Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 155: There’s No ’Better’ Or ’Worse’ Here...

I stare down at Moon, who kneels before me holding that small box, and the world seems to stop.

The penthouse is silent around us. The city glitters beyond the glass wall, thousands of lights scattered across the darkness like distant stars, indifferent to the drama unfolding in this room.

The harsh overhead lights I turned on still blaze above us, unforgiving and bright, leaving nowhere to hide.

Moon kneels on the floor, one knee pressed to the cold marble, the other bent, his posture almost reverent.

It’s so wrong—so fundamentally not him—that I can’t process it. Moon Arden, who commands rooms with his presence, who leans against cars with casual arrogance, who locks doors and cages me against walls—kneeling.

For me.

He opens the box slowly, deliberately, as if this moment has been rehearsed a thousand times in his mind.

The lid lifts, and inside rests a ring.

Silver. Beautiful. Covered in tiny diamonds that catch the harsh overhead light and scatter it like captured stars. Each facet throws prismatic sparks across his face, across his hands, across the space between us.

It’s expensive. Stunning. The kind of ring people dream about, the kind that ends up in fairy tales and romance novels.

Moon’s eyes lift to mine, waiting. His lashes are still wet from tears, his cheeks still flushed, but there’s something else in his gaze now—hope, fragile and desperate, like a candle flickering in a storm.

"Zyren."

His voice is soft, raw, stripped of all its usual armor. No teasing. No playfulness. No arrogance. Just him, naked and vulnerable and asking.

"You lost the memories of our past. So let’s make new ones. Let’s start again."

A pause that holds everything—his childhood, his pain, his years of trying to forget, the hope that never quite died.

"Please," he whispers. "Be mine."

I look at the ring. The diamonds blur slightly, and I realize my eyes are wet. Then I look back at him. Then down at my own hands, resting on my lap, fingers intertwined so tightly my knuckles are white.

Slowly, I lift my fingers to the buttons of my shirt.

The first one slips through its hole easily. The second takes a moment, my hands trembling just slightly. I pull the fabric aside, revealing what lies beneath.

My hand reaches for the chain around my neck, lifting it, drawing it out from where it rests against my heart.

The metal is warm from my skin, familiar, a weight I’ve grown used to carrying.

At the end of the chain hangs a simple silver ring.

No diamonds. No shine. Just ordinary metal, worn smooth from resting against my chest—traced by my fingers in quiet moments when no one is watching

But it’s precious. More precious than any diamond could ever be.

Moon’s gaze shifts to the ring resting against my collarbone. His expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes flickers and dies—like a light being extinguished, like a door closing softly in a distant room.

I look at him, my voice gentle but steady.

I owe him this much. Honesty, even when it hurts.

"Moon. That morning in my room... you saw this ring, didn’t you?"

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on the silver circle, as if he can’t look away, as if looking away would make it real.

"And you know what it means."

My fists clench in my lap. I feel terrible—a deep, aching guilt that settles in my chest like a stone.

He’s kneeling before me, offering me his heart, and I have to break it. I have to.

But I can’t give him what he wants. I can’t pretend. I can’t lie. Not about this.

"Moon, please." My voice softens further, pleading now.

"Don’t ask for something I don’t have. Don’t hurt yourself like this."

His voice cuts through mine, loud and flat. It echoes off the walls, sharp as a blade.

"Is he better than me?"

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

His eyes finally lift to meet mine, burning with something desperate. The tears are gone, replaced by a fire that terrifies me.

"Tell me." His voice rises with each word.

"Does he have strength like me? Charm? Fame?"

A pause, each question a knife.

"Is he an S-class Alpha like me?"

He shifts forward slightly, his gaze boring into mine.

"Tell me what he has that I don’t."

I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, letting it steady the shaking in my hands. When I speak, my voice comes out louder than I intended—firm but not harsh, clear but not cruel.

"Moon. Please listen to me."

He stops. Stares at me without blinking.

"There’s no ’better’ or ’worse’ here."

I hold his gaze, willing him to understand, to see past his pain to the truth I’m trying to offer.

"I just love him. And that’s reason enough for me to choose him."

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and final.

Moon stays silent, but his eyes shine again—that telltale glisten I’ve seen too many times tonight. His jaw tightens, working against the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

I soften, my voice dropping to something weak and gentle, the way you’d speak to someone who’s already wounded.

"Moon, I know how you feel."

A pause.

"I can’t imagine what this is like for you. And I don’t want to hurt you more by lying. I need to be honest with you, even when it’s hard."

I let the words land, let them settle.

"I’m in love with someone else."

He closes the ring box.

The soft click echoes in the silence like a door locking, like something ending.

He stands slowly, movements mechanical, controlled—a puppet with cut strings somehow still moving.

"You can’t understand how I feel," he says quietly. His voice is empty, hollowed out.

He slips the box back into his pocket, and the gesture is so casual, so final, that it breaks something in me.

I stand too, facing him. The distance between us feels like a canyon, like continents, like years.

He won’t meet my eyes.

I reach up slowly, giving him time to pull away, to flinch, to reject me. He doesn’t move. My palms rest against his burning cheeks—so warm compared to my cold skin, so alive despite everything.

He looks at me.

I wipe his tears gently, the way you’d handle something fragile, something precious.

"Please forgive me," I whisper. The words feel so inadequate.

"For whatever I did in the past. I can’t remember it, and I can’t make up for things I don’t know."

A shaky breath escapes me.

"But I’m sorry. For everything. For all of it."

He watches me, silent, his eyes searching my face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s saying goodbye.

"And remember what you asked me about family? About Angel?"

I hold his gaze, willing him to hear this, to hold onto something.

"You’re my family too, Moon."

I pause, letting the words sink in.

"Please... stay beside me. As family."

He blinks. Something shifts in his expression—a crack in the despair, a flicker of something else beneath the grief. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

"Zyren."

His voice is hoarse, scraped raw.

"First..."

He swallows hard.

"Promise me one thing."