Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

 

Song Yanrong had been messaging Su Jia but hadn’t received any reply. Her wedding gown had just been tidied up by staff, but for some reason, staring at her silent phone screen, she felt uneasy.

 

Suddenly—

 

The dressing room door was pushed open from the outside without warning. A staff member looked in, visibly flustered.

 

Song Yanrong sensed something was wrong and heard the woman say,
“Miss Song, have you been able to reach Miss Su? Or have you seen her recently?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“She’s gone. We can’t find her.”

 

Earlier, Su Jia had dismissed the staff, telling them to return in ten minutes. They assumed it wouldn’t be a big deal, but when they returned—she was gone.

 

Some accessories and the toast dress still hadn’t been tried on. Now, with her missing, if anything went wrong, they’d be the ones to blame.

 

Song Yanrong frowned and stopped the assistant adjusting her shoulder strap. She picked up her phone—Su Jia still hadn’t replied.

 

She called. Her heart dropped.

 

The call didn’t go through.

 

“Did she have her phone with her?” Song asked.

 

“Umm… probably?” one replied. “We couldn’t find it in the dressing room. That’s why we came to you.”

 

Song didn’t say more. She steered her wheelchair toward Su Jia’s dressing room.

 

It was close—just a two-minute trip, the same path she had taken earlier when checking in on Su Jia.

 

Suddenly, she recalled her unexpected encounter with Zhou Yuan.

 

Although arrangements had been made to separate Zhou Yuan and Song Hanshuang’s dressing rooms on the second floor, they were still in the same building. She had thought: with so many people in every room, Zhou Yuan wouldn’t dare try anything. Besides, she and Su Jia had been in frequent contact. She had only left briefly to freshen up before returning, so she hadn’t thought much of it.

 

Now, she regretted not insisting that little K stay behind when Su Jia said she wasn’t used to being watched.

 

Maybe it wasn’t that bad—but with what had happened before, her heart sank.

 

And then, almost as if to confirm her worst fears—

 

Just as she arrived at Su Jia’s dressing room, someone said behind her, “We’ve checked everywhere. No sign of her.”

 

Then another voice chimed in—

 

“I think this might be Miss Su’s phone.”

 

Song Yanrong turned.

 

A staff member entering the room said, “We found it down the corridor.”

 

Little K stepped up and took the phone—it was indeed Su Jia’s. But the screen was shattered. Useless.

 

Song’s unease grew.

 

Su Jia hardly knew anyone here.

 

The odds of her leaving without saying anything—and losing her phone—were practically zero.

 

“She told us you were coming, and to wait ten minutes before going back in, so…”

 

Though the words sounded like an excuse, they were the truth.

 

Song Yanrong said coldly,
“Check the surveillance footage. Search everywhere—outside, every floor, every room. One by one.”

 

Little K responded immediately.

 

Song gripped the cold phone in her hand and stared at the white porcelain cup sitting silently on the black makeup table. The anxiety swelling inside her felt like a lit fuse pressed against a pile of gunpowder.

 

The commotion alerted Ying Junmei as well, but with three hours until the wedding, she quietly dispatched people to search without drawing attention.

 

Zhao Wen came by not long after. She had originally come to speak with Song Yanrong, but instead walked right into the chaos.

 

Seeing Song’s face, she patted her shoulder and joked,
“She didn’t get cold feet and run off, did she?”

 

Song wasn’t in the mood. She looked at Lu Ke behind Zhao Wen and said,
“Miss Lu, I might need your help soon.”

 

Lu Ke paused.

 

Zhao Wen crossed her arms, displeased by the preferential treatment.
“She’s under contract with me. Shouldn’t you be asking me what you need her for?”

 

“You’ll see,” Song said.

 

Zhao Wen noticed the cold edge in her expression—something she hadn’t seen on Song Yanrong in a long time. But it wasn’t directed at her.

 

She sobered up.

 

She had always thought this Su Jia was just a little more special than the others Song had been with—but maybe, just maybe, it was more than that.

 

She suddenly remembered how she once helped arrange a meeting with Madam Zhou on Su Jia’s behalf. Her dad punished her with a three-month bar ban, and afterwards, she messaged Song:

 

“You’re not seriously falling for that Omega, are you?”

