Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 74: Are You Sure You’re An Alpha..?

The night is a dark, heavy blanket outside the floor-to-ceiling glass. I stand before it, the city’s lights a distant, glittering mockery of the peace I don’t have. I’d planned to go to the hospital tonight. To see Deniz. To face him, to see his father, to try and nd the broken silence between us.

But Angel’s shattered expression, his silent tears... they stole that chance. The guilt is a cold, sharp rock in my gut.

I glance at my phone on the desk. Almost midnight. I should just go back. Back to the mansion that feels less like a ho and more like a beautifully decorated cage.

I turn, walk to the coat stand. I slip into my coat, the fine wool settling on my shoulders. I fasten the cufflinks, the small, precise movents a ritual of normalcy.

Then—, my phone rings, vibrating against the dark wood.

I look at the screen: Unknown Number.

I answer. "Hello?"

"Zyren." It’s Angel’s voice, soft but clear, a lifeline in the quiet.

A flicker of warmth, imdiate and sweet, cuts through the chill inside .

"Angel? You’re still awake?"

"I’m waiting for you," he says, simple and direct. "Why haven’t you co? It’s almost midnight."

I start walking toward the office door, a soft, genuine smile touching my lips for the first ti in hours.

"Why are you waiting up for ? You should be asleep. You must be exhausted."

"No, I’m not," he insists, his voice holding a quiet urgency. "Just... co ho."

My smile deepens, feels real.

"Okay. I’m coming."

My hand reaches for the door handle.

It swings open before I can touch it.

I look up, surprise turning to shock.

Moon Arden fills the doorway, backlit by the hallway’s muted glow. A playful, utterly self-assured smile is etched on his handso face.

My eyes widen.

What... what is he doing here?

At this hour?

I’m frozen, the phone still pressed to my ear.

Angel’s voice cos again, tinged with worry.

"Zyren...? Why are you silent?"

I can’t speak. My gaze is locked on Moon’s intrusive, knowing presence.

He takes a calm, deliberate step into my office. Into my space.

Before I can form a word or move, his hand darts out. He plucks the phone from my grip with infuriating, effortless grace.

"Hey—! What are you—?" The protest is choked, startled.

His other hand cos up, pressing firmly against my mouth, silencing completely. My eyes blow wide with a mix of shock and rising fury.

What the absolute hell?!

Moon’s smile doesn’t even twitch. He brings my phone to his own ear. "Hello, Angel. I’m Moon Arden." His tone is light, almost conversational.

"Your precious Zyren is... a little busy with right now."

I shove his hand away from my mouth.

"What the hell—!" I lunge for the phone.

He steps back smoothly, perfectly mirroring my own evasion from him in the garden tent. A deliberate, mocking payback.

"So, call later," he says into the receiver, his voice breezy, and before Angel can possibly utter a word in response, he ends the call.

He holds the phone out to , that infuriating, placid smile still in place.

I snatch it back, my anger a hot, live wire sparking under my skin.

"What the hell are you trying to do?"

He just smiles, a teasing, predatory glint in his sky-blue eyes, and takes another step toward . I instinctively retreat.

"I just told your precious Oga to wait," he purrs, still advancing, forcing back. "Why are you so angry?"

"What are you doing here so late?" I demand, my voice tight as I take another step backward, putting more distance between us.

He doesn’t stop. He’s a slow, relentless tide, and I’m the shore being swallowed. Step by step, he closes in. The air grows thick, charged.

His scent—warm, expensive amber wood—begins to perate the space. It’s not an aggressive Alpha’s assault; it’s subtler, more insidious. Potent. Effective. It coils around , making my nerves jangle, my skin prickle with a dangerous, unwelco awareness.

God, Neon, what fresh hell have you walked into now?

His smile is a blade’s edge. "Zyren," he murmurs, his voice dropping to an intimate, deceptive softness that echoes in the silent room.

"I’m here to continue what we left last ti."

I blink, utterly lost, my back eting the cold, unyielding surface of the glass wall. Trapped.

"What are you talking about?"

He takes the final step, erasing the last few inches. His body is a solid, warm wall an inch from mine. His gaze drops, lingering pointedly on my lips.

"Last ti," he whispers, his breath a warm ghost against my skin, "we left off... right about here."

He leans in.

My eyes widen in pure, unadulterated shock.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

With a surge of panicked adrenaline, I shove him back with all my strength. He stumbles, catching his balance, but that damnable, triumphant smile only widens.

My heart is a frantic, terrified drum against my ribs. My face is burning. My temple is damp with cold sweat, a stark contrast to the winter night sealed behind the glass at my back.

Moon Arden stares at for a long, silent mont, his blue eyes dancing with sothing I can’t na.

Then—

He laughs.

It’s not a chuckle. It’s a full-bodied, hard laugh that shakes his shoulders and echoes in the too-quiet office.

He throws his head back, holding his stomach as if I’m the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

I stare, my earlier anger solidifying into a cold, hard rage.

When I read this novel, I loved this male lead. I rooted for him. Now? I want to punch that perfect, smug smile right off his face.

He finally catches his breath, wiping a mock tear from his eye. "Zyren," he gasps, his voice still laced with amusent, "are you sure you’re an Alpha?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snap, my fists clenching at my sides.

He grins, a sharp, teasing thing. "You reacted to my seductive pheromones like a startled Oga." Another burst of laughter shakes him.

"Seriously... ha! Look at your face! So red. So shy."

Seductive pheromones...?

The words land, and my brain stutters.

It wasn’t an attack. It wasn’t a dominance challenge. It was... a co-on. A flirtation. A sensual, chemical suggestion ant to allure, not overpower.

My hand flies to my own cheek. It’s still burning. I look away, mortification a hot tide washing over the anger.

So my body’s frantic reaction—the racing heart, the sweat, the flush—wasn’t a defensive panic. It was... a response.

But that makes no sense. I’m an Alpha. Even if I’m a D-Class, a low-ranking one in this world’s brutal hierarchy, I’m still biologically an Alpha.

An Alpha’s physiology should resist or ignore another Alpha’s seductive signals. At most, it should register as a mild, annoying stimulus. Not this... this overwhelming, nervous system hijacking.

How is that possible?