A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Help Me

 

On set, the daylight lamps buzzed overhead while a breeze slipped in through the cracks, making soft rustling sounds. Jiang Mi’s hand was still clutching Yan Wei’s shoulder, her knuckles pale from how hard she was gripping. The metallic taste of bl00d spread between her teeth just as she heard Jiang Qu shout, “Cut!” In that moment, it felt like someone had pulled her out from the depths of the sea.

 

Dust floated in the morning light streaming through the window.

 

Yan Wei took a step back, her gaze first landing on Jiang Mi’s lips—so flushed they looked as if they might bleed—and then meeting her slowly recovering eyes.

 

Jiang Mi touched the burning sting at the corner of her mouth, her tongue prodding the soft flesh cut by her teeth. The force Yan Wei had used earlier still burned on her lips. That gentle, restrained “Qin Shui” had, in an instant, turned into a seductive demon intent on devouring her.

 

Their gazes met, then slowly turned away from each other.

 

Her heart thudded violently. For a moment, she almost thought that what had just happened wasn’t part of the script at all.

 

Yan Wei turned around and accidentally bumped into someone, her movement knocking a ceramic cup off a nearby shelf. It shattered with a crisp crack.

 

The sound jolted Jiang Mi back to her senses.

 

On instinct, she reached for Yan Wei’s arm, pulling her back.

 

“You okay?”

 

The heat that had just left her body suddenly surged back again. Yan Wei’s gaze dropped to where Jiang Mi’s pale fingers were gripping her arm tightly.

 

Her heart seemed to come alive, thumping hard.

 

“I’m fine,” Yan Wei said, steadying herself.

 

Her voice was calm, but carried a faint huskiness.

 

She glanced at Jiang Mi’s lips, something unreadable in her eyes. “What about you?”

 

They turned together, the room bustling. Yan Wei’s voice was low, quiet enough for only the two of them to hear.

 

Not only did Jiang Mi’s eardrums tingle, but the cut on her lips began to throb faintly too. She pressed her lips together, and under Yan Wei’s gaze, it felt like she was being kissed all over again.

 

The sensation returned.

 

“I’m okay,” Jiang Mi replied.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Jiang Mi was startled. She hadn’t expected Yan Wei to continue asking that—especially not with so many people around. But then again, maybe this was normal.

 

She shook her head. “No.”

 

Yan Wei gave her a look, then walked off toward Jiang Qu as if they’d never spoken at all.

 

Behind her, Jiang Mi felt like she was trailing in her footsteps. She couldn’t shake the impression that the look Yan Wei gave her just now held discontent, perhaps because she didn’t answer truthfully… but also, just maybe, there was the ghost of a smile.

 

Unclear. Impossible to describe.

 

Then the look in her eyes during that scene flashed back into Jiang Mi’s mind.

 

That gaze—as if she were prey about to be consumed.

 

Goosebumps rose on Jiang Mi’s arm. She couldn’t explain why… She didn’t feel scared or resistant. In fact, she was a little excited. And that was strange.

 

Aside from a wide-angle retake for the moment of closeness, Director Jiang Qu was satisfied with the rest of the scene, and they smoothly moved on to the next.

 

…

 

Scene: Second Floor Balcony

 

Back then, in those old neighborhoods, the cement balconies had no railings. Leaning over the wall, you could see the end of the street. Closer in were white walls and black tiles, squat white buildings; in the distance, high-rises and new billboards.

 

A glance down showed the pagoda trees lining the street.

 

A worn-out sofa sat on the balcony.

 

Liang Yongping and Qin Shui were seated on it, a bit of space between them, the sagging cushions dipping in the middle.

 

Cold wind stirred their hair.

 

Qin Shui turned her head, watching Liang Yongping’s wind-tossed hair against her sorrowful face.

 

“I don’t need anything else—not even a title. I just want you by my side.”

 

That’s how most forbidden romances seem to begin.

 

At the time, they didn’t know whether those words were an excuse or a genuine belief that things would somehow end well.

 

Qin Shui cupped Liang Yongping’s face, gazing into her eyes.

 

“Yongping, don’t you want me?”

 

Liang Yongping shut her eyes. Her mind was full of her faraway family, the fiancée she couldn’t bear yet couldn’t escape from, and all her moral boundaries.

 

But then, a pair of vibrant, vivid eyes suddenly intruded.

 

The scent of roses mixed with crisp air as Qin Shui moved in.

