Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 126: A Surprise.... For Me..

The car hums softly beneath us, heater fighting back the winter chill that presses against the windows.

Deniz’s fingers are tangled with mine on the seat between us—gentle, warm, holding on like he doesn’t want to let go either.

I glance at him. His dark eyes are fixed on the road ahead, watching the blur of snow-dusted streets slide past. The morning light catches the edge of his jaw, the curve of his lashes.

Beautiful. Always beautiful.

The car slows, then stops. The hospital looms outside, familiar and sterile.

Deniz reaches for the door handle. He starts to move.

I don’t let go of his hand.

He blinks, turning back to me, confusion softening his features.

"Zyren?"

I stare at him. No words. Just my eyes, wide and soft, trying to pour everything into that single look:

Don’t leave me.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts closer. His free hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek, featherlight. His touch lingers, warm against my skin.

"What happened?" he asks quietly.

I stay silent for a long moment. Then I look down, at our joined hands, at the way his thumb rests against my knuckles.

"You’re not taking me with you." My voice is small. Childish.

"I want to meet Uncle David too."

He stares at me. A beat of silence. Then a soft smile breaks across his face—warm, fond, helpless against my pout.

He leans in. His lips meet mine.

I blink, startled by the sudden softness. The kiss is gentle, a brief press of warmth that leaves me breathless.

He pulls back just enough to speak.

"You have an urgent meeting this morning. You need to attend."

I cut him off quickly, desperate. "Cancel it."

His thumb presses softly against my lips, silencing me before I can argue further.

"You can’t. It’s important."

My cheeks burn. I pout—a real, childish pout, the kind reserved for denied candy and stolen blankets. The words slip out in a whisper, barely audible.

"But I want to spend time with you."

He leans closer again. His breath ghosts across my skin, warm and intimate. He kisses my cheek, slow, lingering.

"I want to, too."

His mouth trails along my skin—cheek to jaw, jaw to the sensitive curve near my ear. His whisper is a promise, warm and private.

"But if you’re good. If you wait for me..." A pause. The warmth of his breath.

"I’ll give you a surprise this evening."

My eyes widen.

Surprise?

He pulls back slowly, meeting my gaze. His eyes are soft, warm, holding secrets I can’t wait to discover.

"Now I should go," he murmurs. "Dad is waiting."

I nod slowly. Still processing. Still feeling the ghost of his lips on my skin.

He squeezes my hand one last time, then lets go. The door opens. Cold air rushes in. He steps out, glances back once with that soft smile, and closes the door.

The car rolls forward again, pulling away from the hospital, from him.

I lean back against the seat. My fingers lift, tracing the spot on my cheek where his lips lingered. Then to my ear, where he whispered. The warmth still clings to my skin.

A soft, helpless smile spreads across my lips.

A surprise.

For me.

The rest of the day stretches ahead, full of meetings and obligations and boring grown-up things.

But underneath it all, my heart hums with a single, impatient thought:

Evening. Come faster.

The meeting drags on like a wound that won’t heal. Numbers and projections and voices droning about market shares—it all blurs into white noise. I smile when I need to, nod at appropriate moments, say nothing of consequence.

Finally, finally, it ends.

I escape to my office, pushing the door open with more force than necessary. The click of it closing behind me is the first peaceful sound I’ve heard all morning. I press my fingers to my temples, rubbing slow circles against the ache blooming there.

A quick nap. Just a short one.

Then I can face the business lunch.

I look up.

And freeze.

Moon stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me, silhouette sharp against the blanket of white covering the city. Snow falls beyond the glass, silent and endless.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn.

My heart lurches.

I’m already exhausted. I can’t deal with him today.

Maybe he hasn’t noticed me. Maybe I can slip back out, disappear, avoid this confrontation entirely. Pretend I was never here. Find somewhere else to hide for twenty minutes.

I take a slow, careful step backward. Then another. My hand reaches behind me, searching for the door handle.

His voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

"Where are you going?"

I flinch. Caught.

I straighten, forcing my face into a mask of calm indifference. I walk to my desk, each step deliberate, and lower myself into my chair.

"What are you doing in my office? Don’t you have a shoot today?"

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer. He just stands there, staring out at the frozen city, his posture rigid, his silence heavier than any words.

Then, slowly, he turns.

His eyes meet mine. And they are not the playful, teasing eyes I’ve grown used to. They’re cold. Sharp. Demanding.

"Where were you last night?" His voice is flat.

"You didn’t answer my calls."

I stare at him. The accusation hangs between us, thick and uncomfortable.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I feel pinned—like a specimen under glass.

I look away first.

"None of your business."

He doesn’t react. No flash of anger. No sarcastic retort. He just... walks.

Toward the door.

My eyes follow him, relief already loosening the knot in my chest.

Good. He’s leaving.

Thank God.

I take a deep breath. Look down at my desk. Start planning my escape to the couch.

*Click. *

The sound stops my heart.

Not the sound of the door opening.

Not the sound of it closing behind him.

The sound of the lock engaging.

My eyes fly wide. I whip my head toward him.

Moon stands with his back to the door, his blue gaze fixed on me.

Unmoving. Unreadable.

My heart hammers against my ribs.

Why did he lock the door?