 

Song had replied:
“Who knows.”

 

Who knows.

 

Back then, she didn’t know. But now—now it was clear Song Yanrong did.

 

…

 

Just as everyone was at their most anxious, a woman in a black formal dress appeared at the door—her presence completely unexpected.

 

Song Yanrong’s eyes locked on her. Given how Song Lü typically behaved toward her, her appearance now was… unsettling.

 

Song Lü slowly stepped in and gestured for the staff to leave.

 

She didn’t stop Zhao Wen or Lu Ke from staying.

 

“We need to find her—quickly,” Song Lü said in her usual icy tone.

 

Zhao Wen casually pulled out a cigarette and muttered,
“Second Miss Song, what’s the situation now?”

 

Song Lü answered plainly,
“She was drugged with a heat-inducing agent. If we don’t find her soon, you know what that means.”

 

Zhao Wen quickly put the cigarette away: “…”

 

The words were for Song Yanrong.

 

In her heart, it was like a bomb had gone off. Her whole body rang with a hum.

 

Song Lü met her eyes:
“Let’s find her before we talk about anything else.”

 

Just then, someone reported that the surveillance footage from that time had malfunctioned. Nothing was recorded—except for a small segment showing Su Jia disappearing at a hallway corner near the elevator in her white dress.

 

The Alpha’s oppressive presence filled the room. Song’s face turned so pale it startled everyone.

 

Zhao Wen took a deep breath. This was beyond what she expected:
“I’ll help—”

 

But before she could finish—

 

“Fifth floor! There’s an Omega in heat!”

 

…

 

The entire fifth floor was immediately locked down.

 

To minimize risk, only a few were allowed upstairs. Besides Song Yanrong, the group included Lu Ke, Little K, and Song Lü—all Alphas.

 

Little K and Lu Ke were bodyguards and regularly received suppressant injections. Song Lü trailed behind.

 

Song Yanrong pressed her lips together as they exited the elevator. They followed the Beta supervisor to a room marked “Craft Workshop.”

 

This was where the hotel prepared guest gifts. The door was secure, but the walls were transparent, made of thick glass, revealing elegant decorations inside.

 

The room was fairly sealed, but they could still faintly smell an Omega’s scent outside.

 

A subtle trace of rose lingered in the air.

 

All signs pointed to the Omega inside being Su Jia, but Song frowned. Though it smelled like roses…

 

She didn’t have time to think further—her mind kept returning to the fact Su Jia had been drugged. If the agent wasn’t handled quickly, her glands might be damaged. Future fertility was the least of it—her heat cycles could become unbearable, even dangerous. Her entire body might be affected.

 

“Su Jia! Su Jia!”

 

Song knocked anxiously on the glass.

 

“Are you telling me that your hotel has no other way to open this door besides a key?” Zhao Wen barked.

 

The workshop door had been tampered with—staff keys didn’t work. Engineers were being rushed in.

 

All they could do now was knock wildly, hoping the person inside might respond.

 

At least then, they could calm the storm raging inside this terrifying Miss Song.

 

“We don’t have time.”

 

Song Lü spoke from a distance.

 

The drug typically triggered within ten minutes. It had already been twenty since Su Jia drank that tea.

 

She had acted so fast—faster than anyone expected, with no time to prepare a follow-up to the plan. That madwoman had assumed she’d help without question.

 

No one expected it to be so realistic—even the door was broken.

 

“You better hurry,” Song Lü said.

 

Two staff members hurried off to find tools.

 

At that moment, the wheelchair zipped forward. Song Yanrong pulled open a fire hydrant cabinet and took out a fire extinguisher.

 

Little K guessed her intent and stepped up to take it.

 

But Song said nothing. She rolled to the glass wall.

 

“Step back,” she said coldly.

 

“Hey! Song Yanrong, don’t do it yourself—” Zhao Wen tried to stop her.

 

Lu Ke held Zhao Wen back.

 

BANG!

 

Song Yanrong smashed the extinguisher against the glass!

