Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most

Chapter 225: I Wish I Could Go Back....

I sit in the backseat of the car, the leather cool beneath my fingers, the weight of the night pressing against the windows. Outside, the world rushes past in streaks of gold and silver—streetlights blurring into ribbons, their glow bleeding into the darkness like watercolor on wet paper.

The city is alive out there, pulsing with neon and headlights and the distant hum of lives I’ll never know.

But inside this car, there is only silence.

I am moving, but I feel still. Suspended somewhere between exhaustion and the hollow ache that has taken permanent residence behind my ribs.

My tie hangs loose, the knot slipping toward my chest. The top button of my shirt is undone, exposing the pale hollow of my throat.

I’m tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep can fix—the kind that settles into your bones, into the marrow, into the spaces between your thoughts.

I glance at my wrist. The watch face glows softly in the dark. Midnight.

I was so deep in work, buried beneath spreadsheets, reports, and endless stacks of paper, that I didn’t notice the hours slipping away.

I didn’t notice the sun setting, the sky darkening, the world beyond my office glass wall fading slowly into night. The clock ticked past evening, past dusk, past the hour when normal people return home to normal lives.

But I don’t have a normal life anymore.

I don’t even have a home to return to. Just a mansion filled with empty rooms and a bed that still smells like someone who isn’t coming back.

I close my eyes and let my head rest against the seat.

Work.

Just work.

It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. The perfect escape. The only thing that doesn’t ask questions. When I’m working, my mind finally goes quiet.

The noise stops. The memories stop replaying on a loop.

Deniz’s cold voice: I was never interested in you.

Bryan’s smirk: I didn’t know he was that good in bed.

The sound of the door closing—soft and final. The feeling of his fingers sliding the ring from mine.

All of it fades into the background when I’m buried beneath contracts, signatures, and the cold, mechanical logic of business.

My phone buzzes—a low, insistent sound in the silence of the car.

I open my eyes and glance at the screen from the corner of my gaze. Moon’s name lights up the display, glowing blue in the dark. He’s been messaging me all day. All day, and I still haven’t answered.

I don’t know what to say to him anymore.

I don’t even know what I am anymore.

I don’t know how to explain that I’m not the person he thinks I am. That the Zyren he loves—the one he came back for, the one he slipped that ring onto while I was unconscious—might not exist anymore.

Sometimes, I think there might be nothing left inside me at all.

I don’t know why I’m still living. I don’t know what my purpose is anymore. I don’t know what any of this is for.

I wish I could go back.

Back to my old life.

To Neon’s life.

A small apartment with thin walls and a leaking faucet. Ramen noodles for dinner and borrowed books from my friend Alina.

A life where the only worries were food and rent and part-time jobs and studying for exams. A life where I didn’t have time to think about stupid things like love. Where my parents’ abandonment and my first crush’s indifference didn’t matter because I was too busy surviving to care.

Survival.

That’s all it was. All it ever was.

Eat. Sleep. Work. Study. Repeat.

There was no room for heartbreak when you were too hungry to feel anything else.

The car slows.

The gates of the Kael mansion open, tall and golden, and the headlights sweep across the manicured gardens before the car rolls through.

I slip my phone into my pocket and step out as the servant opens the door for me.

The night air is cool against my face, carrying the scent of jasmine and something else—something faintly sweet, like the memory of summer.

"Where is Mr. Moon?" I ask without looking at her.

"Young Master," she says softly, "Mr. Moon is in your room."

I don’t reply.

I walk inside, my shoes clicking softly against the polished marble. The chandeliers overhead cast warm light across the grand foyer, but I don’t feel any of its warmth.

I feel cold. Hollow. Like a body that forgot it was supposed to be alive.

If I go to another room and lock the door, he won’t find me. I can rest. Just for a few hours. Just until morning.

My pace quickens. The servant hurries after me, struggling to keep up.

"Young Master—"

I glance back at her. "If he asks where I am, don’t tell him I’m back."

She nods, her eyes widening slightly with uncertainty.

I turn—

And a hand slides around my waist. A sudden pull sends my body against a familiar chest. A soft gasp slips from my lips before I can stop it.

The servant blinks in surprise, her mouth parting slightly before a small smile quickly appears on her face. She lowers her head and quietly walks away, her footsteps fading into the silence of the hallway.

I turn my head.

Moon.

Of course it’s him.

Who else would touch me like this? Hold me like this? Refuse to let me disappear?

His voice is low, roughened by something I can’t quite name.

"Where are you going?"

A pause.

"To hide?"

My brows twist instinctively, anger becoming the only thing I can still hold onto.

"Leave me."

His grip tightens. His hair falls messily across his forehead, dark waves shadowing his heavy eyes. There’s no teasing smile on his lips tonight. No amusement. No playful arrogance. Just a serious expression I don’t know how to read.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me onto his shoulder. My eyes widen.

"Moon! What are you doing?"

He doesn’t answer. He just starts walking. My hands fumble uselessly against his back, pushing at him in frustration.

"Put me down!"

His voice is low and controlled, each word measured carefully. "You kept me away from the office. You ignored my calls. My messages." A pause. "All day."

Another step up the stairs. "Like I don’t exist."

"I was busy!"

My voice rises, echoing sharply through the empty hallway. "After so many days away from the office, I had to catch up on work—"

His voice hardens instantly, cutting straight through my excuse. "Zyren." A pause. "Don’t lie to me."

Silence stretches between us for a second. Then quietly: "I’m angry."

He climbs the stairs, each step deliberate and unstoppable. Expensive portraits watching silently from the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow us as we ascend.

"Moon—"

He doesn’t stop.

"You really thought you could hide from me?"

A pause.

His grip tightens slightly against my legs.

"Looks like someone needs reminding."

I freeze.

Reminding?

And suddenly, dealing with this impossible Alpha feels far more dangerous than I expected.