Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 26: Something Beautiful... Like Him

I sit in the car, the leather seat cold against my back. Angel sits beside , rigid—too still. His gaze stays lowered, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, fingers twisted lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Nervous habit. I’ve noticed it before.

My eyes drift to his clothes.

Too thin.

Too worn.

Not ant for the sharp bite of morning air.

A quiet unease settles in my chest.

"Stop at an outfit shop," I tell the driver.

"Yes, Young Master."

Angel doesn’t look up, but his shoulders tense slightly. Confused. Careful. Always careful. I wonder how long he’s lived like that—asuring every breath, every movent.

I pull my phone out, typing quickly.

I’ll be a little late.

Deniz replies almost imdiately. It’s okay.

I turn the screen off and slide the phone back into my pocket. Outside, the city moves past us, bright and indifferent. I watch the reflection of Angel’s face in the window glass. He looks like he’s bracing himself—for punishnt, maybe. For rejection.

I don’t know how to tell him he doesn’t need to.

The car slows, stopping in front of a boutique that gleams too brightly, too clean—like a world that doesn’t belong to either of us. I turn to him.

"Let’s go."

He finally looks at , then at the building, uncertainty written plainly across his face. Still, he steps out after without a word.

Inside, warmth washes over us. Soft lighting. Expensive fabric. The staff bow politely. I feel Angel freeze beside , his eyes widening—just a little. Like soone who’s stepped into a dream he never thought was allowed to touch.

I glance at him again.

This is his first ti.

...Mine too.

The manager approaches, all practiced smiles and perfect posture.

"Mr. Zyren, welco. Please, co sit."

I take a seat on the couch. Angel follows automatically, then pauses.

"Sit," I say—not cold, not commanding. Just steady.

He hesitates, then lowers himself beside , leaving space between us as if afraid of crossing an invisible line.

Coffee is placed on the table. The manager turns to .

"What would you like, sir?"

I don’t answer imdiately. My gaze moves to Angel—his golden hair catching the light, his hands folded too tightly in his lap.

"Sothing precious," I say at last.

"Sothing beautiful. Like him."

The manager’s eyes light up as she looks him over.

"An oga with golden hair and golden eyes," she says warmly. "He’s truly beautiful."

Angel stiffens. I feel it beside —the way his breath catches, the way he shrinks inward, unused to words like that.

"We have new designs," the manager continues. "I believe they’ll suit him perfectly."

I watch Angel carefully, the way his eyes flicker with unease and wonder all at once.

This place isn’t ant for him.

But today—

Today, I decide quietly—

—I won’t let him feel like he doesn’t belong anywhere.

I sit on the couch, waiting.

My gaze drifts to the large mirror across the room. My reflection stares back at —too calm, too composed. I scan myself slowly, head to toe.

Does this outfit not suit ?

I lift a hand, adjusting my hair with unnecessary care.

The changing room door opens.

Angel steps out.

My breath stills.

For a mont, I forget how to move. How to blink. He stands there hesitantly, as if unsure whether he’s allowed to exist like this. The soft pink fabric clings to him perfectly—like the color was never ant for anyone else.

Pale skin.

Golden hair.

A quiet glow that doesn’t demand attention, yet steals it effortlessly.

I rise to my feet without realizing I’ve moved, my eyes still fixed on him.

Now I understand, I think distantly.

Why novels let leads and villains tear each other apart over an oga like this.

"Sir?" the manager asks gently. "How is it?"

My voice cos slower than my thoughts.

"Angel... you look beautiful."

Angel flinches—just slightly. His eyes lift to , uncertain, then shift toward the long mirror. He turns.

And freezes.

His reflection stares back at him like a stranger. His eyes widen, breath hitching softly—as if he’s seeing soone he never believed he could be.

I watch him quietly.

Sothing is missing.

The realization cos softly, instinctively.

The manager smiles as if she already understands. With a subtle gesture, she signals the staff. A tray of jewelry is brought forward—each piece delicate, refined.

"Sothing precious," she says. "Like him."

My gaze drifts over the pendants, lingering... then settling.

This one.

I take it and walk toward Angel.

He turns at my approach, confusion flickering across his face. I step closer, slow enough not to startle him. His eyes widen a fraction as I lift the chain, my fingers careful as I place it around his neck.

The clasp clicks softly.

I adjust the pendant so it rests perfectly against his chest.

"There," I murmur. "You look even more beautiful."

Angel looks at , then down at the pendant.

"Young—"

"Shh."

Before he can finish, I lift my hand gently, resting two fingers beneath his chin. I guide his face toward the mirror, my voice lowering to a whisper.

"Look."

He does.

The pendant catches the light. The pink fabric. The golden hair. The oga in the mirror looks unreal—like soone treasured, cherished.

Our eyes et in the reflection.

For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks.

And in that quiet space, sothing unspoken settles between us—soft, fragile, and impossibly real.

Angel and I sit in the car, the quiet stretching between us.

My gaze keeps drifting back to him—unwilling, uncontrollable. He still looks unreal, like sothing too beautiful to be carried out into the ordinary world. The soft fabric, the pendant resting against his chest... it all suits him too well.

He shifts under my stare.

After a mont of hesitation, he finally speaks.

"Young master..."

"Hm?"

His fingers tighten lightly at his clothes. He looks down at the expensive outfit, at the pendant, as if afraid it might disappear.

"Thank you," he says softly. "Thank you so much."

I smile, watching his face.

"Angel... did you forget sothing?"

He flinches, lifting his head quickly. "W-what?"

"Last night," I say gently, "we beca friends."

His eyes widen, confusion flickering through them.

"And now," I continue with a soft smile, "you’re acting like we’re strangers again."

He stares at , clearly unsure how to respond.

I lean back slightly, lowering my voice.

"Relax," I say. "Take a deep breath."

Then, smiling at him warmly, I add,

"And give a bright smile."