Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 120: Betas Don’t Have Pheromones...

Deniz and I step into my office. The door closes behind us with a soft, final click. I move before I can think, turning the lock with a quick, decisive twist.

No interruptions.

Just us.

I turn back to him and close the distance in two steps. My arms wrap around him again, tighter this time, as if I can merge us into one person.

One safe, uncomplicated person.

"Zyren..." His voice is soft, concerned. His hand finds my back, patting gently.

"Are you okay?"

I mumble into the fabric of his shoulder, the words muffled, childish.

"Nope."

"What happened?" His fingers trace soothing lines down my spine.

"Did your cousin do something?"

I stay silent. What can I say?

Yes, my ridiculously possessive Alpha cousin has been clinging to me like a lover, scenting me, sleeping in my bed, looking at me like I’m his.

No. I can’t burden him with that. Can’t make him worry.

Instead, I tighten my grip. "Please," I whisper against his shirt.

"Just stay silent for a while."

A pause. Then his lips brush near my ear, warm and accepting.

"Okay. If that’s what you need."

His fingers slide into my hair, stroking gently, a rhythm meant to soothe. It works. The tension in my shoulders begins to ease, just a fraction.

But the guilt won’t leave. "Deniz," I murmur.

"Are you angry with me?"

He goes still for a moment. Then, slowly, he pushes back just enough to look at me. His dark eyes search mine.

"Why would I be angry?"

I look away, unable to hold his gaze. "Because I... I—"

He doesn’t let me finish.

His hand slides to my waist instead—firm, possessive—and in one smooth motion he pulls me toward him.

I stumble into him.

My chest collides with his, breath hitching at the sudden closeness, and before I can process what’s happening, his lips are on mine.

My eyes fly wide. The suddenness of it—the force behind it—steals my breath. But then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate, and the shock melts into something else entirely.

He sucks my upper lip, gentle but insistent. His tongue traces the seam, asking, inviting. And I surrender. My eyes flutter closed, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. I kiss him back, pouring everything I can’t say into the movement of my lips against his.

His hand squeezes my waist, grounding me against him.

The other tangles in my hair, angling my head, deepening the kiss. My heart is a wild, frantic drum. The world narrows to this—his warmth, his taste, his want.

He breaks away slowly, trailing kisses along my jaw, my ear, down the column of my neck. He inhales against my skin, deep and savoring.

Then, abruptly, he pulls back.

I gasp, my eyes fluttering open. My breath is uneven, my lips tingling, my face burning. He’s stepped away, creating distance. He’s looking down, his profile tense.

"Deniz?" My voice is breathless, confused.

"What happened?"

He doesn’t meet my eyes. His voice, when it comes, is low. Strained.

"Your body... it smells like amber wood."

My stomach drops.

His fists clench at his sides.

"I don’t like it."

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

With a jealousy I’ve seen before—

but never like this.

This feels deeper. Heavier. Almost dangerous.

With a possessiveness that mirrors—no, rivals—the very thing I was trying to escape.

My cheeks burn with shame.

Of course he doesn’t like it. Moon’s scent is all over me. I’ve been carrying it like a brand, and Deniz can smell it.

Everyone can smell it.

I look down, unable to face him. "I’m sorry," I whisper.

"I should take another shower. I’ll just—"

I turn toward the inner suite, but his hand catches my wrist.

Gentle, but unyielding.

I look back. He’s still not meeting my eyes, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

"You don’t need to," he says quietly.

"Deniz, I should—"

Before I can finish, he moves.

He doesn’t pull me—he guides, firm but not harsh, leading me to the leather sofa by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. He sits me down, his hands gentle on my shoulders.

I blink up at him, confused.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugs off his coat, draping it over the back of the couch. His movements are deliberate, purposeful. His eyes finally meet mine, and there’s something different in them. Something warm and fierce and utterly focused.

"I’ll erase it," he says.

"Completely."

My eyes widen.

My mind spins, trying to catch up, trying to understand what he means.

My heart is already racing, as if it understands before I do.

Deniz sits beside me on the leather couch, close enough that the warmth of his body seeps through the fabric of my clothes.

His dark eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us breathes.

Then his hand lifts. Slow. Deliberate. His fingers find my tie, the silk warm where he touches. He loosens it with a careful, unhurried pull, the knot giving way under his gentle insistence.

I watch his every movement, mesmerized.

He reaches for my coat next, sliding it from my shoulders. The fabric whispers against my arms as it falls away. I let him.

I would let him do anything.

He leans closer. His breath—warm, steady—brushes the skin of my neck. A shiver runs through me, starting at the point of contact and radiating outward.

Then his lips press against my throat. Soft. A question.

My eyes flutter half-closed.

He kisses the same spot again, this time slower, deeper. Then his tongue traces a delicate path along my pulse point, and a sound escapes me—soft, involuntary, embarrassing.

My hands grip the edge of the couch. The leather is cool under my fingers, a stark contrast to the heat building where he touches me.

And his scent. That familiar, beloved red rose—usually so calm, so gentle—it’s everywhere.

Surrounding me. Sinking into my skin. It’s stronger than I’ve ever experienced, denser, more... commanding.

I inhale deeply, my breath catching.

How is this possible?

Deniz is a Beta. Betas don’t have pheromones like this.

They don’t wrap you in scent. They don’t make the air thick and warm and possessive.

But this feels like more than a Beta.

This feels like—