Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 220: I Hope They Never Open Again

Fresh tears spill down my cheeks.

"Why did you do this?"

My voice isn’t my own. Raw. Broken. Scraped hollow from sowhere deep inside— a place I didn’t know existed until now.

Deniz’s voice is flat. Empty. A surface that gives nothing back.

"I was never interested in you."

He says it like he’s stating the weather. Like he’s telling the ti. Like the words carry no weight at all— while I’m still holding onto them like they were oxygen.

"From the beginning, you were the one who kept clinging to . So I played along."

A pause— not hesitation, not guilt, just control.

"Just a little."

I stare at him.

He played with .

The thought repeats in my head, over and over, until it stops feeling real.

Tears keep sliding down my face, catching the light as they fall, dripping from my chin onto the floor between us. I don’t even try to stop them anymore.

"But you seed..."

He tilts his head slightly, as if searching for the right word, like this is just a normal conversation.

"Serious."

My voice cracks when I speak.

"How could you do this?" I swallow, but it doesn’t help. "How could you play with like this?"

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. His voice stays steady, asured—like he’s explaining sothing simple. Sothing obvious.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would go this far."

He gives a small shrug, careless, almost bored.

"I thought after a little fun, you’d get tired of . Like people like you always do."

A pause.

His gaze drifts to the window, to the morning light spilling in—quiet, indifferent.

"And I don’t like alphas."

The words fall flat.

He looks back at . His expression doesn’t change. "If I told you that, you could’ve fired . Made my life difficult."

Another small pause.

"You know my father is in the hospital."

My fingers loosen around his hand. I feel them slipping, one by one, until I’m holding nothing at all.

"But now..."

His voice softens—just slightly. Just enough to make sothing in hesitate.

"I’ve found a new job. Stable."

He pauses. His gaze flicks toward the bedroom door—toward where Bryan disappeared. When he looks back at , there’s sothing like relief in his expression.

"And my first love... ca back to ."

The words settle between us.

"So I don’t need to pretend anymore."

Pretend. It was all pretend.

The touches. The kisses.

The way he looked at like I was the only person in the world.

The way he held when I was sick... when I was scared... when I couldn’t even stand on my own.

The way he whispered my na in the dark— like it ant sothing.

All of it... A lie.

I search his face, desperate for sothing—

a crack, a tell, any sign this is a mask... and behind it— the Deniz I know.

The Deniz I love.

"I can’t believe you."

My voice is barely a whisper, trembling on the edge of breaking. "I know you. You’re not like this. You can’t do this to anyone. Tell it’s a lie. Tell —"

"Why can’t you understand?"

His voice cuts through mine—sharp, cold. There’s no warmth in it. No softness. No trace of the man who held through the night and promised he wouldn’t let go.

"I don’t like you."

Four words.Simple. Final.

"I can’t live with soone who’s always sick. Always weak."

Always sick. Always weak. The words sink in slowly, settling sowhere deep inside .

His eyes et mine—flat, empty, unrecognizable. "And aren’t you an oga now?" A brief pause. "Go find yourself a real alpha."

I freeze.

Go find yourself a real alpha.

The words echo in my mind, each repetition heavier than the last— like stones dropped into deep water, sinking out of reach.

The keychain slips from my hand. The little bunny and bear hit the floor. A soft clink—tal against tile. It’s a small sound.

But in the silence of everything breaking inside , it feels like sothing has shattered.

He steps forward and reaches for my hand. His touch is... nothing. Not warm. Not cold. Just empty— like he’s touching a stranger.

I watch, numb, as he slides the silver ring from my finger. The one he placed there with a smile. With love. With promises I thought were real.

The ring catches the light for a mont— a brief, fragile glint— before it disappears into his pocket.

"Let’s break up, Zyren."

I stare at his hand, then at his face. Calm. Unchanged. Not a single flicker of doubt in his eyes.

I swallow. The ache in my throat won’t go down. "I wish you would pretend..." My voice falters.

"Just one more day."

He looks down. Says nothing.

My breath hitches. Tears fall faster now—silent, unstoppable.

He steps back, creating distance between us, like he’s erasing sothing that was never ant to exist.

"Don’t call my dad again," he says quietly. "And don’t co here anymore."

A pause. His eyes et mine—one last ti. "I hope you understand."

He turns and walks to the door. Opens it. The hallway beyond is pale and empty, stretching farther than it should.

"Please go now."

I blink.

My feet feel heavy, numb—like they don’t belong to . Slowly, step by step, I move toward the door. Each step takes effort.

I don’t look back. I can’t.

At the threshold, I stop—just for a second. "Good luck... with your new love," I say.

He doesn’t answer.

I step into the hallway.

The door closes behind with a soft click—so soft, so ordinary, the sa sound it’s made a hundred tis before, when I was happy, when I was loved.

I stand there in the hallway, frozen.

My gaze fixes on the door—the wood grain, the brass numbers, the small scratch near the handle I’ve traced a thousand tis.

What just happened?

Is this real?

I still don’t believe it. So part of is still waiting for the door to open again—for him to take it back, to say it was a mistake. But it doesn’t open.

I walk forward. One step. Then another.

The hallway stretches ahead of —long, empty, unfamiliar.

I can’t take this anymore.

My vision blurs. The edges of the world soften, colors bleeding into each other. The light at the end of the corridor flickers, dims, fades.

My knees give way.

The floor rushes up to et —or maybe I’m falling. I can’t tell anymore.

A voice calls out, distant and worried, like it’s coming from far away.

"Hey, young man! Are you alright?"

A woman’s voice. Gentle. Concerned.

She kneels beside , her wrinkled hands reaching for my shoulder. Her touch is warm—the first warmth I’ve felt since I walked through that door.

My eyes close.

The darkness behind my lids is soft, welcoming, endless.

I hope they never open again.