Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 84: I Need To Find Someone Else

Moon sits perfectly still in his chair, staring at the bracelet on his wrist as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Silent. No reaction. No words.

Not even a grunt of acknowledgent.

I didn’t expect thanks anyway, but this... this frozen, self-absorbed contemplation is sothing else.

I need to crack this. A soft, deliberate smile touches my lips.

"Moon."

He blinks, the motion slow, like he’s surfacing from deep water, and looks up. His gaze is distant, strangely hazy.

I reach my hand forward, palm open. An invitation. A demand.

"Now, your turn."

He looks down at the bracelet, then back at my waiting hand. The silence stretches. He hesitates. My eyes narrow.

Is he reluctant?

Or is it sothing else?

Finally, with a movent that seems almost reluctant, he offers the bracelet. I look from his hand, holding the delicate loop of beads, to his face. He’s looking away.

His expression is... different. I can’t call it shy. That word doesn’t fit him, doesn’t even belong in his vocabulary. It’s more like... a strange, guarded intensity, as if he’s waiting for a verdict.

Ahhh.....

He’s so difficult to read.

Pushing the frustrating questions aside, I take the bracelet from his loose grip.

Moon finally speaks, his voice lower than before. "It’s... my first ti making sothing like this."

I blink. Understanding dawns, warm and sudden.

Oh. So that’s it. He’s not being difficult; he’s nervous. Exposed. He’s handing not a bought trinket, but sothing he made, and it terrifies him.

A real, amused smile tugs at my lips.

"Weren’t you the one who said it was going to be perfect?"

I tease, my smile widening as his nervous eyes et mine.

"Because the great Moon Arden was making it?"

A flash of sothing—annoyance? pride?—in his blue eyes.

Then, he stands up so suddenly his chair screeches against the floor. He snatches the bracelet back from my grasp.

I flinch, startled, looking up at him.

His voice is low, slow, and deadly serious.

"Yes. And I ant it."

My smile fades completely.

He takes my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He loops the bracelet carefully around it, his fingers surprisingly deft.

"I don’t care if you like it or not," he says, his eyes on his task. "But you are going to wear it."

He finishes fastening it and looks up, his blue eyes capturing mine.

"Because I wasted a lot of my energy to make it."

I blink, caught between annoyance and a strange, begrudging amusent.

His mood swings are going to give a heart attack.

Our eyes lock. For a suspended mont, the shop’s cheerful noise, the staff, the other couples—everything fades into a blur. He’s looking at like he owns .

Like this silly string of beads is a claim check.

I push back, pulling my hand from his grip. I look down at the bracelet now circling my wrist.

He’s right.

It’s beautiful.

Not gaudy or colorful. Just two colors: a cool, shiny silver-white and a deep, clear blue... the exact shade of his eyes. I stare at it, unblinking.

The na, ZYREN, is spelled out in elegant beads. A single, delicate star charm hangs from it.

I turn my wrist slowly, watching the silver gleam. Then my gaze snags on one more bead, a single letter tucked after the star.

M.

I look up at him, my eyebrow raised.

"Why did you add this?"

He looks back, utterly calm, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because I made it. It’s my signature."

He says it like he’s stating a fundantal law of physics.

"So if anyone sees it, they know who made it."

I look from him to the bracelet and back again, disbelief washing over .

This man is utterly, completely in love with himself.

A silent, exasperated laugh bubbles in my chest.

I don’t know why the author made him the male lead in this novel. I don’t think he’s capable of loving anyone else. Just himself.

Without another word, I turn and start walking away.

I can’t help the thought that flashes, sharp and clear: He should just marry himself. Have a beautiful, mirrored ceremony.

I need to find soone else.

Soone better.

For my Angel.

The plan is already crumbling, and the male lead is more interested in branding his initials on than looking at his supposed fated mate.

This is a ss. A beautiful, beaded, self-obsessed ss.

I step out of the shop, and the night’s cold air slaps my face. It’s sharp, clean, biting. It feels like snow will start falling any minute.

Moon follows in silence.

I don’t walk toward his car. Instead, I turn and start walking along the side of the street, my shoes clicking a quiet, hurried rhythm against the pavent.

I have no strength left to bear this prideful Alpha, his moods, his silent scrutiny, his beautiful, infuriating bracelet still cool against my wrist.

I keep walking.

Then, a cold voice cuts through the quiet. "Where are you going?"

I stop. Yes. I expected this.

I turn and look back at him. I already have the answer prepared.

The night air is heavy and chill between us. "It’s already late," I say, my own voice flat.

"I hope you’re not bored anymore. Now, I’m going ho."

His blue gaze pins in the dim light. "I’ll drop you."

I wave a hand, the gesture light and dismissive. "No need. I already called my driver. He’s on his way to pick up."

I et his eyes, steady.

"You should go."

He doesn’t move. He just stares, a shadowy statue under the streetlamp’s yellow glow.

But I don’t wait for an answer I know won’t co. I turn and start walking again.

I’m too tired. For this. For this ssy script, for these characters who won’t follow their own damn story.

All I want is my quiet, borrowed mansion and a long, dreamless sleep.

I keep walking, my steps silent and fast, trying to put tangible distance between us.

After a long while, I finally take a deep breath. The cold air stings my lungs. Clean. Empty.

No trace of amber wood.

It ans... He’s gone.

Good. That’s... good.

I don’t really know where I’m going. My feet carry forward, guided by a numb instinct to just... move. Away.

My mind is a blank, staticky hum.

Then, I hear footsteps from behind . Quick.

Purposeful.

A hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, pulling to an abrupt stop.

I freeze.

I thought he left.

I turn, a sharp, frustrated retort already on my lips.

"Why are you still—?"

The words die in my throat.

The mont my eyes shift to the figure holding , my blood runs colder than the night air.

It’s not Moon.

He’s...

Deniz.....?