A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 40
Chapter 40: Palpitations
Jiang Yuying pushed open the hotel room door. A dull ache and burning sensation filled her chest, and she desperately wanted to leave this temporary refuge and breathe the night air.
Zhao Jia was probably asleep in the adjacent room. These past two days, she’d worked tirelessly to care for Yuying, and now that Yuying had returned, she dared move only once alone.
At the end of the hallway, the elevator’s silvery doors opened.
She stepped in and pressed the ground-floor button.
Her body wasn’t fully recovered—her legs still felt shaky—but years of idol discipline forbade her from leaning against the elevator wall.
She exhaled slowly, trying to expel every troubled thought.
The elevator doors hadn’t closed completely when suddenly a figure appeared in her sight. Before she recognized who it was, the doors reopened—
A crisp, pine-like scent swept into the cabin.
Tan Zhaoxin paused mid-step. Having seen Jiang Yuying’s exhausted, illness-pale face before, she didn’t look surprised.
“Getting some air?” her calm voice asked.
The question felt slightly incongruous, as if they weren’t familiar enough for such concern.
Tan Zhaoxin added, “Are you alright?”
Yuying finally recognized her. Memories of the bar’s private room flashed—Zhaoxin had pulled her upright with one hand, her voice commanding but comforting. That voice had been a lifeline in a fogged-up moment.
Grateful, she bowed her head slightly, speaking weakly, “Ms. Tan. I just needed some air—after last night…”
No further words left her.
Tan Zhaoxin didn’t pursue it. She moved to the other side of the cabin. Just as the elevator doors were about to shut again, a hand painted in bright coral nail polish suddenly blocked them open.
The sharp tap of heels echoed, along with a pungent syrupy perfume.
“Zhaoxin! Where are you going in such a hurry?” It was Maidi, her tone faintly coquettish but edged with annoyance. When her eyes passed Yuying—hunched weakly in the corner—Maidi’s gaze flashed with irritation.
She strode into the elevator, her heel catching briefly. With force, her elbow struck Yuying’s arm.
Already weak from pain, Yuying was caught off guard and swayed—the world spun. Giddiness overtook her, and she stumbled sideways.
A lean, graceful hand grabbed her firmly—like lightning.
Tan Zhaoxin frowned, stepped in front of Yuying, blocking her.
“What are you pulling her for?” Maidi’s tone snapped from disdain to angry suspicion, like a cat whose tail had been trodden on. “Do you two know each other?”
Her gaze flicked back at Zhaoxin, then to Yuying’s ghostly pale profile.
Silence filled the elevator for several seconds until Maidi stomped furiously, “Fine! Zhaoxin, you’re amazing!” She slammed the button for the nearest floor and, as the doors opened, stormed out, her anger trailing behind her down the hallway.
The elevator fell into a cold hush, broken only by its mechanical hum.
The perfume lingered.
Tan Zhaoxin looked at Yuying, whose panic hadn’t fully subsided, then moved back a step to restore polite distance. She turned to Yuying and softly said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” Yuying forced out. “Ms. Tan, I didn’t thank you properly at the bar—for your help. Really, thank you.”
Zhaoxin fell silent, studying Yuying’s face—a fragile mask over obvious physical distress.
The elevator indicator flicked down.
Just when the air grew tense again, Zhaoxin spoke—her tone professional, clinically observant:
“Miss Jiang, forgive the question—it may be impolite, but… you haven’t been using any medication, have you?”
Yuying’s head shot up, her pale face etched with shock and confusion. She was so physically drained, she hadn’t expected this.
“…What?”
The elevator’s cold metal walls reflected Tan Zhaoxin’s uneasy expression. She pursed her lips—yes, it sounded odd, but she’d seen Yuying twice now, and on both occasions, Yuying hadn’t looked well.
She watched Yuying’s startled reaction—“What?” echoed in the confined space, sounding helpless.
