Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Song Jianan hadn’t thought about his childhood in a long time.

In his vague memories, Xu Yu had occasionally held him, kissed his cheeks, and called him "sweetie."

But those moments were rare.

More often, Xu Yu would look at him with disgust, scolding him for being useless and stupid.

Even though his pre-differentiation test at birth indicated he would become a Beta, Xu Yu raised him as if he were an Omega, trying to mold a Beta into a talented, elegant, and refined Omega young master through countless private lessons that filled all his after-school hours.

But in the end, he was just an utterly mediocre Beta, naturally failing to meet Xu Yu’s expectations.

From dance, instrumental music, and vocal training to painting, calligraphy, chess, and various sports, he was terrible at them. Xu Yu went from encouraging him to gradually losing patience, ultimately giving up on him out of disappointment.

Song Jianan often blamed himself, wondering why he wasn’t an Omega and why, no matter how hard he tried, he could never meet Xu Yu’s expectations.

Like any child dependent on their parents, he yearned for Xu Yu’s attention and affection. Faced with Xu Yu’s criticism and disdain, he felt lost, anxious, and uneasy.

Only Song Yuqiao stayed by his side, wiping away his tears, holding him in his arms, patting his back, and soothing him gently: "Jia Jia, don’t cry. Didn’t you just learn a new piece? Play it for me later, okay?"

After he finished playing, Song Yuqiao would praise him generously, saying he played wonderfully and had improved a lot.

At that time, Song Yuqiao was only in his third year of junior high but was already being groomed by the Song family patriarch as the successor. Despite his own demanding schedule, he consistently made time to learn Song Jianan’s lessons—both school and private—in advance, patiently teaching him, helping with homework, and summarizing key points.

Whenever Song Jianan had a question, Song Yuqiao always had an answer.

He remembered looking up at his brother with admiration and saying, "Brother, how do you know everything? You’re like a walking encyclopedia."

Song Yuqiao would raise an eyebrow and laugh, "Siri?"

Blinking, Song Jianan would mumble, "Brother is my personal Siri," then cover his mouth and giggle, calling Song Yuqiao "Mr. Siri."

Back then, Song Jianan felt he had the best brother in the world. Even if his father and Xu Yu didn’t like him, it didn’t hurt as much.

He had thought about Song Yuqiao getting married someday, living with a beautiful Omega. The idea of not being able to cling to his brother all the time made him a little sad, but he believed Song Yuqiao loved him enough not to ignore him just because he had a partner.

But he never expected that, long before Song Yuqiao married, their relationship would change after Song Yuqiao went abroad to study—far beyond what he had worried about.

Song Yuqiao no longer called him Jia Jia, avoided physical contact, and even looked at him no differently than he looked at strangers. While he never skipped the proper courtesies due to family members and never left Song Jianan’s name off gift lists, that was all.

It took Song Jianan a while to realize his brother no longer liked him.

During that time, he cried often—at first in front of Song Yuqiao, later only in secret.

Eventually, he grew accustomed to Song Yuqiao’s indifference and stopped crying over it. It was just one less person who liked him and one more who ignored him.

He trudged onward, day after day, only daring to miss the past in the dim moonlight on sleepless nights.

Later, after being driven out of the Song family, many things happened. Struggling to survive, he gradually let go of everything from his past in the Song household.

But not mentioning or touching those memories didn’t mean he had forgotten them.

The over ten years of closeness remained the most important part of Song Jianan’s life. He carefully preserved those memories, hiding them from everyone, and privately separated the cold, detached Song Yuqiao from the brother he had known for over a decade.

But he never thought Song Yuqiao would try to strip away even those faded memories, slashing through them harshly, shattering them to pieces, and cruelly telling Song Jianan that all the past kindness was fake—that Song Yuqiao had never thought highly of him and saw him as a worthless fool.

Song Yuqiao was like someone who had crafted a beautiful dream for him, abruptly ending it years ago and now personally shattering what remained, cold and cruel.

In comparison, the faint pity Song Yuqiao showed him now seemed utterly ridiculous.

Song Jianan’s consciousness felt light, as if his soul were floating. He wondered if he was dying, why even the pain and sadness seemed distant.

But this feeling was different from the real death he had experienced in his previous life—there was no pain, and he could faintly hear someone calling his name.

Then… then it became very noisy, as if many people were talking.

Someone seemed to be losing their temper, as fierce as Song Yuqiao.

Then, he lost consciousness.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw a white ceiling.

Song Jianan stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind slow to process where he was.

After a while, he faintly smelled disinfectant.

Turning his head, he finally confirmed he was in a hospital.

Sitting up with the blanket, he slowly recalled everything that had happened the night before.

Song Yuqiao opened the door, paused for a moment, then stepped inside.

Song Jianan didn’t look up, his lowered eyelashes trembling slightly. As Song Yuqiao approached step by step, his slender, pale fingers tightened, gripping the blanket firmly.

Song Yuqiao sat by the hospital bed, opened a meal container, and picked up a spoon to feed him. "Jia Jia, eat breakfast first. Later, a nurse will take your temperature and run some tests, then we’ll go home."

He had toned down his usual coldness, his voice unexpectedly gentle, a stark contrast to his anger the previous night.

Song Jianan turned his head away and mumbled, "I’ll eat by myself."

Song Yuqiao agreed and set up a small bedside table.

Song Jianan wanted to avoid his gaze but found it difficult on the hospital bed, so he just lowered his head further.

