Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 144: The Plan

Troy tugged at the tight collar of his shirt and grimaced.

"He smiles like he’s already caught you," he muttered, remembering yesterday. Riven had leaned a little too close, complimented his handwriting, his handwriting, gods above, and then grinned like he knew Troy was flustered.

Imagine if his master knew that he was... Flustered because of Riven. No, he was not courting death. He shook his head.

Troy had nearly dropped his pen.

"I hate this," he said, but he was already pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. His hand moved quickly and precisely, writing the first invitation to trouble, a notice that Riven would be attending the Moonwatch Market in three days’ time, a perfectly harmless public outing.

He used his non-dominant hand so that no one knew that it was from him, his loyalty towards the Alpha was obvious. No one would believe that he betrayed Ronan, they would think he was setting a trap... Which he was.

He stood, smoothed his jacket, and strode to the outer chamber where a discreet messenger waited.

"Deliver this to the merchant guild," he said. "Let them know Lord Riven is attending. Quietly. But not too quietly."

As the door closed behind the messenger, he sat again, this time reaching for a sealed letter—unsigned, anonymous. It would find its way to one of the lesser Elders, the kind who still believed they had a chance to unseat Ronan with the right pressure.

The Alpha’s new mate will be unguarded for an hour in the lower districts. If one were to act, now would be the time.

Troy didn’t flinch as he finished writing. The plan was solid. Calculated. Controlled.

Riven would be bait. The trap would spring. The traitors would reveal themselves.

All Troy had to do was make sure Riven didn’t... Wander.

Or flirt with someone dangerous. Or get distracted by food.

---

It was early in the morning when Troy decided to tell Riven his plan. Today was the day of action.

The sun hadn’t fully crested the horizon yet, casting soft amber light across the polished floors and draping long shadows across the velvet chaise lounges. The estate was still quiet, except for the faint sound of cleaning.

Riven strolled in, barefoot, his robe loose around his shoulders and hair still slightly damp from his bath. He looked like sin incarnate on a lazy morning, all silk and smirks, and unfortunately, he knew it.

"Good morning, sunshine," Riven said cheerfully, stretching with an exaggerated sigh. "If I’d known you were this eager to see me, I would’ve worn something tighter."

Troy did not react. He would not react.

"I am here to tell you the plan."

Riven plopped onto a nearby couch, limbs sprawling with zero grace, looking more like a lounging cat than someone about to be used as live bait.

"You should’ve waited until tomorrow to tell me," Riven said with a grin. "Would’ve added that extra layer of danger. You know, for the thrill."

Troy gave a strained smile. "You’re mocking me."

"I am, yes. But only because you deserve it for waiting until this morning to tell me, your so-called bait, that I’m being dangled in front of murdererous elders like a meat skewer."

Troy tugged at his collar again, suddenly warm. "I didn’t want to give you too much time to think about it."

"Translation," Riven said, tilting his head, "you were afraid I’d ruin it."

There was a pause.

Troy laughed. Nervously.

Riven’s eyes narrowed.

"Oh, you were afraid," he said, sitting up a little straighter. "Afraid I’d flirt with everyone and spill the plan? Or maybe improvise and say something outrageous and completely off-script in front of a bunch of bloodthirsty noble bastards?"

"...You’ve done worse," Troy said faintly.

Riven grinned, teeth flashing. "I could make you regret that."

"I’d rather you didn’t."

Riven stood slowly, padding across the room toward him, and Troy backed up instinctively, like a mouse realising the cat was very interested today.

"Now, now," Riven murmured, peering up at him. "Are you saying you don’t trust me? After all we’ve been through, Troy? After I told you your handwriting looked like poetry? I am truly hurt, I might just back out and tell Ronan everything."

Troy smacked his folder against the table. "Please, Lord Riven. Focus. I was simply worried for you."

Riven would believe that if not for the fact that he was being used as bait.

Riven snorted and plopped himself on the edge of the table, twirling a strand of hair lazily. "Fine. You may continue, loyal minion. Tell me what I need to do before I’m dramatically assassinated."

Troy inhaled deeply. "You need to throw a tantrum first-"

"Easy." Riven interrupted. He was good at being bratty. It was, in fact, his speciality.

"You’ll say you’re bored, trapped, underappreciated. Make it believable, but don’t be too convincing. He has to agree, not kill the idea outright. Do everything you can to get Ronan’s permission to go out."

"Throw a tantrum, got it."

"A small one."

"A dramatic one."

"No—"

"Why are you so boring, Troy? I am genuinely asking." Riven crossed his arms and frowned.

Troy closed his eyes briefly. "Gods help me."

"Go on," Riven encouraged, legs swinging slightly.

"You’ll leave at noon with minimal guards. I’ve paid off the vendor stalls in the lower district. Your escort will take you through the Moonwatch Market—only the outer circle. At exactly thirty minutes in, you’ll go into the perfume shop. It’s been cleared in advance. Stay inside and let them come to you. The decoy guards will hold formation until I give the signal to collapse the perimeter."

"And then?" So he just had to wait and get attacked?

"Then Ronan arrives," Troy said, lips tightening. "And everything ends."

There was a brief silence.

Riven leaned forward, voice softer now. "You think it’ll work?"

Troy hesitated. "I think the Elders are too arrogant to ignore a chance to strike at Ronan through you."

Riven watched him carefully. Then—