Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 145: Walk Into A Trap?

Riven stepped closer to Troy and pulled him closer by the collar. They were face to face, Riven’s breath hit Troy’s face, and he started to blush.

"There better not be a scratch on me when this is over. Otherwise, I’m snitching." Riven warned with a smile on his face. To conquer hot men, you need to take risks, to conquer hot men, you must also stay alive and pretty!

"I- Of course." Troy quickly backed away. He first priority was keeping Riven safe too.

"You really are loyal to him," he said. "Even though he never says thank you."

"He doesn’t need to," Troy replied immediately. "My service is not conditional on praise."

Riven tilted his head. "That’s such a boring answer. You’d be so much cuter if you loosened up."

"I’m not interested in being—"

"Cute?" Riven cut in with a smirk. "Too bad. You’re already halfway there with that hair part, glasses, and the chronic anxiety."

Troy stared at him, utterly done.

Then both of them started laughing—Troy more out of panic, Riven because chaos was the only language he spoke fluently. Riven was well aware of the fact that Troy was forcing the laugh, just like how one laughs at their boss’s terrible jokes.

"You’re really going to do it?" Troy asked after a moment.

Riven’s grin softened, his eyes flickering with something more grounded. "Yeah. I’ll do it. For Ronan."

And after a beat, "And for you, scary little loyal assistant."

Troy looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Riven stood, brushed off imaginary dust from his robe, and stretched. "I’m going to go cause problems. Don’t worry—I’ll be dazzling. Your bait’s got bite."

"Please don’t flirt with the kidnappers," Troy called after him as Riven walked away.

"No promises!" Riven sang back, disappearing around the corner.

Troy sank into a chair, rubbed his temples, and groaned.

"Why couldn’t the Alpha fall for someone boring?"

His type was too... Eccentric.

Breakfast had come and gone, and Ronan sat in the study, reviewing the security reports with the intensity of a man who trusted no one.

It was the perfect time to cause a scene.

Riven burst into the room without knocking, a swirl of silk and indignation.

"I am going mad in here!" he announced dramatically, arms flung wide like a character in a tragic opera.

Ronan blinked once.

Riven was usually pretty bratty, but this time he felt different. He was now pacing the floor like a caged cat, hands gesturing wildly. "I’ve been cooped up in this ridiculously luxurious prison for too long, Ronan. Do you know what that does to a person? My creativity is suffering. My skin is dull. And don’t even get me started on my social life."

"You don’t have a social life," Ronan said dryly, barely glancing up from the page.

"Exactly! And why is that? It’s because I’m stuck here!"

"Riven," Ronan carefully said, "Do you hate it here?"

No, he didn’t, although he felt a bit stuffy, he was in a luxurious mansion with servants and private chefs! He would sound entitled if he said it sucked there!

He dropped into the armchair across from the desk with a long, exasperated sigh, flopping dramatically like a dying poet. "Do you know the last time I touched fresh market fruit with my own hands? Or had any street food?"

"The chef will make it for you," Ronan replied curtly.

Riven stood again and started pacing once more, fingers combing through his curls. "I need the outside. The wind. The street noise. The scent of grilled meat and fresh fruits! I’m withering. Look at me, I’m wilting."

"You look fine."

"Ronan!"

Ronan exhaled slowly and set his pen down. "You want to go out."

"Yes!"

"To the market?"

"Yes!"

"Unsupervised."

Riven blinked. "Well—no. I assumed someone would hover behind me like a judgmental shadow, yes. That’s fine. That’s expected. But I must go."

Ronan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling.

"Why now?"

Riven placed a hand on his chest. "Because I will combust otherwise. You will wake up cuddling a pile of ashes and a fancy robe in the morning if you don’t let me go!"

Ronan studied him.

Riven pouted.

And then—he actually whimpered.

Ronan stared.

Riven’s lower lip jutted out like a weapon, his eyes wide and watery with mock devastation, and Ronan had faced assassins with more composure than he had in this moment. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"This will not work," Ronan said. But he knew that it was in fact, working.

Riven pouted more. He crossed his arms and kept on looking at Ronan with a wronged look on his face.

Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddess above. Fine. You can go out. But only to the market. And not alone."

Riven straightened so fast he nearly tripped over his own robe. "Really?"

"Yes. But only under supervision." Ronan repeated himself.

"Oh, I’ll be on my best behavior," Riven said, a little too quickly. "You won’t even know I’m gone."

"I’ll definitely know you’re gone," Ronan muttered.

He stood, moving to the shelf behind his desk where a line of sealed documents waited. "Troy will handle your security detail. He’s the only one I trust not to be distracted by your antics."

Riven’s expression flickered for half a second—just long enough for amusement to bloom behind his lashes.

"Oh? Troy? Your loyal assistant. Sure, I’m fine with that." Everything was going according to plan.

Riven grinned.

Ronan turned back and fixed him with a firm look. "Don’t cause trouble, Riven. This isn’t a game. I’ve received whispers. The elders are restless. I’m trusting Troy to keep you safe. Don’t make that harder than it already is."

Riven lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "I won’t. I swear on my cute tail and ears."

"Riven."

"Whaaat? I am being serious!"

He turned on his heel and practically danced out of the study, steps light with mischief and victory.

The moment the door shut behind him, Ronan sank back into his chair and reached for the documents he’d been reviewing. He didn’t get through two lines before he sighed and muttered to himself, "Why do I feel like I just walked into a trap?"