Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 

The room was cold. The floor-to-ceiling window was left slightly ajar for ventilation, and the sheer curtain fluttered lightly in the breeze. The sultry heat of the summer night mixed with the cloying sweetness inside the room, brushing across Song Yanrong’s skin.

 

Sun Jia lay curled at the edge of the bed. Perhaps she had been disturbed by the sound of the door opening, and she let out a soft whimper of protest, flipping over to face Song Yanrong, the blanket now clutched between her legs.

 

Cheeks, lips, hair, shoulders, body… the rose tattoo.

 

Skin as fair as frost and snow.

 

Song Yanrong paused in place.

 

She inhaled deeply, her eyes like a deep spring, quietly probing into a forbidden sanctuary.

 

In the soft moonlight filtering through the window, she noticed the crumpled nightdress and underwear on the floor. The air in the room felt increasingly intimate and charged.

 

Wheeling forward, Song Yanrong bent down and picked up the nightdress. Then she picked up the delicate white underwear, her fingers curling slightly with heat before she placed it neatly at the foot of the bed.

 

She leaned in and tried to pull the blanket out from under Sun Jia’s legs. Her movements were light, but Sun Jia had a tight grip. So Song had to press the back of her hand gently against the cool skin of Sun Jia’s thigh and gave a slight push.

 

Finally, Sun Jia loosened her grip. The warm, cloudlike heat trapped beneath the blanket spilled out—bringing with it an even more intense sweetness.

 

Sun Jia’s skin was slick with a thin sheen of sweat. Song gently pulled the blanket over her.

 

First her legs, then her shoulders.

 

She was holding the thin blanket, and she could feel the woman’s warmth clearly through the fabric. As she finished tucking it around her, her hand was suddenly caught.

 

Sun Jia’s palm was hot—like a freshly boiled egg, soft and burning.

 

Song’s heart skipped. She looked up and saw that Sun Jia was still asleep.

 

She tried to pull her hand back, but the next second, her finger was drawn in. The pad of her index finger was suddenly enveloped by warmth—soft and moist.

 

There was no time to react.

 

The heat wrapped around her finger, and a nimble tongue began to coil around it. Reflexively, she curled her finger inward.

 

Sun Jia let out a soft moan.

 

Only then did Song Yanrong snap back to her senses.

 

Her cheeks and ears were already flushed.

 

This scene was beyond suggestive.

 

She stared at Sun Jia’s delicate face—her peach blossom eyes tightly closed, her lips slightly parted, holding on.

 

So pure, yet so seductive.

 

She knew Sun Jia was probably drunk—so drunk she had no awareness. That was why she was here, in her bed, in her room.

 

She should feel bothered by that.

 

But she didn’t.

 

Not at all.

 

Instead, she felt something close to pleasure—pleased that Sun Jia liked her scent, pleased imagining what Sun Jia had done curled up under her blanket when she wasn’t home.

 

Still, she slowly pulled her finger free and used a tissue to gently wipe Sun Jia’s lips.

 

Closing the door quietly behind her, she turned her wheelchair away from the bedroom. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing pulse.

 

Looking down at her index finger—it was still trembling slightly.

 

…

 

After a quick shower, Song Yanrong lay on the sofa. She thought about how she had jumped out of Zhao Wen’s car halfway home and picked up her phone.

 

Technically, if she had followed the original plot of the book, and considering Lu Ke was present, she didn’t absolutely have to return tonight.

 

But still, she had sent a message to explain and reassure.

 

With a soft sigh, she muttered: “Drunks, both of them.”

 

1:00 a.m., North Ring District — a private villa.

 

The spacious house still blazed with light at this late hour. Upstairs, in the wine cellar, a woman’s frustrated voice rang out.

 

“You’re so annoying! I said I want to drink. Didn’t you hear me?”

 

Lu Ke stood calmly, her gaze fixed on the swaying figure in front of her. “You’re drunk.”

 

Zhao Wen jabbed her finger hard into Lu Ke’s shoulder, emphasizing each word: “You. Are. So. Annoying. You know that?”

 

Lu Ke looked down. Her manicured hands were pale and elegant—but those long nails hurt when poked. She said, “I know.”

 

“You’re boring too, you know that?”

 

“I know.”

 

“I hate you, you know that!”

 

Lu Ke’s tone remained unchanged: “Also know.”

 

Zhao Wen looked about to lose it. She shoved Lu Ke with force and cursed before stumbling over to the wine shelf.

 

“Everyone wants to control me. My dad wants to control me. And now even you—a damn bodyguard—want to control me? Who do you think you are?!”

 

She liked bright, lively scenes—but Lu Ke was always quiet, always standing in the shadows behind her.

