Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 76: The Unexpected Question

I walk through the mansion’s grand halls, my footsteps the only sound in a world of dim lights and deep silence. It’s late. So late. But Moon Arden’s words are a relentless echo in the cavern of my mind.

Selfish.

The Zyren I know wasn’t good to his friends.

You’ve been that way since we were kids.

What did he an?

What specific wound am I wearing like a borrowed coat?

I climb the stairs slowly, lost in the broken puzzle of Zyren and Moon’s hidden past.

They were both Alphas, so it couldn’t have been that kind of love story... right? My steps slow. I grip the cold railing.

What if it was?

I shake my head violently, silver hair falling into my eyes. No. Impossible.

They’re both Alphas. Just a difference in class—S-Class and D-Class. A chasm of power and status, but not... not that.

Should I just ask Moon directly?

Hey, why are you so bitterly disappointed in the ghost of ?

Or is that poking a hornet’s nest?

Maybe I should stay far away. I’ve already ssed with the book’s script enough. Angel and Moon didn’t even glance at each other. Their fated first eting is ruined.

Maybe I can fix it. Invite Moon to the mansion. Tell Angel to mop the floor in that specific, tragic-beautiful way. Force the novel’s scene to play out.

But the thought feels cheap. Manipulative. And after tonight, exhausting.

Ahh, Neon.....

I just— wanted to protect Angel. I didn’t an to break the whole story.

If Moon doesn’t want Angel, and Angel shows no interest in Moon... then maybe that’s for the best.

I’ll find soone better for Angel. A better Alpha. One who isn’t a spoiled, arrogant playboy who flirts with everyone except the person written for him.

Reading about it was one thing. Seeing it with my own eyes? It’s... infuriating. And deeply disappointing.

A long, weary sigh escapes , carrying the weight of everything.

I’m so tired....

And beneath the fatigue, my heart throbs with a dull, persistent ache. Deniz. One word.

Forget it.

A rejection that carved a hollow space behind my ribs.

I place my palms over my eyes, pressing hard until I see stars. I want to go back.

Back to my world, where the only drama was in the pages of a book, not bleeding out in my own chest.

Head down, shoulders carrying an invisible weight, I walk the final stretch to my room.

And bump into sothing.

Not hard. Soft. Warm.

I look up.

Angel is standing there, right outside my door. His golden eyes are wide in the dim light, filled with a quiet concern that makes my throat tighten.

"Angel," I whisper, the sound too loud in the silent hall.

"What are you doing here?"

Before I can process his presence, before I can step back, his arms co around .

He pulls into a tight, sudden hug. It’s not hesitant or shy. It’s firm. Warm. An anchor in the swirling dark.

I stiffen for a second, shocked.

Then, the thought cos, simple and clear: I don’t need to know why.

I don’t question it. I just... let go. My arms wrap around him, holding on just as tightly.

My face finds the curve of his shoulder, and I bury it there, breathing in the clean, calming scent of him—strawberries and simple warmth.

He pats my back slowly, a gentle, rhythmic comfort. "Zyren," he murmurs, his voice a soft vibration against .

"Are you okay?"

I don’t lie. I can’t. The truth is too heavy to hold up any longer.

"Angel," I confess, the words muffled and raw against his shirt, "I’m tired. So tired. I just want... to rest for a long, long ti."

His hand never stops its soothing motion.

"Then let’s go inside," he says softly, as if it’s the most natural conclusion in the world. "And rest."

I don’t argue. I just nod, my face pressed deeper into the haven of his shoulder, and whisper the only word left in .

"Okay."

I sink into the bed, the world dissolving into softness—the downy pillow, the silken sheets, the gentle weight of exhaustion.

My eyes are closed, but I’m anchored by a single, steady point of contact: the slow, rhythmic pat of Angel’s hand on my head. It’s a trono for my frayed nerves.

I slowly open my eyes, tilting my head back to look up at him.

He’s a silhouette in the low lamplight, all gentle curves and patient shadows.

"Angel," I murmur, my voice thick with drowsiness.

He looks down, his golden eyes catching the light.

"Hmm?"

"You must be tired," I say.

"After such a long day... at the photoshoot."

His gaze holds mine, unwavering. "No, I’m not." His voice is a soft, sure whisper.

"Just relax. I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep."

A soft, grateful smile touches my lips.

"Thank you."

He smiles back, a small, tender thing.

"Get so rest."

I start to let my eyes drift shut again, giving in to the pull of the softness and his comforting presence.

"Zyren..." His voice stops .

My eyes snap open. I look at him, blinking away the haze of almost-sleep.

"Hmm?"

He’s looking at , but his gaze has shifted. It’s no longer just soft; it’s hesitant, clouded with sothing unreadable.

He looks down, his fingers stilling for a mont in my hair.

"Can I... ask you sothing?" His voice is barely a whisper.

I nod, the movent small and childlike against the pillow.

He finally lifts his gaze to et mine, and the expression in his eyes makes my breath catch. The question seems to weigh on him, heavy and difficult.

He takes a slow breath.

A hesitant fear, as if the question itself is dangerous.

"Did you..." he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, "did you and Mr. Moon... know each other before today?"

The question hangs in the quiet, lamplit air.

I look at him, my mind suddenly, sharply clear. The drowsiness evaporates.

I stay silent, not because I don’t know the answer, but because the question itself is a surprise.

Why is he asking this?