The Unlucky Alpha and Her Hard-to-Please Omega - Chapter 14

A few days later, Song Yi received a call from Tang Di.

“The surgical plan is finalized already? That fast?” Song Yi was a bit surprised.

“What, having second thoughts?” Tang Di asked. “The expert I found handled a case with conditions very similar to yours once. That Omega went through some hardship during the late stages of the pregnancy, but in the end, both mother and child were safe.”

Song Yi took a deep breath. The advancements in medical technology offered so much hope that they often made people forget how many “unavoidables” still existed in the world.

“Thank you, Director Tang. I understand what you’re getting at, but I can’t afford to disappear for two years to have a child,” Song Yi said.

Silence stretched between the two ends of the line. Tang Di understood Song Yi’s predicament all too well. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if she suddenly found herself pregnant and forced to abandon the career she loved. Between the pregnancy and the postpartum recovery, medicine might undergo earth-shattering changes by the time she returned. Everything she knew could be outdated or even proven wrong.

Fortunately, she was a Beta. Once she found her direction in life, she could pursue it for a lifetime without distraction.

For Song Yi, the situation was even worse. Her industry was a direct, constant competition between peers. Amidst the flowers and applause, the audience were angels; but when the spotlight faded, the public was more heartless than anyone.

“I understand,” Tang Di said. “When are you free? Let’s schedule a time. It would be best to clear a week. Since it’s still early, it’s better to settle this quickly.”

Song Yi remained silent, staring at the calendar for a long time. The production team had set a filming schedule for nearly a month. She had already spoken to Wu Han, informing him that she would need a week off soon for “follow-up treatments.”

Treatment. The act of removing this piece of life from her body.

Wu Han had agreed to her request on the spot; she could choose any week to go to the hospital, provided she gave him three days’ notice. Now, the time had come to pick the date.

“Let’s make it next week,” Song Yi said, taking a deep breath.

If it was destined that she couldn’t bring this child into the world, it was better to say goodbye early. Song Yi wasn’t sure if she could remain this cold-hearted if she waited much longer. She was already certain that in the few days since learning of the child’s existence, she had already begun to feel like a stranger to herself.

“It’s just a cluster of cells right now. The nerves haven’t developed; it can’t feel pain,” Tang Di comforted her softly.

The voice, compressed and transmitted across a thousand miles through the phone, lost much of its nuance, yet Song Yi still keenly captured the empathy Tang Di felt for her.

“Thank you,” Song Yi whispered, her face pale as she forced a small smile.

“Alright. Come straight to me next Monday, and I’ll arrange the surgery for you,” Tang Di said before hanging up.

Song Yi stared at the black screen of her phone, which reflected her own strained smile an expression that would be considered a failing performance in any drama. She scrutinized herself with a harsh, professional gaze, slowly relaxing her facial muscles and adjusting her emotions until her face showed no trace of anything unusual.

She turned and headed back to the set. Under the lights and before the cameras, she still had someone else’s story to tell.

The next scene was a monologue. With three or four cameras aimed solely at her, there was no one to help her share the weight.

Wu Han: “Action!”

The series of brutal, recurring crimes had left Officer Ran Mo exhausted. Her superiors viewed the cases with extreme gravity, yet she was at a total loss. After another briefing, her old mentor slammed his hand on the desk and questioned her: “The victims are watching you from heaven. Every day you fail to catch the killer is another day an innocent person might be murdered. Ran Mo, tell me how can you even sleep?”

The truth was, Ran Mo couldn’t sleep. She had pulled countless all-nighters, but her opponent seemed intimately familiar with police tactics. The crime scenes were spotless; aside from each victim missing a specific body part, there were no clues.

They were always one step behind.

Late at night, Ran Mo sat alone in front of her computer. The whiteboard behind her was covered in their findings and theories—a tangled mess of threads that were often contradictory. With bloodshot eyes, she zoomed in on every crime scene photo on her screen.

Ran Mo didn’t know what the point of this was, but she couldn’t just do nothing.

The first victim was missing a right hand. The second, a left hand. The third was missing a fetus from her womb. Then the fourth: a missing right eye.

Why these organs? Why this order? Usually, when a killer takes something from a victim, it’s to satisfy a twisted desire for trophies—either the same organ every time or following some obvious pattern.

Originally, they thought the killer had a fetish for hands, but the missing fetus in the third case completely upended that theory. The image of a fetus carried heavy connotations of gender and sexuality, a psychological profile vastly different from that of a hand. They had argued for a long time over whether to include that case in the serial investigation, and it was Ran Mo who finally made the call.

