Why is this top-tier Alpha boss acting like this? - Chapter 11

The voice on the other end sounded somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t match it to a face. I only knew it belonged to one of those wealthy young men who were close to Song Yang.

Soon, the phone was passed to someone else. “Oh, oh, Assistant Cheng? Is… is there any way you can come and get Brother Yang out of here? We can’t handle him… hic…”

That one got cut off mid-sentence by a direct hiccup, and the phone fell into the hands of a third person. “It’s been five days. We really can’t drink anymore. Save me, save me!”

This one was imitating a game voice-over; I have to say, it was a pretty good impression.

The phone was a cacophony of noise, evidently a carnival of drunks. Their words were incoherent, but it wasn’t useless. At the very least, I managed to piece together Song Yang’s recent movements from these young masters who no longer knew up from down.

Since the day Song Yang gave me the blockers, he had started looking for people to drink with. One or two today, a different pair tomorrow—and the two from the day before weren’t allowed to leave either. By now, everyone he could call had been summoned, yet Song Yang still showed no sign of stopping; he was even thinking about a second round.

Exhausted, they remembered me, the one who frequently appeared to take Song Yang home. In their drunken state, someone—I don’t know whose idea it was—stole Song Yang’s phone to call me.

Finally, the ill-fated phone landed in the hands of someone who still had a clear head.

“Sorry to disturb you so late, Assistant Cheng. They’ve had quite a bit to drink, but honestly, these guys only resorted to this because they’re at their wits’ end. It wasn’t intentional, please bear with us.”

My eyebrow twitched. This time, I recognized the voice. “Is that… President Yuan?”

Yuan the Third gave a grunt. “It’s me.” He paused before continuing, “Since the call’s been made, why don’t you come pick up Brother Yang? The Song family driver has been waiting at the door for days and hasn’t been able to take him back. The old man isn’t in Chaos City, so no one can control him. See if you have a way to get him home. I’ll send you the address.”

Without giving me a chance to refuse, he hung up. Immediately after, I received a location via Song Yang’s WeChat.

I took a look; the address was near the University Town, a quiet bar. In my vague memory, this place was co-owned by a few of those wealthy heirs. With spare cash and nothing better to do, they each chipped in to open a shop, and surprisingly, it had actually become quite popular.

I hesitated for a moment but eventually changed my clothes, grabbed my car keys, and headed out.

A quiet bar near a university—with that double buff, I guessed the establishment would be quite strict about monitoring pheromones.

Reality matched my expectations. When I stepped inside, the air held only a faint scent of aromatherapy; there were no messy pheromones. The music was gentle and low, and there was no chaotic dance floor. The lobby was filled with tables, and the occupancy was nearly 70%.

Compared to certain bars in the city center, this place was quite refined and fresh. It seemed like a place someone in my current state could actually visit.

The only thing it shared with the ALL Bar was the sea of gazes that quickly swept toward me from all directions the moment I entered.

Before being submerged by those looks, I took out my phone to reconfirm the table number Yuan Zhong had sent and flagged down a passing waiter to lead the way.

The waiter led me up the stairs on the far left of the lobby to the second floor.

The second floor consisted of semi-open private booths that could accommodate larger groups. I was led to the central area. The waiter seemed reluctant to get any closer, stopping ten meters away from the destination. He said politely, “The booth you’re looking for is just ahead, the one with the most people.”

With that, he turned and left at a speed that suggested a rat was chasing him.

I stood there for a few seconds, stunned, then walked forward with a mix of confusion. Soon, I understood why the waiter had fled.

Even from a distance, I could hear the ghostly wailing and howling of Song Yang’s crew. Some were playing drinking games, some were singing, some were calling for their mothers, some were reciting cheesy pickup lines, and others were shouting that they wanted to throw up. It was noisier than a wet market—mental torture, essentially.

What should I do? I regretted coming. Is it too late to leave?

“Assistant Cheng? You got here fast!”

A familiar voice came from behind. I turned to see Yuan the Third, his arm in a sling, standing behind me with a weary expression and a heavy smell of cigarettes.

It seemed there was no escape.

I nodded in greeting. “President Yuan.”

Yuan the Third waved his uninjured hand. “Let’s go. We need to figure out a way to get your President Song out of here. We can’t let him stay. Brother Yang has been drinking here until dawn every day. No matter how good his constitution is, he won’t be able to hold out.”

Yuan the Third took the lead, grumbling incessantly, and took the opportunity to fish for information from me. “Do you know what’s happened with Brother Yang lately? What exactly set him off?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. President Song hasn’t been to the office for many days. You could ask him yourself.”

Yuan the Third let out a heavy sigh. “You think we didn’t ask? You know him; if he doesn’t want to say something, his mouth is tighter than a clam. No one can pry a single thing out of him.”

