinks, squinting against the sudden brightness.

"What’s your problem?"

I don’t answer. I move through the room, blowing out candles one by one.

The flas die with soft puffs of smoke, the wicks glowing orange before fading. I don’t stop until I’ve killed every single one.

The last candle sits on the dinner table. I lean down and blow it out, then straighten and sit.

I cross my arms over my chest, my expression hardened into sothing unreadable.

Moon’s eyes have been on the whole ti.

Watching. Unblinking.

Then he laughs.

It’s loud and bright and completely unexpected. It echoes off the walls, filling the space I just emptied of warmth.

I feel my cheeks heat.

"Why the hell are you laughing?!"

He’s still laughing, walking toward with that infuriating grin.

"Such a romantic vibe," he manages between chuckles, "and you just... destroyed it. Completely."

I look away, my gaze shifting to the city beyond the glass. The lights blur slightly, but I refuse to acknowledge why.

He drags a chair across the floor, the sound harsh in the silence. I glance back as he sets it down—right beside mine. Close. Much too close.

"What are you doing?"

He sits, settling in comfortably. Our shoulders brush.

"Just sitting."

I shift my chair away, creating space.

"Stay away from . There’s plenty of room."

He shifts his chair closer. Closer than before. His shoulder presses against mine again, warm and solid.

"Moon." My voice is a warning, low and sharp.

"Don’t test my patience."

He’s still smiling, completely unbothered.

"Just sit calmly. I’m not an alien who’s going to eat you alive."

I glare at him.

"You are."

He laughs again, delighted.

"Maybe." He winks.

I sigh, long and defeated.

No matter what I do, I can’t win with him. Can’t argue. Can’t fight. Can’t make him stop.

I force my voice to be calm, serious.

"Now tell ."

His expression shifts into exaggerated innocence.

"About what?"

"Don’t." My voice sharpens. "Don’t pretend to be innocent. It doesn’t suit you."

He laughs again, clearly enjoying every second of my frustration.

I press on. "You wanted to talk about our deal. So talk. Tell what you want in return."

He nods slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes." A pause.

"But first, let’s eat. Then I’ll tell you."

I look at the food spread before us—beautifully prepared, steam still rising, clearly ant to be enjoyed. Arguing with him is useless.

Fine. Eat quickly. Settle this. Go ho.

I pick up my fork and knife and cut a piece of the tender at. It’s delicious—perfectly cooked, seasoned just right.

I hate that it’s good. I hate that I notice.

I take another bite, chewing quickly, chanically.

Moon leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on .

Watching. Always watching.

I glance at him. He reaches for the wine bottle and pours himself a glass, the deep red liquid catching the light. He lifts it to his lips.

Before I can think, my hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

"What are you doing?"

He blinks at , surprised. "Why can’t I drink?"

"No." The word is sharp, urgent.

"Did you forget what the doctor said? No alcohol for three months. Moon. You can’t—"

I stop myself. Take a breath.

I take the glass from his hand and set it aside, well out of his reach. Then I look at him directly, eting his blue eyes with my own.

"Why did you do it?"

My voice is quieter now, but no less intense.

"Why did you drink so much during your rut? Why did you take such a heavy dose of suppressants?"

He doesn’t answer.

His playful smile is gone, replaced by sothing blank. Unreadable.

I press on.

"It’s not like you don’t have options. So why? Why choose suppressants instead of a partner? What was the reason?"

He holds my gaze. The silence stretches between us, thin and dangerous.

Then he speaks.

"You’re the reason."