After My Fiancée Failed to Pretend to Be an Alpha - Chapter 33

“Axin, I’ve been thinking, if my life was to lose you, what would become of me?”

“What will be, will be.”

“Yes, but without you, would any of this still have meaning?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Lu Xinxue sat on the bed. Beside her was half a bottle of brandy. She opened it, poured two glasses, and handed one to Tang Cheng.

“You know me. I’m not someone destined for lofty ideals.”

Tang Cheng fetched a wicker chair from the balcony, sat opposite her, and accepted the glass.

“What do you mean?”

“Other than you, no one has ever given me love.”

Lu Xinxue’s fingers paused on the rim of her glass, her gaze suddenly complicated. “And yourself?”

“I can’t and won’t, use what you’ve given me to love myself.”

Tang Cheng drank the liquor. It was strong, burning her throat as though it might set her whole body aflame.

Lu Xinxue half-raised a hand to stop her, then slowly lowered it again.

“It’s selfish,” Tang Cheng continued. “My heart tells me I shouldn’t be this way.” Whether it was the depth of her feelings or the sting of the alcohol, her eyes reddened.

“Tang Cheng,” Lu Xinxue said softly, “if one day I asked you to live for yourself?”

Her eyes were serious, each word deliberate. This was no joke, Lu Xinxue truly meant it.

It felt like a farewell, the kind spoken before parting forever. Tang Cheng froze, unable to answer, staring at her blankly.

Lu Xinxue arched a brow, pressed again: “If I did?”

Tang Cheng broke into a tearful smile. “I’d listen to you,” her voice trembling, nearly choking. “I’d listen to anything you say.”

Her tears fell at last, dropping onto her trousers like pearls slipping from a broken string.

“Tang Cheng.” Lu Xinxue reached out, cupping her face, thumb brushing her delicate skin. She lifted Tang Cheng’s chin, gently wiping away the tears. Her brow was strong, her voice firm. “Be good.”

“I can’t fix that chip. I can’t.” Tang Cheng’s voice broke, her head bowed, sobs muffled. “I’m afraid you won’t need me anymore, that I’ll be nothing but useless mud.”

Just as Lu Xinxue had suspected, Tang Cheng’s despair wasn’t about losing a competition. “It doesn’t matter, Tang Cheng. It’s alright.”

It was like childhood again, when Lu Xinxue would cradle her face and soothe her with gentle words.

When her breathing steadied, though her eyes were still red, Tang Cheng pressed Lu Xinxue’s hand against her own cheek. “Axin, I’m sorry.”

“Why apologize?”

“It’s my fault.”

Lu Xinxue saw guilt in her eyes—guilt for the past, like a child who thought she had done wrong.

Her heart softened. What fault was hers? It was Lu Xinxue’s arrogance, her pride, that had made Tang Cheng bear the weight of mistakes. If she had known the truth, would she still look at her this way?

Tang Cheng didn’t need to apologize. She didn’t need to feel guilty. The one who should fear was Lu Xinxue herself.

“Tang Cheng,” she whispered, lifting those tear-filled eyes.

“You’ll choose me, won’t you? Kiss me.”

There was no hesitation. Heat surged between them, leaving Lu Xinxue weak.

She regretted ever pushing Tang Cheng away. Once again, she had underestimated her own possessiveness.

When she saw Xie Chensong holding Tang Cheng’s arm in the office, jealousy had flared. She had wanted to drag Tang Cheng back to the villa, keep her safe at home, away from trouble.

Later, when Tang Cheng said nothing, she had resolved to finish her social obligations nearby, freeing four days over the weekend for Tang Cheng to think and confess.

But tonight, Tang Cheng hadn’t come home on time, she had gone out with Officer Fang. Lu Xinxue couldn’t bear to watch them together, so she waited at home. Her jealousy and anger dissolved the moment Tang Cheng asked her for candy.

That was their secret signal, their way of making peace.

Her heart softened. Their lips met, tongues entwined. Tang Cheng was fervent, teasing, the taste of brandy mingling with Lu Xinxue’s thyme, burning as it slid down. Yet she noticed, there was no trace of Tang Cheng’s sweet basil scent.