 

The thick surface cracked slightly. She gripped the extinguisher tighter and struck two more vicious blows!

 

CRASH!

 

The glass shattered like a crashing wave, shards raining down in sharp bursts. Despite Little K blocking what she could, Song’s leg and neck were cut—but she didn’t even feel it.

 

Omega pheromones now flooded the hallway without restraint.

 

But Song’s expression suddenly changed.

 

She still instinctively wanted to rush inside. This time, Little K blocked her—shards covered the floor.

 

“I’ll go,” Zhao Wen said, stepping inside.

 

Song waited at the doorway.

 

Just a few seconds later, Zhao Wen turned around in the dim light. Her eyes were filled with surprise. She shook her head at Song.

 

It wasn’t Su Jia.

 

Song’s heart sank, though she wasn’t shocked—once she clearly smelled the pheromones, she already knew.

 

Still… she had hoped.

 

She looked toward Song Lü, whose face was now ashen too.

 

Song Lü had only seen Su Jia go upstairs from a certain direction—so when they heard about the Omega, they assumed it was her.

 

But it wasn’t.

 

So—where was Su Jia?

 

If more time passed… this fake scene might turn into a real tragedy.

 

The danger of that drug wasn’t a joke.

 

Song backed away slightly, silent, her gaze downcast. Her hand, with its red sandalwood bracelet, was clenched so hard her veins turned blue.

 

Suddenly, her eyes flicked toward the far end of the hallway.

 

Zhao Wen came out, heels crunching on broken glass. She leaned on Lu Ke’s arm and saw Song turning to leave.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Song didn’t turn back. “Don’t follow. Keep searching here.”

 

They had gone up based on where Su Jia’s phone was found—so everyone assumed she had gone that way.

 

But there was another possibility.

 

The hotel had arranged a wedding suite for her and Su Jia—for rest after the banquet.

 

Last night, when they heard about the room, Su Jia had joked:
“Sounds so nice. Should we try it out?”

 

She had replied:
“It’s our wedding suite. Of course we can.”

 

But now she wasn’t sure.

 

Was Su Jia really there?

 

…

 

17th floor.

 

Outside the top-floor suite, a path of rose petals stretched for meters. One cluster had been kicked aside, revealing the tan carpet beneath.

 

Song Yanrong entered the room’s passcode.

 

Her fingertips trembled involuntarily. Standing at the door, as her hand touched the handle, she felt it—
That pull, that familiarity—Su Jia was inside.

 

She pushed the door open.

 

Omega’s overwhelming pheromones hit her body like an avalanche.

 

Song Yanrong heard the soft, desperate moans and labored gasps of Su Jia.

 

“Su Jia…”

 

The only response was even more intense breathing.

 

Her voice was hoarse.

 

Song Yanrong slammed the door shut, cutting off all sound and locking it. She rolled her wheelchair across the rose petal-strewn path toward the bathroom. At the entrance, she saw puddles of water—then, inside, her breaths came fast and shallow.

 

Su Jia was drenched and leaning against the bathtub in her white dress, the skirt clinging around her waist. The top half of her gown was loose. Fresh, cool water from the shower head cascaded over her pale skin—shoulders, collarbones, chest.

 

Like pale cherries—wet, tender fruit—half revealed to view.

 

Song’s pupils contracted. She wheeled forward, reached out, and pulled Su Jia away from the shower.

 

“How are you?” she asked.

 

“Song…”

 

Su Jia, barely conscious, hooked her arms around Song’s neck. The pheromones intoxicated her—like finding the perfect cure. She bit Song, sucked her desperately. The cold, scorching bodies pressed together; her legs trembled. Song supported her under the back.

 

Song pulled gently away from Su Jia’s lips, cupping her face. Her heart pounded, her throat parched from the overwhelming scent of omega.

 

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

 

Su Jia’s lips parted; her reddened eyes looked up at Song. Tears streamed down as she clung tightly:

 

“I want—give me…”

 

Song gazed at those tears, feeling thirsty. She tried to find words, to comfort her… but Su Jia blocked her mouth again.

 

Before losing control completely, Song asked through pressed lips:
“Who am I?”

