The Extravagant Alpha And The Cold Movie Queen’s Fake Act Became Real - Chapter 37

Chapter 37: I Love You.

The night that day was like a deep-colored satin, endlessly unfurling across the sky.

On a moonless night, even time seemed blurred. The desolate, hollow sound of rain tapped against the windowpanes, emitting faint, fragmented knocks before dissolving into the jagged, rugged mountain ranges within the thunder.

A long spine pressed against flesh, dampness and chill seeping relentlessly into the gaps between every bone, licking every inch of skin.

Ruan Siyi felt she might never forget this day.

Fu Ru’an gripped her hand firmly, guiding it beneath the loose hem of her sleepwear, trailing up from the slender curve of her waist, past the taut plane of her abdomen.

Her palm brushed against the skin over Fu Ru’an’s fifth rib.

The texture there was unique—flat and thin, stretched tightly like the surface of a drum.

The base of her hand rested in the space between the fifth ribs, where beneath it lay Fu Ru’an’s heart, pulsing steadily.

Fu Ru’an said she wanted her.

On this seemingly endless rainy night.

“But… there’s still one painting left…”

The final painting remained covered by a white cloth, the water stains not yet gently blotted away, leaving it looking disheveled.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Fu Ru’an drew closer, the rich, scorching scent of Baileys overwhelming, dominating Ruan Siyi’s already faint breath.

“That last one… was never my mother’s final work to begin with.”

“Ah?”

Ruan Siyi exclaimed in surprise, her hand resting on Fu Ru’an’s skin trembling uncontrollably, her fingers curling slightly as if there was no escape. The hard knuckles accidentally brushed against a streak of crimson on the snow-white skin, causing that pristine white to tremble and shiver in response.

Her deer-like eyes widened instantly, round and large, reminding Fu Ru’an of the sweet, round chestnut glutinous rice balls she used to love—the kind with a soft white outer layer that, when bitten into, revealed a whole brown sphere, sweet on the outside and even sweeter inside.

“That painting was done by me. I started it before she passed away, and it was only completed… after the day she left.”

Fu Ru’an didn’t elaborate much, but Ruan Siyi seemed to sense that she didn’t want to dwell on the topic further, so she didn’t press. Instead, she lowered her head to look at her.

Even though the room wasn’t lit, relying only on the dim, warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp, Fu Ru’an’s features remained strikingly vivid—like snowmelt gathered atop a steep mountain peak. The flickering light cast her face in alternating shadows and brightness.

An invisible thread seemed to weave out from her eyes, densely entangling around Ruan Siyi’s body, tightening around her neck until even breathing became strained.

Fu Ru’an’s face was one that the entire industry acknowledged as born for the camera.

Her bone structure was exquisite, her lips thin and delicate, her flesh and bone perfectly balanced. Her eyes were dark and pure, bright and translucent—a pair of eyes brimming with a powerful sense of narrative.

As her fervent fans often said, once captured by such eyes, there was no possibility of escape.

Wherever she was, she became the visual center of attention.

“Okay.”

Ruan Siyi responded softly, her gaze returning to Fu Ru’an’s thin sleepwear.

“Sister Fu, let’s go to bed.”

The temperature had dropped today, and the air was excessively cold.

The room was silent, the warm yellow light illuminating a small corner but failing to dispel the slight chill in the air.

Ruan Siyi’s hand didn’t withdraw from her clothes. Instead, it slowly slid downward, encircling her waist with one arm, fingers pressing into the soft flesh at her side as she half-carried her onto the bed.

When Fu Ru’an was once again enveloped by the quilt that had absorbed a hint of damp moisture, her mind was also a little dazed and disoriented.

Warmth was always irresistible, intertwining with the slight dip of the bed beneath her to form a soft, gentle restraint.

Fu Ru’an lowered her lashes and reached out from under the blanket, slowly covering Ruan Siyi’s wrist with her hand.

Her fingertips were warm yet cool to the touch, like the mist condensed on glass.

“Come in with me, Ruan Ruan.”

She called to her softly, her voice carrying a faint hoarseness—whether from the dry, cold air or something else, it was hard to tell.

Before Ruan Siyi could react, those pale fingers tightened slightly and yanked her down from the edge of the bed.

Caught off guard, she lost her balance and tumbled onto the soft bedding, landing atop Fu Ru’an with only a layer of blanket between them.

