Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 61: Flustered Mystery

My eyes are fixed on Zyke, a steady, unblinking stare.

Does he actually have something to say, or is this just another game to waste what’s left of my shattered night?

Zyke pours a second glass of the dark red wine and slides it across the polished table towards me.

"Hmm. Take it."

I stare at the glass. In my real life, I never drank. Never went to clubs. Alcohol was a luxury my time and budget never allowed. I look from the glass back to his face.

"I’m fine, Brother. Just tell me why you’re suddenly being so... polite. It feels wrong."

He takes a slow sip of his own wine, his eyes never leaving mine, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Wasn’t it you who wanted to spend time with me? Who wanted... brotherly love?"

He savors the words, turning my own earnest plea into a taunt.

A frustrated breath escapes me, my exhaustion plain on my face. "Big Brother, I’m just tired tonight. Let’s talk tomorrow." I start to rise.

"Zyren."

His voice stops me. It’s not a command this time; it’s lower, almost hesitant.

I stop, look at him. His expression has shifted, the mocking edge softened by something else—reluctance.

"I want to ask you something," he says, the words seeming to cost him.

I stare.

What could he possibly need to ask me?

Slowly, I sink back into the couch, leaning back as if bored.

"Alright. What is it?"

Zyke sets his own glass down with deliberate slowness. There’s a hesitation in him I’ve never seen before. He looks at me, then away, as if the act of speaking to me like this is an insult to his pride.

"I... need your help."

My eyebrows shoot up.

Help?

The word is so foreign coming from his mouth I almost think I misheard.

Zyke doesn’t ask for help; he demands compliance.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

He mutters, still not looking at me.

I raise an eyebrow, a cool, analytical mask sliding into place.

"I’m just... curious," I say slowly, drawing out the words. "An S-Class Alpha needs help from a D-Class Alpha like me?"

He flinches as the barb hits its mark. His stare locks onto the wall, teeth grinding, the muscle in his jaw jumping with barely contained rage.

"I want your help... to talk to Shine. You seem... close to him."

I narrow my eyes. Shine? All pretense of casualness drops. "What’s wrong with Sister-in-Law?

Is he okay?"

Zyke finally looks down, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "He’s just... sad. Recently. He won’t tell me why. He just stays quiet. He doesn’t even talk to me properly.

I stare at him for a long, loaded moment.

Then a laugh rips out of me—loud, harsh, empty. Not a chuckle. Not humor. Just bitter disbelief, echoing through the vast room until my eyes water.

Zyke’s head snaps up, his expression darkening with pure fury. "What the hell are you laughing at?!"

I keep laughing, shaking my head, wiping tears from the corner of my eye, the laughter subsiding into bitter shakes. "You," I gasp. "You’re an S-Class Alpha, and you can’t even make your own partner happy? What kind of S-Class are you?"

He stares at me like he wants to strangle the life out of me, his fists clenched on his knees.

I can feel the pressure of his pheromones spiking in the room, a silent, furious threat.

I lean forward, a sharp, victorious smirk on my lips. "So, Big Brother... now you finally agree with me?"

"Agree with what?" he snarls.

"That you’re just drunk on power. On pride. You have no idea how to make someone you claim to love actually happy."

Something flickers in his cold eyes—not just anger, but a sliver of doubt. A crack. The effect of my words, landing not as an insult, but as a truth he can’t immediately refute.

I stand up, stretching languidly, the picture of casual dominance. "Don’t worry, Big Brother. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Sister-in-Law. I’ll find out why he’s unhappy."

I let the implication hang: because you clearly can’t.

Zyke stays silent, swallowed by his own guilt and dawning confusion.

I don’t wait for a reply. I turn and walk toward the stairs, throwing a careless "Good night, Big Brother," over my shoulder.

As I climb the steps, a cold, knowing smirk touches my lips.

I already know why Shine is sad. He doesn’t want to go back to K-Country. He wants to stay here, near his parents. But he’d never dare say it to you, you overbearing, prideful fool.

Tonight, let him wonder. Let him worry. Let him lie awake in his gilded bed, turning his own worth over and over in his mind.

Tomorrow, I’ll give him the answer. And he’ll never forget that it was his D-Class brother who understood his Omega better than he ever did.

That lesson will taste like humility.

My footsteps are slow, dragging as I walk down the hall to my room. The brief, fiery distraction of dealing with Zyke has faded, and the heavy, cold sadness seeps back in, filling the space he left behind.

Maybe I should have stayed downstairs longer. At least with him, I forget...

I lift my gaze from the intricate pattern of the floor.

And I freeze.

Angel. Standing perfectly still outside my bedroom door, as if he’s been waiting. A quiet statue in the dim hallway light.

A different kind of tension jolts through me—sharp concern. I quicken my steps. "Are you okay?" The question comes out too fast, too edged with a worry that belongs to my own crumbling state, not his.

He blinks, confusion softening his features. "I’m fine. Why do you ask?"

I rub my temple, the ghost of a headache from tears and tension pulsing there.

"Nothing," I say, trying to sound casual. "Just surprised to see you standing here like this."

His gaze flicks to my bedroom door, then back to me, his expression carefully neutral. "I just finished cleaning your room."

I stare at him. The hour is late, the mansion silent. "Why this late?"

A faint, telltale blush dusts his cheeks.

He looks down, breaking eye contact.

A slow realization dawns, cutting through my gloom. I narrow my eyes. A knowing smile curves my lips—slow, deliberate—the first real one since... since everything. The heavy weight in my chest eases, just a little.

"Angel," I murmur, my voice dropping into a soft, teasing register. "Are you lying?"

He doesn’t look up, his shoulders tensing slightly. "I should go—" he says quickly, already turning to slip away.

My hand darts out, catching his wrist gently but firmly. He freezes, looking back at me.

The soft smile on my lips grows.

He’s so transparent. The flush, the averted eyes, the hurried escape—it’s all the confirmation I need.

"You don’t even know how to lie," I murmur, my voice fond, the earlier sadness momentarily forgotten in the face of his adorable, clumsy deception.

"What an innocent Omega."

He stands there, caught, his wrist warm in my hand, a beautiful, flustered mystery waiting just outside my door.