Marked by My Scummy Ex-Wife’s Boss (GL) - Chapter 11

Song Zhen was stunned.

Her almond eyes widened, pupils contracting, staring fixedly at Zhu Sui.

And Zhu Sui—who had been ordering drinks for Song Zhen all night—was certain: the woman was tipsy, but not drunk. Just dazed.

She had heard. And she had understood.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have that expression.

Zhu Sui stood tall, posture perfectly straight. In the quiet, open-air corridor outside the lounge, she faced Song Zhen with the same calm composure as when they’d first met.

“You… ha, what kind of joke is this?” Song Zhen stammered, barely managing to string the words together.

It had to be a joke. That was the only explanation she could think of.

This was Zhu Sui—someone from the Zhu family.

Her grandfather, Zhu Xiangdong, was none other than the Chairman of the First Military District.

And Zhu Sui herself was an S-class Alpha—beautiful, capable, resourceful…

Given all that, what was she, Song Zhen? There were still plenty of noble Omegas in the capital. It wasn’t as if…

Her frantic thoughts hadn’t even finished spiraling when Zhu Sui spoke again.

Her voice was firm, her long, graceful eyes lit with clarity. “I’m not joking.”

“I mean it, every word,” she said, deliberately and steadily. “I’m being serious, jiejie.”

Song Zhen’s mind went blank.

A breeze swept through the hallway. In the dim light, her first thought—absurdly—was that Zhu Sui’s hair was incredibly smooth and glossy, the strands catching the golden glow as if it were dancing on silk…

To be thinking about that at a moment like this—she really must have lost her mind.

There was another long silence between them. Song Zhen finally regained a sliver of composure. “Even if you mean it… it’s not entirely up to you.”

“Even if you want this—would your family agree? Your parents… your—”

Zhu Sui didn’t answer that. Instead, she abruptly said, “If I’m not mistaken, the Pheromone Division of the research institute was created specifically for Cheng Lang’s project, wasn’t it?”

Song Zhen froze, the disappointment in her eyes barely hidden. “Yes.”

Zhu Sui continued, “The Huaguo military has always prioritized scientific research. High-level projects not only get protection but also significant autonomy. To put it simply—whoever leads the project controls its direction. The state only cares about results.”

“And with the current fertility crisis, Cheng Lang’s and District 3’s projects are under scrutiny both domestically and internationally.”

“So even if you marry into a powerful family, once Cheng Lang fully takes over the pheromone division, the project’s fate will still be in her hands, right?”

She wasn’t guessing. She was stating it as fact. Song Zhen’s fists clenched tightly at her sides. “Yes… that’s true.”

Zhu Sui exhaled softly, then said with even greater conviction, “So you know, too—once she holds full authority over this project, even marrying into the right family won’t give you a say.”

Song Zhen trembled, lips pale. “I’ll act before that happens…”

But Zhu Sui didn’t let her finish. She turned and beckoned. Her hair lifted slightly in the breeze again, catching the light like mercury.

“I meant every word. If you doubt my sincerity, I’ll show you something first.”

Song Zhen blinked, stunned, but followed.

They walked to Zhu Sui’s car. From the trunk, Zhu Sui pulled out a document folder, undid the string tie, and slid out a single sheet, handing it to her.

Song Zhen looked confused. Zhu Sui tapped the page, signaling her to read it.

Song Zhen glanced down—and immediately stopped breathing.

“You…” she choked, speechless.

Zhu Sui arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Now do you believe I’m not joking?”

Her fingers trembling, Song Zhen stared at the document.

It wasn’t just any document—it was a reassignment letter.

And not to any random position—it was an official appointment for the Director of the Pheromone Division at the National Research Institute.

Time seemed to stand still. It was a long while before Song Zhen could speak again.

“How did you…”

Zhu Sui glanced around and interrupted, “Do we have to keep talking out here?”

Song Zhen suddenly realized they were still in the parking lot—anyone could pass by at any moment.

