Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 39
Chapter 39
The temperature inside the car surged like a rising tide—scented, laced with alcohol—complicated, dangerous, and filled with temptation.
Song Yanrong’s tongue was bitten by sharp teeth, almost as if in revenge. She frowned from the pain and pushed Su Jia backward by the waist.
Perhaps because she was still sick, Su Jia’s body was limp and soft. Song Yanrong didn’t use much force, but Su Jia, already on guard, caught her wrist first.
That cool hand guided her to the edge of her taut hem. Her shirt hem pressed against Song Yanrong’s forearm, and the shocking sensation quickly spread from her palm to her chest.
Her fingertips recoiled instinctively from the scalding warmth.
Then, Song Yanrong heard a soft, emotional hum from the Omega beside her.
“Yanrong…”
Song Yanrong tilted her head back. She had drunk quite a lot tonight—her mind foggy, stirred by desire. Her body buzzed with heat and alcohol.
But she still pulled her hand out from under Su Jia’s shirt and pushed her away.
Perhaps the sudden movement hurt Su Jia. Or maybe the rejection caught her off guard. For the first time, Song Yanrong saw such obvious disappointment on Su Jia’s face.
Su Jia coughed softly twice. Under the faint yellow car light, her expression was hard to see, but her face was visibly more flushed than usual—especially her cheeks.
Song Yanrong resisted the urge to reach out and pat her back. Instead, she grabbed a tissue and wiped her lips. A faint trace of bl00d had stained the tissue under the dim light. She said coldly, “What are you trying to do now?”
It was harsh.
Su Jia looked up at her with pursed lips. Staring at Song Yanrong’s bitten lip, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction—she had left her mark.
Not something that could be wiped away or erased with a single sentence.
She wasn’t even angry at being pushed away. It was as if she’d been pacified by her own small success. Her fingertip brushed lightly over the reddened wound on Song Yanrong’s lip. Knowing how unreasonable it was, she still murmured hoarsely, “Don’t talk to her.”
Song Yanrong paused for a second and slightly turned her head.
Before she could respond, Su Jia added softly, “And don’t smile at anyone else either.”
Linking these comments to earlier events, Song Yanrong began to understand. She paused and looked at Su Jia, but didn’t bother explaining.
Since she was no longer going to question Su Jia and Han Yiwen’s relationship, she didn’t owe any explanation about her and Xiang Ying either. After all, who she smiled at was her own business.
But looking into Su Jia’s eyes, seeing her lower her head and cough softly, Song Yanrong suddenly felt a wave of irritation.
She didn’t know if it was toward Su Jia or herself.
She twisted open a water bottle, then closed it again and set it beside the seat. Her lips tasted sweet, her tongue briefly brushed the wound—faintly salty.
Su Jia’s sudden kiss had startled her. The people in the front seat were probably even more shocked.
Su Jia sometimes really did things unlike anyone else—bolder, crazier.
Song Yanrong reminded her, “If you’re not feeling well, sit properly. We’re still in the car.”
“What, worried they’ll hear something? Is it strange for wives to talk in private?” Su Jia asked.
Song Yanrong replied, “It’s not strange for them. But for us, it is, isn’t it?”
The implication was clear. It might not be unusual for others, but for them—they weren’t truly a couple.
Su Jia froze. Her hand resting on the seat, she looked down to see the water bottle near her fingers wobble slightly. Her already low mood sank further, to the point of aching in her gums. Her nails nearly dug into the leather seat.
She took a breath, suppressing her frustration, and said in a coaxing voice, “Song Yanrong, hug me. I’ll tell you the truth when we get home.”
Maybe it was because there had been too many such instances. Maybe it was because their relationship began as a transaction. Or maybe it was because trust between them had already begun to crack. Whatever she said now would be met first with suspicion.
So Song Yanrong’s first reaction wasn’t to feel Su Jia’s vulnerability or concession—but to question the motive behind her words.
She asked, “To you, is this just another deal?”
Su Jia froze and looked at her in shock. “So that’s the kind of person you think I am?”
