Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most

Chapter 201: A Month Since Moon Left..

I sit in my office, leaning back in the heavy leather chair set behind my desk, its clean lines and polished finish a quiet statement of control. My hands are steepled, fingertips pressed together, my chin resting lightly against them.

My gaze drifts to the city beyond the glass—the endless stretch of buildings fading into the horizon, cars moving in slow, distant streams, people far below living lives that have nothing to do with mine.

Up here, in this glass box suspended between earth and sky, everything feels... detached. Like I’m watching a world I no longer belong to.

It has been a month.

A month since Moon left.

A month of routine. Of order. Of life slipping back into the shape it had before he arrived—before he disrupted everything with his smirks, his questions, his unbearable, infuriating presence.

The days fold into one another like pages in a book I’ve read too many times.

Work fills the hours between dawn and dusk. Hospital visits break the weeks—always the same tests, the same concerned faces, the same careful words that never quite tell me what I need to know. Checkups that never get easier, never feel less invasive... less like an examination of my failures.

And in between, there’s Deniz.

Dinners at small restaurants we discovered together. Ice cream on quiet streets lit by flickering lamps. Laughter that feels real—but sometimes hollow at the edges, like a bell that’s lost its resonance.

It almost feels like Moon was never here at all.

Like his teasing, his smirks, the way he always knew exactly which button to press to push me to the edge of my patience— like it was all just a dream.

One I’m still waking up from.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

Reaching for fragments that dissolve the moment I try to hold them.

But I know it wasn’t.

He left—suddenly, silently, in the middle of the night while I slept on a hospital couch.

After that, Deniz contacted his secretary. That’s how we found out Moon had gone back to his country that same night—quietly, without telling anyone.

His secretary contacted the company the next morning and terminated the modeling contract. Everything was cleared, settled, erased... as if he had never been here at all. As if the past few months were nothing more than a fever that had finally broken.

I tried to reach him.

Once.

Twice.

I stopped counting after the fourth time.

His number is still unavailable. Disconnected. A dead end I keep walking toward without knowing why.

When I call Kaz, his secretary, the answer is always the same—polite, professional, carefully measured:

Mr. Moon is very busy at the moment. I’ll pass along your message.

But he never calls back.

He never responds.

He’s vanished like smoke through an open window, leaving behind nothing but the memory of his presence... and the dull, persistent ache of questions I’ll never ask.

Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe he’s finally moved on—found someone else, buried whatever he felt for Zyren Kael in the cold ground of resignation.

Yes, I tell myself, in the quiet spaces between sleep and waking.

I wanted him to move on.

I wanted him to go back.

I wanted him to stop asking questions that made my chest ache—made my thoughts unravel in ways I didn’t understand.

But not like this.

Not without a word.

Not without goodbye.

I close my eyes, and for a moment, I see his face—the smirk, the blue eyes, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing.

I hate it when people vanish from my life without warning.

I hate the silence they leave behind. The space where their voice used to be. The way the world keeps spinning like nothing important was lost at all.

The memory of his voice drifts through my mind like smoke.

"Soon I’m leaving this country. I won’t come back until I’m good for you."

A month. And I still don’t know what he meant.

A knock cuts through the quiet.

Three sharp raps.

The door opens.

I open my eyes.

Deniz steps into the room, his perfect secretary mask firmly in place—the one he wears like armor, the one that makes him look untouchable, distant, and completely professional.

He’s wearing glasses today, thin wire frames catching the light, sharp and elegant against the softer lines of his face. A file rests against his chest, his posture straight, his expression carefully neutral.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen him in glasses.

The sight pulls me backward through time, tugging at memories I’d almost forgotten—the first time I saw him, straight and proper... perfect.

The way his cheeks flushed every time I teased him.

The way his hands trembled slightly when I stood too close.

The way he looked at me like I was something precious... and terrifying all at once.

He walks to my desk and sets the file in front of me.

"Sir, this is the HR report. It needs your review and signature."

I don’t look at it. My eyes stay on him.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my chin on my joined hands. A slow, teasing smile curves across my lips before I can stop it.

"I didn’t know my secretary could look so hot in glasses."

He blinks, caught off guard, his professional mask slipping for just a moment. "Sir... we’re in the office."

I glance around the room—slow, deliberate—taking in the empty chairs, the smooth paneled walls, the sunlight spilling across the polished marble floor.

"But no one’s here. Just us."

He adjusts his glasses, a familiar, unconscious habit—a small crack in his composure that makes him feel human again... makes him mine.

"Please sign the documents, sir. They’re urgent."

"I’ll sign them." I let the words linger between us, heavy with implication. "But in return... give me something."

A faint flush rises to his cheeks—just enough to make my pulse quicken.

"We agreed. No personal matters during work hours." He swallows, his throat shifting slightly. "Please be professional."

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. "I am being professional." A pause. "Just give me a kiss, and I’ll sign everything."

His eyes meet mine, and I catch the flicker of conflict there—the pull between restraint and something warmer he can’t quite hide.

God, he really does look good in glasses.

I should make him wear them at home.

He exhales slowly—a quiet, resigned sound, threaded with something softer beneath it.

"Fine." A beat. "But if I lose control..." His voice lowers, warm and dangerous. "Don’t complain."

A smile tugs at my lips.

"Who would complain?"

He walks around the desk, his steps slow and deliberate—each one a quiet surrender. The fabric of his suit shifts softly with every movement.

He settles onto my lap, his weight warm and familiar, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. His fingers move to his tie, loosening it with practiced ease, pulling the silk free from his collar.

"My boss has become so bold lately," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips.

I smile faintly, my hands finding his waist, holding him there.

"Is that so?"

He removes his glasses and sets them aside, the thin frames catching the light for a brief moment before disappearing against the polished surface.

Then his hands come to my face—warm, steady—his thumbs brushing lightly along my cheekbones.

"He always make it difficult to stay in control." His voice drops to a whisper—low, intimate, dangerous. "Especially at work... Every time I try to keep my distance..."

He leans closer, his breath warm against my lips. "Every time I try to be professional..."

The space between us disappears. Our breaths tangle, slow and unsteady, the silence thick with everything we’re not saying.

I exhale softly, my voice barely audible.

"Then don’t look so tempting in the office."

His lips brush mine—just a whisper of contact, just a promise of more. Then he bites my lower lip, soft and teasing, and kisses me deeper. His tongue slides against mine, stealing my breath, stealing my thoughts, stealing everything until there is nothing left but the heat of him.

My grip tightens on his waist, pulling him closer as the world narrows to the warmth of him, to the quiet, unsteady rhythm of breath we fail to keep under control.

For a moment, nothing else exists.

Then—

The door opens.

No knock. No warning.

Footsteps echo across the marble floor—sharp, sudden—shattering the silence like glass.

We both freeze.