After a low cough, her gaze darkened and she diverted her eyes, masking her embarrassment as though she’d just said something thoughtlessly out loud.
“My apologies—I misspoke,” she said. “If you want to express thanks, thank Miss Yan Wei.”
The elevator doors opened on the ground lobby.
Zhaoxin raised a hand to halt Yuying, gesturing for her to exit first in a refined gesture that nevertheless kept distance.
Still dazed, feeling the lingering impact of that abrupt question, Yuying pressed her lips together and whispered, “Thank you.”
Then, Zhaoxin called out, “By the way—if you’re going to say thanks, it’s better coming from Jiang Mi.”
Yuying blinked. She didn’t understand at first, but nodded, “Got it.”
With that, Zhaoxin walked out ahead.
She watched Yuying’s fragile silhouette disappear into the lobby crowd, then slowly pulled out her phone. Worry tugged at her—was it safe for Yuying to be out so late?
But she didn’t dwell. She quickly tapped out a number and hit dial.
The phone rang. A few seconds later, it was answered—but Yan Wei didn’t speak.
“Hello,” Zhaoxin began quietly, “how have you been these past days?”
Through the phone came deep, ragged breathing. Then:
“…Do you need something?”
“Just checking in,” Zhaoxin replied, “That minor underage case you handled…the girl’s mother is irrational and her emotions unstable. That could cause trouble soon. Just letting you know.”
As she spoke, Zhaoxin heard Yan Wei’s breathing grow heavier, more erratic—like she was grappling with increasing internal pain.
“Yan Wei?” Zhaoxin’s voice dropped. “Are you…ill?”
But the line went dead.
Up in the penthouse suite, the pressure felt suffocating. City lights blinked outside the window and bounced across the sofa where Yan Wei leaned.
A firestorm of oppressive heat raged inside her body—like burning embers lodged in her lungs—every breath felt stoked with heat.
Muscles ached weakly, every bone felt soft and strained, even her head felt heavy.
A suffocating sense of disgust and bodily discomfort intertwined; her throat was painfully dry.
She felt anxious—a mix of physical agony and restless tension.
Fingers moved almost of their own accord to unlock her phone. Twenty minutes had passed since Jiang Mi’s call—and still no one had come.
A nameless blaze erupted within her, scorching her nerves.
Worse, her body was betraying her—the heat radiated from her core, spreading through her limbs. She didn’t know whether she was hot or cold—just that she felt drenched all over.
She needed comfort—even just a moment of ease.
Yan Wei exhaled a sharp, heated sigh, her gaze dropping to the table. She seized the half-empty bottle of Scotch whiskey, poured the amber liquid into a heavy glass, and nearly gulped it down in one go. Its sharp burn numbed the suffocating tightness.
The empty glass crashed onto the marble tabletop.
Its sharp echo rang before the room’s bell chimed.
In the silent room, it sounded jarringly loud.
Slowly, everything fell silent again—only her ragged breathing filled the void.
Yan Wei shuffled to the door, her steps unsteady.
As the door swung open, the cold hallway light spilled in. Jiang Mi’s silhouette stood framed in the doorway.
Clad in a dark trench coat, looking gaunt yet determined, hood damp from the outside chill. Fear and concern shone from her clear, anxious eyes.
Cold night air met the stale, scalding heat inside the room— and in the contrast, Yan Wei’s forehead glistened with small beads of sweat; her cheeks flushed unnaturally.
Without thinking, Jiang Mi reached out and touched her forehead. Yan Wei jolted—a drop of cool sweat surfaced on her temple.
“So hot…” Jiang Mi murmured, stepping inside. “Have you checked your temperature?”
Yan Wei, agitated from illness, turned to find something to steady herself.
Jiang Mi frowned and muttered, “Why didn’t you take it? You’re burning up.” She moved toward the bedroom. “There’s a thermometer in the first-aid kit we used last time.”
