The Stand-In Alpha Goes Viral on a Dating Show - Chapter 53

“What the hell! Are you out of your mind, or was the wind too loud just now and I misheard? You—you actually… actually…”

Her friend was pointing at her, fingers trembling like she had Parkinson’s.

“You didn’t mishear, and my brain is perfectly fine.” Mo Wei’s face darkened with exasperation. If it wasn’t for the fact that the woman in front of her was her childhood friend and closest confidante—if she wasn’t just an ordinary acquaintance—Mo Wei would’ve cut ties immediately and crushed her company without hesitation. But since it was her best friend, she could only swallow it down again and again, before finally kicking her in frustration:

“I really do want to date Chi Wan.”

“You can’t be serious! Ow—my butt!” Her friend hopped around to dodge the kick, shrieking in disbelief. “Miss Mo, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you even know what kind of reputation Chi Wan has? A person like that—and you, a top-tier heiress—how dare you even think about dating her?”

The unspoken words lingered in her friend’s eyes: What if she only loves your money, not you? What if she ditches you for someone richer, or worse, schemes to swallow up your family fortune?

Mo Wei could read it all too clearly and instinctively defended Chi Wan:

“She’s not like that. I once offered her money to be my mistress—she turned me down.”

“Then you must not have offered enough.”

Her friend scoffed. “That’s the oldest trick in the book—play hard to get.”

“I don’t think so. She really wasn’t swayed…” Mo Wei frowned, her expression tangled with hesitation and self-doubt. The usual arrogance of a spoiled heiress had melted away into something almost fragile.

So this is the power of love? To change a person from the inside out?

Her friend looked at her with open frustration. “Fine, then. I’ll find a chance to meet her myself and see what kind of demoness could possibly enchant you like this!”

“But she really didn’t take my money. Not a single cent,” Mo Wei muttered, though her conscience suddenly tugged. She remembered that moment in the dressing room, the makeup brush at her brows, and bit her lip before admitting softly:

“Okay… she did take something. Around a hundred thousand or so. But that was for makeup, for helping me out with something big before, and… hush money.”

“Don’t bother explaining. Money’s money—whether it’s ten or ten million, the fact is she took it. That means she’s not completely immune, not untouchable. Which tells me she’s pretending.”

Her friend spread her hands, utterly certain.

“Pretending? Why would she pretend?” Mo Wei was baffled. She could sense her friend’s logic was skewed, yet she still couldn’t help wanting to hear it. Maybe it was because she had suffered too many blows from Chi Wan and secretly craved even a false sense of reassurance.

“First, she changes your impression. Look—she’s already succeeded. Now you see her as someone who isn’t a gold digger, someone who can resist temptation. Second, it’s all about reeling you in, stirring your heart, setting it on fire. Tell me, don’t you want her more and more now?”

Her friend ended with a sly wink.

Mo Wei instinctively pressed her thighs together, cheeks flushing red. She glared at her friend, both embarrassed and indignant. But she couldn’t deny the truth: she had dreamt of Chi Wan.

Dreams that left her waking up damp, flushed, shrouded in shame and discomfort… and a gnawing sense of self-disgust.

She knew exactly where that disgust came from. Once, she had despised people like Chi Wan. Even now, she couldn’t say she fully admired her. But undeniably—irrevocably—she was drawn to her.

“And finally…” Her friend deliberately stretched the words, watching Mo Wei’s face for confirmation before continuing:

“She wants to make herself the only one for you. The harder she is to get, the more she consumes your thoughts—until she becomes an obsession you can’t live without.”

“I…” Mo Wei parted her lips, dazed. Her friend’s firm conviction was seeping into her, making her doubt herself.

“Miss Mo, listen to me—be careful. You’re already at stage two, dangerously far in. You need to run from Chi Wan before it’s too late!”

Though spoken calmly, the warning struck Mo Wei’s heart like thunder, leaving her shaken.

