After Becoming a Scummy Alpha, I Became a Slave to My Beloved Wife - Chapter 41

Congratulations, huh… Congratulations…

“Who do you think you are? Driving a plain old business van and pretending to be some big shot?” the lyricist scoffed.

She came from an ordinary background. If it hadn’t been for a wealthy backer supporting her later in her career, she never would’ve climbed so high. That’s why she never understood the nuances of luxury—cars, brands, or what they implied.

But her assistant was a different story. Though also a working-class person, he was professionally trained. He knew how to gauge status from subtle social cues—especially when it came to cars. One glance at Jiang Nian’s vehicle, and he immediately understood that the woman standing before them was someone important.

Jiang Nian, watching the vulgar and clueless lyricist, couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. She lifted her chin and crossed her arms, standing tall in front of the woman.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m some big boss,” she said coolly.

“Hah, that’s what I thought. A small-time idol like Qiao Wenyu—who could she possibly latch onto?” the lyricist mocked smugly, casting Jiang Nian a dismissive glance from head to toe, not even trying to hide her disdain.

Her assistant, pale with fear, quickly covered her mouth with both hands. Then he bowed deeply to Jiang Nian in apology. “I’m terribly sorry for the offense. Please forgive us.”

“What are you so afraid of?” the lyricist snapped, rolling her eyes and pushing his hands away. She still didn’t get it.

Lu Renbing, standing beside Jiang Nian, had seen his fair share of people—but rarely anyone so oblivious.

With his usual politeness, he stepped forward and smiled. “Miss, sir—this is President Jiang, Jiang Nian. She’s the sole acting CEO of the □□ Group.”

The lyricist frowned in confusion. “President Jiang…? President of what?”

Lu Renbing’s expression didn’t falter, but his tone gained a sharp edge. “Tell me, how many people with the surname Jiang in the business world could afford to drive a global limited-edition executive vehicle like the one behind us?”

The lyricist fell silent, her brain scrambling to process the information. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, realization hit.

Her entire demeanor changed instantly.

She shuffled forward with an obsequious smile, wringing her hands. “President Jiang, I didn’t recognize you—I truly didn’t know who I was talking to. Please don’t hold it against me.”

“Oh?” Jiang Nian looked at her with a sideways glance, disgust flickering in her eyes.

The lyricist bent at the waist and extended her hand, attempting to shake Jiang Nian’s. “Please forgive me. I must’ve been blind. I—I’m willing to do anything you ask, just let it go.”

But Jiang Nian didn’t even look at her.

Instead, she walked straight to Qiao Wenyu, her eyes full of concern. Reaching out, she gently brushed back Qiao Wenyu’s hair, fingertips gliding softly over the red, swollen mark on her forehead.

“Are you okay, Sister? Let me take you to the hospital,” she said, voice tender.

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch. I’ve already disinfected and treated it,” Qiao Wenyu replied, holding Jiang Nian’s wrist and lowering her voice. “Xiao Nian… let’s keep things low-key. There are a lot of media people around.”

“Let them film,” Jiang Nian whispered back with a sweet smile. “I wish the whole world knew we’re together. That way, no one would dare to bully you—or steal you away.”

The lyricist stood awkwardly off to the side, her outstretched hand hanging mid-air. She pulled it back, forced a stiff smile, and asked carefully, “President Jiang… you really know Miss Qiao?”

“You didn’t seem so friendly toward Wenyu just now,” Jiang Nian replied, her smile cold and sharp.

The lyricist panicked, her eyes darting as she shuffled her feet. “I—I wasn’t thinking clearly, President Jiang. Please forgive me.”

“I don’t really feel like forgiving a chameleon like you.”
Jiang Nian suddenly remembered a short story she read in middle school—“The Chameleon.” It described exactly this kind of person: the kind who flatters power and steps on the weak.

People in this time didn’t really use that word, so when Jiang Nian said it, Lu Renbing thought his boss was so angry she was starting to ramble nonsense about some kind of… lizard.

Qiao Wenyu covered her mouth and laughed. “It fits. They change their skin color depending on the environment—just like her.”

Jiang Nian knew her sister would get it. And from that moment on, she only referred to the lyricist as “Chameleon.”

“Chameleon,” Jiang Nian said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “shouldn’t we get to the real issue now?”

The lyricist winced at the nickname but couldn’t refuse. If it meant staying in Jiang Nian’s good graces, she’d take it.

“President Jiang… wh-what issue would that be?” she asked nervously.

