Distorted Fairy Tale - Chapter 3

That day, Song Zhen had originally intended to share the wonderful news of his pregnancy with the Alpha.

Instead, it was the very day the Alpha vanished without a trace.

The mask of cold indifference on Fu Yuting’s face finally cracked, if only slightly. A deathly silence filled the car.

In the front seats, the driver and Assistant Lin sat as still as statues, barely daring to breathe.

History and literature have always taught a simple lesson: knowing too much about the boss’s private life rarely ends well.

“Old Chen,” Fu Yuting said after a long silence, addressing the driver. “To the hospital.”

“Yes, sir.” Old Chen started the engine.

Song Zhen sniffled, his emotions still precarious. “The hospital. what for?” he choked out.

Fu Yuting turned to stare at him, a dark, ominous glint flashing in his narrowed eyes. “I need to confirm if that seed is actually mine.”

“What do you mean?” Song Zhen looked at him in disbelief.

“Exactly what I said,” Fu Yuting replied coldly. “Weren’t you always cozying up to the owner of that trashy bar? Who knows whose child you’re actually carrying.”

The “trashy bar” Fu Yuting mentioned was where Song Zhen used to work part-time. The owner was an Alpha named Jiang Mingyu. He had pursued Song Zhen quite publicly for a while, and the locals all assumed the two would eventually end up together.

Truth be told, Song Zhen had considered it. Having lived alone for many years, he was desperately lonely. He had thought that if Jiang Mingyu could stay persistent for six months, he might give it a try.

But then Song Heng appeared.

You can’t lie to yourself about who you love.

Before Song Heng, Song Zhen thought settling for someone else would be fine. But once that man entered his life, Song Zhen learned what it meant to truly fall for someone—to feel that flutter in his heart. He couldn’t accept anyone else after that.

His heart was occupied by Song Heng, filled to the brim with no room for anyone else.

Song Zhen had formally rejected Jiang Mingyu. That day, Jiang Mingyu had asked for one last hug, and Song Zhen had agreed.

Song Heng had witnessed that moment and nearly gotten into a brawl with the bar owner. Song Zhen had been angry at the time, but deep down, knowing Song Heng was jealous had made him secretly happy.

Now, as the past was thrown back in his face, Song Zhen didn’t hear a hint of jealousy in Fu Yuting’s voice only the sting of a profound insult.

“I’ve only ever slept with you! If the baby isn’t yours, whose could it be!?” Song Zhen bit his lip hard, his eyes as red as a cornered rabbit’s.

“Words mean nothing,” Fu Yuting said chillingly. “I only believe in DNA tests.”

“Fine! There’s no point in doing one anyway!” Song Zhen’s eyes grew even redder as he glared at Fu Yuting. “You’re right! It’s not your child!” His chest heaved. “Can I get out now? I’ll raise this child on my own.” He reached for the door handle.

Fu Yuting grabbed his wrist in a vice grip. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Song Zhen finally went limp, resigning himself to his fate.

Fu Yuting was right—Song Heng was dead. The man sitting in front of him wasn’t Song Heng. His Heng-heng would never treat him like this.

“Let go of me!” Song Zhen began to struggle. “You’re right! The person I married was Song Heng, not you! This is my child, and it has nothing to do with you!”

Song Zhen’s meager strength was no match for Fu Yuting. With just one hand, the Alpha pinned both of Song Zhen’s wrists.

He pressed the Beta against the car door, looking down at him with a mocking sneer. “As a Beta, if you’re actually carrying my child, you should consider yourself lucky.”

Even with an expedited request, the results would take six hours. Fu Yuting refused to let Song Zhen leave, so Song Zhen sat on the hospital bed, hugging his knees.

The luxury suite was massive, consisting of several rooms.

Fu Yuting stayed in the lounge area, a laptop open in front of him, appearing to be immersed in work.

As if fearing Song Zhen might bolt, he left the door between the lounge and the bedroom open, keeping the bed in his line of sight.

Song Zhen watched the Alpha work. Under the glow of the electronic screen, that face—identical to Song Heng’s—looked impossibly handsome. Fu Yuting seemed to sense the gaze and glanced up.

