A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Command

 

At dusk, the sky over Huaicheng had already darkened like ink.

 

On her way to the hotel, Jiang Mi glanced at her phone. Zhao Jia had said that Jiang Yuying was still in a very poor state. Jiang Mi got out of the car, turned into a corner eatery, and repacked a bowl of wontons amid the fragrant steam of rice.

 

Opening the hotel door, Jiang Mi immediately saw Jiang Yuying’s back—it was as if she were frozen in front of the balcony’s glass door.

 

Jiang Mi gently closed the door behind her. She saw Jiang Yuying’s shoulder blades tighten—the sound of the door closing alone was enough to make her flinch. But she didn’t turn around.

 

Jiang Mi exchanged a glance with Zhao Jia. The exhaustion in Zhao Jia’s eyes said everything. In truth, Jiang Yuying had been like this ever since she regained consciousness. She kept throwing up after eating and eating again after vomiting.

 

They hadn’t told Jiang Mi the full extent, afraid it would disrupt her work on set.

 

Jiang Mi clenched her molars, handed the wontons to Zhao Jia, and walked toward that isolated figure. The sound of her heels striking the floor was swallowed by the carpet. After changing into disposable slippers, she approached, her voice light as if afraid to startle mist:

 

“It’s me.”

 

Jiang Yuying’s spine went rigid.

 

A few seconds later, the sorrow that had gripped her suddenly shattered, like ice cracking along the bones. Her body slumped a few inches, like melting snow.

 

That pale neck finally turned. Jiang Yuying looked back, and the hotel room’s light illuminated her unfocused pupils—until her gaze met Jiang Mi’s. Only then did the dead water in her eyes begin to crack.

 

A wave of soreness surged up Jiang Mi’s throat.

 

She looked at the dark shadows under Jiang Yuying’s eyes and couldn’t suppress the lump in her throat. “We’re all here.”

 

She took a half step forward. “Don’t be afraid.”

 

Her voice was like a pebble dropping into a still pond. Jiang Yuying trembled from her fingertips to her whole body. Tears broke free and slowly formed clear beads along her gaunt jaw.

 

When her vision was finally overwhelmed by tears, she collapsed into Jiang Mi’s warm embrace, sobbing uncontrollably—like a drowning person clutching the last piece of driftwood.

 

Zhao Jia was visibly moved.

 

She had worked with Jiang Mi for a long time, and naturally came to know Apple too. The first time she met the girl, Apple had still been part of the group.

 

Beautiful, with a smile like blooming flowers, full of youthful energy. A teenage girl with twin ponytails dancing to the rhythm on stage, eyes full of dreams.

 

As a fellow dream-chaser who had climbed through the thorns, Apple had done very well.

 

Her eyes sparkled when speaking to anyone—always full of hope. Like Jiang Mi, she had no biological mother, but possessed a burning heart.

 

But now, that face had been worn thin by torment, and her eyes had lost all light.

 

Jiang Mi gently wiped the tears from Jiang Yuying’s cheekbones. The tissue was soaked in salt.

 

“There’s something I didn’t discuss with you,” she said. “I made the decision on my own. But I think you’ll agree.”

 

Jiang Yuying lifted her eyes slightly.

 

“I found a very skilled legal team,” Jiang Mi continued. “They’ll help you terminate your contract with Chen Qiao. If possible, we’re going to bring her down—hard. I’m afraid if we delay any longer, she’ll make another move. They might come tomorrow to ask you for details.”

 

Jiang Yuying’s throat bobbed, and she forced out a single word: “Okay.”

 

Her knuckles dug into her palm. “Mi Mi… I’m useless, aren’t I?”

 

“No!” Jiang Mi’s voice suddenly rose:

 

“If anyone says you’re useless, then they’re the stupid one. If you were useless, who’s been supporting those orphanage kids every month? If you were useless, who’s been taking care of your adoptive mother? If you were useless, Chen Qiao would’ve gone bankrupt ages ago.”

 

Her heart was heavy. She couldn’t deny she felt frustrated with her, but more than that, she hurt for her. Apple, once so confident and cheerful, had been worn down to this.

 

Now, Apple looked like a willow tree uprooted by a typhoon—fragile and on the verge of collapse.

 

“Apple, the useless one isn’t you—it’s Chen Qiao. From start to finish, the only mistake you made was trusting the wrong person.”

 

“I won’t make that mistake again,” Apple choked through tears. “Mi Mi, I really won’t.”

 

She and Chen Qiao had spent ten years together.

 

Every day—what she ate, where she slept, her every emotion—had been tied to Chen Qiao. She was her natural confidant, sharing almost all her joy and sorrow.

 

Over such a long time, she had nearly convinced herself that Chen Qiao was the only person who would walk that path with her.

 

But in the end, it was all an empty illusion.

 

All the warmth and love she once believed in had turned out to be mirages.

 

To Chen Qiao, she was just a sad joke.

 

Ten years.

 

How many more ten-year periods could she afford?

 

Every time she thought about it, tears came like a flood.

 

She didn’t want to cry. She kept telling herself to be strong. But the pain in her heart was so deep, she couldn’t control the tears at all.

 

“Mi Mi,” she whispered—perhaps to Jiang Mi, perhaps to herself. “I’ll get through this. I really will be okay.”

 

She could only keep repeating it.

 

As if by repeating it, she could convince herself—and reassure the friends who cared for her.

