Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 114: A Little Late-Blooming Omega?

Hhmm...

I shift, nuzzling deeper into the warm, solid pillow beneath my cheek. A steady, rhythmic dum-dum-dum-dum fills my ear, a lullaby in four-four time.

My eyes flutter open. Morning light, soft and gold, spills across my face. A sigh of pure contentment escapes me, and a smile touches my lips before I’m even fully awake.

I feel... incredible.

Rested. Wrapped in a cocoon of deep, perfect comfort.

I blink, the world coming into focus.

And find myself staring into a pair of blue eyes.

Moon’s face is inches from mine, lit by the dawn sun filtering through the blinds. The light gilds his sharp features, softening them, making him look almost... charming.

My head is pillowed on his chest. One of his arms is curled around my waist, holding me with a careful, unmistakable possessiveness

A slow, knowing smile curves his lips.

"Good morning, bunny."

My own smile freezes, then vanishes. My eyes go wide.

His smile widens, a flash of white. "You look so happy."

Panic and embarrassment flare.

I try to bolt upright, to put distance between this intimacy and my waking mind. His hand on my waist presses down, a gentle but immovable force, pushing me back against him.

My face collides with his chest again.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he murmurs, amusement thick in his voice.

"Let me go!"

I snap, the words muffled against his hospital gown, edged with more flustered pride than real anger.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into my cheek. "You clung to me all night like a devoted lover. And now you’re angry? That’s not fair."

"I didn’t do anything! You’re the one who—" I cut myself off. The memories of last night wash back in a warm, hazy wave.

The golden scent.The golden fog.

The irresistible, heavy comfort.

The surrender.

My voice drops to a confused whisper. "How is that possible?"

Moon blinks, all feigned innocence. "What’s possible?"

"Don’t play dumb! Last night, you used your soothing pheromones on me."

He nods, utterly unashamed.

"Yes. I did."

"How?" The question is urgent, laced with a thread of panic.

"I’m an Alpha. How can your pheromones affect me like that?"

He looks away, his expression shifting into one of mock-serious contemplation. Then he looks back, his eyes glinting. He gives my waist a small, teasing squeeze.

"Because you’re a weak Alpha," he declares.

Then he laughs, bright and teasing, the sound rolling through the room like it owns the space.

I stare at him, a death glare that could curdle milk.

He just keeps laughing.

"Don’t tell me," he gasps between chuckles, "you’re turning into an Omega! Is that it, bunny? A little late-blooming omega?"

Heat floods my face—a vicious cocktail of anger and burning humiliation.

Weak?

Am I really that weak?

No. It can’t be. It’s not like that!

"Shut up," I snap, the words cold and brittle.

He reaches out and pinches my flaming cheek. "Okay, okay," he soothes, not sounding sorry at all.

"Now, be still. I’m a patient. I need more rest." He closes his eyes dramatically, snuggling me closer.

My eyes widen.

This dramatically troublesome Alpha!

What do I even do with him?!

Before I can formulate a counter-attack, a sound shatters the standoff.

Brrrring-brrrring!

My phone, on the bedside table, screams to life. The noise is shockingly loud in the sterile room.

Deniz. Or Angel.

My heart leaps.

I need to answer it.

I make a frantic grab for it, but Moon’s hand is a blur. He snatches the phone before my fingers can brush it, glances at the screen, and taps the power button.

The ringing dies abruptly.

"Hey!" I shout, true anger rising now.

"Moon! Have you lost your mind?!"

He tosses the silenced phone onto the far side of the bed. "Yes," he says flatly, his playful mask gone, replaced by something darker, more intent.

"I have."

"Let. Me. Go."

I put every ounce of command I possess into the words, the voice of Zyren Kael, CEO.

"Fine," I snarl. "You want a fight?"

I stop trying to be gentle. I shove against him with all my strength, using the leverage of the bed to twist and buck.

"Zyren, don’t—" Moon’s voice cuts through, low but urgent.

For a second, I think I have him. Then his body moves, a fluid counter-motion of pure, trained power. He doesn’t just hold me down; he reverses our positions.

In one swift, decisive move, he pins me.

My back hits the mattress with a soft thud, the breath rushing from my lungs. His hands capture my wrists, pinning them above my head.

His knees bracket my hips, his weight settling over me, not crushing, but utterly inescapable. He hovers there, a cage of heat and muscle and intent.

All the air leaves the room.

My eyes are wide, my heart hammering a wild, frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Moon looks down at me, his blue eyes no longer laughing. They are focused, intense, holding mine captive. The morning light haloes his head, but his expression is unreadable.

In that suspended moment, as our breaths mix and our gazes lock, the hospital room, the phone call, the outside world—it all dissolves into a blur of meaningless color and sound.

There is only this.

The weight of him.

The shock of my own capture. And the terrifying, electric silence between us.

Moon and I stay like that. Frozen.

Neither of us breathes.

Neither of us moves.

Then, the door swings open.

"Mr. Moon, good morning, I just need to check your vitals and—"

The nurse steps in, cheerful voice trailing off as her eyes land on the bed.

On us.

On him, hovering above me. On me, pinned beneath him, wrists captured, faces inches apart.

Her words die. Her eyes widen to saucers. The file in her hands droops.

Moon moves. Not fast, not panicked—just a smooth, deliberate retreat. He releases my wrists, pushes himself up, shifts back to his side of the bed as if the last thirty seconds never happened.

His face is composed, a mask of calm indifference.

I scramble upright, my face a furnace, my heart a wild, thrashing thing against my ribs. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at him.

I stare at the rumpled sheets between us, trying to remember how to breathe.

The nurse snaps her file back up, hiding her flaming cheeks behind the cardboard.

"I—I’m so sorry, I should—I’ll come back later—"

"Wait—"

I start, but she’s already retreating, her steps hurried, the door closing with a soft, final click.

I drop my head into my hands and drag my fingers through my hair, pressing my palms against my burning temples.

God.

I glance at Moon from the corner of my eye. He’s sitting perfectly still, staring at the door.

His face is... different. The usual smugness, the teasing arrogance—it’s all gone.

Replaced by something I can’t read.

Something quiet, almost fragile.

My hand drifts to my chest, pressing against the spot where my heart is still hammering a frantic, traitorous rhythm.

Why?

Why does it always race like this when he’s close?

Why does my body refuse to stay calm, to listen to reason?

It’s not fear. It’s not anger.

It’s something else. Something I don’t want to name.

God, Neon. What is wrong with you?