 

She didn’t like Lu Ke.

 

Lu Ke stood still, watching the flushed woman totter in her heels, making sharp clinking noises in the wine cellar—jarring in the silence.

 

Bang—

 

Zhao Wen, having failed to uncork the wine, hurled an expensive bottle of red wine to the ground. She mumbled some curse: “Useless!”

 

The red liquid splattered instantly, soaking through her black stockings. She didn’t seem to notice.

 

She reached for another bottle.

 

Her heels pressed dangerously against the broken glass, making ominous cracking sounds.

 

Lu Ke frowned and stepped forward, stopping her hand. “Go rest.”

 

Zhao Wen was irritable beyond reason. She didn’t curse this time, just glared and yanked the bottle back. But an Omega’s strength was no match for a trained Alpha.

 

Losing the struggle, she stomped a few times on the floor in frustration. Drunk and angry, she yelled, “Lu Ke! Are you insane?! Can you just leave me alone?!”

 

In her rage, she slipped. Her whole body tilted backward.

 

Lu Ke reacted faster. She caught Zhao Wen by the wrist and pulled her back. The drunk woman crashed into her chest.

 

Lu Ke suppressed a groan of pain and steadied her.

 

Zhao Wen, still manic after the scare, thrashed to break free. Suddenly, she swung her hand—

 

A sharp red mark bloomed on Lu Ke’s pale jaw.

 

Lu Ke exhaled slowly. Her expression darkened as she stared at the relentless, spoiled young woman.

 

She bent down, grabbed Zhao Wen’s legs, and slung her over her shoulder.

 

Ignoring the woman’s flailing and cursing on her back, Lu Ke marched into the bedroom and tossed her onto the bed.

 

Her movements weren’t gentle. Zhao Wen bounced on the mattress, and her already short skirt flipped up.

 

Her black stockings weren’t full-length—only reaching mid-thigh.

 

Earlier that night, when she danced in the club, the skirt had ridden up. Her exposed skin had caught many eyes.

 

Lu Ke picked up a light blanket and threw it over her.

 

Zhao Wen, possibly exhausted from the tantrum, fell quiet once she hit the bed.

 

Still, she cursed under her breath: “Lu Ke… I’m firing you…”

 

Lu Ke stood by the bed, silent for two seconds. “Not now.”

 

She still needed this job.

 

Not knowing if Zhao Wen was still conscious, Lu Ke said one more thing—rare for her: “Give it some time.”

 

She watched her briefly, then turned to leave.

 

But the sound of soft sobbing made her pause.

 

At first, she didn’t move. But as the sobs turned into choked crying, her footsteps halted completely.

 

Lu Ke turned around.

 

She saw the arrogant, bratty woman curled up on the bed, trembling as she cried.

 

After hesitating, she stepped back to the bedside and pulled a tissue from the nightstand, offering it to Zhao Wen.

 

Zhao Wen lay on her side, eyes shut. Her hair was damp with tears, and under the dim light, her face glistened wet.

 

She didn’t take the tissue—perhaps too drunk to notice.

 

Lu Ke stood for a moment, then gently dabbed the tissue at Zhao Wen’s eyes.

 

Her fingers quickly became damp.

 

“I miss you…” Zhao Wen whispered.

 

Lu Ke’s hand paused.

 

She wasn’t the main character of this story, nor was she good at comforting people. And Zhao Wen was clearly just drunk.

 

She opened her mouth—but said nothing in the end.

 

Throwing away the tissue, she prepared to leave. It was late. She shouldn’t stay in her employer’s room.

 

But Zhao Wen suddenly rose—and hugged her.

 

Lu Ke froze.

 

Since age fourteen, she had won countless competitions based on her reflexes and agility. She always ranked at the top among the bodyguard teams. But for some reason, when Zhao Wen hugged her, she didn’t react.

 

The woman smelled of smoke and alcohol—sharp and biting. But her body was soft.

 

Zhao Wen rested her cheek against Lu Ke’s stomach. Her skin quickly flushed with heat.

 

Lu Ke’s arms hovered in midair.

 

She heard Zhao Wen sobbing.

 

“Hold me…”

 

She still thought she should leave.

 

But the woman in her arms was too stubborn, mistaking her for someone else.

 

But she cried too hard.

 

Cried in a way that left Lu Ke helpless.

 

After a long pause, she rested her hand on Zhao Wen’s shoulder. A moment later, she patted her gently on the back.

 

Time passed.

 

The room eventually filled with nothing but steady breathing.

 

Lu Ke thought: This was probably the most peaceful moment she’d ever shared with this young heiress.

 

And likely, the only time in her life it would happen.

 

A hug—just this once.
Once the night was over, no one would remember.

