Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 84: I Need To Find Someone Else...

Moon sits perfectly still in his chair, staring at the bracelet on his wrist as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Silent. No reaction. No words.

Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.

I didn’t expect thanks anyway, but this... this frozen, self-absorbed contemplation is something else.

I need to crack this. A soft, deliberate smile touches my lips.

"Moon."

He blinks, the motion slow, like he’s surfacing from deep water, and looks up. His gaze is distant, strangely hazy.

I reach my hand forward, palm open. An invitation. A demand.

"Now, your turn."

He looks down at the bracelet, then back at my waiting hand. The silence stretches. He hesitates. My eyes narrow.

Is he reluctant?

Or is it something else?

Finally, with a movement that seems almost reluctant, he offers me the bracelet. I look from his hand, holding the delicate loop of beads, to his face. He’s looking away.

His expression is... different. I can’t call it shy. That word doesn’t fit him, doesn’t even belong in his vocabulary. It’s more like... a strange, guarded intensity, as if he’s waiting for a verdict.

Ahhh.....

He’s so difficult to read.

Pushing the frustrating questions aside, I take the bracelet from his loose grip.

Moon finally speaks, his voice lower than before. "It’s... my first time making something like this."

I blink. Understanding dawns, warm and sudden.

Oh. So that’s it. He’s not being difficult; he’s nervous. Exposed. He’s handing me not a bought trinket, but something he made, and it terrifies him.

A real, amused smile tugs at my lips.

"Weren’t you the one who said it was going to be perfect?"

I tease, my smile widening as his nervous eyes meet mine.

"Because the great Moon Arden was making it?"

A flash of something—annoyance? pride?—in his blue eyes.

Then, he stands up so suddenly his chair screeches against the floor. He snatches the bracelet back from my grasp.

I flinch, startled, looking up at him.

His voice is low, slow, and deadly serious.

"Yes. And I meant it."

My smile fades completely.

He takes my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He loops the bracelet carefully around it, his fingers surprisingly deft.

"I don’t care if you like it or not," he says, his eyes on his task. "But you are going to wear it."

He finishes fastening it and looks up, his blue eyes capturing mine.

"Because I wasted a lot of my energy to make it."

I blink, caught between annoyance and a strange, begrudging amusement.

His mood swings are going to give me a heart attack.

Our eyes lock. For a suspended moment, the shop’s cheerful noise, the staff, the other couples—everything fades into a blur. He’s looking at me like he owns me.

Like this silly string of beads is a claim check.

I push back, pulling my hand from his grip. I look down at the bracelet now circling my wrist.

He’s right.

It’s beautiful.

Not gaudy or colorful. Just two colors: a cool, shiny silver-white and a deep, clear blue... the exact shade of his eyes. I stare at it, unblinking.

The name, ZYREN, is spelled out in elegant beads. A single, delicate star charm hangs from it.

I turn my wrist slowly, watching the silver gleam. Then my gaze snags on one more bead, a single letter tucked after the star.

M.

I look up at him, my eyebrow raised.

"Why did you add this?"

He looks back, utterly calm, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because I made it. It’s my signature."

He says it like he’s stating a fundamental law of physics.

"So if anyone sees it, they know who made it."

I look from him to the bracelet and back again, disbelief washing over me.

This man is utterly, completely in love with himself.

A silent, exasperated laugh bubbles in my chest.

I don’t know why the author made him the male lead in this novel. I don’t think he’s capable of loving anyone else. Just himself.

Without another word, I turn and start walking away.

I can’t help the thought that flashes, sharp and clear: He should just marry himself. Have a beautiful, mirrored ceremony.

I need to find someone else.

Someone better.

For my Angel.

The plan is already crumbling, and the male lead is more interested in branding his initials on me than looking at his supposed fated mate.

This is a mess. A beautiful, beaded, self-obsessed mess.

I step out of the shop, and the night’s cold air slaps my face. It’s sharp, clean, biting. It feels like snow will start falling any minute.

Moon follows me in silence.

I don’t walk toward his car. Instead, I turn and start walking along the side of the street, my shoes clicking a quiet, hurried rhythm against the pavement.

I have no strength left to bear this prideful Alpha, his moods, his silent scrutiny, his beautiful, infuriating bracelet still cool against my wrist.

I keep walking.

Then, a cold voice cuts through the quiet. "Where are you going?"

I stop. Yes. I expected this.

I turn and look back at him. I already have the answer prepared.

The night air is heavy and chill between us. "It’s already late," I say, my own voice flat.

"I hope you’re not bored anymore. Now, I’m going home."

His blue gaze pins me in the dim light. "I’ll drop you."

I wave a hand, the gesture light and dismissive. "No need. I already called my driver. He’s on his way to pick me up."

I meet his eyes, steady.

"You should go."

He doesn’t move. He just stares, a shadowy statue under the streetlamp’s yellow glow.

But I don’t wait for an answer I know won’t come. I turn and start walking again.

I’m too tired. For this. For this messy script, for these characters who won’t follow their own damn story.

All I want is my quiet, borrowed mansion and a long, dreamless sleep.

I keep walking, my steps silent and fast, trying to put tangible distance between us.

After a long while, I finally take a deep breath. The cold air stings my lungs. Clean. Empty.

No trace of amber wood.

It means... He’s gone.

Good. That’s... good.

I don’t really know where I’m going. My feet carry me forward, guided by a numb instinct to just... move. Away.

My mind is a blank, staticky hum.

Then, I hear footsteps from behind me. Quick.

Purposeful.

A hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, pulling me to an abrupt stop.

I freeze.

I thought he left.

I turn, a sharp, frustrated retort already on my lips.

"Why are you still—?"

The words die in my throat.

The moment my eyes shift to the figure holding me, my blood runs colder than the night air.

It’s not Moon.

He’s...

Deniz.....?