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

Chapter 204: It’s Just Dinner...

The night wraps around the Kael mansion like velvet—deep and endless. Every window spills warm light into the darkness, golden squares floating in the black. The gardens glow under hidden lamps, light catching on leaves, on the curves of petals, on the dark soil beneath.

The air is still, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere unseen.

The servants stand in their usual rows—backs straight, chins lifted, eyes forward. They have stood like this for generations, through storms and celebrations, through joy and grief.

Tonight, they stand for me.

I step out of the car, the night air brushing softly against my face.

Deniz follows, the quiet sound of his shoes on gravel marking his presence beside me. In his hands, he carries a bouquet of pink roses—the exact shade Angel loves, the one he spent ten minutes choosing, comparing blooms under the florist’s light.

His gaze lifts to the mansion—the tall columns, the long windows, the rows of servants bowing in practiced unison. I watch him take it in. The weight of this place. The history pressed into every stone.

I reach for his hand.

"Let’s go inside."

He nods, his fingers tightening slightly around mine.

He’s wearing glasses tonight—because I asked him to—and I can’t help noticing the way the light catches the frames, the way his dark eyes look behind them.

But his shoulders are tense. His steps measured.

Like someone walking into a place where he isn’t sure he belongs.

I lean a little closer.

"If you’re uncomfortable," I murmur, "you can take them off."

He shakes his head.

"No," he says quietly. "I’m fine."

We start walking. The servants bow. "Good evening, Young Master," they say, their voices soft in the night air.

Deniz lowers his gaze, his expression tightening slightly—like he’s not entirely comfortable under their attention.

I glance at him. "What’s wrong?"

He shakes his head, a small, quick movement. "Nothing. It’s just..."

"Just what?"

He hesitates, his steps slowing.

"It’s not my first time here. I’ve been here before—for work, for meetings, for documents that needed signatures."

His gaze drops to our joined hands.

"But tonight..." A pause. "Tonight I’m here as your partner."

I smile, watching his profile.

"You look like someone visiting their partner’s home for the first time. Meeting the family. So nervous." I squeeze his hand gently.

"But don’t worry. There’s no one here except the servants and Angel." A small pause.

"It’s just dinner."

He straightens his shoulders, lifting his chin.

"I’m not nervous."

A teasing smile curves my lips. "Really?"

He turns to me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Zyren. Don’t tease me." He leans closer, his voice dropping. "Don’t forget—when you met my dad, your face was red. You were sweating."

I laugh softly and reach up, squeezing his cheeks between my fingers.

"Alright, alright. Sorry, my bear."

We step inside the mansion.

The marble floors gleam beneath the chandeliers, reflecting the light like still water. The air is cool and still, carrying a faint floral scent—something old, something lingering.

"Stay tonight," I say casually.

"I’ll show you the whole mansion... especially my room."

I pause, letting the words settle.

"After our wedding, we’ll live here."

He blinks at me. "Live here?" I nod, my smile widening.

"Of course."

A playful glint flashes in my eyes.

"I’m the groom."

I lean in slightly.

"And you’re my bride."

A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips. He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, his voice dropping low.

"I don’t care what we call it."

A pause.

"We both know how that works."

Heat rushes to my face instantly, spreading to my ears before I can stop it.

His smirk deepens.

His fingers brush lightly along my cheek.

"You’re blushing."

I turn my face away, toward the hallway leading to the dining room. "Let’s go. Angel is waiting."

He lets out a soft laugh—warm, amused—and falls into step beside me.

The servants open the dining room doors, and we step inside.

Angel is already there, seated at the long table, his golden hair catching the warm light. He looks up as we enter. His gaze drops—to our joined hands. Just for a second. A flicker.

Then it lifts again, settling on my face as if nothing happened. "Good evening," I say softly.

He rises and walks toward us, a small, composed smile on his lips. "Good evening."

Deniz inclines his head slightly. "Good evening... Mr. Angel."

Angel’s gaze shifts to him, calm, unreadable.

"Just Angel," he says.

His tone is quiet—but firm.

Deniz nods and offers the bouquet.

"These are for you. I hope you like them."

Angel looks down at the roses—the soft pink petals, delicate and precise, chosen with care. He accepts the bouquet slowly, his fingers curling around it.

"Thank you," he says. A faint pause. "They’re beautiful." Deniz smiles politely. Angel turns slightly, gesturing toward the table.

"Please... sit."

We walk to the table and take our seats.