Song Yanrong stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “You should already know, Miss Su—I don’t understand you.”
Unlike the calm she had shown in the past few days, the drunk Song Yanrong tonight revealed more obvious emotion. Her tone was sharper, her words more direct—cutting.
Su Jia stared at her for a long while.
Of course Song Yanrong wouldn’t understand her. No one in this world truly did—not even herself. After everything she had been through, she was like a piece of cloth being torn, each rip exposing her soul.
She had learned to face everything coldly and shut herself off from feeling.
But then Song Yanrong appeared.
Her coldness became unpredictable. Her emotions became unpredictable. She should have used Song Yanrong—treated her like anyone else in this illusion of a world.
But somehow, she hadn’t fully abandoned her human feelings.
She had desires, jealousy, darkness, revenge, insecurity, selfishness…all the ugliest human emotions.
The moment she began to enjoy Song Yanrong’s kindness, when she felt something special for her—her possessiveness took root.
She hated these feelings. Without them, she wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t be tied down. She wouldn’t feel guilty for making Song Yanrong sad. Wouldn’t ache seeing her with someone else.
And yet—she didn’t regret meeting her.
Not just because Song Yanrong was her 0.01% compatibility for “pheromone dependency syndrome.”
But because these feelings she despised—Song Yanrong, this woman—made her feel human warmth again.
That rainy night in the backyard of the Song family, when Song Yanrong reached out her hand to her.
Told her they were accomplices. Partners in crime.
Later, she protected her, liked her, treated her so well…all without expecting anything in return.
For the first time in ages, Su Jia felt a sense of belonging. In a fake world, she felt something real. She felt like maybe—maybe—she could try to rise again.
She didn’t know why, but she began to think—
If this world was a desert and she wandered it alone, then Song Yanrong was another traveler, crossing her path.
Song Yanrong had become an unexpected miracle in her barren journey.
So she became both ruthless and unsettled. Her cruelty wasn’t pure. Her heart was unsteady.
Especially after filming this afternoon—the scene in Double Lives where the woman jumps into the river in despair. That emotion still lingered in her heart.
Anger. Pain. Disappointment. Despair.
It wouldn’t go away.
Then that emotion turned to fear. She still remembered how calm and ruthless Song Yanrong had been when she said those cutting words that day.
Was Song Yanrong also feeling the same things back then?
Disappointment. Pain. Anger.
Su Jia had to admit—if Song Yanrong really lost all feelings for her, if she no longer tolerated her—then she’d be powerless.
Unless…she used any means necessary to make sure Song Yanrong belonged only to her.
Just like that first time she awakened.
She had dreamed about it—it hadn’t happened, but she had dreamed it.
On their engagement night, in the basement, tied up on the floor, Song Yanrong in her wheelchair calling her sister-in-law, approaching her…injecting her with the strongest heat-inducing agent…
The memory made her glands throb.
She could still taste Song Yanrong’s scent between her lips.
She had already been wet before the kiss.
She liked immersing herself in a role—sometimes, even she couldn’t tell if she was acting or not.
For example—this wasn’t her first awakening. Her dreams were never just dreams.
At that thought, she paused.
She knew Song Yanrong would never do such a thing. But if she knew what kind of thoughts Su Jia had—
That darkness inside her—what would Song Yanrong say?
Would she once again say she didn’t understand her?
Su Jia let out a long breath and leaned back heavily into the seat, hugging her arms and resting silently against the window.
No matter what, she refused to let things end this easily with Song Yanrong.
She had to do something—not for her own agenda, but simply because she didn’t want Song Yanrong to treat her so coldly.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Song Yanrong’s faint reflection in the car window.
Halfway, Song Yanrong had pulled up the partition. She dropped off Xiang Ying first, then headed home to Nanping Bay.
…
Upstairs.
Su Jia looked terrible. The air conditioning had been lowered in the car, and though Song Yanrong hadn’t looked at her much, Su Jia’s shivering became more obvious after getting out.
In the elevator, under the cold white light, her lips were pale and her complexion sickly.