The Alpha’s sharp brows cast shadows over his eyes; that single glance was enough to make Song Zhen feel an overwhelming sense of pressure.

Song Zhen looked away, staring at the trees outside the window instead.

Perhaps it was the rain, but his head felt heavy and dizzy. His vision blurred until, eventually, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed of the day he found Song Heng.

It was the end of midsummer. He had been walking along the beach alone, waiting for the crowds to leave, when he stumbled upon a man with a severe head injury.

Without thinking, Song Zhen rushed him to the small clinic he usually frequented.

The doctor there, Dr. Zhou, told him the man was an Alpha with a constitution far stronger than average. Anyone else with such injuries would have been dead, but this man still had a faint breath.

Of course, it was only because Song Zhen had brought him in so quickly. No matter how strong an Alpha is, a night alone on that beach would have been a death sentence.

It was the first time Song Zhen had seen someone so beautiful. The Alpha was more handsome than any celebrity on TV—sharp-jawed, with refined and striking features.

“So handsome.” Song Zhen whispered, watching over the Alpha’s bed. He couldn’t resist reaching out to touch the bridge of the man’s nose.

That was the moment the Alpha woke up.

He opened his eyes and locked onto Song Zhen’s gaze, murmuring, “Who are you?”

Caught in the act, Song Zhen’s face turned bright red.

The Alpha quickly followed up with two more questions: “Who am I? Where am I?”

Song Zhen’s eyes widened in surprise. He called the doctor over, who explained that the blow to the head had likely caused a blood clot, resulting in amnesia.

Amnesia!?

The doctor said it was hard to predict; some people regained their memories quickly, while others never remembered anything at all.

Going to a major city for rehabilitation might speed things up.

Song Zhen had saved him out of the goodness of his heart, but he was poor—barely able to feed himself. He felt he had done enough.

Looking into the Alpha’s confused eyes, Song Zhen felt a pang of guilt but steeled himself to leave. Saving him was already more than he could afford. He was a man with no future; there was no need to create unnecessary attachments.

He planned to leave quietly. He had paid the initial clinic fees, enough for the Alpha to stay one more night, and he tucked money for two meals into the man’s pocket. The rest was up to fate.

He thought he had made a clean break, but after walking only a few steps from the clinic, he realized someone was following him.

He turned around and came face-to-face with the Alpha.

“Why are you following me?” Song Zhen asked helplessly.

The Alpha’s head was wrapped in bandages, making him look somewhat foolish and innocent.

“You saved me,” the Alpha said. “You’re the only one I trust.”

What was this? Some kind of imprinting?

Song Zhen struggled to support himself, let alone a grown Alpha.

“I’m poor. I really can’t afford to take care of you,” Song Zhen said honestly. “I can take you to a shelter or the police station.”

“I can work,” the Alpha said, staring intently at Song Zhen. He stepped forward and grabbed Song Zhen’s arm, a flash of fear crossing his face. “I don’t trust other people. What if they’re bad and sell me?”

“Gege, don’t send me away,” the Alpha pleaded, resting his head on Song Zhen’s shoulder like a lost puppy. “I can do lots of chores.”

When he woke up again, Song Zhen was no longer in the hospital. He was in a car.

Fu Yuting was sitting beside him, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

“Where are you taking—mmph!” Song Zhen’s words were cut off by Fu Yuting’s hand over his mouth. Only then did Song Zhen notice the Bluetooth earpiece.

“I’ve seen the proposal from Group 1,” Fu Yuting said, glancing at him before returning his eyes to the laptop screen. “Send it back. Redo it.”

“That’s all for today’s meeting. Have the new draft in my inbox by Monday at the latest,” Fu Yuting finished, closing the laptop and removing his earpiece.

“Where are you taking me?” Song Zhen pushed Fu Yuting’s hand away, looking at him warily.

“You’ll know when we get there,” Fu Yuting replied.

“Let me out,” Song Zhen said, his dark almond eyes wide, his lips pulled into a thin line. “I want to go home.”

“You’re carrying my child.” Fu Yuting took off his glasses and began wiping the lenses slowly with a cloth. He glanced sideways at Song Zhen. “Which ‘home’ do you think you’re going back to?”

“Are you Song Heng?”