 

Liang Yongping opened her eyes and looked at Qin Shui.

 

She didn’t say anything.

 

She just waited for her to lean closer.

 

The camera slowly pulled back, capturing the two getting closer and closer on the balcony.

 

But for Yan Wei and Jiang Mi, they were also getting closer in real life. The green vines by the windowsill swayed gently, their shoots reflecting in Jiang Mi’s pupils.

 

The shot moved from her eyes, to the tip of her nose, and finally to her lips, still red even after makeup touch-ups. If you looked closely, the lower-left corner was a little fuller, slightly swollen—the spot she had bitten.

 

What had she been thinking at that moment?

 

Director Jiang Qu wanted to capture the truest sense of revenge in the midst of heartbreak—but once she saw those reddened eyes, sympathy and tenderness returned instead.

 

Yet during filming, the emotions didn’t follow that script.

 

Those red, tearful eyes didn’t make her want revenge. What did she feel, at first?

 

Desire.

 

Desire for that person.

 

The need to comfort, to touch.

 

So she moved closer, soothing her gently—and when their lips met, the softness and heat felt like an addiction. In that instant, she did something no actor should: she detached from her role. She knew clearly the person she was looking at was not Liang Yongping.

 

In that brief detachment…

 

She forced herself to remember Liang Yongping’s rejection, her betrayal.

 

And in that gap, all her memories of Jiang Mi—specifically Jiang Mi with other people—slipped into her mind.

 

The tenderness turned into something rougher.

 

She wanted to leave her mark on that person.

 

Wanted her to hurt.

 

By the time Jiang Qu pressed “pause,” Yan Wei was dazed. Where had that surge of emotion really come from?

 

Was it an overwhelming desire for Jiang Mi?

 

Not entirely.

 

The confusion pounded in her head. Her emotions felt close to spiraling out of control.

 

…

 

As evening approached, the shoot wrapped early for once.

 

Jiang Mi, wrapped in her jacket, was heading to the lounge with Yan Wei, Surui, and a new assistant trailing behind.

 

Zhao Jia elbowed her, giving her a look: “Dinner?”

 

She was right—Shen Ruoxi had agreed almost immediately, even volunteered her food preferences. Now all that was left was Yan Wei.

 

Jiang Mi hesitated, glancing sideways at Yan Wei.

 

The light outside was damp, hinting at coming rain. Maybe because of that, Yan Wei seemed almost soggy with gloom.

 

She owed her a favor, and a meal was a polite gesture—but definitely not one-on-one. Not now.

 

After an afternoon of thought, she’d decided Zhao Jia was right.

 

“Ms. Yan, are you free tonight?”

 

Yan Wei turned her eyes slightly, lashes pausing mid-blink, her gaze resting on Jiang Mi’s eyes—more vivid now that her makeup was off.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“I just wanted to thank you. Take you out for a meal.”

 

Seeing no immediate refusal, Jiang Mi continued, “You’ve helped me a lot. I thought I’d show some appreciation. I also invited Ms. Shen to come. Would that be convenient?”

 

Yan Wei’s brows lowered, her expression growing colder. She slowly repeated:

 

“Together?”

 

“Mm…” Jiang Mi pretended not to notice the sudden shift.

 

“It’ll be more lively.”

 

“Lively?”

 

“……”

 

That repetition sent a chill down Jiang Mi’s spine.

 

She tried to backpedal: “If it’s inconvenient—”

 

“It is.”

 

“…Okay.” Jiang Mi nodded.

 

Yan Wei didn’t say anything else, just looked at her.

 

Jiang Mi forced a polite smile. “Then I won’t disturb you.”

 

The look on Yan Wei’s face made her heart pound. But for some reason, she had the urge to push just a bit: “Then I’ll go eat with Ms. Shen first. Maybe next time we can…”

 

Yan Wei watched her for several long seconds and replied meaningfully: “Go ahead.”

 

Jiang Mi turned back to Zhao Jia, who asked, disappointed: “You didn’t try harder?”

 

Jiang Mi: “…?”

 

“I tried really hard! I was practically on my knees!”

 

Zhao Jia: “……”

 

I’m not buying it.

 

“Just a few lines and you gave up? You call that effort?” Zhao Jia lowered her voice, letting the others walk ahead. “Be honest—you wanted to eat with Ms. Yan alone, didn’t you?”

 

Jiang Mi: “…Heaven help me, I swear I didn’t!”

 

She truly hadn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk more—she just didn’t have the ability.

