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

Chapter 224: You Need To Repay Everything You Owe Me...

I step out of the car, and the morning air greets me like a blade—cold, sharp, cutting through the fabric of my coat, reminding me that I’m alive even when I wish I wasn’t.

My gaze lifts to the Kael Holdings building. It towers above me, shining beneath the pale sunlight like it always has—glass and steel and ambition, indifferent to the small lives passing through its doors.

I remember the first time I saw it.

The first day I opened my eyes in this world as Zyren Kael. Winter had just begun then too. I stepped out of the car and saw this building standing before me.

And him.

Standing near the entrance waiting for me. Dark eyes. Dark hair. Perfect posture. Nervous eyes behind thin glasses. Back then, I thought he looked innocent.

How foolish I was. Believing in someone so easily.

I blink, and the memory fractures, splintering into pieces I can no longer put back together.

I bury it beneath the mask I’ve been wearing for days now.

I straighten my posture, slide my hand into my pocket, and let my expression settle into something cold.

Something untouchable.

This is who I am now.

Zyren Kael.

Love is a delusion. Trust is a weakness. And believing in either is just a slower way to destroy yourself.

I walk forward, my shoes echoing against the polished stone.

The guards bow as I pass, their greetings blending into a distant murmur of "Good morning, President."

I don’t acknowledge them.

I don’t acknowledge anyone.

Inside, the lobby is warm—too warm. The kind of artificial heat that makes my skin feel tight and my lungs feel heavy.

A girl approaches quickly, her heels clicking sharply against the marble, nervous energy radiating from her with every hurried step.

"Good morning, President Kael."

I don’t stop. I don’t look at her.

She falls into step beside me, her voice quick and nervous. Around us, the staff bow with practiced smiles, their greetings blending together into a meaningless chorus.

Good morning, President.

Good morning, sir.

I don’t like them anymore. I don’t like any of this.

"President," the girl says, struggling to keep pace beside me, "I’m Jenny. Your new secretary. I’m replacing—"

I stop.

She freezes two steps behind me, the rest of her sentence dying in the air.

Slowly, I turn and let my gaze move over her.

Nervous. First day. Glasses perched on her nose. Fingers twisting tightly behind her back. She’s trying hard to make a good impression. Trying hard to be perfect.

This isn’t what I want.

The manager approaches, bowing deeply. His posture is perfect, his suit immaculate, his face carefully composed into professional deference.

"Good morning, President Kael."

My voice comes out low and cold, the kind of quiet that makes people instinctively lower theirs in return.

"Mr. Kwon. Bring me Mr. Deniz’s complete file." A pause. "Every detail. Every document. Everything."

He nods quickly, something flickering briefly across his face—surprise, maybe concern.

"Yes, President. Right away."

I turn and walk away, my fist tightening inside my pocket.

This isn’t what I want.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t erase him from my mind. His absence follows me everywhere.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside.

The mirrored walls reflect back a version of myself I barely recognize—silver hair, pale skin, eyes stripped of whatever light they once carried.

The doors close, sealing me inside the silence, and a long breath slips from my lips. I loosen my tie, tugging at the knot until it slackens. The fabric suddenly feels too tight around my throat, too suffocating.

Why can’t I breathe?

I press a hand against my chest, rubbing slow circles over the frantic rhythm beneath my ribs.

Relax, Neon.

Just calm down.

Just breathe.

My phone buzzes—a small, insistent sound in the silence. I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen.

Moon: Honey, did you make it to the office?

Another message appears almost immediately, as if he couldn’t wait even a second longer.

Moon: Honey, let’s have lunch together. I’ll pick you up.

I stare at the screen. At the words. At the casual way he calls me honey like I already belong to him. Like I’ve always belonged to him.

It’s still morning.

We ate breakfast together less than thirty minutes ago.

And he’s already talking about lunch. Already planning the next meal, the next meeting, the next excuse to stay close to me.

I turn off the screen and slip the phone back into my pocket.

The elevator doors slide open onto the executive floor—quiet, empty, the kind of silence that feels like it’s waiting for something. I straighten my coat, smooth back my hair, and step out.

My footsteps echo across the polished marble, sharp and lonely in the empty hallway. I push open the door to my office and walk inside.

Everything is the same.

The glass wall overlooking the city beyond, indifferent to the small dramas unfolding beneath it. The desk. The chair. The unopened files waiting neatly in place. Even the pen still rests exactly where I left it.

Everything is exactly the same.

But somehow, everything has changed.

Maybe this is reality.

Or maybe I’ve only just finally woken up to it.

I walk to my desk and sit down, the leather soft and familiar beneath me. My phone buzzes again. Moon calling. I don’t look at the screen. I silence it with my thumb and set the phone face-down on the desk.

He won’t even let me breathe alone. Not once.

I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and let the silence settle around me.

A soft knock at the door. "Come in," I say without opening my eyes.

The door opens. Footsteps approach slowly before stopping at the edge of my desk.

"President."

The manager’s voice is careful and controlled.

"Mr. Deniz’s file."

I open my eyes and look down at the folder resting on my desk. Thick. Heavy. Filled with documents, records, histories.

The story of a man who walked into my life and left without looking back.

I don’t touch it.

"Does Mr. Deniz have any outstanding agreements with the company?"

The manager folds his hands neatly in front of him, posture perfectly straight.

"Yes, President. Mr. Deniz took out a loan during his employment. He has repaid approximately half of the amount. The remaining balance is still outstanding."

A pause.

"When he resigned, he requested permission to continue making regular payments while working elsewhere. He has been doing so without issue."

My eyes remain fixed on the file. My fingers tap slowly against each other—a quiet, restless rhythm. The only sign of the storm beneath my calm exterior.

"Where is he working now?"

"It’s a small company," the manager replies carefully.

"Not a major competitor. An ordinary cosmetics brand called Lovebeauty. Low-budget products. Nothing capable of threatening our position."

A pause. He’s choosing his next words carefully. I can tell.

"I asked Mr. Deniz why he resigned. Why he would leave Kael Holdings—the number one company in the country—to join such an ordinary place."

Another pause.

"He said he had personal reasons."

A slow smile spreads across my lips. Cold. Sharp. Cruel.

Personal reasons.

I lift my hand slightly, dismissing him.

"You can go."

He nods and walks out. His footsteps fade into the hallway before the door closes behind him with a soft click.

Silence settles over the office once more. I stare at the file resting on my desk.

You need to repay everything you owe me. Everything. With interest.

Mr. Deniz Hart.