Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 48: You’re Just Drunk On Power

After dinner, I settle onto the plush couch. Shine and Zyke sit across from me on the other, a tableau of domesticity that feels as fragile as glass. Zyke’s eyes are fixed on the middle distance, ignoring me with the entirety of his being as he sips his wine.

He isn’t just ignoring me; he’s performing the act of my non-existence.

The living room is warm, bright, almost aggressively cozy—much like Shine’s smile.

I lean back, feigning casual ease. "Sister-in-law, how was your day?"

Shine’s smile softens, genuine. "Today I visited my village to see my parents."

I return the smile. "How are they?"

"They’re well, thank you."

His voice holds the quiet pride of humble roots. He is the only beautiful, uncomplicated thing Zyke has ever chosen.

Shine belongs to a small, quiet village; his roots are simple, earth-bound, unlike the gilded cage of the Kael legacy.

"Next time you go," I say, leaning forward with earnest interest, "take me with you. I’d love to see it."

Shine’s eyes brighten. "Really? What about next week?"

I nod, excitement bubbling up like I’m a child offered a trip to the fair. "Sounds perfect—"

Zyke’s voice cuts through the warmth like a blade. "Next week, we’re returning to K-Country."

The air in the room stills. I look at him silently.

The happiness breaks instantly.

Shine’s smile vanishes, replaced by open surprise. "Zyke? When... when was this decided?"

Zyke sets his glass down with a definitive clink.

"Today. Mom and Dad want our baby to be born in K-country."

Shine looks down at his hands, nodding slowly, but the gesture is heavy with resignation. He doesn’t want to go back.

"Why so sudden?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral.

Zyke’s gaze finally swings to me, cold and assessing. "We were only here for a brief vacation. Not indefinitely."

I blink. We both know that’s a lie. You came for the company. Now that you can’t have it, you’re running back home with your tail between your legs. I look away, swallowing the bitterness. "Okay."

Zyke’s eyes remain on me, a silent, charged pressure.

I turn back to Shine, forcing brightness into my tone. "Then we have a little time left. Let’s make it happy, Sister-in-law." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Shine manages a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks... sad. Why is he so reluctant to return? "How was your day?" he asks, steering the conversation with gentle politeness.

I pull myself from my thoughts, take a quiet breath, and paint on a cheerful mask. "Good! And tiring. As always."

He studies me for a moment.

Then —

"You should take better care of your health," he says, his concern soft but pointed.

"I will," I promise, the words feeling hollow.

Shine stands, and a servant materializes instantly to offer a steadying arm. "I’m feeling a bit tired tonight," he says. "You two should talk."

Zyke looks up at him. "Did you take your supplements?"

"Yes," Shine replies softly.

He stands fully.

"Then let’s go to our room,"

"Big brother....."

He pauses, looking at me with a calm, dangerous stare that promises nothing good.

I give him my best rendition of a sad puppy—wide eyes, a pleading tilt of the head. "Stay with me for a while? Since you arrived, you haven’t given me any time."

Shine glances between us, then places a gentle hand on Zyke’s arm. "Zyren is right. You should spend time with him. Don’t worry about me—I’m perfectly alright. The servants are here."

Zyke stares at me, a silent war raging behind his eyes. After a tense moment, he gives a single, stiff nod.

Shine offers me one last, fleeting smile before he walks out of the living room, leaving me alone with the brother who wishes, more than anything, that I would simply disappear.

Zyke sinks back onto the couch, reclaiming his space with the finality of a king retaking his throne. He picks up his glass, the ruby liquid catching the firelight. "What do you want now?" The words are chilled, each one a shard of ice.

The tone hasn’t changed. Not even a little.

I watch the way his fingers curl around the glass. Still rude. Still defensive.

I don’t answer. Instead, I stand up, cross the short, charged distance, and sit right beside him. The cushion dips under my weight, tilting him slightly toward me. "Brother," I say, my voice a study in mild reproach. "Be polite. Have you already forgotten our little deal?"

He shifts, a clear attempt to put space between us. I close the gap, my smile serene.

He moves again, pressing into the arm of the couch. I follow, eliminating the distance entirely, our shoulders now touching. His body is a tense rod of displeasure.

He turns his head, anger sparking in his eyes. "Zyren. Do you want another punch?"

I blink, pouring pure, unadulterated innocence into my gaze, completely absorbing his anger and offering nothing in return. "Brother, we have so little time left. Just be good with me. Call me Ren." I let my voice soften.

He takes a deep, slow breath, the kind you use to leash a wild animal inside your chest.

I rest my head against his shoulder, just to tease him.

He shoves me off as if burned. "What the hell are you doing?"

I look up at him, all wide-eyed hurt. "I’m going to go tell Sister-in-law you’re being mean to me."

I stand up. His hand shoots out, fingers like steel bands around my wrist, yanking me to a stop. He glares up at me, fury and frustration warring in his face. I just smile again, sweetly, and sit back down, even closer this time, our legs now touching. "You should pat your hard-working little brother’s head," I suggest brightly. "He’s had such a long day."

He drains the wine in one sharp swallow and slams the empty glass onto the table.

Clink—

He looks away.

I stare at him. I don’t blink.

This man doesn’t know how to love. He only understands possession, control, power. Somewhere along the way, he traded warmth for dominance and convinced himself it was the same thing.

My stare is long, unblinking. He feels it. His head turns, his eyes narrow. "Why are you staring?"

I don’t look away. My voice is quiet, devoid of its earlier teasing, almost pitying. "I used to think you hated me. That’s why you were like this. But today I realized... you don’t know about love at all. You’re just drunk on power. It’s the only thing you understand."

He looks at me, utterly bewildered, as if I’ve started speaking in tongues.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" he snaps.

I stand up, calm, the energy draining from me suddenly, leaving behind a deep, soul-level fatigue. I don’t look at him as I speak, my words aimed at the dying fire.

"You don’t even know what your own wife is feeling right now."

I let the statement hang. From the corner of my eye, I see it—a slight, almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. A crack. A flicker of something beyond anger: confusion, or the first seed of doubt.

Before he can formulate a retort, a defense, another cruel dismissal, I walk away. My steps are slow, deliberate. I don’t grant him another glance. I’m done. The game is hollow tonight. The victory, pointless.