 

Not even her.

 

The secrets of a summer night were always endless—filled with temptation, danger, and hope.
They felt like something always within reach.

 

But in truth, the ones who held onto them would always fall into a trap, one by one.

 

…

 

Song Yanrong didn’t sleep well.
Though the sofa was wide, it was far too soft. Lying on it too long made her back and waist ache. So, she got up early.

 

She ordered breakfast and placed it in the warming box, then made a cup of coffee and sat on the balcony, waiting for Sun Jia to wake.

 

Over an hour later, the bedroom door finally opened.

 

Setting down her coffee, Song Yanrong turned her head to look.
Sun Jia came out holding the thin blanket from Song Yanrong’s bed.

 

Their eyes met.

 

Sun Jia: “……”

 

When she had woken up sitting on the bed, memories of the night before had come back in pieces. Seeing the layout of the room, she could hardly believe it.
She’d craved Song Yanrong’s pheromones, sure—but she hadn’t thought a little alcohol would erase her senses completely…

 

Apparently, Song Yanrong’s attraction was far stronger than she’d expected.

 

Looking at the marks on the bed… and her pajamas and underwear on the floor…

 

It was lucky that Song Yanrong hadn’t come back.
That’s what Sun Jia had thought as she clutched the dirty blanket and sheets on her way out.

 

Now, those peach blossom eyes were slightly open.

 

When did Song Yanrong… get back?

 

But Song Yanrong looked calm. “You’re awake. You drank too much and went into the wrong room last night.”

 

She gave Sun Jia a very natural excuse.

 

Sun Jia paused. “You came back last night?”

 

Song Yanrong replied, “Mm. I saw you at the door, so I slept on the sofa.”

 

To make the lie more convincing, she had even tossed the picked-up pajamas back onto the floor, thoughtfully.
She figured Sun Jia wouldn’t realize she had come inside.

 

“You said you weren’t coming back.”

 

“And you said you had a headache.”

 

Song Yanrong answered casually.

 

Sun Jia had forgotten that she’d even sent that kind of message. But after thinking, she vaguely recalled it.

 

So Song Yanrong… came back because of that?

 

For a split second, Sun Jia’s breath felt lighter.
But she quickly suppressed that emotion.

 

“Well then…” Sun Jia mulled it over as she carried the laundry toward the washroom. She paused and asked, testing:
“You didn’t come in?”

 

Even though she hadn’t sensed anything unusual when she woke up, and the clothes were still on the floor—
She couldn’t shake the feeling… that she had been close to Song Yanrong.

 

Song Yanrong’s brows lifted slightly, her tone laced with subtle humor:
“Why would I go in?”

 

There was a hint of suggestion in her voice.

 

Strict and career-focused, Song Yanrong usually wasn’t like this.
Maybe after being “reborn” into this world and getting a second life, or maybe because she’d spent time with Sun Jia, she’d realized she wasn’t as uptight anymore.

 

It felt like she was back to a time when she could speak freely.

 

Sun Jia paused, then smiled faintly. “True. After all, Miss Song is far too noble for that.”
She motioned toward the dirty blanket: “You sweated a lot, so I washed it for you.”

 

Song Yanrong lowered her gaze, the corners of her lips carrying a soft smile. “Go ahead.”

 

That smile held a trace of fondness—even if she didn’t notice it herself.

 

After breakfast, they had to go pick up their pre-marital health check report before registering for marriage.

 

At the hospital, they each retrieved their reports from a kiosk. Neither of them read it.
They headed straight to the parking lot.

 

It was still early—just past 9 a.m.

 

The blazing sun was relentless, same as always.
On the path to the parking lot, there was a shaded walkway. The breeze blew gently, but the air still felt like it was being grilled. The pavement looked as if it might melt.

 

Sun Jia held an umbrella.
Under its shade, Song Yanrong looked up slightly.
“You’ve really lowered yourself.”

 

It was the kind of line that might appear in some melodrama or cheesy romance series.

 

Sun Jia looked surprised. Before she could say anything, Song Yanrong had already averted her gaze.
All she could see from this angle was the woman’s lean, fair profile.

 

Song Yanrong said, “Holding the umbrella for me… you didn’t need to.”

 

But Sun Jia truly didn’t mind.
Given what she aimed to gain from Song Yanrong, this was nothing.
That was her thinking in the moment.

 

With a light tone, she said gently, “It’s no big deal, is it?”

 

“Mm.”

 

Song Yanrong didn’t reply further.
But when she had looked up earlier and saw the sweat on Sun Jia’s nose and the hand holding the umbrella, she felt a flicker of guilt.

 

She realized—deep in her subconscious—she didn’t want Sun Jia doing these things for her.

