Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 178: Why Do You Smell Like An Omega?

I stare at him. The words hit like bullets, each one lodging deep in my chest, impossible to dislodge.

Making love.

Last night.

Moon’s blue gaze holds mine, steady and unblinking, the morning light catching the edges of his irises, turning them almost translucent. A slow, deliberate smile curves his lips—the smile of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.

"What if your lover finds out?" His voice is silk wrapped around steel, each word a small, precise incision.

"I’m curious about his reaction."

My face changes. "You bastard—"

"Shh." His finger presses against my lips, warm and insistent.

"Be quiet. Or I’ll kiss you."

I press my lips together instinctively, sealing them shut. His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, lingers there. I can feel the weight of it, a physical thing.

"Zyren."

His voice is a whisper now, intimate, devastating, ant for no one but . "If you want, I can keep it a secret. No one will know what happened between us."

My heart pounds, a trapped bird beating against my ribs. My body tenses beneath him, every nerve screaming for escape, for answers, for sothing.

"But..." His tongue traces his lower lip, slow and deliberate, wetting the soft skin.

"In return, you need to give sothing."

I stare at him, frozen. His bare chest presses against mine, skin against skin, the heat of him seeping into , sending strange, unwanted currents through my body. He leans closer, closer—his lips almost touching mine, his breath warm on my mouth—

I turn my face away sharply. My voice cos out cold, steady despite the chaos inside .

"Do you really think I’d fall for your trap? I know you’re lying."

My cheeks burn, but I hold firm.

He pulls back just enough to see my face. The playfulness is still there, but sothing else flickers beneath it—curiosity, perhaps, or sothing sharper.

"Zyren." His voice is soft, almost coaxing. "Why are you so sure I’m lying?"

I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them, driven by sothing desperate and unthinking.

"Because my body doesn’t ache. Because nothing hurts. Because if we’d—" I stop, the realization crashing over like ice water.

Why did I say that?

What kind of person—

My face is on fire. I can feel the heat spreading down my neck, across my chest, a tide of humiliation I can’t control.

Moon stares at for a long, suspended mont. The silence stretches between us—thin as glass, fragile as morning light.

Then he laughs.

It’s not mocking. It’s bright, genuine, surprised out of him like sothing he couldn’t hold back. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his whole face transforming, the sharp edges softening. He releases my wrists and sits back, laughing freely, his shoulders shaking.

I clutch the blanket to my chest, glaring, my cheeks burning, my heart still racing.

"Why are you laughing?" I demand, my voice cracking.

He runs a hand through his blue hair, still chuckling, and sothing in his expression shifts—the tension draining away, replaced by sothing almost fond.

"Fine." He grins. "I lose."

I blink, thrown. "Lose?"

"Last night." He shakes his head, still smiling. "We didn’t do anything. I was just teasing."

My jaw tightens. Teasing. He was just teasing. All of that—the whispers, the threats, the way he looked at —just to watch squirm.

He looks at , and the smile lingering on his lips is softer now, almost gentle.

"You’re so cute when you’re flustered." His voice is quiet. "And when you’re angry."

I look away, unable to hold his gaze.

"You’re an."

"I really like seeing your face turn red," he says, unrepentant, as if this is a simple truth, like the color of the sky or the way the morning light falls.

He shifts to sit beside , the mattress dipping under his weight, and reaches for the coffee mug on the bedside table. He takes a slow sip, watching over the rim, his eyes still warm.

"After you collapsed," he says quietly, the playfulness fading from his voice, "your body started burning up. Fever, maybe, or sothing else."

A pause. "Your pheromones—they were so strong I could barely breathe. Thick. Heavy. Like nothing I’ve ever felt from you before."

I stare at him, caught in the sudden gravity of his voice.

"I tried to take you to the hospital, but you were completely unconscious." Another pause.

"Sweating through your clothes. Shaking."

"So I changed your clothes." He sips his coffee again, casual, as if he hasn’t just told he undressed while I lay helpless.

"Wiped your body down. Tried to cool you off."

