Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 26: Something Beautiful... Like Him

I sit in the car, the leather seat cold against my back. Angel sits beside me, rigid—too still. His gaze stays lowered, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, fingers twisted lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Nervous habit. I’ve noticed it before.

My eyes drift to his clothes.

Too thin.

Too worn.

Not meant for the sharp bite of morning air.

A quiet unease settles in my chest.

"Stop at an outfit shop," I tell the driver.

"Yes, Young Master."

Angel doesn’t look up, but his shoulders tense slightly. Confused. Careful. Always careful. I wonder how long he’s lived like that—measuring every breath, every movement.

I pull my phone out, typing quickly.

I’ll be a little late.

Deniz replies almost immediately. It’s okay.

I turn the screen off and slide the phone back into my pocket. Outside, the city moves past us, bright and indifferent. I watch the reflection of Angel’s face in the window glass. He looks like he’s bracing himself—for punishment, maybe. For rejection.

I don’t know how to tell him he doesn’t need to.

The car slows, stopping in front of a boutique that gleams too brightly, too clean—like a world that doesn’t belong to either of us. I turn to him.

"Let’s go."

He finally looks at me, then at the building, uncertainty written plainly across his face. Still, he steps out after me without a word.

Inside, warmth washes over us. Soft lighting. Expensive fabric. The staff bow politely. I feel Angel freeze beside me, his eyes widening—just a little. Like someone who’s stepped into a dream he never thought was allowed to touch.

I glance at him again. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

This is his first time.

...Mine too.

The manager approaches, all practiced smiles and perfect posture.

"Mr. Zyren, welcome. Please, come sit."

I take a seat on the couch. Angel follows automatically, then pauses.

"Sit," I say—not cold, not commanding. Just steady.

He hesitates, then lowers himself beside me, leaving space between us as if afraid of crossing an invisible line.

Coffee is placed on the table. The manager turns to me.

"What would you like, sir?"

I don’t answer immediately. My gaze moves to Angel—his golden hair catching the light, his hands folded too tightly in his lap.

"Something precious," I say at last.

"Something beautiful. Like him."

The manager’s eyes light up as she looks him over.

"An omega with golden hair and golden eyes," she says warmly. "He’s truly beautiful."

Angel stiffens. I feel it beside me—the way his breath catches, the way he shrinks inward, unused to words like that.

"We have new designs," the manager continues. "I believe they’ll suit him perfectly."

I watch Angel carefully, the way his eyes flicker with unease and wonder all at once.

This place isn’t meant for him.

But today—

Today, I decide quietly—

—I won’t let him feel like he doesn’t belong anywhere.

I sit on the couch, waiting.

My gaze drifts to the large mirror across the room. My reflection stares back at me—too calm, too composed. I scan myself slowly, head to toe.

Does this outfit not suit me?

I lift a hand, adjusting my hair with unnecessary care.

The changing room door opens.

Angel steps out.

My breath stills.

For a moment, I forget how to move. How to blink. He stands there hesitantly, as if unsure whether he’s allowed to exist like this. The soft pink fabric clings to him perfectly—like the color was never meant for anyone else.

Pale skin.

Golden hair.

A quiet glow that doesn’t demand attention, yet steals it effortlessly.

I rise to my feet without realizing I’ve moved, my eyes still fixed on him.

Now I understand, I think distantly.

Why novels let leads and villains tear each other apart over an omega like this.

"Sir?" the manager asks gently. "How is it?"

My voice comes slower than my thoughts.

"Angel... you look beautiful."

Angel flinches—just slightly. His eyes lift to me, uncertain, then shift toward the long mirror. He turns.

And freezes.

His reflection stares back at him like a stranger. His eyes widen, breath hitching softly—as if he’s seeing someone he never believed he could be.

I watch him quietly.

Something is missing.

The realization comes softly, instinctively.

The manager smiles as if she already understands. With a subtle gesture, she signals the staff. A tray of jewelry is brought forward—each piece delicate, refined.

"Something precious," she says. "Like him."

My gaze drifts over the pendants, lingering... then settling.

This one.

I take it and walk toward Angel.

He turns at my approach, confusion flickering across his face. I step closer, slow enough not to startle him. His eyes widen a fraction as I lift the chain, my fingers careful as I place it around his neck.

The clasp clicks softly.

I adjust the pendant so it rests perfectly against his chest.

"There," I murmur. "You look even more beautiful."

Angel looks at me, then down at the pendant.

"Young—"

"Shh."

Before he can finish, I lift my hand gently, resting two fingers beneath his chin. I guide his face toward the mirror, my voice lowering to a whisper.

"Look."

He does.

The pendant catches the light. The pink fabric. The golden hair. The omega in the mirror looks unreal—like someone treasured, cherished.

Our eyes meet in the reflection.

For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks.

And in that quiet space, something unspoken settles between us—soft, fragile, and impossibly real.

Angel and I sit in the car, the quiet stretching between us.

My gaze keeps drifting back to him—unwilling, uncontrollable. He still looks unreal, like something too beautiful to be carried out into the ordinary world. The soft fabric, the pendant resting against his chest... it all suits him too well.

He shifts under my stare.

After a moment of hesitation, he finally speaks.

"Young master..."

"Hm?"

His fingers tighten lightly at his clothes. He looks down at the expensive outfit, at the pendant, as if afraid it might disappear.

"Thank you," he says softly. "Thank you so much."

I smile, watching his face.

"Angel... did you forget something?"

He flinches, lifting his head quickly. "W-what?"

"Last night," I say gently, "we became friends."

His eyes widen, confusion flickering through them.

"And now," I continue with a soft smile, "you’re acting like we’re strangers again."

He stares at me, clearly unsure how to respond.

I lean back slightly, lowering my voice.

"Relax," I say. "Take a deep breath."

Then, smiling at him warmly, I add,

"And give me a bright smile."