The Unlucky Alpha and Her Hard-to-Please Omega - Chapter 4

One month later, on the set of The Mist.

Song Yi stepped out of her trailer dressed in light athletic wear, a backpack slung over her shoulder and her hair pulled back into a flawless high ponytail. Her features were fully on display; she had the kind of bone structure that fans and critics had analyzed since her debut, perfect proportions that remained unblemished from any angle.

However, Song Yi had never cared for extravagant styling, especially when she wasn’t on camera. She had always strived to be an actress of substance, not a “vase” whose only job was to look pretty for the lens.

“Woah, she’s gorgeous. She looks even better in person!” A faint exclamation from an intern drifted over from the distance.

Song Yi couldn’t help but smirk. Even as a “serious” actress, she wasn’t immune to a well-timed compliment.

“I always thought the script’s description of the psychologist’s beauty being her ‘deadliest weapon’ was a bit much,” another voice marveled. “But now I have to admit, I was the shallow one. That kind of beauty is literally lethal! Sister, kill me!”

Song Yi froze. Wait.

Her character was a police detective.

Curiosity piqued, she walked toward the interns. She had read the script; the psychologist and her character shared the lead roles. It was a “dual-female lead” story, but Song Yi knew that while the psychologist had slightly less screen time, the character was far more vibrant and charismatic, a disadvantage for Song Yi, perhaps, but she knew she couldn’t pull off that particular role.

The psychologist was the mastermind, a villain who used silver-tongued manipulation to lead everyone in circles. Song Yi’s detective character was even supposed to be induced into a mental breakdown by her—essentially, falling in love with the enemy.

Song Yi was incredibly curious about the actress who would be her primary scene partner. She had asked Chen Nian about it several times, but her manager had been uncharacteristically vague, insisting that Song Yi wait until she got to the set. “Why ruin the surprise?” she had said.

That wasn’t like Chen Nian at all.

Now, Song Yi actually felt a flutter of nerves, like she was opening a blind box. The interns’ gasps had certainly dialed her expectations up to the maximum.

Song Yi rounded a corner and nearly collided with an intern who was running away with a flushed face.

Okay, Song Yi thought. Looks like this colleague of mine really does have some skills.

She approached. Her “blind box” was currently standing with her back turned, signing an autograph for another intern. Below her cropped T-shirt, a small sliver of her waist was visible, the curve of her spine disappearing into a pair of sharp, oversized cargo pants tucked into combat boots. Her ankles were slender but looked strong.

Good taste, Song Yi noted.

“Your name is lovely,” the “blind box” said, winking at the intern. Her voice was rich, like it had been soaked in fine wine.

Wait. Hold on.

That voice… sounded disturbingly familiar.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Next one~” The woman turned around, her winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass.

Song Yi: “…”

Shen Yu: “…”

Shen Yu was the first to break the silence. “Well, if it isn’t the ‘Next Best Actress.’ Are you here for an autograph too?”

Song Yi instinctively took three steps back.

She couldn’t fathom how Shen Yu’s skin had grown to be so thick. It wasn’t humanly possible. It shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yu Rong?” Song Yi tested the name of the psychologist from the script, clinging to a final, unrealistic shred of hope.

“Mm-hmm~” Shen Yu nodded with an insufferable grin.

“Decided to retreat from the big screen to try your hand at TV? If there’s anything you don’t understand, feel free to ask me. Don’t worry, I won’t hold the past against you.” Shen Yu reached out a hand. “Let’s have a happy collaboration.”

The moment their skin touched, a jolt of warmth traveled up Song Yi’s arm. She hadn’t prepared for this. This was the first time she’d had physical contact with this person while stone-cold sober. Thinking about the script, where her character and this woman would have countless moments of intimacy, Song Yi’s stomach suddenly performed a violent somersault.

“Urgh—”

Song Yi yanked her hand back and clamped it over her mouth, fighting back a physical surge of nausea. She spun around and sprinted for the restroom, her eyes stinging with physiological tears as she began to retch.

“Hey! Was that really necessary? Is shaking my hand that disgusting? You’re overacting,” Shen Yu shouted from the restroom door, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

She was answered by another round of dry heaving.

*****

Song Yi stood up, leaning against her knees as the world spun. What is wrong with me?

She shuffled over to the sink and looked at her pale reflection. There were faint dark circles under her eyes.

To prepare for this role, she had binge-watched twenty years’ worth of police thrillers and bought several textbooks on criminal investigation and forensics. She had spent nights pouring over those brick-sized volumes. No one had warned her that modern textbooks illustrated their definitions with high-resolution crime scene photos. If she could go back in time, she would choose to live the rest of her life without knowing what “lividity” or “bloating” looked like.

The first time she had vomited was right after she closed a forensics manual.

Since then, a switch had been flipped. She felt nauseous at the slightest trigger, her brain making unnecessary associations with ordinary objects.

And now, for a role she had sacrificed so much for, she was supposed to fall in love with the babbling idiot outside!

