Distorted Fairy Tale - Chapter 2

“Don’t go! Please, don’t go!”

Song Zhen struggled to lift his head under the firm grip of the security guards, his voice a broken record repeating those few desperate words.

His tears fell like rain, a sight so wretched it could break anyone’s heart.

It wasn’t until the Alpha’s silhouette had completely vanished from sight that Song Zhen’s cries finally died down, replaced by a fit of violent, lung-wrenching coughing.

Whether it was due to the intense emotional upheaval or physical exhaustion, Song Zhen’s face turned a deep, sickly crimson. Seeing this, the guards finally loosened their hold. Song Zhen slumped onto the cold ground, coughing for a long time before he could finally catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” one of the guards asked, genuinely startled by the young man’s state.

Song Zhen reached out with trembling hands to retrieve his backpack, which had been kicked aside during the scuffle. He hugged it tightly to his chest before slowly pulling himself up.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, his head hanging low.

Song Zhen was never one for eye contact; he always spoke with his gaze fixed on the ground. His bangs partially obscured his face, but they couldn’t hide his eyes—they were terrifyingly red and brimming with unshed tears.

He didn’t want to overstay his welcome or draw any more unwanted attention. Clutching his bag, he turned and walked away, a solitary and dejected figure.

He bit his lip hard, trying to stem the tide of fresh tears. He knew people were staring, but he couldn’t stop the weeping. Tears splashed onto the dust-covered fabric of his bag, leaving dark, damp circles in their wake.

After leaving the Fu Group headquarters, he stood at the entrance, paralyzed by the realization that he had nowhere to go.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why was his husband being so cold?

What on earth had happened over the past month?

Why did his husband look at him as if he were a total stranger?

Song Zhen had no answers. But he knew one thing: he had to talk to Song Heng properly.

No matter what, he needed an explanation.

Wiping his face, Song Zhen decided to find a place to stay in City A first.

He took one look at the luxury hotels surrounding the Fu Group and immediately looked away. Those were far beyond his means.

Song Zhen didn’t have much money.

He walked along Mingsheng Road, putting distance between himself and the skyscraper. He walked for what felt like hours until he reached a “village-in-the-city” area. There, he spotted a small guesthouse advertising a “Special Rate: 50 per night.” It was the cheapest place he had seen all day, so he stepped inside.

The receptionist was busy playing a game on his phone. Hearing someone enter, he glanced up briefly. Song Zhen stammered, “I’d like the fifty-per-night room.”

“ID card,” the receptionist grunted.

Song Zhen reached into his pocket, but his expression suddenly went pale. His ID card, which should have been right there, was gone.

Panic rising, Song Zhen unzipped his backpack and pulled everything out. A change of clothes, some basic toiletries, a bag of bread… he searched every nook and cranny of the bag, but the ID card was nowhere to be found.

The receptionist’s patience wore thin. “Are you staying or not? If not, don’t block the counter.”

Song Zhen hurriedly stuffed his belongings back into the bag, apologizing frantically. “No, I’m so sorry!”

As he stumbled out of the guesthouse, he heard the receptionist let out a derisive “tch,” clearly annoyed by the waste of time.

Without an ID card, he couldn’t check in anywhere. He began retracing his steps, scanning the pavement and racking his brain for where he might have dropped it.

He figured the most likely place was back at the Fu Group during the struggle.

He didn’t hold out much hope—it was late, and surely everyone had gone home—but he couldn’t give up. He walked all the way back.

When he finally reached the Fu Group building, he was stunned to see the entire skyscraper still ablaze with lights.

As soon as he stepped toward the entrance, a figure appeared—it was the same security guard from earlier that afternoon.

“Looking for this?” The guard dangled a small card in front of him. “I figured you’d be back for it.”

Song Zhen’s eyes lit up. It was his ID card.

“Thank you.” Song Zhen gave a deep, sincere bow.

He turned to leave, but the guard called out to him. “Hey, it’s late. Go find a place to sleep. You look like you’re not from around here. Listen, follow Mingsheng Road to the fork, turn right, and keep going until you hit Yuetong Alley. There’s a youth hostel there. It’s cheap, but it’s clean. Don’t just wander the streets at night.”

Song Zhen looked up at the guard. His nose tingled with a sudden urge to cry again. Sometimes, when you’re at your lowest, a simple kindness from a stranger hits harder than anything else. He managed a soft, “Thank you.”

His eyes were still swollen from crying all day. Looking up like that, timid and fragile, he reminded the guard of a small, lost animal. It was a pitiful sight.

“Alright, get going,” the guard sighed. He thought to himself that while this Beta might be a bit of a delusional dreamer, he didn’t seem like a bad person.

“Okay.” Song Zhen nodded and followed the guard’s directions until he found the youth hostel in Yuetong Alley.

It was 60 yuan a night, but it was much nicer than the previous place and even had a shower.

After washing up, Song Zhen collapsed onto the bed. He fell into a deep, heavy sleep almost instantly. In his exhaustion, he dreamed of Song Heng.

“Gege, I’m so hungry. I want to eat your cooking.”

“Gege, you look so handsome in white.”

“Gege, let’s stay together forever…”

“Heng-heng!”

Song Zhen bolted upright, gasping.

He checked the time: 8:00 AM.

After a quick wash, he hurried back to the Fu Group building. He waited at the entrance all day, but Fu Yuting never appeared.