The dishes are laid out before us—steaming, fragrant, arranged with care. My gaze moves over each one, and my smile widens before I can stop it.

"This looks incredible," I say. "You really put a lot of effort into this."

Angel smiles softly. "I made all your favorites."

A pause.

"Even the pudding."

"Thank you, Angel."

The servants begin serving, their movements silent and precise. I take a bite of the tender meat. It melts on my tongue—rich, savory, perfect. "Angel... this is amazing."

Deniz tastes it as well, giving a small nod. "You’re a really good cook."

Angel’s smile lingers, soft—almost shy. "I’m glad you both like it. Please, enjoy."

A servant pours wine into our glasses, the dark liquid catching the light.

I reach for mine—

Deniz’s hand closes gently over it. "Zyren. You can’t drink."

"Just a little—"

"No."

His voice stays quiet, but firm.

"Did you forget what the doctor said?"

Angel sets his fork down. The soft clink echoes in the sudden silence. His expression changes. His brow tightens. His golden eyes sharpen—worry cutting through the softness that was there before.

"What doctor?"

His voice is low. Controlled. "Zyren... are you alright?"A pause. His gaze searches my face, intent, unyielding.

"What happened?"

Another beat.

"You didn’t tell me anything. Why did you go to a doctor?"

I set my fork down too.

The room feels smaller suddenly. The air heavier—like something unseen has settled over us.

God... how do I explain this?

How do I tell him what’s happening to me—the tests, the results, the slow unraveling of everything I thought I was?

I smile.

It feels thin. Forced.

"Angel, don’t worry. I’m fine."

A small pause.

"It’s nothing serious. Just a routine checkup."

He doesn’t move.

He just looks at me—his golden eyes steady, searching. He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the tight line of his jaw. In the way his hands rest too still against the table. I look away, reaching for my fork.

"Let’s finish dinner first."

A quieter beat.

"We can talk about it later."

He nods slowly. But I can still feel his gaze on me— heavy, and impossible to ignore.

I take another bite, chewing without tasting.

"What about you? You haven’t told me much about your work."

Deniz eases into the conversation, his voice light, warm. "I’ve been seeing your name everywhere lately—on social media, in the news."

A faint smile.

"Angel’s success is... hard to ignore." A pause. "A lot of brands want you as their ambassador. It’s impressive."

Angel nods, accepting the words with quiet composure.

"Thank you."

I smile, genuine this time.

"I’m proud of you, Angel. I always knew you’d succeed."

He reaches across the table and takes my hand, his fingers closing gently around mine.

His thumb brushes against my skin—slow, absent-minded. His eyes meet mine. Something flickers there—something I can’t quite name.

"It’s because of your support," he says softly. A pause. "Thank you... Zyren. For everything."

Deniz’s gaze drops—to our hands. He adjusts his glasses. Then, without a word, he reaches for his wine and takes a slow drink.

I pull my hand back. "Let’s eat before it gets cold."

We eat. We talk. We laugh.

The food is warm, the wine is rich, and for a while, everything feels easy. I take a bite of pudding and hum softly.

"This is delicious. Sweet... creamy."

Angel smiles faintly.

"You’re still a little kid, Zyren."

I glance at him. "Is that so?"

Deniz’s hand lifts—

Angel moves first.

His fingers brush my lower lip, wiping away a smear of pudding. The touch is light. Brief. Almost casual.

I blink, frozen.

"You eat like a child," Angel says softly.

Deniz’s hand remains suspended in the air for a moment— then slowly drops back to the table.

I gently push Angel’s hand away and rise from my seat. "I need to use the restroom."

Angel nods. I walk out of the dining room, my steps steady, my expression calm. But inside— something twists.

In the restroom, I close the door and look at myself in the mirror.

...Seriously?

There’s still a faint smear of pudding at the corner of my lips. I wipe it away, exhaling softly.

I was too comfortable. Too relaxed. I didn’t even notice. What must they think of me?

I wash my hands, dry them carefully, then straighten.

One breath.

Then another.

When I step back into the hallway, my expression is calm again. I walk toward the dining room. I step inside—

Deniz’s chair is empty. I stop.

"Where’s Deniz?"

Angel remains seated at the table, his hands folded neatly in front of him. A faint smile rests on his lips.

"He left."

The words land quietly. Too quietly.

I stare at the empty chair— at the crumpled napkin, at the wine glass still half-full.

Why? He said he would stay.