Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The air was thick with night-blooming jasmine, mixed with an unfamiliar, cloying scent. Though the window was open, the fragrance inside the room was overpowering.

A faint furrow appeared between Song Yanrong’s brows.

The woman sat on the windowsill, half her body leaning against the edge, as if she might fall at any moment. Her black hair floated lightly in the air, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were slightly dazed. But when she recognized the person entering, a flicker of emotion crossed her otherwise blank face.

“You come in alone,” Zhou Yuan said, swinging her legs slightly against the wall. Her hand was braced on the sill, and because of her heat, a sheen of sweat was visible on her forehead and neck.

Song Yanrong rolled her wheelchair forward and quietly closed the door behind her. The scent grew even stronger.

A voice came through the earpiece in her ear:

“Miss Song, please try to calm her down. We’re setting up protective measures outside.”

Song Yanrong looked up. “Come down, let’s talk.”

Zhou Yuan stared at her but didn’t respond. Instead, she asked, “Did you bring her back to the Song residence?”

Song Yanrong paused. “Yes.”

“You never brought me there. When I asked what your home was like, you said it was dull, suffocating, lifeless. Said even my basement was better. That’s why you never took me,” Zhou Yuan scoffed bitterly.

Song Yanrong said nothing. Given the entanglement between the original body and Zhou Yuan, perhaps she should have felt some sympathy.

Zhou Yuan didn’t wait for a reply and continued, “I heard you marked her? Then what does that make me, Song Yanrong?”

Song Yanrong knew exactly how cold and detached she appeared. But anything she said now would sound hollow. She wasn’t the original. She and Zhou Yuan were never the same kind of people—now or ever.

She couldn’t use sweet lies or past manipulations to soothe her.

So she said, “This isn’t the time to sort things out between us. Take the suppressant first, then we’ll talk. Or… just come down for now?”

The jasmine-scented pheromones, tinged with something foreign, had been carried on the breeze into every corner of the room. Song Yanrong thought—perhaps just an illusion—her heartbeat was slightly faster than before.

Zhou Yuan asked coldly, “Are you just worried I’ll cause a scandal if I die? Or do you actually care?”

Song Yanrong replied, “Both.”

Zhou Yuan laughed, a jagged, unhinged sound, then wiped away the smile. “Cut the act, Song Yanrong. You think I don’t know you?”

She brushed her neck’s gland, redder even than her cheeks, releasing a wave of pheromones so strong her body went weak and numb.

Her body swayed. She looked like she might fall at any moment.

In her earpiece, the agent’s voice grew urgent:

“Calm her down! She’s extremely unstable—she could fall any second!”

Song Yanrong was starting to think she might need calming too.

She glanced around. Perhaps due to the unfamiliar scent, her patience was running thin.

But she had spoken the truth.

She had just entered this body a few days ago. She really didn’t want to cause trouble.

Besides, regardless of what Zhou Yuan had done, a life was still a life.

At that moment, Zhou Yuan finally relented.
“I’ll come down,” she said slowly. “Have I ever refused to do anything you asked?”

Her tone shifted:
“But… I want you to come over, Song Yanrong. I want you to mark me.”

“I don’t want a suppressant—I want you to mark me.”

Song Yanrong: “……”

She was now certain the scent in the room included more than pheromones—there was something chemically stimulating present.

Whether Zhou Yuan had done it on purpose, she didn’t know.

But she did know—she couldn’t stay in this room much longer.

Outside, in the observation room, the agents could hear everything through her earpiece.

So could Su Jia.

As Song Yanrong’s recognized partner and under the pretense of “knowing the subject,” she’d been granted monitoring access.

When Zhou Yuan said that line, Su Jia’s brown eyes darkened, and she let out a soft chuckle.

One of the agents beside her asked, “Did something happen?”

Su Jia shook her head.

Her eyes shimmered under the soft lights.

So many people seem to want Song Yanrong…

Meanwhile, the special agents continued guiding Song Yanrong:

“Miss Song, just get close to her—lure her down. Once she’s off the ledge, we’ll storm in immediately.”

But when they turned back, Su Jia was no longer in the room.

…

In the adjacent hospital room, Zhou Yuan showed no anger at Song Yanrong’s lack of response. But she was visibly burning up. Her breathing came in shallow gasps.

“I know. You never wanted to mark me because you think I’m dirty, right?” she said. “Marked by someone else. I can’t always control my gland. But you knew that about me when we met. And now I’m too dirty?”