As we spoke, we got closer to the booth. The mixed smell of tobacco and alcohol hit us full-on, and the rowdy shouting of the group pierced my skull, far more exaggerated than what I had heard on the phone.

The lighting in the booth was dim, but I could still see empty bottles covering the floor—red wine, white spirits, beer, they had it all. In the deepest corner of the booth, I saw Song Yang.

My brow furrowed instinctively, and my footsteps faltered.

Yuan the Third looked back at me, asking strangely, “Why did you stop?”

I pointed straight ahead, my voice low. “What is going on there?”

The booth was large, able to hold over thirty people. Besides Song Yang’s group, there were eight or nine unfamiliar faces. These people were gathered in a loose circle, seemingly protecting someone in the center. Song Yang sat directly opposite them, arms spread wide across the back of the sofa in a languid, roguish posture. His half-lidded eyes held no warmth, and his expression was the epitome of disgust.

The people in the booth who hadn’t completely passed out gradually noticed something was wrong and began to gather around, mumbling.

“What’s going on here?” “What happened?” “Where did these people come from?” “Who are you guys?”

Yuan the Third cursed under his breath. Ignoring me behind him, he rushed forward. “I just went out for a smoke! What happened?”

I also walked in a few steps, standing outside the inner circle.

The people inside had already started arguing. From this distance, I could clearly hear someone in the opposing group sobbing.

“What are you being so arrogant for! I just asked for your contact info. If you won’t give it, then don’t, but is there any need to be so nasty?”

The speaker was a rather thin male; I couldn’t tell if he was an Alpha or a Beta. Behind him, he was shielding an Omega who had their head down, sobbing quietly.

Song Yang’s face was cold and hard, the anger in his eyes undisguised. “You came up to me releasing pheromones and practically tripped over your own feet to fall into my lap. Is that how you ask for contact information?”

The Omega froze for a second, and then the sobbing grew even louder.

Hearing the Omega’s cries, the group began to boil over.

“How can you talk like that?” “Isn’t it normal to trip if you lose your footing? If you didn’t want to help, fine, but telling us to get lost is just classless!” “What kind of person behaves like this!” “Exactly!”

Song Yang’s expression darkened as he completely lost his patience. The look he gave the group grew colder, and even his mocking smile vanished.

Yuan the Third still didn’t understand what had happened. Seeing the group protecting an Omega and emotionaly demanding an apology, he thought Song Yang had done something wrong, and his voice softened. “Brother Yang, you… what happened?”

Song Yang irritably brushed some dust off his clothes, as if he had been touched by something filthy. “That Omega came to ask for my contact info and tried to get handsy. I told him to get lost, and now he’s just standing there crying.”

Yuan the Third’s mouth twitched; he was at a loss for words for a moment. I mean, how did this Omega even get in here?

The Omega broke down. “If you won’t give it, then don’t! Why are you being so mean?”

Song Yang gave a cold laugh, his words laced with venom. “You run into someone else’s booth and release pheromones at a strange Alpha—God knows what you’re trying to do! I’m scared. Can’t I defend myself?”

These words were like pouring oil on a fire. Everyone present had had a bit to drink, and it was easy to get worked up; how could they withstand Song Yang’s provocation?

Thus, the scene spiraled out of control again.

“What nonsense are you talking? An Yu is recognized as our school’s most beautiful Omega! Would he need to use pheromones to get a strange Alpha’s contact info?” “Is your nose broken!” “Did you just make that up?” “Go see a doctor, you absolute jerk!” …

Yuan the Third was speechless. With a “broken body but strong will,” he blocked the people who were cursing with increasing vigor. The other drunks also joined the effort to hold them back. While the two sides didn’t quite come to blows, the scene was undeniably chaotic.

Sitting on the sofa, Song Yang irritably narrowed his eyes and spoke up skeptically. “Most beautiful Omega? How good-looking is he?”

With that, Song Yang stood up and, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, walked toward a specific person.

I stood in my spot, watching Song Yang suddenly approach me. I felt the urge to retreat again. When had this man noticed me?

Song Yang came to a stop in front of me, standing extremely close. The heavy scent of alcohol drifted over with his movements. Amidst the pungent smell of booze, a peppermint pheromone scent with a hint of coolness clearly entered my nasal cavity.

This was Song Yang’s pheromone; this man’s gland had recovered.

Song Yang leaned down slightly and asked in a volume only we could hear, “Is the show good?”

I stiffened and didn’t reply.

Song Yang obviously didn’t care about my answer. Stretching out a long arm, he used his drunken momentum to grab my wrist and lead me into the center of the crowd.

Song Yang brought me in front of that Omega, rested a hand on my shoulder, and smiled arrogantly. With a boastful tone, he asked, “Is he better looking than this?”

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