Lu Xinxue pushed her back, voice hoarse. “Your pheromones?”

Tang Cheng blinked, regaining clarity. “After the reverse marking last time they never returned.”

“Never returned?”

Lu Xinxue frowned, reaching for her neck, but Tang Cheng pressed her hand down firmly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her words ended in another searing kiss. No pause, no breath. It had been so long since they were this close. Tang Cheng’s lips trailed downward—cheek, jaw, neck—leaving flushed marks wherever they touched.

A gasp escaped Lu Xinxue. “No, we have to see Grandmother.”

Tang Cheng’s arms tightened around her waist, her kiss deepening, promising forever.

Lu Xinxue’s other hand moved, unbuttoning Tang Cheng’s coat, tossing it aside. Her fingers slid upward, tracing her neck, finding the gland beneath the skin. It was warm, but still scentless.

Her nails were neat, her touch deliberate, circling, pressing rhythmically. Tang Cheng shivered, distracted, her reddened eyes meeting Lu Xinxue’s. Their breaths were equally ragged.

“I’ll mark you.”

Lu Xinxue’s voice was low, each word deliberate, like a devil luring her into temptation.

Tang Cheng trembled as her fingers teased the gland, heat rising. She retreated, kneeling, baring her neck in surrender—like a devout believer offering herself to her god.

Lu Xinxue leaned in, lips parting, teeth sinking into the gland. It was like biting into ripe fruit. Sweet basil flooded the room, wrapping them both. A faint lemon tang stung her tongue, but she couldn’t let go.

Tang Cheng whimpered, struggling to rise, but Lu Xinxue held her tight, biting harder—half in jealousy, half in longing.

When the temporary mark ended, Tang Cheng turned in her arms, gasping for breath. Yet Lu Xinxue’s lips didn’t relent, licking, nibbling, soothing the swollen gland.

“Axin,” Tang Cheng whispered, but received no reply. Another sharp bite made her cry out, “It hurts.”

Finally, Lu Xinxue released her. Tang Cheng could feel her trembling, hear the difference in her breath. She tried to look, but Lu Xinxue pressed her down. “Don’t look.”

Her tone shifted, Lu Xinxue was crying.

Tang Cheng’s fingers tightened, one arm around her shoulder, the other at her waist, holding her close in comfort.

Lu Xinxue rarely cried. As a girl, she would hide in Tang Cheng’s arms or cover her eyes so she wouldn’t see. Even now, Tang Cheng couldn’t see her tears.

“What are you thinking?” Tang Cheng asked softly.

Lu Xinxue didn’t answer. Her throat worked, voice restrained, as though she was trying to sound steady.

“I’m thinking about when you’ll leave.”

With a single sentence, the conversation veered toward the most unexpected place.

Did she mean separation, or something else? Tang Cheng thought for a moment, then said softly, “I want to stay here with you.” She tightened her grip on Lu Xinxue’s hands, unwilling to let go.

“Alright.” Lu Xinxue didn’t hesitate. After a pause, she added, “Say it again.”

“I want to stay here with you.”

“Alright.”

Lu Xinxue confirmed once more. You said it yourself. From now on, no matter what, I won’t let you go.

She patted Tang Cheng’s shoulder. “Go take a shower.”

Things seemed to be moving in the direction Tang Cheng had longed for. She rose slightly, looked down at Lu Xinxue, and asked tentatively, “Can I not sleep on the sofa tonight? I’ve been stuck in the lab these past two days.”

“Alright.”

Tang Cheng blinked in surprise as she entered the bathroom. She had agreed, but hadn’t said where she should sleep. On the floor? Surely it meant the bed. And if there was no other bed, then it must mean sharing with Lu Xinxue.

Cold water poured over her head, washing away exhaustion in an instant. It all felt like a dream—Lu Xinxue loved her, and had never changed.

When she returned, Lu Xinxue was seated on the bed, a fresh mask on her face, an old book in her hands.

The wine glass on the table was empty. A faint trace of tobacco clung to her, revealing how she had spent the time.

As Tang Cheng came out, Lu Xinxue didn’t lower her book, silently allowing her to change into pajamas, lift the quilt, and sit beside her.