 

Su Jia didn’t respond—just clung to Song’s hand.

 

Song repeated, voice firmer:
“Who am I?”

 

In blurry focus, Su Jia’s lips trembled open.

 

“Song Yanrong…”

 

And a moment later, she froze, unable to speak further.

 

It still wasn’t enough—for either of them.

 

Song lifted Su Jia onto her lap and tenderly brought her lips to a pale, wet cherry on Schen–the tattooed rose.

 

Rouge-stained with moisture, Song rolled them slightly—ripe, half crushed under her fingertips.

 

The wheelchair drifted outward as Song planned to move Su Jia to the bed—to get her warm.

 

But Su Jia resisted, twisting. The wheelchair tilted, and both collapsed softly on the thick rose petal carpet.

 

Song’s leg still limited her mobility—but it had been improving gradually. She leaned sideways using her arms.

 

Their dresses, all soaked and stained, lay around them. Song hugged Su Jia from behind, nose grazing the pale, wet rose petals.

 

She watched them crumble between her fingers—soft, waterlogged, overly ripe.

 

Su Jia sobbed, body shaking.

 

Song’s hand brushed over Su Jia’s swollen scent gland on her waist—already raised violently—over the rose tattoo.

 

When her finger touched it, Su Jia’s cries intensified; her hips moved in response.

 

From behind, Song spotted the raised gland on Su Jia’s neck as well—rosy and protruding. Su Jia’s tear-filled eyes glowed red in that light.

 

Something snapped in Song—she wanted to bite.

 

She planted teeth lightly, then more firmly, drawn by intense possessiveness.

 

“Jiejie…”

 

Su Jia cried out:

 

“I feel so… I want… mark me…”

 

Song’s teeth found her throat. Her hand moved around Su Jia’s jaw, fingers hitting her teeth.

 

Su Jia whimpered, like released weakness:
“Jiejie—mark me…”

 

Then Song bit deep into Su Jia’s vulnerable neck.

 

Despite Song’s slender arms, she lifted Su Jia onto the bed with ease.

 

Su Jia trembled from exhaustion—Song fetched a towel to wipe her gently, then held her close until she relaxed.

 

After some time, both drifted into sleep.

 

Song checked her phone; Zhao Wen sent a message:

 

“Your matriarch is anxious. The wedding starts in an hour. How’s Su Jia?”

 

Before entering the room, Song had messaged Zhao Wen to keep everyone outside for now.

 

song replied:
“Don’t worry about them. Ask Song Lü to come upstairs.”
Then messaged Little K:
“Confirm where Zhou Yuan is.”

 

She glanced at Su Jia, frowning—clearly she’d had a rough dream. She pressed her lips to Su Jia’s brow and whispered:

 

“Don’t be afraid.”

 

Su Jia’s expression softened.

 

Moments later, her phone buzzed again—Zhao Wen was waiting outside. Song replied “just a moment,” then carefully eased her arms away. Su Jia stirred, breathing sharply.

 

One temporary marking wasn’t enough to quell the drug-induced heat. The bout had been too intense; Su Jia’s body was overwhelmed.

 

Worried, Song decided to call Song Lü for medical help.

 

She stroked Su Jia’s cheek:
“Be good—let Song Lü check you. We must make sure that drug hasn’t harmed your body.”

 

Su Jia leaned into her collarbone and mumbled hoarsely:
“You know everything.”

 

Song nodded, tone turning cold as she thought of Zhou Yuan:
“Song doctor said you were drugged—by Zhou Yuan?”

 

Su Jia’s voice was weak:
“Actually, Song doctor overheard Zhou Yuan instructing a subordinate to slip me something. But I’d already drunk the tea… too late.”

 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

 

“No time.” Her hand weakly touched Song’s waist. “The effect had already started. I tried calling, but my phone fell and cracked… then…”

 

A sweep of restlessness washed over her.

 

She paused.

 

“I left to find you, but someone came—maybe Zhou Yuan’s—so I panicked and walked away. I saw a hallway and elevator, so I got in.”

 

Su Jia rested against Song and drank in her warmth:
“My phone was broken—I couldn’t reach you. I remembered us talking about the suite… so I managed to come here.”

