Why is this top-tier Alpha boss acting like this? - Chapter 4

Cheng Yan sat in the backseat of a ride-share car, staring at the endless stream of traffic outside. His elegant brows were knit tightly together.

Having slept poorly the night before, the pressure in his head had evolved into a dull, creeping throb. As a long-term migraine sufferer, he knew this feeling all too well.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. Seeing his grim expression and assuming he was in a rush, the driver kindly offered an out: “Hey, handsome, there’s an accident up ahead and it’s peak hour. Traffic won’t be moving anytime soon. If you’re in a hurry, you might want to hop out here and take the subway. The station is just a five-minute walk away.”

Cheng Yan shook his head and offered a polite smile. “No need, sir. I was just lost in thought. Take your time; I’m not in a rush.”

He truly wasn’t. Song Yang’s hospitalization was handled, his family would take over from here, and Xiao Lin and the rest of the staff were managing the aftermath. His emergency overtime was officially over; he could finally go home and reclaim his vacation.

But first, he had to get to the bar’s parking lot to retrieve his car. He had hitched a ride in Song Yang’s ambulance the night before, leaving his own vehicle behind. He shuddered to think what the parking fees looked like by now.

The traffic moved at a snail’s pace. The stop-and-go motion made his drowsiness surge. Cheng Yan closed the window and leaned uncomfortably against the door. Somewhere between dreams and reality, he heard a voice calling him.

“Sir, we’ve arrived.”

He snapped his eyes open. The moment he regained consciousness, a sharp, piercing pain stabbed through his head, followed immediately by a wave of nausea rising from his stomach.

Over-exhaustion, an empty stomach in an electric vehicle, and the boat-like swaying of the traffic—added to the fact that he was already on the verge of a migraine—had resulted in a rare case of motion sickness.

He let out a bitter laugh, slowing his breathing. Once he felt slightly adjusted, he thanked the driver and pushed the door open.

The “ALL” bar was famous in the city, but Cheng Yan had only been there a few times. It had been dark when he arrived the night before, so he didn’t quite remember where he’d parked. He wandered through the lot, relying on fragmented memories. Fortunately, the lot was relatively empty during the day, and he found his car without much trouble.

Once inside, he expertly fished a bottle of painkillers out of the glove compartment and swallowed two. He turned on the AC, reclined the seat, and lay there perfectly still.

The dense, throbbing pain occupied every nerve, leaving no room for anything else.

He had overestimated his body. During the “physiological period,” no Alpha or Omega was foolish enough to run around outside. Yet, he had not only gone out but had spent hours in an environment thick with chaotic pheromones, capped off by an all-nighter in a hospital.

His body was officially filing a protest. Compared to his usual headaches, this one was significantly more intense. Even his usually dormant glands seemed to be pulsing restlessly; with every breath, a sensation of heat surged through them.

He opened his eyes and reached up to touch the back of his neck.

The skin felt normal—just his usual body temperature. There was no abnormal throbbing under his fingers.

Was it a hallucination?

He rolled over, deciding to ignore the anomaly for now. But a few minutes later, the pulsing sensation returned, even more distinct this time. He touched his glands again. Still nothing.

He fell silent, wondering if his sense of touch was failing him. Was this a normal reaction of the glands to extreme fatigue? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that for the next hour, his world was consumed by pain. The abnormality in his glands was buried under the migraine. He lay there, counting the seconds until the medicine finally took effect and the pain felt as though it were wrapped in a layer of gauze—not gone, but no longer agonizing.

As the pain ebbed, sleepiness returned. He used his last bit of energy to roll the back window down halfway to ensure he wouldn’t suffocate, then fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke again, the headache was gone, the nausea had vanished, and aside from a howlingly empty stomach, he felt fine. He let out a long breath, his mood finally lifting.

He sat up, adjusted the seat, and found his phone in the center console. The screen read: 15:23.

He had slept in the car for over six hours. No wonder he felt so refreshed. If he still felt sick after that much sleep and medication, he would have had to call himself an ambulance.

