Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 175: It’s Your Punishment

His lips brush my ear, his voice a whisper that sends shivers down my spine.

"You ca here on your own. Now you don’t leave... without my permission."

His pheromones wrap around like silk pulled taut, tightening with every breath I take until I can feel them in my throat, my lungs, my blood. My heart hamrs against my ribs—a wild, frantic thing, trapped and desperate, throwing itself against the cage of my chest.

My palms press against his chest, fingers splaying over the thin fabric of his designer shirt. Beneath my hands, I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, maddeningly calm compared to my own.

I push. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even seem to feel it.

Moon pulls back just enough to look at my face, his blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide. A lazy, predatory smile curves his lips, the smile of soone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

"How do you feel?" he murmurs, and his voice is velvet wrapped around steel.

"My pheromones are telling you feel good, Zyren."

My fists clench in his shirt, knuckles white, the fabric twisting between my fingers. My voice cos out weak, barely a thread, fraying at the edges.

"Moon... stop this."

"Why?"

His smirk deepens, becos sothing sharper. "You’re not an Oga. So what’s the problem?"

My breath cos in uneven gasps, each inhale pulling more of his amber wood scent into my lungs. It’s everywhere—thick, heavy, drowning. The edges of my vision blur, the room softening at the corners, the light from the chandelier fracturing into prisms I can’t focus on. I can’t think. Can’t form a coherent thought beyond the heat of him, the weight of him, the suffocating pressure of his presence filling every corner of my awareness.

He leans closer. His lips find my neck—not a kiss, not quite, but the promise of one, hovering just above my skin. His breath is warm, each exhale a slow torture.

"Zyren..." His voice is a whisper against my pulse point, and I feel the vibration of it in my bones.

"Release your pheromones. I want to sll them."

His tongue traces a slow, deliberate path along my throat, tasting, savoring, as if I’m sothing delicious he’s been craving for years. I try to push him again, my hands trembling against his chest, but my arms have no strength left.

"Don’t... do this..."

He doesn’t move. His full weight presses into the cushions, his body a cage I can’t escape, can’t even hope to shift. His pheromones are so strong now I feel like I’m drowning—in him, in this room, in the suffocating heat of his presence that leaves no room for anything else.

His lips find my neck again, teeth grazing, tongue soothing the sting.

"Zyren..." His voice is a low vibration against my skin, rumbling through .

"Does your lover kiss you here too?"

He bites down—gently, deliberately, a mark blooming beneath his mouth, like a flower opening to the sun.

"I’m so jealous."

My eyelids are heavy, my limbs leaden, my thoughts moving through honey. The words that escape are broken, barely audible, torn from sowhere deep.

"Moon... get off . I can’t... bear this. Stop..."

He doesn’t stop. He bites again, softer this ti, a punishnt wrapped in pleasure, a claim disguised as retribution.

"It’s your punishnt," he whispers against the bruise, his lips brushing the tender skin.

"For accusing ."

I force my eyes open, fighting against the weight of his pheromones, his body, his presence—the inexorable pull of him dragging under. His hand reaches for my face, his thumb pressing between my lips, parting them, silencing whatever protest I had left.

His eyes are burning, blue fire in the dim room.

"Why are you always worried about everyone else?" His voice is raw now, sothing cracked beneath the surface, sothing bleeding.

"But never about . It makes ..." His jaw tightens. "So angry."

My vision blurs. Tears slip from my eyes, tracing hot paths down my cheeks, sliding into my hair. And then—sothing else. Sothing warm, trickling from my nose, tallic on my tongue.

Moon goes still. Completely, utterly still.

His eyes widen, the fire doused by sothing colder. Sothing afraid.

"Zyren..." His voice is different now. Sharp. Breaking.

"Blood."

He releases instantly, pushing off the couch, scrambling for the tissues on the table. His pheromones recede like a tide pulling back, a sudden withdrawal that leaves gasping, cold, empty. The room rushes back in—the lights too bright, the air too thin, the silence deafening.

I sit up slowly, dazed, my hands shaking. Blood drips onto my lap, dark against the pale fabric, blooming like the bruises on my neck.

Moon leans over , and his face has transford. The arrogance is gone, the teasing, the control. His hands are gentle now, trembling slightly as he lifts my chin with fingers that monts ago pinned down. He dabs at the blood with a tissue, careful, thodical, as if handling sothing fragile.

"I’m sorry." His voice is barely a whisper, raw and scraped clean.

"Zyren, I’m sorry. I didn’t an to hurt you. I swear, I didn’t—"

I look at him. This man who is always two people—the predator and the penitent, the one who cages and the one who kneels. His eyes are wide, his jaw tight, his hands shaking.

"I was drunk," he says quickly, the words tumbling over each other. "I’d already had so wine before I ca in. And when you accused , I couldn’t—I lost control. I didn’t an to—"

My voice is soft when I cut him off, softer than I expected.

"I’m sorry."

He freezes. Stares at .

Our eyes lock. I reach up and push his hands away from my face, gently.

"I’m sorry," I repeat, and I let him see that I an it. "For accusing you. I was wrong. I was blinded by anger, and I assud the worst. I shouldn’t have."

He doesn’t speak. Just watches with those blue eyes that hold too much, that have always held too much.

I stand. My legs feel strange—light, unsteady, as if the floor is shifting beneath them. The room tilts, but I steady myself against the arm of the couch.

"I was wrong," I say. "And I’m not angry at you."

He stays silent. His gaze follows , still, waiting, holding.

I don’t wait for an answer. I step forward, and the world tilts again—sharper this ti, a sudden lurch that steals my balance. Not tears. Sothing else. My vision blurs, edges dissolving into gray, the walls spinning, the floor rising to et .

My eyes close before I feel myself falling.

Strong arms catch . His voice is distant, swallowed by the rushing in my ears, by the darkness pressing in from all sides.

"Zyren..."

And then, nothing.