 

…

 

Twenty minutes later, Jiang Mi had changed and booked a Chinese restaurant Shen Ruoxi liked. She was about to message her when a text came in:

 

“Mi-mi, I have to bail on dinner.”

 

“?? What happened?”

 

“A company that works with my studio is hosting a talk, and I’ve been assigned to attend…”

 

“A talk? This late? You sure it’s okay?”

 

“It’s just a lecture, nothing shady. The speaker just loves giving talks. But I’m really sorry about tonight!”

 

“It’s fine, go learn something. We’ll reschedule.”

 

“OK! They usually don’t drag me into stuff like this. No idea why today of all days. Ugh! My Mi-mi! 🥺”

 

Jiang Mi couldn’t help but laugh.

 

After a few comforting words, she sighed. Oh well—early wrap, early night. Rest wasn’t a bad idea.

 

Just as she turned around, she saw Yan Wei walking out wrapped in a plaid shawl.

 

For some reason, Jiang Mi suddenly remembered that faintly mocking “go ahead” from earlier.

 

She shook her head, brushing away that fleeting suspicion.

 

Maybe because she sensed someone watching her, Yan Wei suddenly looked up.

 

Jiang Mi’s heart skipped. She forced herself not to look away.

 

But Yan Wei didn’t either. Their eyes met, and then slowly dropped—to each other’s lips.

 

That scene had happened that morning, but Jiang Mi’s lips still tingled faintly. Her tongue unconsciously brushed the spot.

 

When she finally looked away, she didn’t see the look in Yan Wei’s dark eyes.

 

…

 

The road back to the hotel was one Jiang Mi knew well. She leaned by the window as usual, distracted.

 

So distracted she didn’t hear Zhao Jia calling her name.

 

“Jiang Mi!”

 

“…Huh?”

 

“You okay?” Zhao Jia asked.

 

“Yeah,” Jiang Mi denied instantly.

 

She looked out the window again. The night wind blew fiercely, casting hollow shadows everywhere.

 

Back at the set, Yan Wei stood straight, her coat fluttering in the wind. Her figure seemed like it would melt right into the darkness.

 

She tilted her head slightly and exhaled a breath. Surui asked, “Shall we go? Back to the hotel?”

 

Yan Wei was silent for a few seconds, looking toward where the car had disappeared.

 

“Mm.”

 

She stepped forward, and her phone started ringing incessantly inside her trench coat.

 

She heard Mo Xi crying and calling her name on the other end.

 

Yan Wei calmly hung up the phone. This kind of drama happened every few months; she was long used to it. Even Surui had grown accustomed—though she wasn’t standing very close just now, some of the sounds from the call still reached her ears.

 

Surui hesitated and asked, “Going home?”

 

This time Yan Wei didn’t answer, but her face turned cold like an icy cellar—empty and unreadable. No one could tell what she was feeling inside, only that it brought unbearable pressure to those around her.

 

Surui frowned slightly, silently praying nothing bad would happen. She feared this version of Yan Wei.

 

As the door was pushed open, the sharp stench of alcohol hit like invisible tendrils clinging to her throat. Yan Wei’s high heels crushed shards of porcelain scattered on the ground. The crystal chandelier above cast fractured shadows like cracked land as she walked slowly across them.

 

Every step crunched with the sound of breaking fragments.

 

Mo Yun was slumped on the floor. When she heard the footsteps, she slowly lifted her head. Her previously vacant eyes now seethed with molten rage—hatred boiling within.

 

Mo Xi, curled up in the corner, suddenly jumped up. Her tear-streaked face lit with a drowning person’s hope upon seeing a lifeline: “Sis…”

 

“Why don’t you just die?!” Mo Yun suddenly exploded. The jade bracelet on her wrist clanged harshly against the coffee table as she staggered toward Yan Wei, veins bulging on her neck, like a fish gasping its final breath under the influence of alcohol.

 

Mo Xi held her mother’s waist tightly. “Mom! What are you saying?!”

 

Her tearful voice trembled with fear. “How can you say that to Sis!”

 

Mo Yun still glared at Yan Wei. “Why don’t you just die?”

 

Yan Wei’s expression didn’t change. She coldly observed this far-too-familiar drama that had played out hundreds of times before. Her face remained composed as she curled her lips slightly. “If I died, who would give you this life of luxury? Who would pay for Mo Xi’s ballet tutor?”

 

She paused for a beat, eyes locking onto Mo Yun’s hate-filled gaze. “After all, you can’t even stay sober long enough to hate me properly.”

