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

Chapter 207: Am I Really… Dying Like This?

I press my fingers against my temple, trying to steady myself, trying to hold onto something solid— but nothing stays still.

Why is everything spinning?

Why am I so dizzy?

My body suddenly burns.

It starts in my chest—a small flame, barely there—then spreads outward like wildfire, devouring everything in its path.

Heat floods through me, rising to my throat, my face, my scalp—then crashing down my arms and legs, pooling in my fingertips and toes until every inch of my skin feels like it’s on fire.

It’s not the warmth of a fever. Not the gentle heat of a flush. It’s something else. Something wrong. Something that feels like my blood is boiling beneath my skin.

I lean back against the couch, my body sinking into the cushions like dead weight. The fabric is soft beneath me, but I barely feel it. Everything is too hot. Too fast. Too much.

Angel’s hand cups my face. His palm is cool against my burning skin, and I lean into it—just for a moment.

It’s... comfortable.

Too comfortable.

I want more— then I flinch away. The realization hits hard. No matter what happens, I can’t cross that line.

Neon... control yourself.

"Zyren."

His voice is soft, trembling at the edges.

"Are you okay?"

I look at him, my vision unsteady. My eyes are wet—I don’t even know when the tears started. They just fall, sliding down my cheeks, hot and silent.

His face is blurred at the edges, like I’m seeing him through water. The light behind him halos his head golden, hazy— and for a moment... he looks like someone I used to know.

"Zyren..."

His voice feels far away now. Like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel. The sound bends in my ears— slow, distorted, unreal.

My fists clench against the couch, knuckles white, fingers digging into the fabric.

I can’t bear this.

My whole body is on fire—burning from the inside out—and there’s no water, no air, no relief. I need air. I need something cold. I need this to stop—before I burn alive.

I try to stand.

My legs tremble beneath me, weak, unsteady— and the room lurches violently. I grab the arm of the couch to steady myself, but the world keeps spinning—tilting, slipping, falling away.

"I need..."

My voice is barely there, a broken whisper, scraped raw by something I can’t name.

"I need air... It’s so hot..."

Angel reaches for me—his hands hovering near my arms, caught between touching and pulling back.

"Zyren, be careful—"

I blink, trying to focus on his face. It’s hard—like trying to see through smoke. Through fog. Through water. But I find his eyes. Wide. Wet.Tears slipping down his cheeks in thin, silver lines.

"I’m sorry," he whispers.

I stare at him.

Sorry? Why is he sorry?

The milk. The strange taste. The way the world started spinning after I drank it.

My breath catches.

Did he put something in it?

My voice breaks when I speak—cracking at the edges like old glass. "How could you do this to me...?"

I swallow hard, my chest tight.

"Angel... why?"

His hands tremble as he reaches for me again, his fingers brushing my arm—hesitant, almost afraid.

I shove him back. Harder than I mean to. Harder than my weak body should allow. He stumbles, catching himself on the edge of the couch.

"Don’t touch me."

"Zyren, I didn’t—I didn’t know it would be like this. I swear. I had no idea—"

I look away. My gaze fixes on the far wall, the dark window—anywhere but his face.

Drugged.

He drugged me.

Neon... calm down. Pull yourself together. Panic will only make it worse.

I push myself up from the couch.

The ground spins beneath my feet—tilting, swaying— and I lose my balance. Angel grabs my hand. Quick. Desperate. His fingers close around mine.

"Zyren—"

I shove him away. My voice is weak—but firm. "Stay away from me."

His hands fall to his sides. He doesn’t reach for me again.

"Zyren, please listen." His voice is raw—stripped clean of pretense.

"You’re burning up. We need to bring your fever down. Let me take you to your room. Let me help you."

I brace myself against the wall and start walking.

Each step feels like climbing a mountain—my legs heavy, my breath too fast, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.

I feel like I’m drowning. Like deep water is pressing against my chest—filling my lungs, dragging me under.

I need something cold. Something to bring me back. A cold bath. Ice water. Anything.

Angel reaches for me again. I jerk away—harder this time. My voice rises despite the weakness in my body.

"Don’t you understand?" I shake my head, breathing uneven. "Stay away from me."

His voice breaks. "Zyren... please." A breath—shaky, uneven. "You can be angry with me. You can hate me. Punish me however you want..."

His fingers tighten slightly around mine—warm, trembling. "But not now. Please... let me help you." His hand closes around mine—gentle, desperate.

I try to pull away. But my strength is gone. I have nothing left. "No..." My voice is barely there. "Don’t... touch me..." My body gives out.

I fall.

My back hits the wall, then slides down slowly— the cold scraping against my spine, seeping through my shirt, grounding me for a fleeting second.

My legs fold beneath me. I sit there—slumped, breathless, burning—unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to do anything but endure it.

And then— the heat surges again. Stronger. Worse. My eyes fall closed.

"I can’t move anymore." My voice is barely a breath—a fragile whisper of air.

"Angel... why did you do this to me?"

Then— I feel it. Warm. Wet.

Sliding slowly from my nose, over my lips, down my chin— dripping onto my white shirt, spreading in a slow, dark bloom. My hand lifts on its own. Trembling fingers touch my nose— then pull back.

Blood.

I force my eyes open and stare at my fingers. Red. Wet. Real. The color looks wrong against my pale skin. Too bright.Too vivid.

What the hell...

Angel drops to his knees in front of me. His face is level with mine—his eyes tracing the blood on my shirt, my hands, my face.

"Zyren—" His voice breaks—sharp with panic. "Blood—"

His hands cup my face again. But his voice is already fading. Growing distant.

My vision collapses in on itself— shapes dissolving into color, colors bleeding into darkness. The last thing I see is his face— his wet eyes, his trembling lips.

It feels like I’m dying.

Am I really... dying like this?

Then— darkness. Nothing.