 

That realization startled even herself.

 

They got into the car and headed for the civil affairs bureau—it was only a few minutes away.

 

Song Yanrong handed the folded medical reports to Sun Jia. “Here.”

 

Sun Jia took them with a smile, looking at her meaningfully, but said nothing.

 

Song Yanrong asked, “Aren’t you going to read them?”

 

Truthfully, she had handed them over as a joke—just remembering the awkwardness from the check-up day and how smug Sun Jia had looked.

 

As soon as she said it, she made to take them back.

 

But Sun Jia swiftly pulled the reports away.
Her fingernails were glossy pink and very pretty.
She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk on her lips. “Are you sure I can read it?”

 

—There aren’t any… shameful results, right?

 

Song Yanrong knew she was being deliberately provocative, so she played along:
“You’d better read it.”

 

—See how normal I am.

 

There weren’t many people at the civil affairs office.
Getting the red marriage certificate felt like just going through the motions.

 

Song Yanrong had no experience with this.
She didn’t know what marriage registration was like in her original world.
Here, in this ABO world, the staff member asked them a question before stamping the certificate.

 

“Do you love your wife?”

 

The unexpected question caught Song Yanrong off guard.
She couldn’t respond immediately.

 

“I love her.”

 

She heard Sun Jia answer without hesitation.

 

Song Yanrong stayed silent for a moment, suppressing the strange stir that response gave her. Then she finally gave her own answer.
She noticed the staff’s eyes filled with disapproval at her delay.

 

She couldn’t explain herself.
She turned to look at Sun Jia, who gave her a gentle, carefree smile with those beautiful eyes.

 

So relaxed. So unburdened.

 

In that moment, she truly understood why Sun Jia had once jokingly called her an “old-school cadre.”

 

She really did think too conservatively.

 

They weren’t in love.
So she couldn’t say those words so easily.

 

Much later, Song Yanrong would realize—Even that sort of thing… could be acted out.

 

…

 

Song Yanrong hadn’t brought a purse. She wore a pair of white casual trousers, and casually stuffed the red booklet into her pocket.
Sun Jia said she needed to go to the restroom, so Song waited in the lobby.

 

Once Sun Jia disappeared around the corner, Song Yanrong reached into her pocket and pulled out the red marriage certificate, studying it again.

 

She was married.

 

Even if it was fake.

 

But during the stamping process, she had felt unexpectedly nervous.
Now, the red cover in her hands felt almost sunburnt—hot to the touch.

 

Something didn’t feel quite right with her.

 

Her gaze drifted toward Sun Jia’s face.
Her hair was tied up, and even without makeup, the Omega was still stunning.

 

“She’s… really pretty.”

 

Just as quickly, she tucked the certificate away again with a neutral expression.

 

In the restroom—

 

Sun Jia finished washing her hands and pulled a tissue from her bag.
As she rummaged, a flash of red caught her eye. Her gaze lingered for a second, then looked away.

 

With that thing… she and Song Yanrong were officially tied together.

 

It meant she had temporary protection.

 

She didn’t know why, but the image of Song Yanrong saying “I love her” flashed through her mind—
And her heart fluttered slightly.

 

She gently ran her fingers over the surface of the red booklet.

 

But just then, her WeChat chimed.

 

Rui Rui:

 

I was just thinking how to talk you out of it, but I saw a video posted in one of the group chats—last night’s. You better take a look.

 

Rui Rui:

 

Whatever your reason, think carefully about this.

 

Feng Qingrui had been her friend since school.
After Sun Jia’s family fell from grace, most of her old friends had drifted away—except Feng Qingrui.

 

Later, Feng Qingrui joined a theater troupe, and after Sun Jia moved in with Su Huimin, they lost contact for a long time.
Only after Sun Jia moved to the Song family did they reconnect.

 

Now, she’d signed with an agency—Bojia Media, the one Sun Jia had her eyes on.

 

A few days ago, Sun Jia had messaged Feng Qingrui briefly, explaining she was leaving the Song family and going with Song Yanrong.
Because Feng had been in closed training, she was only now replying.

 

After those two messages, there were two attached videos.

 

Sun Jia opened the first.

 

The bar was awash in colorful lights, sometimes clear, sometimes hazy.
But she immediately recognized the two people at the center of the video.

 

By the sofa, a seductive woman leaned in close, whispering into Song Yanrong’s ear with familiar intimacy.

 

Sun Jia’s expression darkened slightly.
She recognized that woman instantly—Zhou Yuan.

 

So, when Song Yanrong said she had gone to see Zhao Wen last night—
In reality, she had met with… Zhou Yuan.

 

Song Yanrong lied to her.