“The lyrics,” Jiang Nian said flatly. “What’s the real story behind the copyright?”

The “chameleon” lyricist turned visibly pale at Jiang Nian’s question. Her eyes darted evasively, avoiding Jiang Nian’s gaze as she stammered, “Well… the lyrics were written by me. Someone from Fengyun Entertainment’s upper management approached me. I did write the lyrics for Miss Qiao’s single, but…”

“But?” Jiang Nian prompted sharply.

“But later, someone said Miss Qiao wasn’t popular enough to handle the song. They claimed she wouldn’t be able to deliver it properly… so they decided to give the lyrics to another artist instead.”

The lyricist lowered her head, her voice growing smaller.

“But we paid for the rights,” Qiao Wenyu spoke up, her tone cold and unwavering. “Even if the song wasn’t used, the copyright still belongs to Fengyun Entertainment. So how does using lyrics we legally purchased amount to infringement or plagiarism?”

Many in the crowd had their cameras out, filming the scene—it was the perfect opportunity to clear Qiao Wenyu’s name publicly. Jiang Nian knew this and immediately supported her.

“Exactly. How could this be considered plagiarism?” Jiang Nian added.

“You claimed online that we used your lyrics without permission, copied your unreleased, confidential work—clearly that wasn’t true.” Qiao Wenyu’s manager chimed in.

The lyricist was now completely deflated. She had only followed orders and taken money—she hadn’t expected to be exposed like this in public. Her face flushed an unnatural green as she muttered helplessly, “It must have been… a misunderstanding. Yes, just a misunderstanding.”

Right then, another luxury car pulled up at the curb. The person who stepped out exuded authority.

It was Jiang Fenyun, flanked by two subordinates. She waved casually and approached Jiang Nian and Qiao Wenyu with a bright smile.
“Wow, what a lively scene. What’s going on here—someone making a fool of themselves?”

The word “fool” wasn’t said loudly, but the way her eyes swept over the lyricist made the implication clear.

Seeing her, the lyricist’s expression froze and her nervousness spiked. Clutching her hands tightly, her lips trembled—she didn’t know what to say anymore.

“My artists are being bullied like this?” Jiang Fenyun said mildly. “Miss Lyricist, our company did negotiate copyright terms with you in advance. Would you like me to bring out the contract? Or shall I read it out to you, word by word—whichever makes things clearer for you.”

Despite the biting chill in the winter air, sweat was beading on the lyricist’s forehead, dripping down her face and into her collar.

“I…” she murmured, unable to form a full sentence.

Her assistant finally spoke up, unable to watch any longer. “Teacher, please… just admit you were wrong.”

“…It was my mistake,” the lyricist finally said, her voice barely audible.

With that, she was helped away by her assistant, disappearing from the crowd.

And just like that, the farce was over—cleanly handled, thanks to Jiang Fenyun’s intervention. Media cameras flashed wildly.

Jiang Fenyun stepped forward, facing the press. “Hello everyone, I’m Jiang Fenyun from Fengyun Entertainment. Our company always finalizes copyright through proper contracts. We would never allow our artists to use unlicensed or plagiarized work.”

“As the person responsible for Fengyun’s operations, I take full accountability for the misunderstanding my artist suffered, and we will provide the necessary compensation.”

Hearing this, Jiang Nian felt her suspicions waver. She had initially believed Jiang Fenyun might have orchestrated the incident. But for her to show up, handle the chaos, and even speak in their defense—it was unexpected.

“Also,” Jiang Fenyun continued, “next month, we’re planning to shoot a large-scale wuxia drama. The male and female leads have already been cast—both are award-winning actors. But the second female lead is still open. I’ll be recommending Miss Qiao Wenyu for the role. Please stay tuned.”

Jiang Nian was surprised. She hadn’t expected Jiang Fenyun to arrange Qiao Wenyu’s next project so quickly—and one with such prestige, no less.

If she really wanted to sabotage Qiao Wenyu, why would she give her such a great opportunity?

Jiang Nian didn’t understand it—but deep down, she felt this might be Jiang Fenyun’s way of clearing her own name.

“Please continue to support our artists,” Jiang Fenyun said with a smile before stepping away from the press.

After the chaos, Jiang Fenyun took Jiang Nian and Qiao Wenyu up to the top floor of the company building.

“Whew, that was terrifying,” she said, pressing her palms together in mock prayer. “As soon as I saw the trending video, I rushed over. A-Nian, I’m so sorry you two had to go through that. I should’ve realized something was wrong sooner.”

