Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 8: Get A Grip Neon

I sit on the couch, restless, my gaze glued to the cake set neatly on the table in front of . The rich scent of dark chocolate fills the air, sweet and tempting. My mouth waters shalessly. I want to eat it already—no, I need to.

The door finally opens.

My eyes lift instantly, abandoning the cake without regret.

Angel steps inside.

He’s freshly bathed, dressed in warm, clean clothes just as I ordered. His hair is still slightly damp, strands clinging softly to his forehead. He walks slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid one wrong step might shatter this fragile calm.

I smile without thinking.

"Co," I say gently, a childlike excitent slipping into my voice. "Sit. The cake’s going to lt."

He hesitates, then nods.

Angel sits beside —but not too close. There’s space between us, cautious and deliberate. His pheromones drift faintly in the air, sweet like strawberries, light and comforting.

So this is it...

Now I understand why every male lead in this novel goes mad for him. Why Zyren—the villain—lost his mind trying to cage sothing so warm, so gentle.

I glance at him.

He notices and quickly lowers his eyes, fingers curling together in his lap.

"Let’s eat," I say again, smiling.

He nods and carefully cuts the cake, precise and neat as always. He serves first, placing the plate in front of with both hands.

I take it, eyes shining like a kid who’s been given a treasure.

"Thank you."

He nods once more and serves himself.

The first bite lts on my tongue.

I close my eyes, unable to stop myself. "God... it’s delicious," I whisper. "So chocolatey. So soft."

When I open my eyes, Angel is staring at .

He looks confused—no, stunned. Like he’s seeing sothing that doesn’t belong.

I smile at him. "Why aren’t you eating?"

He quickly looks down, nods, and takes a bite.

Deniz was right. Every flavor really does have its own taste.

After a mont, Angel glances at again. This ti, he gathers enough courage to speak.

"Young master... thank you for the cake."

I et his eyes, my smile softening. "You don’t need to thank . We’ve known each other since we were little. You always took care of ." I pause. "It’s my turn now."

His gaze drops instantly. "That was my duty, young master."

I reach for a napkin, then pause—before slowly leaning closer. He flinches, eyes widening, but doesn’t move away.

Gently, I wipe the moisture from his temple.

"Your hair’s still wet," I murmur. "What if you catch a cold?"

His breath stutters.

I pull back quickly, pretending nothing happened. "Forget it. Let’s just eat in peace."

He stares at , clearly lost.

I look down at my plate, taking another bite. Honestly... it’s kind of fun, making everyone this shocked.

Then Angel speaks again, carefully.

"Young master... you didn’t like sweets before."

I blink at him.

He’s right. Zyren hated sweets.

I smile innocently. "I guess my taste changed." I shrug lightly. "They’re actually really delicious."

He studies quietly, trying to understand.

I take another big spoonful, cheeks full, deliberately looking away—eating like a child who’s finally allowed to enjoy sothing he was never given before.

And for the first ti, the room doesn’t feel cold at all.

Angel eats quietly, movents careful and neat. I finish my slice much faster than he does and set my plate aside, fingers resting against the edge of the table. My eyes drift back to him without permission.

Does he really like it?

I watch his expression, searching his face like it holds an answer I’m afraid to ask. Finally, I speak.

"Angel... did you like it?"

He looks up, startled, then nods. "Yes. It’s really delicious."

Relief settles in my chest—small, warm.

Then his gaze shifts. His eyes linger on my mouth.

"Young master," he says softly, hesitant. "There’s... cake on your lips."

I blink, then lick my lips quickly, careless like a child. "Now?"

He shakes his head. "No. It’s still there."

I grab a napkin and gently wipe where he points. "How about now?"

His brows knit together. "Still..."

Before I can react, he sets his plate aside. He takes the napkin from my hand and leans closer.

Too close.

He wipes my lips—slow, careful—then my cheek, as if afraid of hurting . I freeze, breath caught in my throat.

His strawberry-sweet pheromones drift closer, soft and warm, wrapping around like a quiet spell. My chest tightens.

For a split second, a dangerous thought flashes through my mind—

I want to pull him closer.

I want to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in.

I want to sleep in this scent.

He straightens instantly.

I turn my face away sharply, scolding myself in silence.

Neon, what the hell are you thinking?

This isn’t you. This is Zyren. The villain.

This is exactly how the villain thinks.

Get a grip.

Only now do I truly understand it—the danger of a rare oga’s pheromones. They don’t need to be overwhelming to be effective. They seep in quietly, sinking under the skin, clouding the mind before you even realize what’s happening.

I swallow hard.

I’m an alpha.

Even a D-class alpha is still an alpha.

And that ans this reaction—this brief, frightening loss of control—has a reason.

His pheromones are affecting .

The realization sends a chill through my spine.

I pinch my thigh beneath the table, grounding myself. Control. Breathe.

I look back at him, forcing my tone to stay normal. "Did you eat dinner?"

He nods. "Yes, young master. I ate."

"That’s good," I say, smiling faintly. "Don’t skip als."

Then he hesitates—and looks at again.

"And... did you eat?"

I blink.

He’s asking about .

Sothing loosens in my chest. Maybe—just maybe—this is the beginning of trust.

"Yes," I reply gently. "I had a business dinner."

He nods, satisfied.

I lean back against the couch and close my eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to . "I’m really tired," I murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. "Running a business is more exhausting than I thought."

My eyes stay closed, but I can feel his gaze on —quiet, uncertain, trying to understand this version of Zyren Kael.