Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 32: All I Want Is to Comfort You

I knock on the door—once.

No answer.

I knock again, slower this ti, my knuckles brushing old wood.

Still nothing.

Maybe Angel is resting.

Maybe he’s asleep.

But how can I be sure he’s alright? He didn’t even eat anything.

But the thought doesn’t settle my chest.

It’s midnight. The staff apartnts are quiet, the hallway dim and cold. I stand there holding a small cake box in one hand and a paper bag of heat suppressants in the other. The warmth from the cake has already begun to fade.

He didn’t eat.

That thought won’t leave alone.

I knock a third ti.

Silence.

A shiver runs down my spine. I turn slightly, telling myself I should leave—but then—

"...Who’s there...?"

The voice is weak. Trembling. Barely there.

I step back to the door instantly.

"Angel... it’s . Zyren. Are you okay?"

There’s a pause. Too long.

"Y-Young Master..." His voice cracks. "What... are you doing here?"

"I was worried," I say honestly. "You didn’t eat anything."

Another pause. His breathing carries through the door now—uneven, strained.

"I’m... alright," he says, though the lie is thin. "It’s late. Please... go back to the mansion."

I press my palm against the door. The wood is cold.

"Are you really sure?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," he answers quickly. Too quickly. "Please go."

I close my eyes.

I rember the novel.

How cruel Angel’s heat is.

How his body screams for an Alpha—and how he endures it alone, silently, every ti.

No Alpha.

No comfort.

My fingers curl against the door.

"Angel," I say, voice lower now, careful. "I brought suppressants. They’ll help. And... cake. Hot chocolate flavor."

Silence.

"I’ll leave them here," I say quietly.

I place the suppressants and the cake carefully on the floor, right in front of his door, then take a step back.

A mont later, the door opens—just a little.

Angel’s hand reaches out fast, almost desperate, pulling the items inside before the door shuts again.

But even that small opening is enough.

His pheromones spill into the hallway—warm, sweet, heavy.

Strawberry.

My breath stutters. My heart reacts before my mind can stop it. This scent is dangerous. Too dangerous.

I step closer to the door despite myself and rest my hand against it again.

"Angel..."

"...Yes, Young Master."

I lean my forehead against the wood.

"Let’s talk."

Silence stretches. I prepare myself to leave.

"If you don’t want to," I say quietly, "I’ll go."

"No," he answers suddenly. "Let’s... talk."

Relief loosens sothing in my chest.

I slide down the door and sit on the floor, my back against it. The cold seeps through my clothes.

On the other side, I hear movent—then a soft sound, like he’s doing the sa.

"What did you do today?" Angel asks.

I smile faintly, staring at the dark ceiling.

"Today," I say lightly, "I had a lot of fun. I played gas. Rode rides. Did things I never thought I’d do."

"I’m happy," he says softly. "You enjoyed your weekend."

"Next ti," I add, without thinking, "I’ll take you there. You’d like it."

No reply.

"Angel...?"

"...Yes, Young Master," he answers after a pause. His voice sounds different now—muffled. Eating.

I smile to myself.

"Did you like the cake?"

"Yes," he says. "It’s delicious."

I exhale softly, relieved.

"Today I ate hot, spicy dumplings from a stall," I continue. "They were really good."

"But... you don’t like spicy food," he says.

"I know," I laugh quietly. "But today I wanted to try. And they were delicious."

"Outside is cold," he says after a mont. "You should go back before you catch a cold."

"I’m strong," I reply proudly.

A small pause.

"Thank you," Angel says, his voice calr now. "I feel... comfortable."

A genuine smile spreads across my face.

"That’s all I wanted," I say. "To comfort you."

I stand slowly, my legs stiff from the cold.

"Rest well," I say. "We’ll talk again when your heat passes."

I touch the door one last ti.

"Good night, Angel."

"...Good night, Young Master."

I walk away quietly.

I sink into the bed, my body disappearing into the soft mattress. Exhaustion clings to my limbs, heavy and undeniable—but my mind refuses to follow. Sleep doesn’t co. Not yet.

I stare at the ceiling, unmoving.

The shiny ceiling stares back at .

An expensive chandelier hangs above, beautiful, brilliant—its crystals catching the light like scattered stars.

I don’t admire it.

My gaze stays fixed, unfocused, lost sowhere far from the room. The light doesn’t warm . The luxury doesn’t comfort . It’s all just there, glittering, while my thoughts drift endlessly, heavy and unresolved.

I keep staring.

This novel... sothing is wrong.

Angel is the main character.

And yet—where is his Alpha?

Where’s male lead.

I can’t accept this. I can’t watch him endure his rut alone, locked away, swallowing pain in silence. An Oga like him shouldn’t have to bear it like punishnt. He needs an Alpha. A presence. Soone steady enough to anchor him when his body betrays him.

My brows knit together.

If the story won’t give him one... then I will.

I turn onto my side and rub my chin slowly, thinking. Not just any Alpha. No. Angel deserves more than that. He needs the best—an S-class Alpha, powerful yet controlled, soone who fits him perfectly. Soone who won’t overpower him, but protect him. Soone who can stand beside him, not above him.

But how...?

Should I ask Angel directly? Learn his type from his own lips?

Or should I search carefully, build the perfect Alpha around him—soone so precisely matched that Angel could finally live the life an Oga should after finding a partner?

A quiet image forms in my mind.

Angel, no longer trembling.

Angel, no longer alone during his heat.

The thought tightens sothing in my chest.

I bite my lower lip, sinking deeper into thought, chasing possibilities until they blur together. Eventually, the tension loosens. My eyelids grow heavy.

Sleep creeps in gently.

And just before I drift off, one thought lingers—clear and unwavering.

I’ll fix this.