For a moment, her mind seemed to short-circuit. The distinct aroma of Bailey’s, unique to Fu Ru’an, lingered at the tip of her nose, evoking an inexplicable, almost addictive sense of euphoria.

Flustered, Ruan Siyi tried to push herself up, only to find Fu Ru’an tilting her head slightly, her gaze locked onto her.

Their faces were neither too close nor too far apart. At this distance, everything in their vision blurred into the most primal patches of color and light.

Amid the flickering shadows, Fu Ru’an turned her head and kissed her.

A droplet of water trembled on the curve of her slightly upturned lashes before sliding down, tracing a faint, slanting line across her smooth, delicate cheek.

This kiss was different from the ones before—it carried a fierce intensity, biting at her lips.

Ruan Siyi instinctively tried to pull away, but the hand pressed against the back of her neck only held her tighter, forcing her to surrender, a muffled whimper escaping her throat.

Hearing this fragile sound, Fu Ru’an finally relented slightly, then gently kissed her eyelids instead.

“Be quiet.”

Her voice carried a faint weariness—a simple declarative sentence, phrased like a command.

Ruan Siyi immediately became very obedient and stopped making any sound.

Only when the space returned to complete silence did Fu Ru’an kiss her again.

This time, it was no longer just the dry friction of lips. Ruan Siyi could feel that crimson tongue, carrying a damp, cool breath, pressing in-prying open her lips like a venomous snake. It lingered against her slightly sharp canine teeth for a moment before forcefully invading her mouth, as if injecting venom into her bodily fluids.

Under the warm yellow light, the scarlet hue grew even richer and more vivid. The sound of exchanged saliva, transmitted through bone conduction, was almost deafening.

Everywhere was the slick, wet noise of kissing. The room was silent all around, yet in this small space, it was as if a storm or tsunami had arrived.

It was only after a long time that Fu Ru’an, exhausted, finally released her.

The two lay side by side on the bed, gasping for breath.

Fu Ru’an steadied her breathing slightly: “Ruan Ruan, help me take off my clothes.”

Ruan Siyi’s hands pulled down her sleepwear, then she bent down, arching her body, her sharp canines catching onto Fu Ru’an’s white underwear and tugging them off.

Her scorching lips followed, pressing against her. She could feel her head being tightly clamped between those thighs, the pressure only fueling her excitement.

“Sister Fu…” She tilted her head, her tongue lightly licking her skin, leaving behind a faint, glistening trail.

But Fu Ru’an suddenly sat up.

With force, she dragged Ruan Siyi up, abruptly burying herself in her embrace, the air instantly growing feverish.

“I don’t want you below me.”

“I want you to hold me, to do it while holding me, Ruan Siyi.”

Ruan Siyi froze, instinctively holding her breath.

Hesitantly, she looked at her, then wrapped an arm around Fu Ru’an, pulling her close.

“But…”

Ruan Siyi still seemed hesitant, but Fu Ru’an covered her lips.

Her fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of her lips, inadvertently coating them with a glossy layer of saliva, like transparent nail polish.

“Be quiet.”

She repeated the phrase once more.

Ruan Siyi held her body and complied with her request.

The sound of rain outside the window seemed to soften.

Inside the room, only the rapid breathing of the two and the slick, wet sounds remained.

Fu Ru’an’s sobs and moans came together.

Accompanied by sharp, short gasps, her nails dug deeply into Ruan Siyi’s back. Ruan Siyi could feel the muscles of her back tense and harden under the sudden grip.

Biting back any sound, Ruan Siyi pressed her lips together so tightly they turned pale.

“Does it hurt?” Fu Ru’an immediately loosened her grip.

Ruan Siyi shook her head.

Fu Ru’an had already removed the long black nails she used for performances, so her nails weren’t particularly long now. Because of that, rather than pain, it was more of an accumulating, overwhelming pleasure.

Compared to herself, she was more concerned about Fu Ru’an’s feelings.

This position was different from before -their bodies pressed tightly together, making everything deeper than usual.

Fu Ru’an didn’t respond to her.

Her voice was drowned in wave after wave of overwhelming sensation. Time seemed to fold back on itself, dragging her step by step into the past.

“My mother…”

Her breathing grew even more erratic than before, now so ragged she could barely form a complete sentence, her words mixed with unbearable cries.

