After Becoming the Live-in Scummy Alpha, I Pamper Her with Real Strength - Chapter 2

When He Song heard Mo Qingran’s furious “Get out!” laced with clenched teeth, her guilt kicked in instantly—reflexive, irrational guilt.

But… this wasn’t her fault. It was the original Jiang Weiran who drugged Mo Qingran, not her! Why should she take the blame? Still, after being shouted at, He Song found herself sulking in a quiet corner of her mind, mentally drawing circles with a handkerchief like a wronged little puppy.

With a conflicted sigh, she stood up. The motion revealed her striking figure—long hair cascading to her waist, concealing the graceful curve of her back. Even without trying, she was just as stunning as Mo Qingran.

Mo Qingran’s voice trembled as she clutched the bedsheet tighter around herself, inching back with alarm in her eyes. She glared at He Song again. “Get out!” she snapped, a mix of hatred and panic flickering across her face—like she was terrified Jiang Weiran would pounce on her again.

Even though the drug’s effects had faded, her body still felt limp. She remembered clearly that she had kicked Jiang Weiran off the bed before losing consciousness. Would Jiang Weiran now retaliate?

And the best way to do that would be…

The high-end hotel room was still filled with the intoxicating scent of peaches—sweet and cloying, the kind of scent that made your head spin if you inhaled it too long. The sugar-sweet fragrance drifted into He

Song’s nose, and her body shuddered involuntarily. Her hand shot up to scratch the back of her neck, trying to ease the unbearable itching in her bones.

Damn it. So this is what they meant by “pheromone dependence”? It was brutal.

Suddenly, a much sharper, colder scent surged in like a snowstorm crashing into a grove of peach trees. He Song felt her senses tilt—her mouth itched, her molars ached, and in her mind, Mo Qingran’s flawless skin flashed like bait.

Hell no, she thought, I am not doing this.

Across the room, Mo Qingran had clearly caught the scent of Alpha pheromones in the air. Her hands tightened around the covers like they were the last lifeline in a sinking ocean.

Meeting her wary gaze, He Song raised her hands in surrender. She nearly slapped herself on the spot. You dare ogle the female lead? Are you insane?

She staggered backward, then bolted into the bathroom.

The sound of running water echoed through the room, but Mo Qingran didn’t relax even for a second. A few minutes later, the water stopped.

He Song emerged, carrying a wooden basin filled to the brim with water.

“I won’t touch you,” she said quietly.

Then she dumped the cold water over her own head.

Mo Qingran stared at her, utterly stunned.

As the icy water soaked her body, the heat receded enough for He Song to think clearly again.

The original novel had heavy ABO elements, but the screenplay had scrubbed most of it out—especially the parts about pheromone dependence. Still, she remembered the key detail: the original Jiang Weiran had an incurable addiction to Omega pheromones, particularly Mo Qingran’s. No scent, no peace. And now she was stuck with that body.

Just perfect.

She glanced down. Even her feet, delicate and pale, stood out starkly against the red carpet. She rummaged through the clothes scattered on the floor, grabbed something vaguely clean, and tiptoed back into the bathroom. As she passed Mo Qingran, she whispered a soft “Sorry.”

Mo Qingran’s eyes widened, stunned by Jiang Weiran’s—no, He Song’s—apparent restraint. Only once the door clicked shut behind her did she exhale, breath coming in ragged gasps, her back soaked in cold sweat.

She didn’t know why Jiang Weiran had suddenly changed tactics. But for now, at least, she was safe. That alone was a relief.

Inside the bathroom, He Song stared into the mirror for a long moment.

The face was exactly like hers. Same long legs, same sharp waist, same elegance. The only difference? Just beneath the collarbone on the left side was a white rose tattoo.

Her lips curled. White rose—of course. A tribute to the original’s beloved “first love,” the gentle and charming Bai Wei.

Disgusted, she scrubbed at the skin until it turned red. The tattoo didn’t fade.

From the moment she’d read the script, He Song had admired Mo Qingran: born a rich heiress, robbed of her parents at fifteen, forced to fight off greedy relatives while juggling school and a collapsing family business. All the while enduring humiliation in a marriage she never chose.

But behind the mask of a helpless victim, Mo Qingran was secretly reclaiming the entire Mo family empire. The day she divorced Jiang Weiran, she turned the tide and claimed the chessboard for herself.

He Song didn’t know if she’d have had the same tenacity. Probably not.

She would’ve either gone nuclear or fled the scene entirely.

She reached for a shirt—sleek white, clearly not hers. The fit was all wrong. Tight shoulders, short sleeves. Mo Qingran’s?

Oops.

•

Mo Qingran had calmed down. Leaning against the headboard, her sharp gaze was hidden beneath a curtain of dark hair.

The bathroom door clicked open.

She looked up.

Jiang Weiran.

Tall, smug, insufferable Jiang Weiran. The woman the system had matched her with last year. Who’d used her face to charm half the Omegas in the industry but had never shown a shred of sincerity.

A woman she had told—clearly—that she would never marry. The match was unauthorized. She had every legal right to reject it.

And yet here they were.

She glared, ready to hear another round of sarcastic quips.

But instead, she saw… an apology?

Jiang Weiran’s long hair was swept behind her ear. Her expression was calm. Serious. Apologetic.

That had never happened before.

“Miss Mo,” she said gently. “Since nothing actually happened tonight… maybe we could just… leave it at that?”

“If you need compensation, anything within my means—I’ll do it.”

Mo Qingran’s eyes flickered. Was Jiang Weiran… good now?

No. No way. Don’t be fooled.

This woman had drugged her. No apology could undo that.

“You really think if you act all sorry and humble, I’ll forgive you?” she said icily.

“You failed to mark me, and now you’re scared I’ll retaliate, so you’re pretending to back off?”

No. I just don’t want to go insane or end up in a wheelchair, He Song thought grimly.

But she didn’t say that.

Mo Qingran’s pressure was formidable. That was the aura of a true heroine.

He Song drew in a breath. “I just… realized something. Even if we’re system-matched ‘soulmates,’ without emotional connection, we’ll just be two miserable people chained together. Let’s call it off. Go our separate ways.”

Mo Qingran narrowed her eyes. “You mean… you’re giving up the engagement? Giving up your dream of marrying into the Mo family?”

He Song nodded fervently. “Right. I’m not worthy of you. You’ll find your true love someday.”

“You’re not worthy?” Mo Qingran’s tone dripped with mockery. “And what exactly are you?”

He Song gritted her teeth and replied, “Shameless, self-serving, power-hungry, morally bankrupt…”

She rattled off every insult she could think of. It was humiliating. But maybe it would help.

Mo Qingran arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

He Song gave a broken laugh. “Also despicable, promiscuous, conniving—”

Before she could finish, a ringtone pierced the air. A phone, buried in the pile of discarded clothes.

Mo Qingran remained still.

He Song picked it up and glanced at the screen.

The name made her heart stop.

Mo Yun?

The infamous second aunt?!

She slammed the call down and peeked up.

Mo Qingran’s face was unreadable.

Then—ring ring.

The second call came in.

“Oh, come on—” she started to curse, but froze as Mo Qingran’s cool voice cut through the silence.

“Is that Aunt Mo?” she asked. “Why don’t you answer it?”

Cold sweat soaked He Song’s back.

Author’s Note:

The author: It’s destined—He Song is absolutely whipped by her wife.