After Mistakenly Marking My Ex’s Older Sister, the Disabled Alpha Stood Up - Chapter 4

The dress suited Yan Qingruo perfectly. Unfortunately, it happened to be identical to one owned by her younger sister, Yan Qingmei.

So, this dress wasn’t really hers at all.

“I’ve seen your sister wear that before.”

Jin Yunxi’s voice was cool, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible edge. To Yan Qingruo, it sounded like a reminder—that she existed merely as her sister’s substitute.

Yet in her ears, the words twisted into something else, a veiled mockery, as if Yunxi were accusing her of deliberately imitating Yan Qingmei, competing even in what she wore.

But wasn’t it the Yan family—and Yunxi herself—who had once insisted she play that role?

Now that she truly wore the same dress as her sister, wasn’t this exactly what Yunxi had wanted? By all logic, Yunxi should have been satisfied.

Yet, for the first time, Jin Yunxi found herself thinking—Yan Qingruo did not need to dress like Yan Qingmei.

If her thoughts could appear like subtitles above her head, the line would read: She has a guilty conscience.

The truth was, she loved how Qingruo looked in that dress. But instead, she masked the sudden flutter in her chest with a cold façade and said flatly, “It doesn’t suit you. Don’t wear it again.”

She quickly hid the spark of admiration in her eyes, as though covering up a sudden, abnormal ripple in her heart.

That ripple was like an unexpected gust of wind, disturbing the calm surface of her lake-like composure. To smooth it over, she had to pretend indifference—pretend dislike.

A complete lie.

Yan Qingruo’s gown was chosen with care: a crimson cocktail dress, tailored to hug her figure, outlining a slim waist and graceful curves. The back was cut low, revealing skin pale as jade, bathed in a soft glow beneath the lights.

Her hair was loosely gathered, a few stray strands falling over her slender neck and sculpted collarbones. The hem of her skirt swayed with each step like the petals of a blooming red rose—sultry, mature, nothing like the timid “little white rabbit” she once feigned. She now radiated the allure of a ripened peach.

Yunxi had never seen this side of her before.

Around them, guests and reporters couldn’t help but turn their attention to her, mistaking her for the dazzling Yan family second daughter, Yan Qingmei.

Facing Yunxi’s implied ridicule, Qingruo lifted her eyes, casting her a fleeting glance. Her lips curved into a faint smile as soft as water. “Not suitable, is it?”

The smile was gentle, yet never reached her eyes.

Beneath the ice-smooth surface, undercurrents churned. Her voice was tender, melodic, yet laced with subtle detachment. The kind of smile that was polite, but hollow—fake. And still, she was breathtaking.

“Mm,” Yunxi murmured lightly, slipping an arm around her slender waist.

Her disabled leg moved stiffly, but the moment her hand brushed against Qingruo’s delicate waist, it was her fingers that froze harder than her legs—her breath, too, faltered.

Qingruo’s voice, laced with her faint fragrance, brushed against her ear: “President Jin, I understand. I won’t wear it again.”

The tone was obedient, but Yunxi felt an inexplicable chill slip between their closeness, like something unseen widening the distance between them.

They twirled gently across the dance floor. Yunxi lowered her gaze, studying her wife’s face.

The little rabbit from home was gone. In her place stood a woman with bright, confident makeup, eyes lined and lips painted deep red—a rose that had broken free from the greenhouse, thorns and all, stunning and dangerous.

Yunxi’s heart skipped a beat.

Qingruo’s steps were graceful, considerate, deliberately slowed to accommodate Yunxi’s leg. Yet as the music flowed on, an invisible barrier seemed to stretch between them, thinning their touch until it felt like they were separated by glass.

When the music ended, the floor shifted as couples changed partners. Yunxi’s gaze swept the crowd, searching for her.

Then—a tall beauty appeared before her, as if conjured from the shadows. Golden hair shimmered in the light, sapphire eyes gleamed behind an ornate mask. She leaned in, whispering in French:

“Looking for someone? Me, perhaps?”

Yunxi’s heart clenched. Her pupils contracted. Why is she here?