 

Jiang Mi wiped her own damp eyes, then gently dried Jiang Yuying’s face. Her gaze was unusually firm, her voice steady:

 

“Don’t be afraid. You’ve never been alone. We’re with you.”

 

“Don’t let Shan Shan or Jiang Hu know,” Jiang Yuying said hoarsely. “I don’t want them to worry.”

 

“Of course not—especially Jiang Hu,” Jiang Mi said dramatically. “If she finds out, she’ll probably go bash Chen Qiao’s face in.”

 

That wouldn’t be the worst of it. The problem was the mess it would cause. They had to avoid any unnecessary complications now.

 

“Zhao Jia said you haven’t been eating.” Jiang Mi’s tone became firm. “I brought you wontons. You have to eat some.”

 

She looked intently at Jiang Yuying and added, “Cry if you want. Cry your heart out. Let all that pain and all your effort over the past ten years wash away. But Apple…” she emphasized, “this is the only time.”

 

Just this once—the last time.

 

From now on, never let that scumbag affect you again. Never shed another tear for him.

 

Zhao Jia chimed in softly, every word heavy: “Don’t look back. And don’t soften.”

 

“I won’t.” This time, Jiang Yuying’s voice was soft—but resolute.

 

…

 

After settling the emotionally steadier Jiang Yuying, Jiang Mi left the hotel. Night had fallen.

 

Most of her belongings—including scripts she needed to review—were still at the crew’s hotel. Zhao Jia, seeing her concern, volunteered to stay behind and care for Apple.

 

Back in her car by the roadside, Jiang Mi leaned into the seat and pulled out her phone. Her finger hovered over her contact list, hesitating for a moment, before stopping precisely on one special name.

 

She sent a message:

 

“Ms. Yan, are you still awake?”

 

She stared at the screen, waiting. No reply.

 

The window rolled down. The cool night breeze blurred her eyes.

 

Once her tense nerves relaxed, exhaustion flooded her. She struggled to keep her eyes open, her mind tethered to that unlit screen.

 

Some time passed. Just as she was drifting off—

 

A buzz in her palm.

 

Like a jolt of electricity, Jiang Mi snapped awake and immediately unlocked her screen.

 

“No.”

 

So cold.

 

Was she disappointed? Maybe a little. Jiang Mi sat straighter and replied:

 

“Please thank President Tan for me. If not for her…”

 

Halfway through typing, she paused. This kind of thing should really be said in person. Apple had felt the same—someone like Tan Zhaoxin, they probably didn’t have the right to ask for help, but if possible, they still wanted to thank her face-to-face.

 

Jiang Mi deleted the message and typed again:

 

“What are you doing?”

 

She clutched her phone like it was a fragile cake, filled with inexplicable nervousness and anticipation.

 

She had already decided what to say next.

 

But two minutes passed.

 

The screen only lit up with three words:

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Jiang Mi stared at them, thumb idly rubbing the edge of her phone.

 

If she hadn’t been trapped in that lounge earlier—so close, the pressure of that presence still seared in her mind—she might have doubted whether this was really Yan Wei herself.

 

She’d been on her knees all day. It was time to stand up…

 

“Nothing.”

 

She mimicked Yan Wei’s curt tone.

 

This time, the silence lasted all the way until she arrived at her hotel.

 

Even after getting out of the car, the screen remained dark.

 

Jiang Mi took a deep breath, trying to press down all her roiling emotions, and shoved her phone into her bag a little too forcefully.

 

Back in her hotel room, she dropped her coat and bag by the entrance. Sinking into the armchair by the window, she sat for a while in silence before heading to the bathroom.

 

Hot water washed away the day’s exhaustion. Wrapped in a soft bathrobe, she stepped out through the mist.

 

A few steps in, she remembered something and doubled back to the entryway. Her fingers reached into the bottom of her bag.

 

The screen lit up—one new message.

 

She unlocked it.

 

It was from Yan Wei:

 

“Headache.”

 

Her breath hitched. Jiang Mi instantly replied:

 

“Did you catch a cold?”

 

Silence again, dragging out the time. Every second painfully slow.

 

Just two or three minutes of waiting, and a wave of emotion rose up again, heavy and inexplicable.

 

Without thinking, she dialed.

 

The ringing echoed several times—

 

Then the line connected.

 

For a moment, there was only heavy, labored breathing through the receiver. Then, a hoarse and strained syllable:

 

“…Mm.”

 

“Did you take any medicine?” Jiang Mi asked gently.

 

“No.”

 

Short, curt reply.

 

“Is there any medicine in your hotel room?”

 

“No.”

 

Her condition was clearly terrible. Jiang Mi tried again: “Did you take your temperature? Are you feverish?”

 

No direct answer this time.

 

Just a stifled, distorted gasp—like someone fighting off a wave of heat inside.

 

Then, that familiar voice, hoarse and on the edge of breaking, called her name:

 

“Jiang Mi.”

 

It was like the voice had hooks.

 

Jiang Mi’s heart skipped. “I’m here.”

 

The line was silent for a beat, then came the oppressive tone that could pierce her skull.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“At the hotel,” Jiang Mi said, brushing off all hesitation. “Are you feeling really bad? I can come over—”

 

Before she could finish, Yan Wei interrupted her—voice cold, commanding, unmistakable:

 

“Come up.”