Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 38

Chapter 38

 

Xiao Nanzhou.

 

This was a high-end Chinese restaurant newly opened in South City. Its first branch was originally in North City and had been acquired years ago by Young Master Cheng of the Cheng family. Since then, it had expanded gradually into the outer city districts.

 

Tonight was a business dinner among several partners. The venue was booked by Xiang Ying, and it was Song Yanrong’s first time here.

 

The food, wine, and atmosphere all met expectations. The mood in the private room throughout the dinner was quite pleasant.

 

Inside, a female investor named Zhou Songyun filled her wine glass and turned to Song Yanrong:

 

“President Song, I must admit I had my doubts about you in the past. But I didn’t expect you to have such vision. That Huayin app you’re developing just keeps getting better. I’m glad I didn’t let my biases get in the way and followed your lead. This toast is to you.”

 

The woman wore bright red lipstick, her makeup heavy but not gaudy. In her early thirties, she had a confident feminine allure.

 

Before Song Yanrong could reply, someone else chimed in:

 

“President Zhou is right—even my seventy-year-old mom knows about Huayin. But Zhou, that toast wasn’t quite right—calling her ‘Little President Song’? Come on now, show some respect.”

 

Zhou Songyun laughed:

 

“Oh, look at me—you’re right to call me out. There’s only one President Song, after all.”

 

Song Yanrong raised her glass, lightly tapping it against the edge of the table:

 

“You flatter me. I’ll still be relying on all of you for future projects. Let’s make money together.”

 

After the toasts, Zhou Songyun leaned on her hand and said:

 

“President Song, I think by March next year, your company should be ready to IPO, right?”

 

The others turned to gauge Song Yanrong’s reaction.

 

“Maybe even sooner,” she said.

 

At the current pace, a few more months and the valuation would be hard to predict.

 

The group grew even more enthusiastic, leading to more rounds of drinking. While Song Yanrong wasn’t drinking recklessly, she still had a fair amount.

 

These were her first batch of partners. No matter how capable she was, she needed people to shoulder risks and do the legwork. Even the most prestigious companies needed competent distributors.

 

She didn’t decline much, and Xiang Ying helped shield her from some of the drinks.

 

Someone brought up the land in Qishui.

 

“President Song, I heard a while back that you bought land in Qishui. Last time I played golf with President Song—Song Hanshuang—I asked her about it. She dismissed it entirely, said it had nothing to do with the Song family, that it was your personal decision. But with your eye for opportunity, I doubt you’d buy recklessly…”

 

All eyes turned to Song Yanrong. Everyone knew that land in Qishui was taboo. Some had tried their luck due to low prices but ended up with massive losses.

 

Song Yanrong sipped her wine, her eyes lifting slightly. With her cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, her usual cool expression took on a glamorous, proud beauty.

 

“Nothing special,” she said lightly. “I dreamed about it.”

 

“You dreamed it?”

 

Even Xiang Ying laughed at that.

 

Song Yanrong nodded solemnly:

 

“Yes. I dreamt a little cat stepped randomly on the map in my house, and when I looked closely, wouldn’t you know—it was Qishui under that pawprint.”

 

Laughter filled the room—clearly no one took it seriously.

 

Song Yanrong remained calm:

 

“If anyone’s interested in this dream of mine, we can talk more later.”

 

The room erupted in laughter again, but her partners all silently contemplated the deeper meaning behind her words, and reevaluated their understanding of her.

 

Lately, Song Yanrong had become a rising figure in the business world. She was polite, warm, and approachable—not arrogant like other members of the Song family. Compared to Song Hanshuang, she was far easier to work with.

 

But investing in Qishui wasn’t like developing an app—it involved layers of reviews and approvals. And Qishui was a notoriously difficult area…

 

Song Yanrong didn’t elaborate further. Suddenly, Zhou Songyun teased:

 

“President Song, that little cat you dreamed about—could it be the wife we’ve still never met?”

 

Song Yanrong froze for a moment, reminded of the phone call she received just an hour ago.

 

Su Jia’s voice hadn’t sounded good—weak and tired.

 

“Exactly—when will you bring your wife around to meet us?”

 

Song Yanrong smiled:

 

“She’s busy. But when there’s a chance, I definitely will.”

 

The word “wife” settled deep in her chest. She took another small sip of wine. The sharpness turned bitter.

 

She doubted there would ever be such a chance.

 

By the time the dinner ended, it was already past ten.

 

Song Yanrong was in her wheelchair, surrounded by people, with Xiang Ying pushing from behind—she looked like the center of a royal entourage.

 

“President Song keeps checking her phone—could she be texting her wife, explaining why she’s coming home so late?” teased Zhou Songyun. Among the group, she was the boldest, always joking, even when discussing work.

 

Song Yanrong was pulled from her phone by the sound of Zhou’s voice. She raised an eyebrow, then countered playfully:

 

“What, does President Zhou need to explain herself when she gets home too?”

 

Zhou Songyun flicked her hair and smiled:

 

“I don’t even have a home. But if President Song is willing to take me in, I can consider your home—and your wife’s—as mine for tonight.”

 

Everyone laughed at her boldness.

