Distorted Fairy Tale - Chapter 22

“No! Stop it!” Song Zhen struggled frantically, every cell in his body screaming in resistance against Fu Yuhang.

Fu Yuhang was infuriated by his rejection. His mind was a chaotic loop of Song Zhen smiling at Jiang Mingyu and Jiang Mingyu wiping away his tears.

When he touched you, why didn’t you say “no”?

A fire raged in Fu Yuhang’s chest, incinerating the last of his reason.

“Did he touch you?” Fu Yuhang gripped Song Zhen’s chin, his voice a freezing interrogation. “Those nights you came home late. were you with him?”

“I remember now, he liked you, didn’t he? He used to chase you.” Fu Yuhang let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “So this is what you meant by ‘only letting someone who loves you touch you’?”

Song Zhen remained silent, his chest heaving as he glared back with pure resentment.

“Answer me.” Fu Yuhang’s grip tightened.

Song Zhen winced in pain, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t understand why you even care.”

“Weren’t you planning to just throw some money at me to make me go away?” Song Zhen let out a sudden, jagged laugh. His voice was laced with poison. “We’re getting a divorce. You don’t love me. Why act like you actually give a damn? You’re just making me look like a fool for ever hoping.”

“Aren’t you pathetic?” Song Zhen whispered, though it wasn’t clear if he was talking to Fu Yuhang or himself.

Fu Yuhang stared at him for a long beat. Finally, he said coldly, “And what about you? Who are you putting on this ‘tragic lover’ act for? The way you look into my eyes, searching for someone else. It’s nauseating.”

“Am I just a replacement for Song Heng?”

“You didn’t want my money, so what was the goal? Some ‘happily ever after’ fairy tale?” Fu Yuhang’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Get this through your head, Song Zhen: in the twenty-four years of my life, that brief stint with you was nothing but an accident. You were naive enough to think six months could change the trajectory of my life. Isn’t that the height of absurdity?”

“You need love. I don’t.” His obsidian eyes were void of warmth. “Love and affection… those things rot. Only interest and profit are eternal.”

“You want to know why I touch you if I don’t like you? Because your body satisfies me.” Fu Yuhang’s hand moved to Song Zhen’s waist. “We did it every night for half a year. Your body.

 I enjoy it.”

“Is that reason enough for you?”

The thin veil of civility between them finally tore. The unspoken truths they had suppressed were now being hurled like weapons—not to find common ground, but to see who could cut deeper.

Under Song Zhen’s hateful gaze, Fu Yuhang continued his assault. “I don’t have a habit of sharing my bed partners. You’re out there messing around; what if you bring home a disease?”

“Jiang Mingyu runs a bar. Do I need to explain to you how filthy those places are?” He sneered. “Did you think I was jealous? That I loved you?”

“Song Zhen, stop watching those trashy dramas. They’ve rotted your brain.”

Song Zhen often wondered what it felt like for the heart to truly die.

This was it.

It felt as though his heart had been submerged in thick, black ink suffocating, heavy, and damp.

“Fine,” Song Zhen whispered, losing the strength to argue or explain. “You’re right. I’ve slept with plenty of people behind your back.”

“I’ve tried to seduce every Alpha I’ve met.” Song Zhen began to count on his fingers, a hollow smile on his face. “I slept with Jiang Mingyu. I slept with Ji Qinglin. Your driver, your assistant. even the butler.”

“You should go get tested, Fu Yuhang,” Song Zhen said softly, as if sharing a precious secret. “Be careful, or you might catch something.”

“And not just them, even the people at your company”

He didn’t finish. Fu Yuhang cut him off, his mouth crashing onto his as he began to tear at his clothes. Song Zhen fought back with everything he had, but his strength was negligible against an Alpha’s.

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a mauling. Fu Yuhang forced his jaw open, and Song Zhen bit down hard on his tongue. Blood bloomed in his mouth, but Fu Yuhang didn’t retreat. Instead, he pressed harder, the metallic tang of blood filling the air.

As his clothes were stripped away, Song Zhen opened his blood-stained lips and whispered with jagged cruelty: “Fu Yuhang, you’re right. You aren’t Song Heng. In my heart, you will never, ever measure up to him.”

“From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”

There had been no grand wedding. On the day they registered their marriage, Song Zhen and Song Heng stood on the rooftop of their rented apartment, making their vows under a blanket of stars.

Song Zhen had slid a plain silver band onto Song Heng’s finger. He had made it himself; it wasn’t as polished as a store-bought ring, but it was unique in all the world.

Song Heng looked at the ring on his finger, his eyes welling up. “Gege, why do I feel like crying? I’m not even sad.”