While chatting, Jiang Nian kept stealing glances at the shelf where she had once seen suspicious photos.

Just as she suspected—it was completely empty now. Not a single picture frame in sight, nor any sign that one had ever been there.

“A-Nian, are you even listening to me?”

Jiang Nian looked up. “Hmm? What did you say?”

“I said, are you two really together now?” Jiang Fenyun teased. “You’re both so distracted… are you shy?”

Jiang Nian composed herself and replied calmly, “Yes, we are.”

“And now that Wenyu’s landed a second-lead role, that’s two happy occasions to celebrate,” Jiang Fenyun beamed.

But something about her still didn’t sit right with Jiang Nian. Every word, every move Jiang Fenyun made—it all felt just a little off.

“Thank you, Director Jiang,” Qiao Wenyu said politely.

Jiang Fenyun waved it off with a grin. “Don’t be so formal. Call me Fenyun, like A-Nian does. Calling me Director Jiang sounds too distant. I really envy you two… If only I had a sweet, gentle wife too… what a blessing that would be.”

Her eyes flickered with a momentary sadness—quick, almost imperceptible.

Qiao Wenyu, sensing the shift, straightened up, suddenly alert. Her polite smile didn’t falter, but her guard was up. Something about Jiang Fenyun’s tone had stirred up buried memories.

“Well, now that we’ve got so much to celebrate—A-Nian, Wenyu, how about dinner? My treat.”

Given their professional relationship, they couldn’t exactly refuse the offer.

“Sure,” Jiang Nian replied. “You pick the place. We’ll go.”

Jiang Fenyun stood and stretched. “Let me go change first. This suit from the meeting earlier is way too tight. You two wait downstairs for me.”

Jiang Nian and Qiao Wenyu left the office together.

And as the door closed, Jiang Fenyun’s smile slowly faded.

“This was what you requested, President Jiang.”
The server looked genuinely confused. Over the past few years, whenever Jiang Nian had visited, she was always surrounded by beautiful omegas. But this year, not only had she rarely come, she was now rejecting all of them?

Jiang Nian, feeling completely wronged, didn’t even know where to begin explaining. She had a pretty good guess who had arranged this—it had to be her secretary misinterpreting her instructions.

“I don’t want them. Send them away,” she said firmly.

The server hesitated. “But, President Jiang…”

Jiang Nian glanced up, eyes sharp and cold.

That one look was enough to silence all further arguments.

“Yes, of course. I’ll escort them downstairs immediately.” The server bowed, then quickly ushered the group of confused and disappointed omegas out of the booth.

Before Jiang Nian could completely pass out from the alcohol, she had the sense to call her secretary to come pick her up. Thankfully, she made it home safely—no drama, no incidents.

That night, just before she drifted off to sleep, Jiang Nian muttered to Lu Renbing:
“Tomorrow morning… bring me… a durian…”

“Huh?” the secretary blinked, confused. He wanted to ask why, but Jiang Nian was already fast asleep, snoring softly.

The next morning, Jiang Nian was woken by the sound of the doorbell.

Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed and shuffled to the door. When she opened it, she was immediately greeted by the sight—and pungent smell—of a large, spiky, brownish fruit.

“President Jiang, here’s the durian you asked for.”
Lu Renbing held the fruit out with both hands. “It’s not durian season right now, so there weren’t many in stock. Not sure if this one tastes any good…”

“It’s fine. Doesn’t need to be sweet. As long as it’s a durian, it’ll do.”

“…You’re eating this first thing in the morning?” the secretary asked, completely bewildered.

“I’m not eating it.”

“Then… what are you going to do with it?”

“Don’t ask.”
Jiang Nian pushed him away. “Just go to the office and wait for me. I’ll be there soon.”

She shut the door firmly behind him.

Cradling the durian in her arms, Jiang Nian made her way to the living room. She looked around until she found a clear, empty space. With a satisfied nod, she set the durian down beside a washboard she’d placed there earlier.

Then she rushed to her bedroom, grabbed her phone, and dialed Qiao Wenyu for a video call.

It didn’t take long for the call to connect.

“Sister…” Jiang Nian looked into the screen, eyes downcast, her brows slightly furrowed, lips adorably pouting—her entire face radiating guilt and grievance.

Seeing Jiang Nian’s pitiful, almost tearful expression through the video, Qiao Wenyu couldn’t help but laugh.

“What happened to you?” she teased. “Xiao Nian, why is your pout so high it’s practically touching the ceiling?”

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