 

Song frowned and tightened her embrace. Su Jia added softly:

 

“I knew you’d find me.”

 

Song pressed her lips to Su Jia’s hair.

 

“I will.”

 

…

 

In the elevator, Song thought: if Su Jia hadn’t been in that suite, where would she have gone? Could she have found her safely elsewhere?

 

When she saw Su Jia with her own eyes, relief washed over her—too long had gone by without this.

 

Su Jia shook slightly at close contact—still sensitive to the pheromones like a shy kitten in spring.

 

Song didn’t dare touch her more. She settled for a tender, lingering kiss to soothe her. She told Su Jia she needed to handle things downstairs.

 

Su Jia, exhausted, soon fell back asleep.

 

Song put on a robe, paid no mind to decorum or appearance, and wheeled to the door.

 

Song Lü stood outside, wearing a mask and carrying a first-aid kit. She paused as she entered, eyes flicking to the scab on Song’s neck.

 

Hearing Song thank her, she stopped in place.

 

For a moment, Song Lü thought: what if Song Yanrong ever discovered that the second half of tonight’s ordeal—Su Jia’s disappearance—had been orchestrated by Su Jia herself? Then again, that’s none of her concern.

 

Song Lü stepped into the bathroom. Song Yanrong changed and waited inside—waiting for the doctor.

 

From the doorway, Song Lü said flatly:
“We need to test the drug concentration in her bl00d at the hospital. For now, she doesn’t need a suppressor. I’ll administer a slow-release med to stabilize her. But there may be another flare later—then decide if she needs suppressors or another approach. Right now, she needs rest.”

 

Her tone was cold, but Song didn’t mind.
“Thank you. Can you stay with her a bit? I’ll come right back.”

 

Rather than relying on hospital staff, she chose to ask Song Lü directly—even if it meant swallowing whatever pride.

 

Song Lü, though emotionless, didn’t refuse.

 

Song thanked her again.

 

Song Lü didn’t respond. She simply gave off the rare impression—mystified—that Song might never have treated her so politely before.

 

…

 

The door closed behind them.
Sunlight filtered in, touching the tender aftermath of passion.

 

Song Lü discarded the syringe into a biohazard bag and said matter-of-factly:
“Miss Su—next time if you want to act crazy, don’t drag me into it.”

 

Su Jia stirred, weakly smiling:
“Thanks… Song doctor.”

 

The words carried weight—pleasantries shortened from earlier.

 

She hadn’t been asleep at all.

 

Song Lü closed the medical kit box:
“Song Yanrong was injured too—you must’ve seen. Five floors down, there was another Omega in heat. They thought it was you. The fire extinguisher smashed the glass—you were scratched on neck and leg.”

 

Her tone remained neutral as she stated facts.

 

“You don’t need me to tell you—Song Yanrong has gone downstairs after Zhou Yuan. I’m telling you this because I’m curious how it feels, knowing what she did tonight for you.”

 

Su Jia’s eyelids tinged red—hue fading as she considered the question.

 

She lifted her gaze, throat raw:
“What are you trying to say?”

 

Song Lü offered no further answer. She was just curious: had Su Jia’s gambit truly been about claiming Song’s mark? Or was it simply a way to ensure Song would hate Zhou Yuan forever?

 

If so… Song Lü’s earlier warnings carried a different meaning.

 

As a professional, she said:
“Last warning: your ‘pheromone obsession’—to cure it, you must be permanently marked by one compatible Alpha, followed by intense de-sensitization, only if you never fall for him emotionally.”

 

She spoke like reciting scripture.

 

“Because if you fall in love—and then attempt forced withdrawal—you will suffer immeasurable pain.”

 

Su Jia inhaled faintly of the lingering alpha scent on the sheets. She felt a trace of coldness born of longing. Then softly replied:
“I won’t.”

 

I won’t fall in love with Song Yanrong.

 

…

 

“Did you win the lottery in the comments? Thanks for all the support!”

 

Now Su Jia says: “I won’t fall in love with her.”

 

Later Su Jia says: “Sob—my wife doesn’t love me anymore.”