Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 138: What If He Leaves?

The car hums beneath me, a soft vibration that usually soothes.

Tonight it does nothing.

I lean back against the leather seat, my eyes heavy, my body aching with the kind of tired that settles into bones and refuses to leave. The chaos of the day is finally settled—the news outlets silenced, the worst of the rumors contained.

But control is a fragile thing.

On paper, everything is under control.

But the internet doesn’t follow paper rules.

I pull out my phone. Just to check. Just to make sure.

The screen glows in the dim car, and I scroll through social media automatically, my thumb moving without thought.

Then I stop.

A post. New. Gaining traction.

*Angel is trying to ruin our superstar Moon’s reputation. I hate it.*

My jaw tightens. I scroll down, reading the comments beneath. Dozens of them. Hundreds. All agreeing, all piling on, all spewing venom about someone they’ve never met, never spoken to, never given a chance.

*He’s using Moon for fame.*

*Rookie nobody trying to climb the ladder.*

*Someone should warn Moon about his type.*

I turn the screen off. Throw the phone onto the seat beside me. It lands with a soft thud that does nothing to release the pressure building in my chest.

A frustrated sigh escapes me, loud in the silence.

God.

I tried. I tried to cover everything, to protect him, to make this go away. But the internet is a hydra—cut off one head and two more grow back.

The rumors keep spreading, keep twisting, keep hurting.

If this continues, how will Angel survive?

His career hasn’t even really started, and already Moon’s fans are sharpening their knives. They’ll destroy him before he has a chance to stand.

I need a solution that doesn’t disappear with a headline.

I turn my head, resting it against the cool glass of the window. The night rushes by outside, dark and blurred.

The snow that’s plagued us for weeks is finally gone, melted into memory. The air looks calm, still, like summer is waiting just around the corner.

A soft smile touches my lips despite everything.

Summer.

I want to take Deniz on a summer vacation. Somewhere warm, somewhere far from all of this. A romantic dinner on the beach, the waves lapping at our feet.

The stars scattered across the sky like diamonds, and him beside me, holding my hand, looking at me like I’m the only person in the world.

The image is so clear I can almost feel the sand between my toes.

Then— my phone vibrates.

BUZZ!!

I flinch, pulled from the dream. My phone glows on the seat, a new message lighting the screen. I reach for it, unlock it.

Deniz: Zyren, are you home yet?

The soft smile returns, wider this time, warmer. My thumbs move before I think.

Me: Not yet.

His reply comes almost instantly.

Deniz: Don’t forget to eat dinner when you get home. Okay?

Me: Ok.

I turn the screen off and slip the phone back into my pocket. The smile lingers, but something else lingers too.

Something darker. Colder.

Whenever I’m with him, time feels too short. The hours slip away like water through my fingers, and no matter how tightly I hold on, I can’t keep them.

And underneath that, a fear.

Quiet. Persistent. Growing.

What if he leaves?

The thought blooms unbidden, and once it’s there, I can’t shake it.

What if one day he says he’s going to buy a cake and never comes back?

My mother’s voice echoes in my memory, soft and warm and full of promises she couldn’t keep. ’Neon, baby, I’m just going to the store to get you a cake. I’ll be back in half an hour. Wait for me.’

I waited. She didn’t come.

What if he says he’s just moving to another city, that he’ll visit every month, that nothing will change?

My father’s voice, distant and casual, like he was discussing the weather. ’Neon, I’m just shifting to another city. It’s not a big deal. I’ll visit you every month.’

He never did.

My fists clench on my lap, the fabric of my pants twisting under my grip.

No.

I won’t let that happen again. I won’t be the boy waiting by the window, watching for a car that never comes.

I won’t be the one left behind, holding promises that were never real.

Not again.

Not with Deniz.

The car glides through the massive gates of the Kael mansion, the familiar ironwork sliding past like the bars of a gilded cage. The moment the vehicle stops, a servant appears at my door, pulling it open with practiced efficiency.

I step out.

The night air wraps around me, cool and clean, carrying the first hints of the changing season—no more snow, just the damp earth smell of winter’s end.

The servants are lined up in their usual row, bowing in perfect synchronization as I pass.

I don’t see them. Don’t register their faces or their murmured greetings. My feet carry me forward on autopilot, my mind already down the hall, already searching.

"Where’s Angel?" The words come out flat, tired.

A maid falls into step behind me, maintaining a respectful two-step distance.

"Young Master, he’s sleeping in his room."

My steps quicken. The marble hallway stretches before me, too wide, too quiet.

"Did he eat dinner? How is he?"

"Yes, Young Master. He ate properly. All of it." Her voice is measured, professional.

"After his meal, I checked his temperature. His fever is completely gone. He seems... calm now."

I nod, a small relief loosening something in my chest.

"Good."

She bows lightly and peels away, disappearing into the shadows of the mansion.

I start up the stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last, weighted with the exhaustion of the day.

The muscles in my legs protest, my eyes burn, and all I want is to collapse into a bed that smells like Deniz. To bury my face in his chest and let the world dissolve.

But Angel needs me.

I’m the one who called him family. I don’t take that back.

The hallway on the second floor is dim, lit only by the soft glow of sconces along the walls. Long shadows stretch across the floor, reaching for me as I walk toward Angel’s room.

Then—

A hand slips around my waist from behind.

Warm. Firm. Familiar.

I flinch— a small jerk of surprise—but my heart doesn’t race. My body doesn’t tense for fight.

Because even before I turn, even before I see, I know.

I know who he is.