Song Zhen smiled tenderly. “Because happiness can bring tears just as easily as sorrow.”

“Heng-heng, put the ring on me, too. I want to feel as happy as you do.”

Song Heng nodded and carefully slid the ring onto Song Zhen’s finger. Song Zhen felt a wave of absolute peace. He laced his fingers with Song Heng’s as the night breeze ruffled his hair.

“Song Heng,” he whispered bashfully, “from now on, you’re my husband. We’re going to be together for a life”

As he looked up to finish the sentence, Song Heng’s face suddenly turned cold. His eyes were indifferent, mirroring Fu Yuhang’s. He sneered: “Song Zhen, are you really that starved for love?”

****

Song Zhen bolted upright, gasping. He stared at the white ceiling and inhaled the sharp scent of disinfectant. A hospital.

He was exhausted. He closed his eyes again, trying to sink back into sleep. His entire body felt as though it had been crushed by a truck. He remembered fainting while Fu Yuhang was taking him, and now he was here.

He heard footsteps, followed by a conversation between Dr. Zhou and Fu Yuhang.

“President Fu,” the doctor scolded softly, “while a nineteen-week pregnancy is stable, you still need to be moderate. No matter how good your relationship is, you have to think of the child.”

After a silence, Fu Yuhang gave a curt, indifferent “Mhm.”

“When will he wake up?” Fu Yuhang asked.

“By noon at the latest. Please, try to exercise some restraint.”

The footsteps receded as the doctor left. Silence filled the room. Song Zhen kept his eyes shut tight, unwilling to face the man beside him.

After a few minutes of stalemate, Fu Yuhang spoke. “Stop faking.”

Song Zhen’s fingers twitched under the blanket.

“Your breathing pattern is different when you’re actually asleep,” Fu Yuhang added.

Song Zhen opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at him. “Forget it, Fu Yuhang. I’m tired.”

“You were right. I was starved for love. I came to City A because I wanted to go back to the way things were. I was stupid. Someone like you doesn’t need ‘love.’ I was delusional to think you might actually like me.”

“You should find an Omega who suits you.” Song Zhen remembered the afternoon he left campus—the light, drizzling rain that felt like it had never stopped falling in his heart. “I’m a Beta. I was born in the slums. I’m uneducated. None of those were things I could choose.”

“I know you look down on me. There’s no point in being entangled with someone you despise, and I don’t want to live under the same roof as someone who views me that way.” His voice was low but steady. “We don’t need to wait for the baby. Let’s divorce now. We’ll have nothing to do with each other.”

“Just like you said. I’ll consider Song Heng dead. You go back to your glamorous, wealthy life, President Fu.” Song Zhen finally turned to look at him. Even under Fu Yuhang’s suffocating pressure, he didn’t look away. “I’ll pay back the 200,000 you lent me. I don’t need a settlement or property. I only want one thing.”

“Give me back the wedding rings I had with Song Heng.”

The rings were just simple silver bands he had spent days crafting, his fingers blistered from the work. They were cheap, but they were the vessel for their promises.

Fu Yuhang said coldly, “Those pieces of junk? I threw them away a long time ago.”

Song Zhen looked at him silently. He didn’t know if it was a lie, but he didn’t get angry. He just nodded. “Fine. Then that’s that.”

“We’ll handle the paperwork today. I’m moving out.”

Fu Yuhang stared at him for a long time. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll say it one last time: not until the child is born.”

Despite Fu Yuhang’s refusal to cooperate, Song Zhen didn’t waver. He had almost no belongings; he could leave with the same worn-out backpack he arrived with.

He was done. He realized that as long as he looked at Fu Yuhang’s face, he would remain weak. Fu Yuhang was right about one thing: he had been using that face to mourn someone else.

The cruelty was a blessing in disguise. It forced him to accept the truth: Song Heng was dead.

The boy who loved him was gone. He had died in every cold word and every act of violence Fu Yuhang had inflicted.

On the day he left, Song Zhen transferred 200,000 yuan to Fu Yuhang’s account—money he had saved from his livestreams. He stood in the foyer and offered a small smile to the servants and the butler. “Thank you for taking care of me. I’m leaving now. Please take care of yourselves.”

A few of the maids, usually as stoic as programmed robots, felt their eyes redden. The butler looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately remained silent.

Fu Yuhang sat on the sofa, glancing at Song Zhen as he took a sip of his coffee. He let out a cold snort.

“Just don’t come crawling back.”

At the time, Song Zhen didn’t understand the weight of those words. It would take only a few days for him to realize just how much of a bastard Fu Yuhang could truly be.

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