My voice cos out thin, strained. "Why did you—"

"You were sweating," he says simply, as if that explains everything. As if there was no other choice, no other possible response.

"Then why didn’t you put clothes on afterward?"

He sips his coffee, calm as still water. "Because changing you was hard enough. You move like a restless rabbit, even unconscious. Kicking. Twisting. Mumbling things I couldn’t understand."

A small smile touches his lips. "So I left you bare. Let your skin breathe."

I stare at him, incredulous. He’s saying this like it’s nothing. Like seeing naked, touching , tending to —like it’s all completely normal. Like he didn’t cross a dozen lines I didn’t even know existed.

A playful smirk returns to his lips, but it’s softer now, less predatory.

"Sleeping bare is comfortable, isn’t it?"

"Shut up, you shaless idiot."

He laughs again, light and easy, and the sound fills the room, chasing away the last shadows of the morning’s tension.

"You should thank ," he says. "I took such good care of you."

I mutter under my breath, my face still burning. "I want to beat you."

He stands, stretching lazily, his arms reaching toward the ceiling, and I look away from the line of his body, the way the morning light catches on his skin.

"Co on." His voice is casual again, businesslike.

"Freshen up. Your pheromones are still lingering, and it’s..." He pauses, searching for the word.

"Distracting."

My fists clench in the blanket.

He walks toward the door, then stops. Glances back over his shoulder.

"I’ll order breakfast. Do you want pancakes?"

My voice is flat, my walls back in place. "I don’t want anything. Just give my clothes. I’m leaving."

He considers for a long mont, sothing shifting behind his eyes.

"You’re coming with sowhere today."

"I’m not going anywhere."

He walks back toward , and sothing in his expression shifts. The playfulness fades, draining away like water slipping through cracked glass. His face becos serious, intent, the mask he wears when he’s done pretending.

He leans down, close enough that I can see the faint shadows under his eyes, the fine lines of exhaustion that even he can’t hide.

"We’re going to the hospital."

I stare at him. "Hospital? Why? I’m fine. I don’t need—"

His finger presses against my lips, silencing . The touch is light, barely there, but it stops my words completely.

"Zyren." His voice is low, almost gentle, a tone I’ve rarely heard from him.

"No matter how much you refuse, you’re coming with ."

He pauses, his eyes holding mine.

"You don’t know how hard it was for to control myself last night." His voice drops, intimate, raw.

"You were right there. Completely vulnerable. Your pheromones filling the room, your body burning against mine." A breath. "I could have done anything. Taken everything."

My breath catches in my throat.

"But I didn’t." His voice is quiet now, steady.

"Because I don’t destroy the things I love."

He straightens and walks toward the door, his footsteps soft on the carpet.

"We’re going to the hospital." His voice carries back to , calm and final.

"I want to know what you really are."

My voice cos out sharp, defensive, a blade I’ve wielded a thousand tis before. "What are you talking about? I’m an Alpha."

He doesn’t turn around.

"Then why," he says quietly, his hand on the door handle, "do you sll like an Oga?"

The door opens. Closes.

I sit alone in the sudden silence, the blanket clutched to my chest, his words echoing in the empty room.

Why do you sll like an Oga?

Bonus 🌸 — Deniz (POV)

The night is dark and quiet.

Deniz sits on the couch in his apartnt, his phone glowing faintly in his hand. The silence around him feels heavier than usual, pressing in from all sides. He scrolls through his ssages again.

And again.

No reply.

"Why isn’t Zyren answering...?" he murmurs under his breath. His thumb hovers over the screen.

Is he sleeping?

No. Zyren said he would co back tonight.

Deniz exhales slowly and taps the call button. The phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

The number you dialed is not responding at the mont. Please try again later.

The line goes dead.

Deniz lowers the phone, staring at the dark screen for a mont—then suddenly throws it onto the couch beside him. Frustration tightens in his chest. He leans forward, pressing his face into the cushions, his voice muffled.

"Why aren’t you answering...?"