A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 62

Sheng Lan didn’t show any cracks in her composure. She followed Lu Xueyin up to the porch and rang the doorbell.

Hers was a household of four women. With her eldest sister, Sheng Chu, still abroad, the two occupants were her Omega “Mama,” Jiang Xi, and her Alpha “Mother,” Sheng Yan. Both were remarkably balanced people, which was exactly how a child with Sheng Lan’s personality had been raised.

However, “gentle” was Sheng Lan’s subjective evaluation; in reality, they each had distinct traits.

Mama Jiang Xi, while indulgent, possessed the typical pickiness of a socialite. Because her two children had been raised with a “free-range” philosophy, she communicated with them like friends. When the atmosphere was good, she would crack “jokes” that Lu Xueyin found slightly overwhelming but still within her threshold of tolerance.

Mother Sheng Yan, on the other hand, carried the cold, rigorous aura of a powerful businesswoman. Even in casual clothes at home, her softened expression still made Lu Xueyin’s heart tight, feeling as if she were being watched by a headmaster.

The two gifts were presented upon entering. Small talk during dinner helped close the distance, and afterward, they naturally moved to the living room sofa, watching television and continuing their conversation.

Jiang Xi took a real liking to the perfume Lu Xueyin gave her. “I actually have a bottle from this series in my bag right now.”

Omegas found common ground easily. They chatted about fashion, makeup, and skincare, eventually progressing to the phase of flipping through photo albums. Jiang Xi was well-prepared; several thick albums filled the drawers of the coffee table. One was for family photos, while the others were dedicated entirely to Sheng Lan.

They documented her from infancy through high school. Flipping through them all would take at least an hour or two. From university onward, Sheng Lan managed her own social media accounts, so fewer photos were printed. Now, because photos were so abundant and rarely candid daily shots, Jiang Xi didn’t bother organizing them into albums anymore.

Some of these photos had already circulated online. No star could escape the “growth comparison” photos used by the public to judge if they were a natural beauty. Sheng Lan had been a striking beauty since childhood, with a clear-cut oval face and defined features.

Jiang Xi remarked, “That look wasn’t popular for children back then. People said she looked like a ‘Bone Demon’ or had ‘harsh features.’ Her sister was different round face, round eyes, a grand sort of look. She’s always been a beauty. Lan Lan’s reputation only improved once she hit junior high.”

Sheng Lan, lacking self-awareness, chimed in from the side: “Not true. I’ve always been popular.”

Jiang Xi let out a huff. “Do you really not know why you were popular?”

It was because she was fun, generous, and incredibly loyal. It had nothing to do with her looks back then. Jiang Xi even provided evidence: “When your sister was in kindergarten, kids gave her toys and snacks; they wanted to go home with her after school and fought just to hold her hand. You? You didn’t receive a single, pathetic love letter until eighth grade. And I’m still not sure if that letter was meant for you, it didn’t even have a name on it.”

Sheng Lan wisely decided not to let her competitive streak flare up. Arguing brought no benefit: if she lost, she lacked charm; if she won, she’d have to spend the whole night explaining things to Lu Xueyin.

After a TV episode finished, the four moved to the study by silent agreement. The follow-up to the “poisoned house” incident could no longer be hidden from the family. Sheng Lan had involved her sister’s connections, after all.

Mother Sheng Yan sat behind her large desk. Her attitude was far from “gentle.” In fact, she lectured both Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin, making the two grown women stand with their heads bowed, not daring to utter a word of protest.

“You are adults in your twenties, yet you act like children throwing tantrums, resorting to cold wars when you’re unhappy. When trouble strikes, your first instinct is to hide it from your parents. That is irresponsible.”

After the lecture, she gave them the good news. Feng Zhitong had been found.

This confirmed Sheng Lan’s initial suspicion—Feng Zhitong was miserable abroad. Whether Lu Xueyin was the protagonist of a tragic novel or not, she deserved her protagonist’s halo. Those who harmed her, directly or indirectly, were meant to face retribution.

Under the arrangement of a “mysterious tycoon,” Feng Zhitong was currently scrubbing toilets for sixteen hours a day across multiple shops. Sheng Chu’s email even mentioned an unconfirmed rumor: she was allegedly forced to drink a cup of toilet water before clocking out every day to ensure she cleaned “thoroughly.”

Sheng Lan immediately had an idea. She wouldn’t save Feng Zhitong yet; she’d let her suffer. Once the identity of the “mysterious tycoon” was revealed, they could see if Feng Zhitong could serve as a witness to neutralize the malice directed at Lu Xueyin.

Lu Xueyin breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad no one pressed her for the details of that night’s “appointment,” and she was even gladder about Feng Zhitong’s fate. She provided a list of people she had offended—mostly by refusing “business drinks”—to help Sheng Yan track down the tycoon.

“Focus on your work,” Sheng Yan said firmly. “I will handle this.”

Sheng Lan’s room was on the third floor. Opening the door to the master suite, Lu Xueyin froze. It was a pink princess-style room, matching the “sweet girl” aesthetic from Sheng Lan’s primary school photos.

“They really wanted me to be an Omega,” Sheng Lan joked, showing her the other two guest rooms. “My sister’s side probably has another room ready, just in case you wanted to sleep separately.”

Lu Xueyin didn’t comment. She followed Sheng Lan into the master bedroom. As the door clicked shut, the tension of the enclosed space hit her like a physical weight. Her scalp prickled with a faint electric current.

Even though there were no pheromones left in the room, it felt like those closed-door sessions during filming. Every tiny movement felt amplified, echoing in her heightened senses. She entered a state of self-defense, using her “business persona” to mask her nerves.

Sheng Lan sensed it immediately. She took Lu Xueyin on a tour. The room was massive, partitioned by arched doorways. The largest section was a music room containing a small drum kit.

“I insisted on buying this when I was thirteen,” Sheng Lan said. “I refused to put it anywhere but my bedroom. I grew out of it, but I never moved it out. Want to try? This room is soundproof.”

Lu Xueyin wasn’t in the mood for music. Her mind was occupied by scenes from dramas clashes between lovers that were resolved by a single look or a sudden, heated embrace. She had secrets, and Sheng Lan knew it. She feared the questioning, yet she resented the silence.

If Sheng Lan pressed, she was inconsiderate. If she didn’t, she didn’t care enough.

Lu Xueyin closed her eyes. She decided to follow Sheng Lan’s example: let it go and hand over the initiative. If Sheng Lan asked, she would tell her everything. If she didn’t, it wouldn’t count as hiding it.

Sheng Lan watched Lu Xueyin standing by the drums. She walked over, leaning against the wall behind Lu Xueyin, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register:

“Sister, what are you thinking? Are you thinking about that nameless love letter or the things you haven’t told me yet?”

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