Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 172: Everyone Deserves A Second Chance

I sit in my office, files spread across the desk in chaotic stacks that seem to have multiplied overnight. Papers peek out from beneath folders, folders lean against binders, and sowhere beneath it all is the mahogany surface I haven’t seen in hours.

My eyes stay fixed on the docunts, trying to catch up after skipping just one day.

Just one day of happiness. Of freedom. Of being normal—walking on a beach, kissing under the sunrise.

Just one day, and now I’m drowning.

I stretch, my arms reaching overhead, my spine cracking in protest. I lean back in my chair, the leather cool against my tired shoulders.

I’m so exhausted.

A playful smile touches my lips, unbidden. I should call my secretary. Take a nap on his lap. That would fix everything. Just five minutes—resting against him, breathing in his scent, feeling his fingers in my hair—

I reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over the dial—

The office door opens. No knock.

My smile brightens instantly, reflexively.

It must be Deniz.

I look up.

And freeze.

Moon stands in the doorway, holding a paper bag. His steps are calm, unhurried, that familiar confidence radiating from every line of his body.

He’s dressed casually today—a soft sweater instead of his usual cara-ready looks—and it makes him look almost approachable. Almost.

My smile fades slowly, like light retreating from a room at dusk.

His blue gaze finds mine imdiately, pinning in place with an intensity that hasn’t changed, even if he claims he has. He crosses to my desk and sets the bag down with quiet deliberation.

"Why did your smile fade?"

His voice is soft, almost gentle, but there’s sothing underneath it. Sothing searching.

"Were you waiting for soone else?"

I look down at the files, at the scattered papers, at anything but him. "Why are you here?"

His hand reaches out, taking a file from my grasp before I can protest. I look up sharply.

"What are you—"

He sits in the chair across from , leaning back with that casual grace that defines him. A playful smile spreads across his lips, but it’s different today—softer, maybe. Less weapon, more offering.

"We’re cousins. Can’t I co visit my cousin?"

"I’m busy right now."

"Next week, I’m going back to my country."

His blue eyes lock onto mine, and I have to look away. After everything—after his confession in the penthouse, after his tears, after that impossible promise he made shake on—it’s impossible to be normal with him.

The air between us feels charged, heavy with things unsaid, thick with history I don’t rember and feelings I can’t return.

He stays silent for a long mont, letting the words settle. Then, quietly, "So don’t ignore . We’re cousins." A pause, heavier now.

"At least... act like it."

My voice hesitates, caught between truth and diplomacy.

"I’m not ignoring you. I just—"

He slides the paper bag toward , the movent gentle, almost careful.

"Let’s eat."

I look down at the bag, then back at him, one eyebrow raised. "What is this?"

"They’re famous cupcakes."

He shrugs, a small, almost self-conscious gesture. "I didn’t know which flavor you’d like, so I bought all of them."

I take the bag, genuinely surprised. "You bought these?"

He nods. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

I open the bag, pulling out a box. The weight of it, the thought behind it—it throws .

"You just don’t seem like the type to buy cupcakes for soone."

He crosses his arms, but there’s no challenge in it today. Just a quiet openness.

"Why can’t I? What do you think of ?"

I open the box—dark chocolate, my favorite. Without realizing it, a smile spreads across my lips, genuine and warm.

"You’re a prideful Alpha."

The words co out softer than I intended, almost fond. "It’s hard to believe you’d buy cupcakes when you’d reserve an entire restaurant just for breakfast."

He stays silent, watching with those impossible blue eyes.

I take a bite. The dark chocolate lts on my tongue, sweet and rich and perfect, and for a mont, everything else fades.

"Anyway, thanks. I like them."

Moon stares at without blinking. When he speaks, his voice is different—quieter, stripped of its usual armor.

"I’m trying to be normal. Like you wanted."

I look up, shock flickering across my face. "Really?"

He looks away, almost shy, his gaze drifting past the glass wall to the city beyond.

"Yes," he says quietly. "I don’t want to lose my cousin."

I study him—his profile, the way the light catches his jaw, the slight tension in his shoulders. It’s different from usual. No playful smirk waiting to strike.

No teasing glint hiding sothing darker. Just... sincerity. Raw and uncertain and real.

Maybe he’s telling the truth. Everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone deserves soone willing to et them halfway.

My voice softens. "I’m happy."

I take another bite, savoring the chocolate—the mont, the fragile peace between us. A thought occurs to .

"Why aren’t you eating?"

He glances at , a small smile tugging at his lips. "I don’t like them much."

A childish impulse takes over, born of exhaustion and the strange comfort of this mont. "Then they’re all mine."

He laughs softly, the sound warm and genuine. "I can buy you the whole shop if you want."

Before I can respond, he stands, leaning over . His thumb reaches out, gentle and quick, wiping sothing from my lower lip.

My eyes widen. I push his hand back imdiately, heat rushing to my face. "What are you doing?"

He sits back down, completely unbothered, a hint of his old playfulness returning. "Just wiping your lip. You eat like a little kid."

He licks his thumb—slow, deliberate.

"So childish."

My face burns—not with shyness this ti, but with familiar frustration. "I thought you were trying to be good. But you haven’t changed at all."

He laughs, bright and unrepentant, the sound filling the office. "You’re right."

I take a deep breath.

Calm down, Neon. Don’t let him get to you. He’s trying. That’s what matters.

Knock... Knock...

The door opens—

Deniz steps in.

His face is etched with worry, his dark eyes wide with sothing that makes my heart stutter.

He looks at first—a quick, searching glance—then at Moon. The room goes still. The tension sharpens instantly, thin and dangerous like glass about to shatter.

Moon turns calmly, that playful smile still on his lips, watching the scene unfold with detached curiosity.

Deniz bows lightly, his professional mask sliding into place.

"Apologies for disturbing you, President." His voice is steady, trained, but underneath it runs an undercurrent of urgency that sets my nerves on fire.

"But Mr. Angel..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "He collapsed in the dressing room."

My body goes still.

The world narrows to those two words.

Angel collapsed.