She thought: She’s right. As Mo Corporation’s heir, my position isn’t even that secure. This is the time I should be focusing on business, not getting tangled in love.

So why am I hesitating, growing more unlike myself with each passing day?

And suddenly, she remembered Lu Xin and Su Yao. The thought chilled her, making Chi Wan feel all the more… uncanny.

“She’s like a witch.”

The husky voice echoed in the dim underground photography studio. A graceful woman stood with her arms folded, staring at a wall plastered with photographs, muttering to herself.

The wall was clearly divided into two halves:

On one side, Chi Wan—bright as spring, dazzling, seductive.

On the other, Mingyu—elegant, refined, ethereal.

Meng Lan tried to force her gaze toward Mingyu’s side, but her eyes kept drifting back to Chi Wan.

“Stop fighting it,” another woman entered, dressed in androgynous fashion with a cigarette in hand. She tapped the lit stick toward Chi Wan’s photo. “She really does have it—born to be the darling of the lens. Every look, every smile is sheer allure. You’re a photographer—how could you resist her?”

Meng Lan frowned, and only when the cigarette hand moved away did her brow relax. “The one I love is Mingyu.”

From beginning to end, that was the only sentence she uttered.

“Ha! Keep lying to yourself.” The woman didn’t bother arguing. Sure, you like Mingyu. But your fascination with Chi Wan runs deeper with every glance. One day, with the right trigger, it might even turn into love.

But as the saying goes—you can never wake someone pretending to sleep.

If Meng Lan insisted on clinging to “I love Mingyu,” then no one could wake her from it.

________________________________________

Meanwhile, Lu Xin’s livestream was drawing crowds. She was in the middle of commenting on an extreme sports competition when, out of nowhere, a viewer threw in a question:

“Lu Xin, what’s really on your mind?”

It sounded nonsensical, but to everyone in the chat, it made perfect sense. The comments instantly flooded in:

“Yeah, Lu Xin—who do you actually like?”

“Mingyu? Chi Wan? Xia Meng? Who is it really?”

Her livestream partner, worried she might blurt something reckless, quickly messaged her:

Don’t answer! For god’s sake, don’t answer! Sweet ancestor, don’t forget what we’re here for!

We’re doing professional commentary here—this is about careers. There’s absolutely no room for slip-ups!

Her co-host spent the whole session on edge, but thankfully, Lu Xin kept her head today and didn’t say anything out of line. Still, once their commentary segment ended, she noticed the livestream chat still buzzing with questions about that matter—the audience’s enthusiasm hadn’t waned in the slightest.

Lu Xin had been suppressing herself for a long time. But now that work was over, it was finally her private time. She tilted the camera directly toward her face, cleared her throat, and said with a faint smile:

“You’re asking me who I like? I think I’ve already made it pretty clear on the show. The person I like is—”

Suddenly, the screen went black. She had been forcibly logged off.

She didn’t need to guess twice to know who was behind it. Fuming, Lu Xin shot a glare across the room. Her assistant, however, was too busy typing up a quick ‘technical issue’ statement to post online, trying to apologize to viewers.

Lu Xin kicked over the table. “A statement? Who’s going to believe that? The stream never lagged before, yet the moment I get to the most important part, it ‘disconnects’? Who are you trying to fool?!”

“Whether they believe it or not isn’t the point—the point is showing the right attitude.” After posting through Lu Xin’s social account, the assistant looked back at her sharply. “And what do you mean ‘the most important part’? Wasn’t your professional commentary supposed to be the most important? Lu Xin, you’ve completely lost sight of your priorities!”

The assistant eyed her anxiously. Ever since the show, something about Lu Xin had seemed… off.

She would rewatch every clip of herself and Chi Wan appearing on screen together, even trawl through fan-made edits on video platforms. At one point she even considered switching careers to video editing just to feed the handful of CP fans who shipped her and Chi Wan.

The assistant’s verdict? “Your brain must’ve been slammed in a door.”