Zhu Sui gently took the document back, returned it to the folder, and opened the passenger door. With a smile, she invited, “It’s still early. Want to come to my apartment, jiejie?”

“I just received the letter today. It hasn’t been stamped or made official. My superior is still waiting on my response…”

“Originally, I didn’t plan to accept. First, this isn’t my specialty. Second, no matter what reason I’d have for taking the role, Cheng Lang’s project is about to produce results. If I’m not mistaken, once it enters clinical trials, she’ll be credited with a First-Class Military Merit. The timing is way too sensitive…”

“Whether you believe it or not—I don’t need, and I don’t care for, that kind of glory.”

Later, seated in Zhu Sui’s apartment, Song Zhen gripped a glass of water with both hands, listening to her speak.

Most of the alcohol had worn off, but everything that had happened still felt like a whirlwind—too much, too fast.

“You wanted to use marriage to secure your place in this project. From that perspective, there’s no better candidate than me.”

“As for other factors—my father is currently Vice President of the Research Institute. He doesn’t handle drug development directly…”

“But I know Vice President Rong, who does oversee pharmacology—he’s my cousin’s father-in-law.”

“To put it bluntly, from every angle, I’m your best option.”

Song Zhen’s throat was dry. “You’re… incredible.”

She paused, then added sincerely, “In every way. You could definitely help me. But marriage… I don’t understand.”

Why her? With all her advantages, why would Zhu Sui choose her?

Zhu Sui didn’t shy away. She answered directly, “I want a child.”

Song Zhen froze.

Zhu Sui said, “You know what families like ours expect. I need a child. That’s what I want from this.”

“But there are so many noble Omegas in District One…”

Zhu Sui corrected her, “We’re talking about two different things. You’re thinking of a partner. I’m talking about a child.”

“I’m the only Alpha of my generation left in the Zhu family. For both personal and family reasons, I need a child—one with a high probability of being an AO—to carry on our lineage.”

Song Zhen was confused. “Then it doesn’t conflict. You could just—”

Zhu Sui suddenly looked up, her tone sharp. “Does my partner have to be an Omega?”

Song Zhen was caught off guard. After a moment, she began to understand. “So… the person you like is a Beta?”

Betas generally couldn’t conceive. Even if they could, the child of an Alpha and a Beta was most likely to be Beta…

With that in mind, Song Zhen finally started to see the full picture.

Zhu Sui gave her a long look. There was something unreadable in that gaze. But instead of confirming or denying it, she changed the subject altogether.

“I was supposed to have an older brother—another Alpha.”

“He was exceptional. One of the most outstanding among our peers…”

“He’d been groomed as the heir to our family from a young age,” Zhu Sui said quietly. “But after he came of age, he fell in love with a Beta. He was deeply in love—the kind that insists on marriage. Naturally, our family was firmly opposed…”

“To want to be with someone you love… do you think he was wrong?”

Zhu Sui looked straight at Song Zhen. The question came so abruptly, Song Zhen was at a loss for words.

“Or,” Zhu Sui added, “do you think my family was wrong for wanting him to marry an Omega?”

Song Zhen still couldn’t answer.

Children argue about right and wrong. In the adult world—especially within elite families where every relationship is layered and tangled—there is no such thing. There is only what is appropriate.

Fortunately, Zhu Sui hadn’t expected her to answer. She gave her own.

“I don’t think my brother was wrong. Wanting to marry the person you love—how can that be wrong?”

“But at the same time… I don’t think my grandfather was wrong either. He’s the head of the Zhu family. Everything he does comes from a place of responsibility to the family. Personal feelings aside, in today’s world, what our kind of family needs is a child born of an Omega. That’s the reality.”

She fell silent, as if remembering something.

Song Zhen asked softly, “So in the end… your brother…”

“There was no ‘in the end,’” Zhu Sui said flatly.

The words were biting. Song Zhen looked up in surprise.

