My Ex’s White Moonlight Omega Has a Crush on Me - Chapter 14

When Chao Wan arrived home, her uncle and aunt were already asleep.

She quietly changed her shoes, hung her coat in the closet, and turned on the warm-toned light in the entryway.

The house was quite spacious, five bedrooms and two living rooms, decorated in a luxurious style she had grown accustomed to since the upheaval in her family.

Glancing toward her uncle and aunt’s room, Chao Wan tiptoed back to her own bedroom.

On her phone, the chat history with “Y” still contained those videos and the abrupt comment, “Cute.”

She felt both embarrassed and flustered, her heart thumping erratically.

After washing up, she buried herself in the soft bedding and couldn’t resist watching the videos several more times.

But when she returned to the chat, a previously unread message suddenly appeared on the screen.

From Jing Shuran.

Chao Wan pursed her lips and tapped to read it.

[Chao Wan, why aren’t you back yet?]

[Can’t you show some ambition? Tomorrow, go to Hengdian to audition as an extra.]

[Also, “Pillow Galaxy” starts filming tomorrow. You’d better go apologize to President Qin in person.]

Chao Wan lowered her gaze, her long lashes veiling the gloom in her eyes.

The memory of the rear-end collision on the cross-river bridge was still vivid.

Did her aunt want her to reconcile with Qin Siyu and risk falling into the river again?

It was no longer possible.

Late at night, emotions ran high, the time when she was most prone to acting on impulse.

Chao Wan closed her eyes, collected her thoughts, and began clearing out her photo album.

She deleted every photo and message related to Qin Siyu from this lifetime.

Though childish, it gave her a sense of cutting ties with the past, and she felt no reluctance.

Next, she dug out the secret side account she had created on Weibo and deleted all traces of her past relationship with Qin Siyu.

As she deleted, she paused in thought.

This account never posted text or replied to comments. She had created it during college to store scenic photos from her album, and over time, it had unintentionally gained a few followers.

The photos were all taken during her university days, bright and cheerful, instantly bringing back a flood of memories.

There was even a poster among them.

When she opened it, she realized it was a promotional poster for Ji Tanyue’s campus lecture.

Only a few comments lingered below:

[Do you like Ji Tanyue too?]

Chao Wan bit her lip.

Back then, she had severe face blindness and didn’t even recognize Ji Tanyue, how could she have liked her?

Perhaps she had taken the photo on a whim, drawn by the woman’s striking appearance and the buzz among her classmates.

But thinking of Ji Tanyue’s inappropriate behavior earlier that night, her heart sank.

Though the woman’s looks had stunned her, she certainly wouldn’t fall for an Omega-romance film queen who was rotten to the core.

Resolved, Chao Wan continued scrolling through her Weibo.

In the following period, she seemed to have gotten together with Qin Siyu.

The account had turned into a platform for flaunting their relationship, filled with photos of Qin Siyu and constant displays of affection.

Even just three days ago in this lifetime, she had posted a photo of a candlelit dinner at a Western restaurant.

[With her.]

Chao Wan stared quietly, wrapping herself tightly in the blanket in the darkness.

But now, she had no desire to be with Qin Siyu at all.

Her fingers moved numbly across the screen, tapping “delete” repeatedly.

Though it was late, some of her night-owl followers were still awake, and the comments section soon erupted.

[Did my relationship goals just end in tragedy?]

[Did the OP just go through a breakup?]

Chao Wan ignored them and didn’t stop until she had cleared all the Weibo posts related to Qin Siyu. Only then did she let out a long sigh of relief.

Remembering how foolish she had been in her previous life, going out to drown her sorrows in the middle of the night, she felt especially sorry for her past self.

The screen light was slightly harsh, and drowsiness had unknowingly faded away.

It was very late, and the last message from Ji Tanyue still lay quietly in the chatbox.

[So cute].

Chao Wan pursed her lips slightly, her cheeks warming.

Scrolling down, there was also a notice from her agency, scheduling her for a group role audition at a film set in the studio city tomorrow.

The contract had been signed on her behalf by Jing Shuran, and she couldn’t refuse this time, otherwise, it would be a breach.