But nothing could dampen Lu Xin’s zeal. In her mind, as long as the CP fanbase kept growing, Chi Wan would eventually be influenced by the sheer tide of public opinion—realizing they were destined to be together.

Not only that, she began planning side-by-side comparison videos to prove that her chemistry with Chi Wan outshone anyone else’s.

Watching her, the assistant suddenly asked coldly, “What about Mingyu and Xia Meng? You’ve thrown your entire heart at Chi Wan—does that mean you don’t like them at all anymore?”

Lu Xin’s hand on the mouse froze. At the mention of Mingyu, a flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes. But when she thought of Xia Meng, that hesitation almost instantly faded.

________________________________________

“I like Lu Xin a lot.”

Xia Meng was livestreaming a game, steering her hero into a foggy zone. She caught sight of a question in the chat and answered it instinctively.

— Then do you know Lu Xin likes Chi Wan?

Her fingers paused on the keyboard for just a beat. “Yeah, I know.”

The chat exploded.

— You know? And you still like Lu Xin?

— If you know, then why are you still collaborating with Chi Wan and An Ran? Doesn’t that disgust you?

— Are you really planning to keep liking Lu Xin?

Xia Meng’s hands resumed their rhythm, chaining a flawless combo to take down an ambushing enemy. The chat shifted to spam a wall of 666!

“I like Lu Xin. Who she likes has nothing to do with it. I think she has a great personality, we share a lot of common interests, and she’s very beautiful—there’s this rare, wild charm about her.”

Her hero charged deeper into enemy territory. “As for working with Chi Wan and An Ran, part of it is because I admire Chi Wan and want to be friends with her. The other part is simple—it’s mutually beneficial. Disgusted? Not at all.

Honestly, if I wasn’t an Alpha but an Omega instead, I’d probably like Chi Wan too.”

Her words silenced the comment section. Everyone could feel her sincerity. Xia Meng really wasn’t the jealous type—more like an angel, really.

“Of course I’ll keep liking Lu Xin. I admire her courage, and her wildness too. But love is always about two people. I’ll give it my best, but I won’t force it.”

Her view on love earned a wave of approval from viewers.

Still, some skeptics voiced doubts. They felt that if Xia Meng’s feelings were truly deep, they would come with jealousy and a need to possess—not this kind of calm acceptance.

“Oh, would you look at that—I won again without realizing.”

Xia Meng lifted her fingers. On-screen, great feathered wings unfurled, framing a single glowing word:

Win.

— Before you end the stream, one more question: do you support Chi Wan and An Ran’s relationship?

“I’m actually a Wan-An CP fan myself. What do you think?”

She winked playfully at the camera.

________________________________________

“Wow, Gu Lin, how could you let Tang Qian steal the first move?”

In a bar, a long-unseen acquaintance plopped down across from Gu Lin without invitation, propped her chin on her hand, and looked at her with a sly, mocking smile—as if savoring her misfortune.

“Tell me, in what way are you worse than her? You’re prettier, your career’s bigger, yet Mo Wei must be blind. She actually chose to invest in that hollow shell of a company Tang Qian runs. Isn’t she afraid of losing everything?”

The words were framed as concern, but each landed like a needle in Gu Lin’s heart.

But Gu Lin knew better than to take them seriously. This so-called friend had always been jealous of others’ success. She had cut ties long ago—though technically they still called each other ‘friends,’ they were little better than strangers.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot. With the Mo family’s wealth, this investment is nothing but pocket change. No matter how it goes, it won’t hurt them.”

The woman called over a bartender, ordered a drink, and sipped it with deliberate slowness, making exaggerated tsk-tsk sounds.

Gu Lin said nothing. Her companion didn’t care—chatting on like she was enjoying her own performance.

“I remember you spent years building your studio into what it is today. And her? All it takes is a big-company investment, and poof—she skips over years of struggle just like that. Life really isn’t fair, is it?”