Zhu Sui let out a bitter laugh. “There was no ending. Things hit a stalemate. After one especially bad argument, my brother must have been in too much pain. He crashed on the highway… and died instantly.”

Song Zhen gasped, covering her mouth.

And Zhu Sui… lowered her head. For one of the very few times, Song Zhen saw the prideful Zhu Sui appear as though she were bowed under an invisible weight.

“My brother never gave an answer to that question…”

“If it was me, I’d also resist having my marriage arranged.”

“But I carry the Zhu name. And that name comes with responsibilities.”

“I don’t have a perfect solution. But I can do my part. I can have a child—to give the family what it needs, to fulfill my responsibility.”

There was no need for further explanation—everything was already crystal clear.

After a short pause, Zhu Sui concluded, “That’s basically it.”

“This marriage—let’s take what we each need from it.”

Then she shifted the tone.

“Of course, I’ve considered your situation too. You’re an S-class Omega. Even if you don’t marry me, eventually you’ll be fought over by noble families. And they’ll all want the same thing—a child.”

“S-class Omegas usually have no problem bearing two. I only want one.”

“Once the child is born, you can divorce me right away. The Zhu family will always remain your shield.”

“I won’t stop you from seeing the child—you can even raise them if you want.”

“…If you’re unwilling, I don’t need to touch you. Artificial insemination is fine with me.”

She had thought through every detail.

Truthfully, even without her saying it all, Song Zhen could have guessed.

Marrying Zhu Sui—it was all gain, no loss.

“…Can I see the transfer letter again?” Song Zhen finally asked.

Zhu Sui handed her the file without hesitation. As Song Zhen examined the security watermark, Zhu Sui added casually, “Oh, by the way—if I don’t take the position, Cheng Lang is the second choice.”

Song Zhen’s hand paused.

“I was originally going to transfer to another district,” Zhu Sui said. “But if you say no…”

She stopped, then added with a touch of apology, “I’m afraid there aren’t many choices left for you this time, jiejie.”

Song Zhen’s lashes trembled. She said nothing, continuing to verify the authenticity of the document.

By the time she was done, Zhu Sui—exhausted from the whole evening—sighed. “Alright. Think it over tonight…”

But before she could finish, Song Zhen cut in, firm and clear: “No need to think it over. I’ll marry you. I’ll give you a child—in exchange for the right to continue my research and the Zhu family’s protection. I’m getting the better deal. I accept.”

“…But can we keep the marriage a secret?”

They were going to divorce anyway. No need to make a spectacle of it.

“We can.” Zhu Sui agreed immediately.

There was a beat of silence before Song Zhen voiced her final concern. “But your family… they won’t approve of this.”

“I’ll handle them. Rather than worry about me—shouldn’t you be more concerned that Cheng Lang won’t want to divorce you?”

“…You don’t have to worry about that either. I have a way.”

Zhu Sui was surprised. Song Zhen, however, looked absolutely certain.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

Finally, Zhu Sui smiled, the corner of her lips lifting, and nodded. “Alright.”

—

The phone buzzed. Seeing Song Zhen’s name, Cheng Lang picked it up.

[Come to the Jiangxia Road Civil Affairs Bureau at 9 a.m. tomorrow. Divorce.]

If the message hadn’t come from Song Zhen’s name, Cheng Lang would’ve thought it was sent by a bot—so stiff and emotionless.

She had just typed out “I don’t agree” when another string of messages came in—photos.

Cheng Lang glanced at them—and her pupils constricted instantly.

They showed her and Tong Xianglu. Not just together—that night. Faces clear, identities unmistakable. There was no denying where they were or what they were doing.

[I also have video. This isn’t a negotiation—I’m informing you of the divorce.]

[Come, and I’ll destroy it. We part cleanly. Don’t come, and I can’t guarantee where this might end up.]

Seconds later, a video followed.

Hands trembling, Cheng Lang tapped it open, hit mute—and watched.