Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 20: That Was Definitely Not In The Novel

I sit back in my chair, one elbow resting on the desk, my head supported by my palm.

The face mask lies abandoned in front of , staring back like silent proof of my failure.

I whisper under my breath, almost sulking, "I shouldn’t have taken it off in front of Deniz..."

But what choice did I even have?

The mont he saw the mask, he kept insisting on the hospital. Persistent. Worried. Unrelenting.

A faint smirk tugs at my lips—carefully, so it doesn’t hurt.

My future wife really worries too much about .

The knock cos suddenly.

I straighten at once, posture snapping back into place just as the door opens. Deniz walks in, holding a small bag. His steps are calm but noticeably hurried, as if he rushed without realizing it himself.

He places the bag gently on the desk.

Without a word, he takes out a cold pad and steps closer. Before I can react, he presses it carefully against my lips.

I flinch.

"Sir, please bear it for a mont," he says softly. "The cold will help reduce the swelling."

I don’t reply. I just stare at him.

His movents are careful—almost reverent—as he shifts the cold pad to the corner of my lips, then lightly presses it against my bruised cheek.

I flinch again.

"I’m sorry, sir," he says imdiately. "Was I too harsh?"

"No," I answer quietly. "It’s fine."

He’s closer than usual.

Too close.

His natural scent drifts toward —light, clean, unmistakably red rose. It isn’t pheromones. It carries no Alpha pressure, no Oga pull.

And yet... it’s addictive.

Fresh roses soaked in clear water. Calm. Comforting.

Before I realize it, I inhale deeply, my eyes slipping half-closed like soone surrendering to sothing forbidden.

Deniz notices.

He stiffens at once and steps back.

I open my eyes quickly.

His cheeks are red.

Oh.

"I—" I say imdiately, honest before pride can interfere. "I’m sorry. I didn’t an to make you uncomfortable. I just... inhaled your scent."

I pause, then add quietly, "It’s really nice. Like red roses in water. Fresh. Calm."

Before he can respond—

Knock.

The office door opens again.

The servant enters quietly, carrying a perfectly arranged al tray.

Deniz gestures with a small motion of his hand, and the servant sets the food on the nearby table before bowing and leaving without a sound.

I look at the tray.

So... he ordered food for .

Deniz turns to face . His cheeks are still faintly red, but his posture is straight again—disciplined, composed, back in his professional shell.

"Sir," he says calmly, "please eat sothing. Your lips look a little better now. I hope you can move your jaw."

I nod and stand up without speaking.

Then I pause.

The al looks... strange.

Soup. Boiled vegetables. Soft food arranged carefully, almost too carefully.

I sit on the couch, staring at the tray in disbelief.

Did I injure my lips... or did I just co out of surgery?

I glance at Deniz. "Why soup?" I ask. "I thought you’d order pancakes."

He answers imdiately, tone steady and logical.

"Sir, soup is better for you. With this al, you don’t need to move your jaw too much. Please eat. You must be hungry."

I nod again and look back at the food.

Honestly... I’m starving. At this point, anything would work.

I pick up the spoon, blow gently on the soup, and take a sip.

Warm.

Comforting.

Surprisingly delicious.

I take another spoonful.

Deniz is still standing there—straight-backed, hands at his sides—like a guard on duty.

I look up at him. "Co sit. Join ."

He hesitates. "Sir—"

I cut him off smoothly. "Deniz. We’re friends. And you’re hurting your friend by acting like a stranger."

He adjusts his tie instinctively. "Sir, I’m on duty."

I stare at him.

He’s right.

I was the one who drew the line—on duty, no personal boundaries crossed.

He bows lightly. "Sir, please tell if you need anything."

He turns toward the door.

"Wait."

He pauses.

After a brief hesitation, he turns back. "Yes, sir?"

I look at him, eyes innocent—almost childlike.

"Apply the ointnt on my face."

He blinks. His eyes widen just a little.

"Ointnt....?"

"Yes," I add calmly, "taking care of is your duty, isn’t it?"

He nods quickly. "Yes, sir."

He walks back to the table, takes the ointnt from the bag, then returns to . He stops beside the couch, keeping a careful distance.

"Sit down," I say.

He hesitates... then obeys, sitting beside with a noticeable gap between us.

He opens the tube, squeezes out a small amount onto his finger.

I lean closer and smile faintly.

His cheeks are still red.

I take a deep breath—deliberately loud enough for him to notice.

Deniz stiffens.

I don’t touch him. I don’t say a word.

And yet—he’s already blushing.

Just from a breath.

What a sensitive beta.

He applies the ointnt gently to my lips, movents slow and careful, clearly trying not to hurt . His touch is light—almost reverent.

I smile. "Deniz... why is your face red?"

He flinches, touching his own cheek instinctively. "N-no, sir."

I smile a little wider.

Teasing him is... unexpectedly fun.

He looks so adorable.

I never imagined Deniz could look like this—because the novel never showed this side of him. In the author’s description, Deniz is always professional, composed, distant. A perfect secretary. No hesitation. No softness. No cracks.

But this version of him...

This shy pause.

This faint blush.

This careful touch.

I stare at him, realization settling quietly in my chest.

So this ans...

This side of him exists outside the novel.

I finally win—just a little—making him flustered, making him blush.

His finger is still on my lips, finishing the last gentle stroke of ointnt. The mont he’s done, he pulls his hand back as if burned, standing up imdiately. His back straightens, shoulders squared—professional mode snapping back into place like armor.

"Sir," he says, voice calm again, disciplined, "please let know if you need anything."

He turns and starts walking toward the door.

"Deniz."

He stops.

After a brief pause, he looks back at .

I smile softly. "Thank you."

He nods quickly, cheeks still faintly red, then slips out of the room without another word.

I lean back slightly, staring at the closed door.

Yeah...

That was definitely not in the novel.