 

“President Zhou, you’re not just after President Song’s map at home, are you?” Xiang Ying chimed in, steering the conversation away from the teasing.

 

Zhou Songyun feigned offense:

 

“President Song is truly blessed—with a lovely wife and such a tactful secretary by her side.”

 

A faint smile appeared on Song Yanrong’s lips:

 

“And I’m fortunate to have the chance to work with you too, President Zhou.”

 

No one disliked being flattered. Zhou Songyun’s grin widened.

 

What none of them noticed was that, not far away in the parking lot, a woman sat in a black Porsche, staring intently in their direction.

 

Su Jia’s lips were a deep red from biting. She only realized she’d broken the skin when the pain and taste of bl00d hit her.

 

It had been a long time since she’d seen that smile on Song Yanrong’s face.

 

She felt like the ground beneath her was trembling. Her breath came shallow. She opened the car window and drew in the warm city air, trying to exhale the overwhelming wave of emotion within her.

 

Su Jia coughed softly. The wind blew across her pale cheeks.

 

Then she wondered—was this how Song Yanrong felt that night, when she saw her and Han Yiwen together?

 

If Song Yanrong had lied today about what she was doing, and then Su Jia saw her speaking gently to another woman…

 

Just the thought made her hand tighten around her dress, her knuckles turning white.

 

She couldn’t bear the idea.

 

She didn’t want Song Yanrong smiling like that at anyone else. She didn’t want her being gentle with anyone else!

 

Her chest tightened unbearably. And when she saw Song Yanrong tilt her head back, laughing with Xiang Ying, her throat itched and she suddenly coughed harshly.

 

It was so intense it felt like her glands were being stabbed—just like that night.

 

Su Jia’s reaction startled Xiao K in the driver’s seat. He looked through the mirror and quickly handed her a bottle of water.

 

“Miss Su, are you okay?”

 

Su Jia didn’t take it. She held her throat, trying to suppress her breathing.

 

Sweating, she looked up and saw Xiang Ying pushing Song Yanrong’s wheelchair toward the car.

 

Song Yanrong had seen the message Xiao K sent saying Su Jia was here—but hadn’t checked her phone until dinner ended.

 

She told Xiang Ying: “It’s fine, no need to help. I can manage.”

 

Xiang Ying smiled gently: “Any other time maybe, but you drank quite a bit today. If you got hurt, I wouldn’t know how to explain it to Miss Su.”

 

Song Yanrong muttered that she was becoming a bad influence—one night with Zhou Songyun and everyone started dragging Su Jia into every joke.

 

A few meters away from the car, the backseat door opened.

 

She looked up—white sneakers, slender legs, a narrow waist.

 

Su Jia was wearing a white tank top and denim mini skirt, leaning against the car.

 

Her hair was tied up, her delicate face even more striking.

 

When their eyes met, Su Jia’s face wore a faint, practiced smile—the one Song had once mistaken for warmth, but now knew was a mask she disliked.

 

They stared for two seconds before Xiang Ying spoke first:

 

“Miss Su, I hadn’t met you before, so I didn’t dare to approach. Hello, I’m President Song’s assistant—”

 

“Miss Xiang,” Su Jia cut in, her eyes shifting to her, her voice hoarse but soft, “I know who you are.”

 

Xiang Ying froze.

 

Su Jia’s gaze didn’t waver. “I heard you’ve been helping my wife a lot lately. Thank you for that.”

 

A nerve twitched in Song Yanrong’s temple.

 

The word “wife” was still unfamiliar between them—but Su Jia always said it so naturally. Song remembered how, when they got their marriage certificate, Su Jia had declared, “I love her,” without hesitation.

 

She hadn’t said anything since then, but every time she realized she still cared about these things, she knew how deeply Su Jia still affected her.

 

Su Jia stepped forward and brushed a lock of hair behind Song Yanrong’s ear. Her fingers grazed her earlobe.

 

“You smell like alcohol. Did you drink a lot?”

 

The rose-scented Omega pheromones crept into her senses, dragging her attention back.

 

Tiny bumps rose on Song Yanrong’s neck. She looked up and noticed Su Jia was sweating slightly and looked weak.

 

“Not too much,” she replied.

 

To avoid the topic, she turned to Xiang Ying:

 

“Your home’s on Nanxi Road, right?”

 

“Yes,” Xiang Ying answered.

 

“Then let us give you a ride.”

 

As she spoke, she didn’t see the storm rising in Su Jia’s lowered eyes.

 

Once in the car, silence fell—broken only by Su Jia’s occasional cough.

 

Each cough made Song Yanrong’s throat tighten.

 

Suddenly, Xiang Ying spoke from the front:

 

“By the way, President Song, when we parted earlier, President Zhou asked about your schedule tomorrow. I told her you’d drunk a lot and would confirm tomorrow. I think she plans to talk to you about Qishui. But I also heard she was supposed to meet Song Hanshuang.”

 

“She’s a clever one,” Song Yanrong replied calmly.

 

“Still, you really drank a lot. You should take some stomach medicine tonight…”

 

Before she could respond, the privacy divider began to rise.

 

She turned toward the sound—only to meet Su Jia’s face inches away, her reflection caught in those deep eyes.

 

Then Su Jia kissed her—aggressive, unrestrained.