He started the car and drove it to a charging pile in the lot. After running the AC for six hours, his battery was down to 8%.

Just as he settled back into his seat to browse his phone, a call came in. He checked the caller ID and answered immediately. “Hello, Auntie Wang.”

Auntie Wang was the long-term housekeeper for the Song family, responsible for Song Yang’s meals. If she was calling, something was likely wrong at the hospital.

“Hello, Xiao Cheng,” Auntie Wang said. “Are you free right now?”

“I am. Did something happen to Mr. Song?”

“It’s not a huge deal, but the Old Master asked me to bring lunch to the young master today. When I went to pack up just now, I noticed he hadn’t touched a single bite. I wanted to ask if the doctor ordered a specific diet? I made the food very light, but if he can’t eat yet, I can wait until later to bring dinner.”

Dietary restrictions?

The doctor had specifically said he should eat easy-to-digest food to regain his strength.

Cheng Yan frowned at his charging car. “It’s okay, Auntie Wang. I’ll go check on him. Just prepare something light and easy for dinner as usual.”

Once he hung up, he hailed another ride-share. His car still needed time to charge, so he might as well check on the “disappointing grandson.”

The ride was smooth. He bought some water downstairs and made his way to the VIP suite.

The room was empty, with no sign of Song Yang. He put the water down and intended to ask the nurses, but before he could leave, he heard a sound from the bathroom.

It was the sound of suppressed dry heaving.

His expression sharpened, and he hurried to the bathroom. The door was ajar; he pushed it open without hesitation.

Song Yang was standing by the sink, rinsing his mouth. He looked startled to see Cheng Yan, his eyes watery from the strain of vomiting.

“Why are you back?” Song Yang asked.

Concussion?

Cheng Yan realized it almost instantly. Vomiting was a classic symptom of a concussion. No wonder he hadn’t touched the porridge this morning; he had been feeling sick the whole time but had hidden it from his grandfather.

Cheng Yan’s face darkened. He grabbed a nearby towel and handed it to Song Yang. “Why didn’t you say anything when the doctor was here this morning?”

Song Yang took the towel and wiped his face haphazardly. He walked out and slumped onto the sofa. “Why bother? You just have to lie down and wait for it to pass. Saying something wouldn’t change that.”

There was… a certain logic to that, however annoying.

Cheng Yan remained silent, still looking displeased. He walked over, opened a bottle of water, and placed it by Song Yang’s hand.

Song Yang took a small sip. “With my old man’s petty personality, if I had started puking in front of him, do you think you’d be having a good day right now?”

Cheng Yan’s brow twitched. He looked at Song Yang in surprise. “You know it was me who hit you?”

Logically, an Alpha whose pheromones had gone into a “riot” shouldn’t have been conscious.

Song Yang spread his hands, lying back listlessly. “I have a bit of an impression.”

Cheng Yan went silent for a few seconds. “…I’m sorry.”

Song Yang frowned at him. “Are you addicted to apologizing? This had nothing to do with you. That Omega was sent by the old man. Because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted, you were the one forced to come down here in the middle of the night and crack my skull open. The old man is a hypocrite; he wants to punish my people for his own mess? If he had a conscience, he’d give you a massive red envelope.”

Song Yang paused, a weird look on his face. “He didn’t actually stiff you, did he?”

Cheng Yan stood there, unsure how to react. So, he really was just a pawn in the power struggle between this grandfather and grandson?

Seeing no answer, Song Yang sat up, looking annoyed. “He really didn’t give you anything?”

Thinking of the bank notification from this morning, it took Cheng Yan exactly one second to forgive both of them.

A small smile played on his lips. “He gave it to me.”

Even if he was caught in their crossfire, neither he nor the other staff members had been shortchanged on their overtime pay. They lost sleep and worked hard, but the compensation was more than fair.

The “city gates catch fire and the fish in the moat suffer,” but if the city gates drop gold coins every time they burn Cheng Yan could only say: Burn away.

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