The woman was draped in black lace, the gown flowing like water, accentuating her curves. Tiny diamonds sparkled on her mask, setting off eyes that seemed to pierce straight through.

Yunxi swallowed, keeping her face calm. She pretended not to know her—despite the fact this was her superior.

A faint fragrance of camellias drifted from the woman, regal and commanding, like a queen descending her throne. Or rather—the queen.

She invited Yunxi to dance.

Before Yunxi could refuse, the woman’s soft, slender arm had wrapped around her waist, spinning her faster than her body could manage. Pain shot through her bad leg; she frowned faintly.

She searched again for Qingruo. But now the guests were donning masks for the second round of the masquerade.

“Stop,” Yunxi said.

But to the other woman, the word sounded more like a plea, like an Alpha yielding, inviting pursuit.

A crippled beauty.

A delicate, delectable piece of cake.

Her most flawless spokesperson.

The woman’s lips curved into a knowing smile. With a flick of her wrist, the lights dimmed and the music cut off.

She led Yunxi into a hidden chamber, pressing her gently into a chair before kneeling at her feet. Warm fingers brushed over her knee.

“Does it hurt, Xiao Yun Yun?” she murmured.

That familiar nickname.

Yunxi’s body jolted, trembling like a startled creature, spine arching.

Her voice wavered. “Your Majesty…”—feigned disbelief, feigned fear. She thought she played it well.

“Don’t act for me, Yun Yun.” The woman tapped her cheek affectionately, her perfume enveloping her.

“Your Majesty, it’s dangerous for you to be here alone. Please, return.”

Lin Ruxi—the queen herself—had appeared here, even lowered herself to check Yunxi’s injury.

Yunxi acted flustered, as though unworthy of such sudden care.

Her formal, businesslike tone only deepened the queen’s displeasure.

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” The gentler Ruxi became, the more anxious Yunxi grew. It wasn’t like her.

Her fingers traced higher, from shin to thigh, warmth seeping through fabric.

Yunxi inhaled sharply, trying to stop her hand.

But the air carried the faint trace of pheromones. With her damaged glands, Yunxi couldn’t tell whether they belonged to an Alpha or Omega.

She just wanted to leave. But Ruxi’s grip was firm, her touch both invasive and intimate, disguised as concern.

“Ah Yun, there you are.”

The soft voice drifted from the doorway.

Yan Qingruo.

Relief crashed over Yunxi. She tried to rise—only for Ruxi’s hand to press her knees down again.

Qingruo glanced at the masked woman, then dismissed her entirely. Her eyes held only Yunxi.

“You’re here,” Yunxi breathed.

Qingruo stepped closer, handing her a cane, her voice sweet, almost playful. “I was looking for you everywhere. So this is where you were.” A hint of mock-complaint, almost coquettish: “You disappeared on me.

Then I saw you dancing with someone else… I was so bored. Or is it that Ah Yun dislikes me for being a Beta?”

She had never spoken to Yunxi in such a tone before.

Yunxi froze. Qingruo blinked at her mischievously. Across the room, Ruxi arched a brow, watching the pair with interest.

Yunxi declared possessively, “So what if you’re a Beta? I just like Betas.”

This time, it was Qingruo who almost choked.

It sounded deliberate, but it worked. The queen’s expression darkened, displeasure flashing in her eyes.

Qingruo asked softly, “Shall we dance again?”

Yunxi shook her head. They prepared to leave. Before going, Yunxi steadied herself on the cane, bowing politely to Ruxi—formal, distant.

Ruxi watched them go, fingers trailing over the chair Yunxi had just vacated, as though savoring the lingering warmth.

She removed her mask, revealing an exquisitely mixed-blood face. The black dress emphasized her elegance. She gestured, and a guard delivered a pair of injectors.

She pressed one into her neck—a suppressant made for Omegas, alongside one that masked her as an Alpha. Slowly, the damp ache that Yunxi’s presence had stirred receded.

Her red lips parted faintly, like a vampire sealed in a coffin for centuries, tasting the ghost of Yunxi still in the air.

After a long moment, she whispered:

“What a pity.”