Determined, Song Zhen waited for three more days, yet he saw no sign of him.

By now, the office employees had begun to whisper and gossip about the strange man lingering outside.

On the fourth day, the security guard couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked over and said, “President Fu doesn’t come to the office every day. If you really know him, why don’t you just call him?”

Song Zhen looked dejected. “He changed his number. I don’t know his new one.”

The guard sighed. “Wait here. I’ll see what I can find out.”

The guard returned shortly and showed him a number on his phone. “The President’s personal contact isn’t public, but I found Assistant Lin’s number. Usually, if anyone wants to see the President, they have to go through him.”

“Thank you, Brother,” Song Zhen said with genuine gratitude. He immediately dialed the number. After five rings, a crisp, professional voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Fu Yuting.”

“May I ask who is calling? I need to report to President Fu.”

“I am Song Zhen.”

“Understood. Please wait a moment.”

The line went quiet for a short while. When Assistant Lin spoke again, his tone was noticeably awkward. “I’m sorry, Mr. Song. President Fu is currently very busy and does not have time to see you. He also asked me to pass along a message…” Lin hesitated. “He said you should go back to wherever you came from.”

Song Zhen gripped the phone, his eyes reddening. “Please tell him… I will wait until he comes.” Then he hung up.

The guard could tell by Song Zhen’s expression that he’d been rejected. “Look, the President isn’t here often. He’s busy, always on business trips. You should just go home.”

Song Zhen said stubbornly, “It’s okay. I’ll wait for him.”

“Man, you really are…” The guard shook his head. “It’s about to rain. You should head back early today.”

Song Zhen gave him a weak smile but didn’t move.

The guard sighed and walked away.

Not long after, the sky darkened and a light drizzle began to fall. The cold droplets hit Song Zhen’s pale face. He hadn’t slept well in days.

The rain intensified. Standing in the downpour, the droplets began to sting. Drenched to the bone and shivering, he looked utterly wretched—like a tragic, stray dog that had been cast out.

After an unknown amount of time, a black sedan pulled up near him. The rear window rolled down slowly. Sensing something, Song Zhen looked over and locked eyes with a pair of pitch-black orbs.

It was Fu Yuting.

A clean-cut man stepped out from the passenger seat, holding a black umbrella. He walked over to Song Zhen. “Mr. Song, the President asks you to get in the car.”

Judging by the voice, this was Assistant Lin.

“Okay,” Song Zhen nodded.

Once inside the back seat, Assistant Lin handed him a dry towel from the front. “Dry yourself off.”

“Thank you,” Song Zhen said politely.

Fu Yuting shot Lin a sharp glance, seemingly annoyed by the unnecessary gesture. Lin quickly turned back around and sat stiffly in his seat.

Song Zhen began to pat his hair dry. After a few minutes of silence, Fu Yuting’s voice rang out, dripping with mockery.

“Tell me. How much money do you want to stop showing up in front of me?”

As he spoke, he turned his head to look at Song Zhen.

Song Zhen had always known his husband had a very sharp, commanding look, but in the past, the Alpha’s gaze had always been soft and his smiles bright. That warmth had often made Song Zhen forget how intimidating the man’s features actually were.

Now, however, the Alpha’s eyes were terrifyingly cold. Being stared down like that made Song Zhen feel as though he couldn’t breathe.

The scent of dark sandalwood filled the air.

The Alpha was subconsciously releasing pheromones. Though Song Zhen was a Beta, he had been marked by this Alpha countless times in the past, allowing him to sense the underlying rage within the scent.

“Money? You think I’m here for money?” Song Zhen’s nose flared as tears welled up. He stared back at the Alpha, all the bottled-up grievances of the past month surging to the surface. “Why did you disappear without saying a single word? I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

Fu Yuting replied coldly, “There was no need for you to look for me.”

“But you and me.” Song Zhen pointed at Fu Yuting, then at himself. “We’re married.”

“The one who married you was that idiot, not me.” Fu Yuting’s gaze darkened, filled with a deep loathing for his own self from the past six months. “That was just a fake identity. Consider him dead.”

The tears finally broke through, streaming down his pale cheeks.

Song Zhen stared at the man’s face. This was the face he had woken up to every day for months. Those lips, which he had kissed a thousand times, were now uttering these cold, clinical words of abandonment.

His tears fell like broken strings of pearls. Every word Fu Yuting spoke felt like a needle stabbing into his heart, making it hard to draw air.

The person he had spent a month searching for had finally given him an answer: Consider him dead.

“Why?” Song Zhen didn’t understand. He couldn’t help but ask, his voice trembling violently. “Why are you doing this to me?”

His crying intensified—a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching sob that shook his entire frame.

Every night for the past month, he had been plagued by nightmares. He had been terrified that Song Heng had met with an accident, or that he’d never see him again. But his deepest fear was that Song Heng was perfectly fine—he just didn’t want him anymore.

Now that his worst fear had come true, it was enough to shatter him completely.

Fu Yuting watched like a detached spectator, observing Song Zhen’s misery and pain without a flicker of emotion.

His expression said everything: Cry all you want, and once you’re done, get out.

Song Zhen looked at the face he had longed for through a blur of red-rimmed eyes and choked out:

“Do you even know… that I’m pregnant?”

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