She argued that the time intervals between the deaths were consistent, and in the eyes of those with specific fetishes, hands could also be perceived as sexual symbols.

Then came the fourth victim’s right eye. It didn’t fit the sexual profile, nor did the timing match.

Her colleagues argued it was an isolated case, but Ran Mo felt a lingering, inexplicable connection between all four.

Back when she was leaning against the classroom wall listening to Yu Rong’s lecture, Yu Rong had stood at the podium and explained: “Serial killers often have psychological issues. They may appear no different from ordinary people, but they often possess a powerful faith. In post-analysis, religious belief accounts for over half of all criminal motives, and they will leave behind obvious or subtle religious symbols during the act.”

Religion…

Ran Mo layered the four crime scene photos over each other and connected the missing organs in chronological order. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, her eyes widening at the screen. The shape formed by the organs almost perfectly mirrored the pattern the four crime scenes made on a map!

If the first three cases happened at the same intervals, they could be seen as one group. Those three organs formed an inverted triangle, and the fourth organ was a point directly above it.

Ran Mo knew of a faith associated with triangles. When an upright triangle and an inverted one overlap, they form a hexagram the Star of David.

And tonight… the time elapsed since the fourth victim’s death was almost exactly the same as the interval between the third and fourth.

It was tonight!

Where would the next scene be? Which vertex of the upright triangle?

Ran Mo leaped from her chair in excitement. She grabbed her coat and dialed her assistant—who was off for the night—as she ran. They would each rush to one of the potential vertices.

There was no time for official paperwork. Ran Mo sped off in her private car. The point she had marked on the map was a thirty-minute drive away. According to the coroner’s estimated time of death, she only had thirty minutes left.

“CUT!”

The take was a success. Throughout the scene, Ran Mo’s emotions had balanced on the razor’s edge between heavy exhaustion and manic obsession. Song Yi’s eyes were bloodshot, her jaw clenched tight. Director Wu was satisfied with the performance.

After the shoot, Song Yi sat by the side of the set to rest. Her expression didn’t brighten. She knew clearly that she was relying on technical experience to get through the performance. Fortunately, this scene required her emotions to be internalized the quiet before the explosion—so staying “wound up” was enough.

After packing up, Director Wu asked her meaningfully, “Something on your mind?”

The director had seen through her.

“Yeah. I guess I didn’t control my emotions well enough. Sorry for worrying you, Director,” Song Yi said with a helpless smile.

“What’s the matter? Tell me, maybe I can help solve it?” Wu Han asked.

Song Yi shook her head. “Director, I’ll need to take that leave of absence.”

“The treatment? When? What is it exactly?” Wu Han pressed.

“Starting next Monday, for about three or four days. Don’t worry, Director, it’s not serious,” Song Yi said, unilaterally shortening the duration Tang Di had suggested.

“Monday… that’s the day after tomorrow.” Wu Han paused, then reached out and patted Song Yi’s shoulder. “Don’t be nervous.”

Behind them, Shen Yu stood with wide eyes, having overheard everything.

She had realized early on that Song Yi’s mood was off today. Seeing her pull the Director aside after work, she had quietly followed. She hadn’t expected it to be so soon—the day after tomorrow.

As Song Yi waved goodbye to the director and turned to leave, Shen Yu scrambled away in a panic. She didn’t want Song Yi to see her there, even though the conversation hadn’t exactly been private.

Shen Yu’s heart was pounding. She didn’t understand why she was hiding; perhaps it was because she simply wasn’t ready to face Song Yi yet.

Shen Yu ran all the way back to her room and slammed the door. With the guilt of a criminal, she opened her shopping app. Sitting in her cart were several items she had ordered in the dead of night: prenatal milk powder, pregnancy supplements, and a pair of tiny baby socks so cute they made one’s heart melt. They were all highly recommended items by Omegas on that forum.

She must have been out of her mind last night. She had only thought about how cute the socks were and how she had to buy them for her child to wear.

But Song Yi had no intention of keeping the baby. Those socks would never be worn.

Shen Yu clicked “Return,” only to be told that the items had already been shipped; it was too late to cancel.

The customer service representative offered a friendly tip: “You can just refuse the delivery when it arrives, dear! ~ [Heart]”

The representative’s tilde and heart emoji made Shen Yu see stars. She couldn’t imagine that scene. The package would arrive at the film set. There was no way she could let her assistant handle the rejection of such sensitive items; she would have to do it herself. And if Song Yi saw it… she would be completely defenseless. Song Yi would surely mock her with that sharp tongue of hers.

“Do you really want a child that badly?” Song Yi would definitely say that.

Shen Yu squeezed her eyes shut. Damn it, was I crazy last night?

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