 

The air froze.

 

Mo Yun’s pupils shrank sharply, like Yan Wei’s words had pierced some festering wound. Her chest heaved as she turned red-eyed and tried to scream: “If not for you, she wouldn’t have died!”

 

“Mom! Stop! Please stop!” Mo Xi collapsed to the ground. “What does her death have to do with Sis? She was just a child back then! Can’t our family be normal for once?”

 

“Normal? What’s not normal? Without her, we would’ve been perfectly normal!”

 

Mo Xi knew that, like every other time, Mo Yun couldn’t be reasoned with when she was like this.

 

She was the one who had called Yan Wei home—she couldn’t handle the chaos alone. But now that Yan Wei was here, standing in this wrecked house, Mo Xi regretted it immensely.

 

The shattered porcelain in the corner reflected the twisted shadows of those inside—everything broken.

 

She closed her eyes, hoping it would all vanish like a bad dream.

 

Alcohol had turned Mo Yun’s pupils into murky amber. Her graying hair caught the chandelier’s light, reflecting nothing but cold detachment. This woman, who once gently brushed her hair and called her “sweetheart,” now had bruises around her neck from strangling herself with a necklace.

 

Mo Xi couldn’t take it anymore.

 

Her bitten lip bled. She wanted to scream for help. She knew her mother loved her—but she really couldn’t bear it anymore.

 

“Sis…”

 

But that plea died the moment she saw Yan Wei’s gaze.

 

Yan Wei’s eyes were too cold—cold like the snowy night years ago, when ice shards flew. Back then, her drunken mother had shoved her awards and college admission letters into an ice shredder while she stood silently watching.

 

She should’ve known—her family was never going to be normal.

 

She should have known.

 

“I really don’t know what to do anymore… what should I do…”

 

But really, what did it matter?

 

Yan Wei’s smile widened. What Mo Xi didn’t know was how many times Yan Wei had watched this exact scene play out, alone, over the years she hadn’t been home.

 

She lowered her eyes.

 

Mo Yun still looked at her like a sworn enemy. “Die. You should’ve died! It should’ve been you!”

 

After a pause, Yan Wei slowly walked forward. Her lacquered high heels crushed glass like they were chewing old memories. She bent down and picked up a fruit knife.

 

“Go ahead.” She squatted before Mo Yun and reversed the knife so the blade faced her own chest, pressing the handle into Mo Yun’s palm. Her smile deepened. They were only inches apart—close enough to see how similar their faces were.

 

“Sis, what are you doing?” Mo Xi was frightened, frozen in place.

 

“Kill me. Then you won’t have to suffer anymore.”

 

Her voice was like a spell—seductive, low. But her expression remained eerily calm, making it impossible to tell if she was joking or serious.

 

Mo Yun trembled with rage. Her thin hand hovered in the air. Mo Xi rushed forward, clinging to her. “Sis, please stop, both of you. I’m scared.”

 

For a long moment, the fruit knife stayed in Yan Wei’s hand. Her manicured nails caught the dim light. She suddenly let go, and the silver blade clattered to the ground—echoing with the broken fragments of the room.

 

Yan Wei slowly stood up.

 

“I’ll sell this place. You can take your things and leave.”

 

With that, she grabbed a tissue from the table and wiped her fingers clean, one by one.

 

Then she turned and walked away.

 

Crash—

 

Glass shattered on the floor. Splinters flew.

 

Yan Wei stopped and looked down. Bl00d was seeping from her ankle, staining her pale skin bright red.

 

The trailing line of bl00d reminded her of that snowy night long ago, when Mo Yun had dragged her from her bed by the collar—those same hateful eyes glaring at her. That night, she was thrown into the hallway.

 

She stood outside, hearing her mother’s soft voice lull a baby to sleep, as if nothing had happened.

 

She walked the streets. First slowly. Then she ran—ran as fast as she could.

 

In thin pajamas, barefoot. Ice shards cut into her heels. From that day on, it was like her body stopped feeling pain.

 

She looked at the wound for a moment—as if admiring it.

 

Then she stood upright again.

 

“That’s paid in full.”

 

Outside, it had begun to rain. Heavily.

 

By the steps, her black dress clung to her legs, rain pooling at her ankles. The drops stung as they found her wound, a persistent itch.

 

For some reason, her mind drifted to the day Mo Yun dragged her to the morgue, pointing to her beautiful mother’s stiff face and whispering:

 

“Why couldn’t it have been you instead?”