Her thighs were forced apart by Ruan Siyi’s knee, and she felt as though the lingering images in her mind had become like those soaked paintings-even if the canvas were peeled away, they would still be dripping wet, the paper crumpled, pressing against Ruan Siyi’s fingers.

Fu Ru’an turned her head to look. The dark green on that oil painting was like a glaring bone-scraping knife, slowly stripping her flesh and bl00d away.

She whimpered several times in succession, pleasure and pain intertwining in her nerves, her voice cracking.

“She was a painter, diagnosed with a severe mental illness.”

Ruan Siyi had already guessed as much.

Aside from the somewhat realistic portrait of Fu Yunxi, the other paintings were all marked by extreme contrasts in color, their compositions like fragments pieced together.

Harsh lines, heavy blocks of color, chaotic brushstrokes-none of the figures had detailed faces. Though undeniably artistic, the works felt fractured and disjointed.

“A few years after giving birth to me, she began consciously avoiding work, social events, and struggled to accept any criticism of her art. Later came the splitting of consciousness, memory, and the perception of reality. She became utterly lost in delusion.”

“The psychologist said these are classic symptoms of BPD.”

Borderline Personality Disorder?

Ruan Siyi had heard of this condition but had never actually encountered it in real life.

It’s a personality disorder characterized by extreme social withdrawal, intense sensitivity to criticism or rejection, and a profound sense of inferiority.

“After that, because of her extreme emotional instability, my mother began restricting my contact with her. I could only see her once a month, for afternoon tea.”

“She would always ask me the same questions, like whether I’d been painting lately or if I’d made any new friends,” she said softly, her tone laced with something complicated. “But she never waited for my answers because her attention would quickly shift to something else—like the color of the pastries or the weather outside.”

As she listened, Ruan Siyi felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest, as if something were lodged there, though she couldn’t quite name what it was.

Her fingers stilled absentmindedly, lost in thought, until Fu Ru’an urged her to keep going.

She said she needed something stimulating to distract her.

So please, don’t stop.

“When I was little, I didn’t really understand,” Fu Ru’an’s breathing grew increasingly ragged. “Later, I realized it wasn’t that she didn’t care about me—it was that she simply didn’t have the capacity to care about anyone else. Her world had always been very small, so small it could only contain the shattered fragments of her own fantasies.”

“Sometimes I think maybe she and I are alike in some ways.”

“In her paintings, none of the people had faces,” Fu Ru’an looked at Ruan Siyi, her voice cool but piercingly clear. “And me—I don’t have a ‘role’ that truly belongs to me, either.”

The space beneath the covers grew damp, sticky, and feverish, like the midsummer rain outside.

Fu Ru’an remembered that metaphor about summer.

“All the waters of the world will meet; the Arctic Ocean and the Nile will mingle in the damp clouds.”

“My last meeting with her was on a rainy day just like this.”

“That afternoon, she was supposed to be in the attic, teaching me how to paint. That’s what we’d agreed on the last time.”

“Then I rushed ahead of the butler, pushed open the door…”

Fu Ru’an’s words trailed off before she could finish, the last half of her sentence drowned and swallowed by a sudden, overwhelming tide.

The summer waters surged forth, and every sensation of hers was seized by Ruan Siyi’s control. In that moment, all her emotions yielded to the desires of the body.

The intense pleasure was like the waters of the Arctic Ocean and the Nile, utterly submerging her defenses. Words were swallowed, transforming into a raised head and a series of fragmented, unbroken screams.

All of it made her briefly forget the recurring red of it made her briefly forget the recurring red of summer nights in her dreams.

Fu Ru’an stood by the attic window.

As a child, she wasn’t even strong enough to fully lift the heavy curtains. She stood on tiptoe, gripping the windowsill tightly, just to see what had happened below-what had caused that sudden cry.

Looking down, the person on the ground seemed to have lost all skeletal support, limbs splayed weakly, curled up like a broken doll. A vast, vivid red stain spread rapidly around them, like some grotesque painting.

Fu Ru’an hadn’t yet recovered from the lingering sensations, her breathing still uneven and rapid.

But Ruan Siyi didn’t give her another chance to speak.

She covered her eyes with those same clean hands that had just held her.

Ruan Siyi leaned close to her ear, whispering words of love like summer insects murmuring to the plants.