She headed for the drawer with it.
Remembering something, she pivoted and reached for Yan Wei, attempting to guide her back—a motion met with Yan Wei’s wrist tightening around hers. Jiang Mi looked down at the grasp and said nothing, giving Yan Wei space as she stumbled toward the sofa and sank heavily into it.
Jiang Mi paused, then recalled that Yan Wei always refused to lie on her bed—last time the same had happened. She softened, fetched a blanket, and settled it gently over Yan Wei.
Her gaze flicked to the empty highball glass on the coffee table, the faint red stain of whiskey at the bottom.
“You had a drink?” she asked quietly, worry deep in her tone. “So now we can’t say if cold medicine helps…”
She reached for her phone, intending to check with someone.
Just as her fingers touched the cool screen, a warm body suddenly slumped onto her back. Yan Wei leaned against her, that warmth pressing through her clothes—intensely hot and fumbling.
Jiang Mi stiffened.
“Feeling awful?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
No response—only Yan Wei’s heavy, heated breaths brushed Jiang Mi’s nape.
She swiped her phone, brows furrowed.
“Ms. Yan, you shouldn’t be drinking like this—you can’t take cold medicine after hard liquor…”
Yan Wei’s heart thumped—strong yet fragile. She listened to her uneven breathing, and to Jiang Mi’s anxious words.
It felt different this time.
Whenever she fell ill, she got care—Tan Zhaoxin, Surui—others cared. But it never felt like this.
She closed her eyes, her discomfort still pressing in—but her nerves were oddly slowing.
Jiang Mi’s breaths on her neck seemed a touch lighter. She turned her head, and Jiang Mi gently supported her shoulder, guiding her to lie flat on the sofa.
Then Jiang Mi walked briskly to the bathroom. Cold water ran over her fingers. She opened a towel, then returned to Yan Wei, crouching beside the sofa, carefully brushing aside damp hair and placing a cool compress on Yan Wei’s sweaty forehead, wiping gently.
The cold gave trace relief; Yan Wei’s brow relaxed slightly.
“You feel unwell…” Yan Wei murmured, eyes closed, voice hoarse—like she was suppressing a swell of discomfort.
Jiang Mi understood. She lowered the towel along her damp neck, toward exposed skin.
The towel soaked up sweat, but it wasn’t enough.
“Come in and wipe…” Yan Wei’s voice rang out again—smoky with heat and unspoken insistence.
Jiang Mi froze mid-motion, towel in hand. Her fingers tightened around the fabric. “Come in and wipe.” Those words halted her.
Moments ago, she had no thought. Now her gaze flashed across Yan Wei’s body—she was in a soft knee-length dress. Any thought of touching crossed her mind.
Her eyes snapped away as if burned.
“You’ve touched me already—why are you afraid now?” Yan Wei’s tone sharpened. Heat and impatience flickered in her voice as she called softly—“Jiang Mi.”
She sounded so weak—though it felt like a plea.
Jiang Mi paused a few seconds…but finally, made a decision.
She bit her lip, and—carefully, timidly—slid the towel under the blanket to Yan Wei’s calf hem. The blanket rose slightly at her motion.
Her fingertips, damp with cool water, traced upward beneath the dress, brushing the sweat-dampened sheen of skin.
Soft friction of the fabric.
Yan Wei felt the sudden cool and subtle touch—and let out a sharp breath. Her body tensed just a fraction.
The blanket shifted, skirt lifted in an undeniable curve at her waist.
Even Yan Wei’s voice, escaping in a single note, sent a wave of heat through Jiang Mi’s body—her face burning too. She wondered if she had a fever.
All this, plus the memory—the sofa, the heat, the breath—that night’s intensity flashed back in her mind.
“What are you thinking?” Yan Wei’s low voice broke the silence—a tremor in the stillness that felt seismic.
Jiang Mi’s hand stopped mid-motion, and the room held its breath…