Her anger began to show.

She glared.
“Or are you still mad about that girl you liked? The one I drugged? So you’re using Su Jia to get back at me. What, your ‘little wife’ smells better? Purer? Cleaner than me?”

Song Yanrong took a deep breath. Her gland had started to tingle.

“You’re right.”

Zhou Yuan’s expression froze. “What did you say?”

Song Yanrong recalled a memory from a week before she’d entered this body.

The original had taken a liking to a pretty-faced student waitress at a bar—just 19, working part-time. She’d always requested that girl when booking.

One day, during a fruit plate delivery, some people had teased the girl after Song Yanrong chatted with her. Someone had even called her “sister-in-law.”

Zhou Yuan overheard that.

Days later, the girl was hospitalized with a ruptured gland. She still hadn’t recovered.

That was why Song Yanrong had said—they were not the same kind of people.

“Zhou Yuan, you don’t want to die,” she said.

Zhou Yuan paused.

“Your life belongs to you. You say you want to die? Look down. The world won’t let you die that easily. If you fall, you’ll likely break limbs or be paralyzed—or have your face disfigured.”

“I know you. You wouldn’t want that.”

“If you truly wanted to die, you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. You wouldn’t have waited for me. You wouldn’t have left time for anyone to come save you.”

“This isn’t about dying—it’s about revenge.”

Earlier, without proper safeguards, she had stayed to keep Zhou Yuan safe.

But now, the agents said everything was in place. It was time to end this.

Not only was Zhou Yuan spiraling—Song Yanrong’s own gland was reacting. She had a strong instinct something in the room was dangerous.

Maybe even a pheromone inducer.

She saw tears gathering in Zhou Yuan’s eyes, her first sign of vulnerability. So she softened her tone.

“Come down. If you really want to talk—come down.”

The wheelchair moved forward on the tile floor. A warm breeze blew in.

She rolled to within a meter of Zhou Yuan and held out her hand. “Come.”

Zhou Yuan had truly underestimated the drug she’d used earlier—it was a new type of inducer. Far more potent than expected.

She stared at Song Yanrong, her Alpha desire spiraling out of control.

Song Yanrong edged forward.

Zhou Yuan finally wavered. Her hand trembled as she reached down, her legs buckling when they hit the floor. She collapsed—falling into Song Yanrong’s lap.

She clutched her tightly.

The sharp jasmine scent invaded her lungs. Song Yanrong turned her head and tried to pull her away. Just then—the door burst open.

Su Jia stood in the doorway, watching them tangled together. Her gaze lingered a few seconds.

Behind her, agents and hospital staff rushed in.

Though Zhou Yuan had been relatively calm moments earlier, she suddenly became frantic.

“Song Yanrong! You’re not leaving me behind!”

A sedative was quickly administered. Zhou Yuan’s voice faded.

“Get her to a room and give the suppressant immediately!” a doctor ordered—then noticed something off.

“There’s a broken inducer vial here! All Alphas and Omegas, evacuate!”

Near the window, a small shattered glass bottle—clear and barely visible—lay beside a black leather jacket.

Zhou Yuan’s jacket. Probably knocked over.

A doctor crouched by Song Yanrong. “Miss Song, how are you feeling?”

Her body was burning. This was worse than during Su Jia’s heat.

Worse yet, she couldn’t control it as easily.

Physiology often overrides psychology—that saying proved true.

The wheelchair turned. Song Yanrong looked up—and saw Su Jia approaching from the doorway.

“Don’t go in further,” the doctor warned.

Su Jia ignored him. She walked straight over and took the wheelchair handles.

Their eyes met.

In Su Jia’s gaze, Song Yanrong caught a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name. But she didn’t question it.

As she was wheeled out, her breathing eased.

“The inducer might trigger your susceptibility period early,” the doctor said. “We can give you a suppressant—or, if you prefer, once it arrives, you can have your partner give you a temporary mark. It’ll be more effective and feel better than a suppressant.”

“Miss Song, Miss Su—our recommendation is the second option.”

Song Yanrong: “……”

Naturally, the doctor gave Su Jia the final say as well.

Just as Song Yanrong opened her mouth, she heard Su Jia’s soft voice:

“All right. Thank you.”

The doctor asked, “Shall we prepare a private room for you two?”

Song Yanrong’s head spun. “…No need.”

Su Jia said, “We’ll go home.”

Song Yanrong: “…?”