“No.” Fu Yuting didn’t even look up.

“Then this isn’t your child.”

With a sharp click, Fu Yuting snapped his glasses case shut.

“The DNA report says otherwise,” Fu Yuting said. “This isn’t just your child. He carries the Fu family blood.”

“You have 200,000 in debt. You have to pay back 5,000 every month. Your salary and part-time jobs barely bring in 8,000. Your rent is 1,000, plus daily expenses.” Fu Yuting looked at him. “With those conditions, how exactly do you plan to raise this child?”

Song Zhen thought bitterly, So you remember those details well enough.

“That slum you live in is a dump. The people there are bottom-tier. Are you sure you can even have a safe delivery there?”

“Even if you manage to give birth, what kind of future would a child have growing up in a place like that?”

Fu Yuting kept throwing around words like “slum” and “dump,” but that was the place where Song Zhen had grown up.

Moreover, it was the home he shared with Song Heng. The happiest moments of his life were there.

He knew people called it a slum, but hearing Fu Yuting’s condescending mockery felt like a slap in the face. Song Zhen’s cheeks burned. He turned his head away and muttered:

“It’s none of your business.”

Fu Yuting had no intention of wasting time on a pointless argument.

“I’ve already paid off your debts. I’ve spoken to your employer; you don’t need to work anymore.” Fu Yuting placed a document on Song Zhen’s lap. “Once the child is born, I will give you five million and a property in City A. This is the contract.”

Song Zhen opened the contract. The dense legal jargon made his head spin, but one clause caught his eye: The custody of the child born to Party B belongs to Party A.

Song Zhen slammed the contract shut. “You want to take my baby!?” he shouted, his eyes red with fury.

In a fit of panic, he lunged for the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and it actually creaked open an inch.

Fu Yuting immediately lunged over, pulling Song Zhen into his arms and pinning both of his hands. “Are you insane!?” he barked.

“Lock the doors!” Fu Yuting shouted to the driver.

With a thud, the doors locked.

Song Zhen suddenly burst into tears again.

He wasn’t usually a crier. He had spent years navigating a harsh fate on his own, with no time for self-pity.

But perhaps because of the pregnancy, his emotions had been erratic lately. The tears just came unbidden.

From the moment he arrived in City A until now, every ounce of misery boiled over. “You bastard! You total bastard! You won’t give Song Heng back, and now you want to steal my baby!”

“You’re a monster!” Song Zhen pounded his fists against Fu Yuting’s chest. “Give him back to me!”

He was sobbing so hard, his small face drenched and his eyes bloodshot. To Fu Yuting, his “punches” felt like nothing more than a light tickle.

Fu Yuting remembered the doctor saying Song Zhen needed to stay happy, as a carrier’s mood has a significant impact on the fetus.

Specifically, as a Beta, he couldn’t produce pheromones. Beta pregnancies were difficult and required constant soothing from a partner’s pheromones. This was likely why Song Zhen’s moods were so volatile.

The child needed the father’s pheromones too.

Because the baby hadn’t received that soothing for the past month, the doctor said its condition wasn’t ideal.

Given Song Zhen’s weak constitution, prolonged depression could easily lead to a miscarriage.

“Shut. Up.” Fu Yuting hissed through gritted teeth, his face terrifyingly dark.

Anyone else would have been trembling in fear at that look.

But Song Zhen was too far gone in his grief. The meaner Fu Yuting got, the harder he cried.

Fu Yuting tried to cover Song Zhen’s mouth, but Song Zhen struggled and bit his hand. Fu Yuting winced in pain but didn’t pull away, letting him bite as hard as he wanted.

When Song Zhen finally let go, Fu Yuting asked coldly, “Have you had enough?”

Song Zhen curled into the corner of the seat, refusing to speak. His lips trembled, his face a mess of tears.

“This is just a draft,” Fu Yuting said, rubbing his temples. “You can make your own demands.”

Song Zhen stopped crying and choked out, “The baby… is mine. You can’t take him.”

“Fine,” Fu Yuting agreed dismissively. The child had to be born first, anyway.

Song Zhen stared at him for a moment, then sniffed:

“Can you… can you give Song Heng back to me?”

Support Distorted Fairy Tale