If she stayed up late, her condition would suffer tomorrow, so she had no choice but to resort to external methods to fall asleep.

Driven by a habit from her past life, Chao Wan searched for a familiar Weibo account she knew by heart.

It belonged to a music blogger named Qing Wu.

This account was a hidden gem Chao Wan had stumbled upon by chance. The blogger never showed their face, only posting occasional guitar fingerstyle videos. Though the updates weren’t frequent, the quality was consistently good.

Qing Wu’s latest video was titled “Sea of Flowers.”

Whether by coincidence or something else, this video was also posted on the same day she had dined with Qin Siyu at the Western restaurant.

Chao Wan put on her headphones and clicked on the video.

Warm, hazy light spilled across the screen. The person in the frame wore a simple white cotton shirt, cradling a light tea-colored guitar in their arms. Their fingers, slender and jade-like, gently rested on the strings.

Even before the music began, it felt soothing and serene.

In the darkened room, all extraneous sounds faded away. Only the tender, flowing melody of the guitar echoed softly in her ears, the harmonics crisp, the strumming pure and untainted by any impurities.

It was a gentle lullaby, and also the comforting refuge Chao Wan turned to whenever insomnia struck.

The lingering fear from the evening’s haunted house experience melted away in the gentle, flowing passage of time.

Her phone screen went dark, set to automatically power off after an hour. Wrapped in her blankets, Chao Wan drifted into a deep sleep, the music playing on loop.

She didn’t see the comments under the video.

[This song is about regret and missed chances. Has Wuwu been through something?]

The next day, Chao Wan packed her belongings and was driven to the studio city by someone from her agency.

On set, the director glanced at the silent, downcast Chao Wan across from him and was quite struck by her beauty.

“She’s just a pretty vase, but she’s also a female Alpha who can generate buzz. Where do you think we can slot her in?” the agent hinted.

Chao Wan endured the director’s scrutinizing gaze with intense discomfort, feeling as if she were sitting on pins and needles.

Soon, after just over ten minutes, the two reached an agreement, and she was taken to the filming location by a production assistant.

The crew was shooting a drama centered on harem intrigue. Her agent had secured her a role with a few lines, Maid Qi Yue, the personal servant of the female lead.

After changing into her costume, Chao Wan stood quietly on the periphery of the set, watching as the female lead was surrounded by people touching up her makeup and adjusting her attire.

The set was noisy and crowded.

Suddenly, whispers reached her ears.

“Look, isn’t that the former campus belle from Jiangxi? I think I’ve seen her photos online.”

Chao Wan’s eyelashes trembled, and she instinctively lowered her head.

“It really is her! Weren’t there rumors from gossip accounts that she was kept by a CEO back in college?”

“Qin Siyu? She’s in Hengdian today too, apparently for the opening ceremony of ‘Pillow Galaxy.'”

“Then why is Chao Wan here auditioning for a supporting role? Did Qin dump her…?”

“No.” Chao Wan bit her lip, her eyes reddening slightly as she walked up to the two people whispering. “Qin Siyu and I have no relationship.”

The two immediately fell silent, their eyes darting away, and soon excused themselves to leave.

Chao Wan was left alone on the spot, utterly at a loss.

Yet the surrounding gazes of scrutiny and speculation only intensified, almost burning through her.

She lowered her head deeply and walked back to her position, waiting for the shoot to begin.

Her heart felt bitter, and her eyes grew warm against her will.

Last night’s one-sided “clean break” now seemed like a joke.

“Extras, get in position. We’re starting soon,” the assistant director called out, spotting the dazed Chao Wan. “You there, the one playing Qi Yue, why aren’t you in the frame?”

As if waking from a dream, Chao Wan hastily wiped her eyes and hurried to her mark.

Once everything was ready, the clapperboard snapped, and filming began.

But less than half a minute in, the director yelled, “Cut!”

He glanced at the viewfinder and sensed something off.

The maid standing behind the female lead was far too striking. Even with her head bowed, as soon as her face entered the frame, the composition felt unbalanced, drawing all the audience’s attention.

Of course, part of the problem was that the female lead couldn’t hold her own in the scene.

But the director didn’t dare offend the rising starlet playing the lead, so he redirected the blame to Chao Wan.