Only when she coughed did a faint unhealthy red rise to her cheeks.
Yet Su Jia didn’t seem to care about her condition. She didn’t try to use it as a tactic to soften Song Yanrong’s heart. Maybe she already realized—Song Yanrong’s heart was actually very hard.
She just stood quietly beside her, staring at the wounded lip, gaze tight.
No one said a word.
…
Back home, the jasmine flowers were blooming more than usual.
Su Jia sat silently on the couch, head lowered, lost in thought.
Song Yanrong, still tipsy, called out, “The medicine box is in the drawer under the TV.”
Then she headed to her room.
After a few minutes without hearing any movement, she came out to ask if Su Jia was going to shower. Getting no reply, she took her clothes and went in herself.
When she came back out, Su Jia was still on the sofa.
The central AC had cooled the room down. Hearing her cough again, Song Yanrong said, “Go shower.”
Su Jia didn’t move.
Song Yanrong, groggy from alcohol, lost her patience.
She turned her wheelchair and slammed her door shut.
Let her be. She didn’t want to deal with it.
Ten minutes later.
The sound of a door opening. The AC clicked off.
Song Yanrong came out and threw a thick, dry blanket onto Su Jia’s lap. Her eyes were narrowed, and her tone held obvious anger and no patience: “What the hell do you want?”
Su Jia finally looked up. “I’m sorry.”
Song Yanrong paused.
Su Jia’s voice came again, hoarse: “Song Yanrong… I’m sorry.”
After a beat, Song Yanrong only replied, “Take your meds and go to sleep.”
She just felt—it was all too late. And an apology couldn’t undo everything. Honestly, both of them were at fault. She didn’t see why she deserved a one-sided apology.
This time, once the door closed, she didn’t come out again.
…
Su Jia sat alone on the sofa for a long time before going to the bathroom with her change of clothes.
…
Around eleven.
The alcohol was really getting to Song Yanrong. She hadn’t expected the white liquor Zhou Songyun ordered to be this strong—her head was spinning, lights above her blurring.
Sleep finally claimed her after being tormented by dizziness and Su Jia’s ghostly presence in her thoughts.
Somewhere in the haze, she heard the bedroom door open.
Ever since the day at the filming base, they hadn’t shared a bed.
Logically, her alcohol-fogged mind should have dulled her senses. But instead, her awareness grew sharper.
She suddenly remembered—some time ago when Su Jia was sick, curled in her arms, she had asked:
“If we ever fought, would we sleep apart?”
She had replied, “Maybe.”
Su Jia, however, had been adamant. She nibbled her finger and said, “No.”
She joked, “We might find each other unbearable when fighting.”
To which Su Jia had smiled and said, “Then I won’t lock the door… and you won’t either.”
At the time, she had simply laughed.
She had never locked the door on Su Jia anyway.
Maybe out of habit, she hadn’t tonight either.
Despite being angry enough to explode in the car earlier, she pretended to be asleep, not responding.
Soon, the mattress dipped—legs gripped by warm, soft hands. Her other side sank as well, both legs pinned.
She knew Su Jia had climbed up and leaned down over her. The familiar scent of rose liqueur tickled her senses. Su Jia whispered hoarsely in her ear:
“I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“If you’d been through what I have, you’d be just as cautious as me… I just wanted to protect myself. But I should’ve trusted you… right?”
Her voice reached Song Yanrong’s ears as if through layers. Her mind stalled—her thoughts froze.
Her breathing quickened—not just because Su Jia was on top of her—
But because—
Su Jia wasn’t wearing anything.
The water had boiled over—heat rising.
Scalding her legs.
More and more.
Flooding, unstoppable.
Song Yanrong’s chest rose and fell rapidly—bringing her closer to Su Jia each time. Her ear was suddenly nipped by warm lips. Su Jia’s sultry voice followed:
“I know—you’re not asleep.”
The moment the words dropped—
A startled gasp left Su Jia’s lips.
Song Yanrong had suddenly flipped her over—pressing her down beneath her.