Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 154: Let’s Start Fresh... A New Beginning..

Moon’s blue eyes are still on me, pinning me in place like a specimen beneath glass. My heart races, a wild, desperate rhythm I can’t control.

He looks hurt—genuinely, deeply hurt—and I don’t know what to do with that.

Neon. Calm down. Shouting isn’t going to fix this. Arguing isn’t going to fix this.

He’s hurting, and you need to handle it with softness.

I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, letting it steady me. The air tastes like candle wax and roses and something else—something raw and honest I can’t name.

"Moon..."

He stays silent, watching me with those eyes that hold too much, that have always held too much.

Slowly, carefully, I reach across the small space between us.

My hand finds his, and I hold it. Gently. Softly. The way you’d hold something fragile.

He blinks, looking down at our joined hands, then back up at my face. Something flickers in his expression—surprise, maybe, or hope he’s trying to kill.

My voice is soft when I speak.

"I’m not acting. It’s the truth." I hold his gaze, willing him to see, to believe.

"I lost so many memories. And I really don’t remember anything about our past."

I give his hand a little squeeze, trying to pour reassurance into the gesture, trying to bridge a gap I don’t understand.

"If I did something that hurt you back then, please forgive me." A pause.

"But I swear—I don’t remember. None of it."

His eyes shine. Tears gather at the corners, threatening to spill. He stares at me for a long, agonizing moment, searching my face like he’s trying to see past the lie he thinks I’m telling.

I don’t look away. I let him see everything—the confusion, the sincerity, the desperate wish that I could give him more.

His voice breaks. Just a little. Just enough to crack something inside me.

"You really... don’t remember anything?"

I nod. "Yes. I don’t remember anything."

He blinks, and the tears slide down his cheeks.

My eyes widen. I wasn’t prepared for this—for Moon Arden, the arrogant, impossible Alpha, to sit here crying in front of me. The sight is so unexpected, so raw, that it steals my breath.

He looks away, ashamed maybe, or just unable to hold my gaze any longer. His profile is sharp against the glittering city beyond the glass, softened by the wet trails on his cheeks.

I raise my other hand slowly. Carefully. I reach for his face and gently wipe the tears from his cheek. His skin is warm, wet, real beneath my fingertips.

"Moon," I whisper.

"Please. Forget about the past. Let’s start fresh. A new beginning."

He looks back at me, and his voice, when it comes, is weak but clear. Full of a hurt so deep it terrifies me.

"Do you really think forgetting is easy?"

I freeze.

More tears fall, unstoppable now. His hands tremble in mine.

"I tried so hard," he continues, his voice cracking with effort.

"I tried to erase you from my life. To let the past go. And I finally succeeded."

A pause.

"But then you showed up again. Suddenly. With that modeling offer."

I stay silent, listening, letting him speak.

"Everything I built—everything—shattered in a moment."

A sad, broken smirk touches his lips, there and gone. He looks away, at the city, at nothing.

"I thought you came for me. That little hope inside me, the one I couldn’t kill no matter how hard I tried—it burned back to life. I thought you still loved me. That you wanted me back."

His voice drops.

"But soon I realized. You came for your precious Omega friend. I’m just... a tool. Something you’re using to give him fame."

"No." The word escapes me, urgent.

"Moon, it’s not like that—"

"You always act like we’re strangers."

He cuts me off, his voice rising, cracking at the edges.

"Whenever I touch you, whenever I try to get close, you act like my touch burns you. You ignore me. You push me away."

"Moon—"

He doesn’t listen. His hands come up and hold my face, cupping my cheeks, forcing me to meet his eyes. His grip is gentle but insistent, desperate.

"If you didn’t want me, why did you come back?" His voice breaks completely.

"Tell me. Why? "

I can’t answer. I have no answer. My hands clench the fabric of my trousers, twisting, holding on to something, anything.

Then he rests his head on my shoulder.

The weight of him, the surrender in the gesture—it undoes something in me. His tears soak through my shirt, warm and wet against my skin.

"It hurts," he whispers against my shoulder.

"It hurts so much. Like hell."

A sob shakes him. I feel it travel through his body into mine.

"Zyren... you’re so heartless. So heartless..."

Slowly, carefully, I raise my hand and rest it on his back. I pat softly, gently, because I don’t know what else to do. I have no words.

No answers. No way to tell him that I’m not the Zyren he loves—that I’m just a broke high school student wearing his skin, living his life, stumbling through memories that aren’t mine.

"Shh," I whisper instead.

"Please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything."

He raises his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine again. They’re red-rimmed, swollen, wet.

"You’re right," he says quietly.

"Let’s start fresh. A new beginning."

A soft smile touches my lips—relieved, hopeful, fragile as spun glass. I reach up and wipe his tears again, and he lets me.

Then, suddenly, he stands.

The chair scrapes against the floor, loud in the silence. I watch, confused, as he pushes it aside.

What is he doing?

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box.

Then he kneels in front of me.

The soft smile on my lips fades completely.

🌸 Bonus — Moon’s POV (Before Dinner)

The luxurious designer boutique glows with soft, warm light, every surface polished to perfection. Racks of expensive clothing line the walls, each piece worth more than most people’s monthly salaries.

The air smells of expensive fabric and subtle perfume—the scent of money, of exclusivity, of a world most people never enter.

Moon sits on a plush velvet couch, leaning back with the relaxed ease of someone completely at home in spaces like this.

His legs are crossed, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his posture radiating the kind of confidence that comes from years of being told you’re special.

In front of him, the most expensive designer outfits hang on a rolling rack—dozens of them, each one more exquisite than the last.

A designer stands beside the rack, a slender man with careful eyes and nervous hands, pulling out one piece after another for Moon’s inspection.

He holds up a crisp white outfit, the fabric catching the light.

"Mr. Arden, I hope this one meets your approval. It’s our newest arrival—limited edition, only three exist in the world."

Moon glances at it, his blue eyes sweeping over the garment with practiced disinterest.

"Nope."

The designer’s smile falters just slightly.

"May I ask what you’re looking for specifically?"

Moon’s gaze drifts, unfocused for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than before.

"I want something more beautiful. I want to look perfect."

He pauses, and something shifts in his expression—a vulnerability he rarely shows.

"Because I want the person I’m meeting tonight to not be able to look away from me."

The designer’s face softens with understanding. He smiles warmly, genuinely.

"Mr. Arden, with all due respect, no matter what you wear, you always look handsome. You always look perfect."

Moon doesn’t respond, just waits.

The designer’s smile widens.

"But I think I have something special for you. Something... extraordinary. Let me show you."

He turns to rummage through the racks, pulling out garment after garment, searching for whatever he has in mind.

Moon’s phone buzzes.

He pulls it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before answering.

"Hello?"

A voice comes through, professional and efficient.

"Sir, as you ordered, everything is ready at the penthouse. The staff have completed the preparations."

Moon’s eyes drift to the large windows, to the city beyond.

"The candles?"

"Yes, sir. We’ve filled the entire space with candles, just as you instructed. No other lighting will be used."

A pause. Moon’s voice drops, quiet and private.

"Good."

He ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.

For a moment, he just sits there, staring at nothing, seeing something only he can see.

The designer continues to work in the background, pulling out fabrics, arranging possibilities.

Moon’s lips part, and a whisper slips out—so soft, so fragile, it’s almost not there at all.

"Just him and me."