Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 44: Is My Pillow Softer... Or Is Your Chest?

I sit in the office, a sea of files spreading across the polished mahogany like white-capped waves. I am drowning in work, but it feels like swimming in familiar waters.

I always hated the original Zyren Kael—the ruthless, ice-blooded villain of this story. But one thing is undeniable: the man was a machine. He built this drowning empire from scraps and willpower. It’s... impressive, in a terrifying way.

A knock sounds at the office door. I don’t look up.

"Come in."

The door opens with a soft click. Footsteps—light and calm—approach. Deniz walks to my desk and sets a cup of coffee before me with perfect, neat precision.

"Sir, your coffee."

I smile and look up at him, a brightness the old Zyren never possesses.

"Thank you."

He nods, adjusting his glasses. His gaze shifts to the chaos of files in front of me. He hesitates—a micro-expression I have learned to catch.

"Sir, these are... old records."

I glance down at the faded financial reports from three years ago.

"Yes. I just want to know something."

He accepts this without further question. A good assistant. The best.

"Sit," I say.

He nods and sits in the chair across from me, posture impeccably straight. I pick up the coffee cup and take a slow sip. The rich, perfectly balanced flavor blooms on my tongue. A genuine smile touches my lips.

"It’s so good."

"Sir..." Deniz begins, his voice careful.

I look at him over the rim of the cup.

"Hmm?"

He adjusts his glasses again, a small nervous tic.

"Sir, I try my best to arrange a dinner with Mr. Moon Arden, as you request. But... he declines. He says he has no desire to meet with you."

My smile fades by a degree. I set the cup back on its saucer with a soft clink and lean back in my executive chair. The leather sighs beneath me.

"Is that so?"

Deniz nods.

"Yes, sir."

I look away, toward the floor-to-ceiling window and the steel-and-glass cityscape beyond it.

Ah, Zyren. You love making enemies so much you never bother making a single friend. Not one ally. What a lonely, weirdo guy you are.

"Sir?" Deniz’s voice pulls me from the thoughts of the ghost who shares my name.

I turn my gaze back to him, sharp and present.

"Deniz. When does Moon Arden arrive here from K-country?"

Deniz picks up his tablet instantly, eyes dropping to the screen with professional focus.

"Sir, according to public itineraries and industry posts, Sir, Mr. Moon comes here last month for a luxury brand photoshoot. His schedule indicates he will return to K-country next week, following the campaign’s completion."

I steeple my fingers and rest my chin on them.

The male lead. The shining star of this whole damn novel. And he acts like a side character, dodging Zyren Kael’s invitation.

A slow, strategic smile curves my lips—the old Zyren’s instincts, fused with my new perspective.

I straighten, the decision crystallizing.

"Deniz, find out the exact location of his next photoshoot. The specific address, the time—everything."

Deniz looks up from his tablet, confusion flickering behind his lenses.

"Sir? Would you like me to attempt another appointment request at the location?"

I shake my head, my smile turning razor-edged.

"No. Taking an appointment is the polite idea. It seems Mr. Moon prefers... a more direct approach."

I pause.

"I think I’ll meet him myself."

Deniz watches me for a beat longer, processing the unspoken implication—the shift from corporate negotiation to something closer to a hunt. Then he nods, his professional mask snapping firmly back into place.

"Understood, sir."

He begins typing rapidly on his tablet, the soft taps the only sound left in a room.

My elbows are resting on the polished desk, my face cradled in my hands. I stare at Deniz, completely unabashed, not blinking. He’s engrossed in typing on his tablet, the focused line of his brow utterly adorable. A slow, proprietary smile curves my lips.

He must feel the weight of my gaze. He glances up—and flinches, surprised by my unwavering, shameless stare. He adjusts his glasses, a nervous flutter. "Sir? What... what is it?"

I don’t look away. My smile softens into something sweeter, more intimate. "I’m thinking about something very important," I murmur.

He blinks, confused. "Are you thinking about Mr. Moon Arden?"

I blink slowly, then shake my head, a lazy, deliberate motion. No. Something infinitely more important.

"Then, sir... what are you thinking about?" He’s completely serious, genuinely curious now.

I lean forward, closing the space between us across the desk. My voice drops, a conspiratorial thread meant only for him. "It’s difficult for me... deciding."

He leans in slightly, drawn in by my lowered tone, his expression one of complete, professional concern. "Deciding what, sir?"

I let the silence hang for a beat, then whisper it, just loud enough for him to catch, like I’m sharing the most precious of secrets: "I’m thinking... is my pillow softer, or is your chest?"

Deniz’s eyes blow wide. A brilliant, scorching flush erupts across his cheeks and down his neck. Mission accomplished.

I lean back, injecting pure, guileless innocence into my expression. "It’s really a very hard decision for me."

Deniz straightens as if electrocuted. He looks down, a mess of nervous shyness, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "Sir... we’re in the office."

"I know," I sigh, the picture of a man plagued by a single, persistent thought. "The comparison just won’t leave my mind."

He looks away, but the tips of his ears are burning. I continue to smile, drinking in the delightful view, already crafting my next teasing line—

The office door swings open without a knock.

My smile vanishes, wiped clean in an instant. Deniz turns. His eyes widen a fraction, his entire posture shifting. The warm, flustered man is gone, replaced in a heartbeat by the impeccable professional. He stands up swiftly, spine rigid.

I don’t need to look to know who it is. The atmosphere in the room has turned to frozen nitrogen.

I let my gaze slide coolly to the door. Zyke stands there, a study in contained menace. His dangerous eyes are already pinned on me, ignoring Deniz completely. He walks in, each step calm and deliberate, a predator entering marked territory.

I glance at Deniz.

"You can go."

Deniz’s eyes snap to me, filled with silent, urgent worry. I give him a single, barely perceptible blink. It’s fine. Go.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then gives a slow, tight nod. He walks towards the door, passing Zyke without a glance, and slips out. The door closes behind him with a soft, final click.

The silence left in his wake is absolute and heavy.

I let my body relax back into the chair, a new, different smile—thin and edged with challenge—touching my lips as I meet my brother’s cold stare.

As if nothing in the world is wrong.

"Well," I say smoothly, "what a surprise... big brother."