“Qi Yue, your eyes are so red. Can you even act?” he snapped impatiently.

In reality, the maid’s role was merely a background character, with her face barely visible in the shot. Red eyes wouldn’t affect the filming at all.

Flustered, Chao Wan looked up, bit her lip, and tried to compose herself.

They shot several more takes, but the scene still didn’t pass, either the lead forgot her lines or her emotions fell flat.

During a break, Chao Wan lowered her head and quietly rehearsed her lines.

She only had two short lines, but every time the female lead made eye contact with her, her expression would stiffen noticeably.

Why?

Chao Wan stole a glance at the lead actress and noticed her complexion was pale. She flipped through her script while casting cold, sidelong looks at Chao Wan.

“Qi Yue,” the starlet suddenly beckoned her over.

Chao Wan was taken aback but nervously approached.

She thought it might be about coordinating the scene, but as she drew closer, mocking words reached her ears.

“Why don’t you go cause trouble over at the Pillow Galaxy set instead?” the starlet said, fiddling with her nails.

“With looks like yours, a few room keys could easily land you a lead role. And since you know President Qin, why stick around here and steal my spotlight?”

Chao Wan parted her lips, her throat dry. Clutching the edge of her costume, she felt utterly humiliated.

Steal the spotlight? She’d never even considered such a thing, she just wanted to do her best with the role she had.

The starlet glanced at Chao Wan, saw her frozen expression, and lost interest. She waved for her assistant.

After all, it was just a role where the face wasn’t even clearly visible. Replacing her wouldn’t make a difference.

In the distance, the director listened to his assistant, frowned, and looked toward the set.

He picked up his walkie-talkie. “Hold up. Replace Qi Yue. Step out, please.”

Chao Wan looked up in a daze, struggling to process what was happening.

She’d delivered her lines perfectly every time… Was it because her voice was too soft? Or her emotions weren’t strong enough?

“Director,” Chao Wan whispered, gripping her costume, “I… I can do it. Please give me another chance…”

One more take, and she was sure she could get it right.

“Don’t disrupt the shoot,” the director snapped, not hearing her clearly. His tone sharpened when she didn’t move.

Chao Wan pressed her lips together in shame, finally understanding her predicament.

A nearby assistant director overheard and sighed softly. “Damn director.”

She walked over to Chao Wan and whispered reassuringly, “Hey, don’t be upset. We all know it’s not your fault.”

Chao Wan shook her head, her eyes slightly red as she lowered her gaze. “It’s fine, thank you, sister.”

After leaving the set and changing out of her costume, a few crew members who couldn’t bear to see her treated unfairly came to comfort her. Yet, Chao Wan’s tears only flowed more uncontrollably.

Behind her, the noisy clamor of the set resumed, isolating her completely.

Without her, another extra would take her place.

The morning wind, carrying a chill, stung her already sore eyes.

Chao Wan wiped her eyes and wandered aimlessly.

Eventually, she stopped in front of an empty, deserted balcony, crouched down, and wrapped her arms around herself.

She felt powerless about her situation. Even when it wasn’t her fault, she was still misunderstood and maligned.

Without others, she was nothing, just a passably pretty vase.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when her feet began to ache slightly, and the door to the nearby lounge opened without a sound.

Chao Wan didn’t notice, her shoulders trembling lightly as she suppressed her sobs.

“Which production team are you from?” a soft voice asked from above.

Hearing this, Chao Wan looked up.

Her tears hadn’t yet been wiped away, the tip of her nose was red, and she looked utterly disheveled.

This pitiful sight fell clearly into Ji Tanyue’s view, causing the woman to pause momentarily and making Chao Wan feel even more embarrassed.

But Ji Tanyue didn’t seem to mind. With graceful movements, she lifted the hem of her long trench coat, crouched down, and met Chao Wan at eye level.

She initially reached out to touch the reddened corner of Chao Wan’s eye, but her hand halted mid-air, silent and still.

In the end, she only gently stroked Chao Wan’s soft, disheveled hair.

“What a coincidence,” the woman said, extending a hand, her voice gentle.

“Would you like to come inside with me and sit for a while?”