Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 135: We Can’t Reveal Our Relationship...

After the warmth of Deniz and the bath, I stand before the mirror in the bedroom, working my tie into place with practiced fingers, preparing to face the world as Zyren Kael again.

The silk is cool and smooth beneath my fingers, a familiar morning ritual that feels strangely foreign today.

My reflection stares back at me—cheeks flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with temperature, eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them.

Then— warmth wraps around me from behind.

Two arms slide around my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest. I don’t startle. I don’t flinch.

Warm. Familiar. His.

A smile spreads across my lips before I can stop it, soft and helpless and happy.

In the mirror, Deniz appears behind me. His chin rests on my shoulder, dark eyes meeting mine in the glass. He’s wearing just shorts and an oversized hoodie, his hair still tousled and damp, looking younger than I’ve ever seen him.

Softer. Unburdened.

Mine.

"Are you sure you can work today?"

His voice is a low murmur against my ear.

I meet his eyes in the mirror and give him a reassuring smile.

"Yes. I’m fine."

I pause, studying his reflection. "Why aren’t you ready? Don’t you want to go to the office?"

A slow smile curves his lips. He presses a kiss to the side of my neck—soft, warm, lingering.

"No."

I raise an eyebrow, playing along.

"Really? Aren’t you afraid of your boss?"

His arms tighten, pulling me closer against him. I can feel his heartbeat against my back.

"No."

Another kiss, this one slower.

"He’s very sweet to me."

I bite my lip, fighting a smile. "What if he punishes you?"

He presses his lips to my neck again, and this time they stay there, warm and possessive. When he speaks, his voice vibrates against my skin.

"If he does..." A pause. Another kiss.

"I’ll accept it happily."

I laugh—a real laugh, bright and genuine, filling the quiet apartment. The sound surprises me. It’s been so long since I’ve laughed like this.

"Okay, okay."

I try to sound stern, but the smile won’t leave my face.

"Leave me now. I’m getting late."

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting my tie, my collar. Trying to hide the evidence. The red bite marks on my neck are dark, visible, impossible to miss. I tug the fabric higher, reposition, try again.

"Deniz, get ready. We’ll go together."

Silence.

His arms loosen. He steps back.

I watch in the mirror as he walks to the bedside drawer. He opens it. Reaches inside. Pulls out something I can’t see.

Then he walks back to me. Takes my hand. Gentle. Inescapable. He guides me to the couch.

I go. Without question. Without thought.

Just... follow.

He kneels in front of me.

My heart stops, then restarts at double speed.

He takes a small amount of ointment on his fingers—cool and soothing against my heated skin—and begins to apply it to my neck.

His touch is impossibly gentle, pressing lightly against each mark, each bruise, each memory I can’t fully recall.

"You go first," he says quietly. He doesn’t meet my eyes.

"I’ll come after. Half an hour. Maybe an hour."

I blink. "Why? We’re going to the same place. Why separate?"

He looks up then. His dark eyes are calm, steady, but beneath them I see something else.

Concern. Protection. Fear.

"Because I don’t want people to start rumors."

I stare at him.

Rumors?

He peels open a small bandage and places it carefully over the darkest mark on my neck—the one that would be impossible to explain away. His fingers press it down gently, smoothing the edges, making sure it stays.

I still stare. Silent.

Trying to understand.

He takes my hand again—careful, deliberate—and slips the ring from my finger before standing.

My eyes widen. I stand so fast the world tilts. Anger flares hot and immediate in my chest.

"Why are you taking it off?" My voice is sharp, too loud in the quiet room.

"Give it back."

A small smile touches his lips.

Not mocking. Not cruel. Just... tender. Sad, almost.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin silver chain. The metal catches the light as he slips my ring onto it, the ring sliding down to rest against his palm.

My eyes follow every movement. Every breath.

He steps forward. His hands reach around my neck, and I feel the cool metal of the chain against my skin.

He fastens it carefully, then tucks the ring beneath my shirt, beneath my collar, where it can’t be seen. Where no one will know.

He adjusts my collar, smoothing the fabric, hiding everything.

Then he meets my eyes.

Calm. Patient. Loving.

"Before the Best Feeling perfume project launches," he says quietly, "we can’t reveal our relationship."

I blink. Process. The words don’t make sense.

"I’m not a celebrity." My voice comes out smaller than I intended.

"I’m not a star. Why would anyone care about my relationship?"

He cups my chin gently, tilting my face up. He presses a soft kiss to my cheek—featherlight, reverent.

"You’re a famous businessman." His thumb strokes my skin. "The heir of the Kael family." A pause. His eyes hold mine.

"And I’m your employee. If the media finds out, they’ll turn it into a scandal. A drama."

My cheeks burn. Furious. Frustrated. Wrong.

"I don’t care." The words come out fierce, hot, desperate.

"I’ll confess in front of the whole world. I love you. I don’t care who knows."

He smiles. Soft. Warm. So sad it breaks my heart.

"I know." His voice is gentle, patient, infinite. His thumb traces my cheekbone.

"But not before the project. After the Best Feeling project launches, you can tell everyone."

I look down at the floor, at the petals scattered around our feet.

He’s right.

The media would turn it into a scandal within hours—boss and employee, heir and subordinate. They wouldn’t see love. They’d see controversy.

And I won’t let them drag his name through that.

The project comes first.

Best Feeling launches. The numbers speak. The headlines belong to the brand—not to us.

After that, I’ll make it public.

Not as gossip. Not as damage control.

As a decision.

As a marriage proposal—on my terms.

And when Moon returns to his country, one more complication disappears.

Clean. Controlled. Worth the wait.

I look back up. A slow smile spreads across my lips—reluctant, accepting, still warm.

"Fine."

He waits.

"Are you going to hide from Uncle David too?"

"No." His answer is immediate.

Firm. Certain. "I’ll tell Dad when you’re ready."

I tilt my head, considering.

"This weekend. We’ll visit together. Tell him."

His arms slip around my waist again, pulling me close. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, steady and sure.

"Okay."

My cheeks flush. My heart races. The anger fades, replaced by something warmer, softer.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

He leans in, his lips hovering near mine. His breath is warm against my skin.

"Before you go," he murmurs, "give me a kiss."

"Okay. Just one."

He smiles against my mouth.

"Fine."