 

All these years. The same line. Over and over.

 

No originality at all.

 

Bl00d mixed with rain beneath her feet. She stepped forward, crushing the reflection of the past beneath her heel.

 

Yan Wei took a deep breath.

 

The damp air smelled like rust—like bl00d mingled with the scent of milk.

 

Then, she saw someone.

 

—

 

A black car stopped in the underground garage. Jiang Mi got out, waving goodbye to the driver.

 

She’d passed a rice noodle shop on the way home, and the smell reminded her of her family. Jiang You Shu used to make that dish for her and Jiang Hu. She got off early to eat.

 

Though she wore a hat and mask, someone still recognized her halfway through the meal. Thankfully, there weren’t many people. She paid and left quickly.

 

It was pouring outside. She got soaked, but luckily the driver wasn’t far.

 

She tugged at her damp white T-shirt—it clung to her chest, the cotton becoming nearly see-through.

 

Walking toward the elevator, her eyes caught a familiar nanny van. Rain dotted the dark windows like splintered starlight. She squinted at the license plate, confirmed it, then noticed the driver’s seat was empty. Only the overhead light cast a soft glow onto the leather seat.

 

Her gaze lingered for a moment.

 

Yan Wei sat inside, staring ahead.

 

She had been watching Jiang Mi’s footsteps—but then Jiang Mi paused.

 

She turned back.

 

The car door opened. Jiang Mi stopped again and turned to see Yan Wei step out. The black silk dress clung coldly to her body—soaked. Her expression showed surprise.

 

Then she saw it.

 

The bl00d on that pale ankle.

 

“What happened?” Jiang Mi ran over. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

 

She knelt to inspect it. The torn flesh was bloodied—worrying.

 

Yan Wei looked down at her—her furrowed brows, the concern in her expression, the soft scent of milk. Her pulse slowly stirred. Her frozen nerves flickered between numbness and chaos.

 

It wasn’t that late. More cars were pulling in.

 

Jiang Mi, not caring anymore, pulled Yan Wei along. “Get in. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

 

Yan Wei inhaled deeply. Jiang Mi didn’t notice the strange glint in her eyes.

 

Then came pressure on her arm.

 

Yan Wei gripped her wrist. Her fingertips were colder than the rain, but burning hot.

 

Yan Wei said, “Let’s go upstairs.”

 

Jiang Mi parted her lips, only to hear:

 

“My private doctor is coming.”

 

Yan Wei let go.

 

They stood facing the elevator’s mirrored walls. Jiang Mi glanced at her ankle.

 

“What happened?”

 

Yan Wei asked back, “Disappointed tonight?”

 

Her voice hoarse, soaked in brandy.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You didn’t get to have dinner with Shen Ruoxi. Disappointed?”

 

“Oh. No.”

 

Why would she be?

 

Yan Wei gave a small scoff. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. Not disappointed.”

 

She looked up at the reflection of Yan Wei in the mirror.

 

Silence stretched between them, the air thick with tension. Brandy-scented pheromones filled the elevator.

 

Jiang Mi pressed her lips together. Though she’d taken her inhibitor that morning, being near Yan Wei again triggered a tingling from her glands.

 

The space was too tight. Too dangerous.

 

The elevator climbed past 17… 18… 19…

 

Finally stopped at 20.

 

The rain had stopped, but the wind howled on.

 

They walked down the corridor.

 

Jiang Mi kept looking at her ankle. The light wasn’t good. She worried that walking in heels might worsen the wound.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Should I… carry you?”

 

Yan Wei said nothing. Apart from the wind, there was silence—so stifling it made Jiang Mi’s heart race.

 

Beep.

 

The door opened.

 

Yan Wei entered first. Jiang Mi followed, though she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t leave her alone before the doctor arrived.

 

If anything happened, she wanted to be there.

 

She closed the door behind her. “Miss Yan, when will your doctor—”

 

Suddenly, the brandy scent grew stronger. Jiang Mi froze. She stepped back instinctively until her back hit the door.

 

The lights weren’t on. The room was dim, lit only by city glow outside.

 

“Jiang Mi.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“I can’t wait anymore.”

 

Jiang Mi’s heart thudded loudly. She whispered, “Then let’s go to the hospital?”

 

Yan Wei’s damp breath and scent pressed close.

 

She looked up, inhaled, and heard a soft whisper full of temptation:

 

“You help me.”