“What are you reading?”

Tang Cheng leaned closer, her body still carrying the sweet basil scent from the temporary mark. She wrapped her arms around Lu Xinxue’s waist, pressing herself into her embrace, blocking her view.

“Have you heard the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Tang Cheng nestled against her. She knew little of Greek mythology—outside of mechanics, she was far less learned than Lu Xinxue. “Tell me?”

“Orpheus was a famed poet of Greece, born with extraordinary talent. He had a beloved wife, Eurydice. One day, Eurydice stepped on a serpent. By the time help arrived, she was already gone.”

Tang Cheng slowly opened her eyes, listening to the husky voice that carried the weight of a story long held back, words chosen with care, now poured out not as a tale but as a confession. She tasted the meaning and asked, “So the great poet lost his love?”

“Not yet. Grief-stricken, Orpheus descended into the underworld to beg the Queen of Hades to restore her. He moved the ferryman, defeated Cerberus, touched the Furies, and finally stood before the Queen.”

“She agreed?”

“She did but on one condition. As he led his wife back, he must not look back at her. If he did, she would be lost forever.”

Lu Xinxue paused, waiting for Tang Cheng’s reaction.

“So, looking back meant failure.” Tang Cheng concluded.

Lu Xinxue continued. “Orpheus led her toward the living world. But Eurydice, wounded by the serpent, groaned in pain with each step. He could not turn to her. They walked in silence through the underworld, nearing the light of day.”

“He turned back?”

“Yes. He turned back.”

“Why?”

“Because he heard her murmurs of complaint. Because longing overcame him. He wanted to embrace her. And so everything vanished.”

Her voice was soft, but her words struck heavy, each one landing on Tang Cheng’s heart.

She set aside her book, pulled Tang Cheng’s arms from around her, and placed them so they faced each other. “If you were Orpheus, would you turn back?”

Tang Cheng thought for a long while. “If I was Orpheus, I would turn back.”

The expected answer made Lu Xinxue’s brief hope fall. But then Tang Cheng added, “But why should I be Orpheus? If I was Eurydice, I wouldn’t utter a sound.”

“Why?”

Lu Xinxue’s gaze locked on her, compelled to ask. Those deep, shining eyes had never changed since childhood.

“Because I believe my beloved would never abandon me. No matter what, I trust her.”

She would not be Orpheus, because she would not commit the mistake that doomed his wife. Trust would let her understand his silence, and she would remain Eurydice, faithfully following behind.

Suddenly, Lu Xinxue felt at peace. She smiled and embraced Tang Cheng, as though reunited with a lover long lost.

Her arms tightened with unusual strength, clutching the one who had said she believed in her. That was her beloved.

When her emotions settled, night had already deepened.

Lu Xinxue would neither ask her to stay nor drive her away. Opportunities were always seized, never given.

Tang Cheng tugged her arm, pulled her down onto the bed. “Axin, it’s too dark outside. Let me share with you tonight.”

Their closeness left no room for refusal. As Tang Cheng wrapped her arms around her, Lu Xinxue only said, half-heartedly, “No crossing the line.”

Since fifteen, Lu Xinxue had forbidden Tang Cheng from sharing her bed. But Tang Cheng’s shameless persistence found excuses every night to return. Her plan for separate beds had lasted barely half a month before collapsing.

Still, each night they drew a symbolic boundary line. By morning, one or the other had crossed it.

Tang Cheng always found ways to balance Lu Xinxue’s stubbornness with her own desires.

After a month and a half, Tang Cheng was back in Lu Xinxue’s bed.

She wasn’t naive. Lu Xinxue hadn’t told the story without reason. She was Orpheus, trying to save herself, refusing to turn back, refusing to acknowledge her. If so, then Tang Cheng would be Eurydice. It all made sense.

But who was the serpent? Who was the Queen of Hades? That remained to be discovered.

Lu Xinxue lay with her back turned, curled small in Tang Cheng’s arms. Tang Cheng rested her chin gently on her shoulder. Axin, I won’t let you face it alone. She wasn’t a fragile princess. She wouldn’t die from a serpent’s bite. She would crush the serpent’s throat instead.