Song Yi could not accept this!

Suddenly, the ignored clues clicked together. From Chen Nian’s cryptic “don’t let personal feelings affect your work,” to the fact that she knew every other actor in the cast except for Yu Rong. Every time she had asked, Chen Nian had dodged with that “surprise” nonsense.

Chen Nian knew who Yu Rong was all along. And she knew Song Yi had just slept with Shen Yu! She did this on purpose!

In a fit of extreme rage, Song Yi dialed Chen Nian. For the first time, she skipped the pleasantries. “You knew Shen Yu was in this cast, didn’t you?”

“You knew that she and I…” Song Yi glanced warily at the restroom door and swallowed the rest of the sentence. Chen Nian knew exactly what she meant.

“I can’t work with her. Especially not on a romance-heavy script!” Song Yi hissed.

A light chuckle came through the phone. Chen Nian’s response was so smooth it sounded rehearsed.

Chen Nian: “Didn’t you say it was just a one-time thing between adults? That once it was over, it was over?”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“That you wouldn’t fall for her, and she wouldn’t fall for you?”

“Correct.”

“Then what exactly are you resisting?” Chen Nian countered.

Song Yi was stunned into silence. What am I resisting? Why is the idea of acting with Shen Yu so unacceptable?

“An actor needs professional integrity,” Chen Nian said measuredly. “Regardless of your personal likes or dislikes, you must detach your emotions once the camera rolls. You are the character, not yourself. I shouldn’t have to teach you that.”

Song Yi was quiet for a long time. “…You’re right.”

“However,” she took a deep breath, “if acting with Shen Yu is ‘no different’ than acting with anyone else, why were you so evasive? Why didn’t you tell me it was her?”

“You aren’t being as ‘above board’ as you claim, are you?”

Chen Nian: “…”

On the other end of the line, Chen Nian looked at the woman sitting across from her—An Jiahe, who was pressing her palms together in a desperate, silent plea for mercy. Chen Nian sighed.

“You’re right. I wasn’t being entirely above board.”

“But when I accepted this role for you, you hadn’t yet gotten drunk enough to roll into bed with her. Omegas are sometimes driven by instinct into irrational states, but that’s why the world invented suppressants, darling,” Chen Nian said.

Song Yi’s face flushed with shame. Chen Nian’s words were a thinly veiled reprimand for her lack of caution. Song Yi didn’t even know what had come over her that night; she’d never had a heat in her life and had never needed suppressants. She had always believed she was a purely “rational” Omega.

Perhaps it was the combination of alcohol and that arrogant Alpha at the party that had made her act out so recklessly.

“Since this happened, I’ve realized you’re more emotional than I thought,” Chen Nian continued. “I didn’t know what you’d do if you found out Shen Yu was in the cast beforehand. Would you have fled? Forced me to breach the contract?”

Song Yi had worked with Chen Nian for three years. From day one, Chen Nian had told her she didn’t tolerate weak, emotional Omega artists. Song Yi had always met that standard, and they had been the perfect partners.

This was the first time she had seen Chen Nian so cold.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Song Yi said through gritted teeth.

“Then do your job,” Chen Nian said, and hung up.

The screen dimmed, reflecting Chen Nian’s guilty expression. “I’ve really offended her this time,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Senior! Your kindness is boundless! I’m forever in your debt!” Across from her, An Jiahe was practically in tears.

Chen Nian’s plan had been to get Song Yi into a hit drama before The Female General, but it didn’t necessarily have to be this one. An Jiahe had approached her just as she was narrowing down the scripts.

Chen Nian looked away, her grip tightening on her coffee cup. “I don’t need your debt. I’m doing this to settle my favor to you.”

“Settled! We’re even! You owe me nothing!” An Jiahe cheered.

*****

Back on set, Song Yi clutched her phone, her face like stone. She stared at herself in the mirror and took several deep breaths. She splashed her face with cold water, retied her hair, and scrutinized her reflection until she was sure her “professional mask” was back in place.

She walked out. Shen Yu was still there.

“That took a while. Is your constitution really that weak?” Shen Yu asked, arching an eyebrow.

“My health is perfectly fine,” Song Yi said, walking past her without a look. “I just felt a bit nauseous seeing your face.”

“You!” Shen Yu gasped, stunned by the jab. She scurried after Song Yi.

“Song Yi! Do you know how many people love this face? How can you lie through your teeth like that?”

“If you’re sick, go see a doctor. Don’t avoid treatment and don’t make up excuses!”

“The schedule for this drama is very tight. If you drag the progress down because you’re ‘faint,’ you’ll have to explain it to the whole crew!”

Song Yi suddenly stopped and spun around. Shen Yu slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a stereotypical “accidental kiss” by an inch. She wobbled as she fought the momentum.

Song Yi let out a light laugh, her eyes filled with undisguised mockery.

“As long as you keep your ‘N-Gs’ (No-Goods) to a minimum, I’ll have plenty of time for a sick day.”

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