During this time at home, Song Yuqiao had watched him during every meal, and he had gradually broken his habit of eating too quickly. But now, he held the bowl of porridge with both hands, slurping it down loudly.

Surprisingly, Song Yuqiao didn’t frown or comment on his lack of table manners—a silent, humble apology.

But the more he acted this way, the more upset Song Jianan felt. Large tears rolled down his cheeks and fell into the porridge.

Noticing this, Song Yuqiao took the bowl away. His cool fingertips touched Song Jianan’s cheeks, lifting his pale, sickly face, and gently wiping away the tears.

Song Jianan tried to turn away but couldn’t escape.

His gaze inevitably held a hint of faint anger, but it quickly faded—or perhaps he instinctively hid it—when it met Song Yuqiao’s eyes.

Song Yuqiao’s heart clenched. He leaned down and kissed Song Jianan’s forehead.

Then, he pulled him into an embrace, letting his pitiful face bury into his chest, as if all the rain in his eyes was falling onto him.

Song Yuqiao’s voice was hoarse, carrying a hint of caution that was hard to detect: "Jia Jia, don’t cry."

He closed his eyes, forcing out a strained apology: "I’m sorry."

Song Jianan thought he was imagining it, but then Song Yuqiao repeated, "Jia Jia, I’m sorry."

He was apologizing.

Song Yuqiao was apologizing to him.

Song Jianan seemed lost in thought, a strange mix of emotions churned inside him—it wasn't exactly sadness.

He felt that the way Song Yuqiao apologized resembled that of the brother who used to comfort him with a hug.

His mind was a jumbled mess; he just stared blankly, unsure how to react.

As his silence dragged on, Song Yuqiao pressed his lips together, took him by the shoulders to create some distance, and looked down at him.

If it were anyone else, they would have taken the opportunity to smooth things over and forget the unpleasantness from last night. A patron didn’t need to care about a lover’s feelings—taking him to the hospital and apologizing was already giving him plenty of face.

But Song Jianan didn’t.

He kept his head down, his thick eyelashes were wet and clumped with tears, fluttering lightly.

With a slight sob, he said very softly, “I’m not an idiot.”

Like an insecure young animal desperately seeking comfort and validation from its companion.

Song Yuqiao stiffened for a moment, his voice hoarse as he said, “No, of course Jia Jia isn’t.”

“I’m not useless.”

Song Jianan wiped his tears haphazardly and began counting on his fingers the jobs he’d done: “I can hand out flyers, wash dishes, serve food, deliver takeout, work as a waiter, do live streams… and now I can even model.”

As he counted, tears fell again.

When he finished, he sniffled, wiped his face roughly with his hands, lifted his tear-streaked face, and looked at him with stubborn determination, enunciating clearly: “I’m not useless.”

Suppressing the surge of emotions in his heart, Song Yuqiao gazed into his tear-filled eyes and apologized for the third time, sincerely and earnestly: “I was wrong to say that, Jia Jia. Will you forgive me?”

Song Jianan was taken aback, not expecting Song Yuqiao to say anything beyond “I’m sorry.”

Three apologies in less than an hour—this was something that would never normally happen with Song Yuqiao.

He parted his lips, wanting to say, “I forgive you.”

But he just pressed his lips together again, lowered his head, and fiddled with the patterns on the blanket.

The hospital room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; a silent stalemate hung between them.

In those few minutes, Song Jianan thought about many things. He thought about how Song Yuqiao’s voice when apologizing sounded different from usual—perhaps because yesterday, when he found him burning with fever and unconscious, Song Yuqiao had been frightened, leading to today’s three apologies.

He wondered if his relationship with Song Yuqiao should never have existed from the start. They had just ended their familial relationship and quickly entered another, hidden relationship—one that was shameful. Moreover, Song Yuqiao was always angry, clearly dissatisfied with him, and he indeed wasn’t a qualified lover, neither able to soothe Song Yuqiao’s temper nor avoid secretly getting upset himself. The relationship hadn’t lasted long, but he already found it somewhat unbearable—for both himself and Song Yuqiao.

He also thought that he shouldn’t have needed to prove to Song Yuqiao what kind of person he was. Song Yuqiao didn’t care about him, making himself look truly foolish. His stubborn silence was also ill-timed—whether he was sad or in pain, he shouldn’t take it out on Song Yuqiao, who had helped him escape his past nightmares. Still, the cost of this help felt painful to Song Jianan—so painful it was almost unbearable.

Song Jianan’s eyelids drooped; he knew he couldn’t let the silence continue. He parted his lips and said, “The porridge… I haven’t finished it.”

Song Yuqiao placed the porridge on the small table for him. This time, he didn’t stare but instead stood by the window, his back turned.

Song Jianan no longer deliberately made rough, self-abandoning noises as he drank the remaining half-bowl of porridge.

The tense atmosphere eased during those few minutes of eating.

After breakfast, he underwent some check-ups.

Song Jianan had caught a chill during the day, and combined with the fright and emotional turmoil at night, it had led to a high fever. His fever had broken in the early morning, and aside from minor cold symptoms, all his indicators were normal.

After the results came out, Song Jianan followed Song Yuqiao and got into the car back to Xihe Garden.

Unlike their usual silence, this relatively short journey felt like a stalemate—even though Song Yuqiao was talking to him, saying he had asked for leave on his behalf, telling him to rest at home, and promising to take him to Yu Hai for a trip once he recovered, and Song Jianan was trying hard to respond, their conversation kept faltering.

Sometimes, Song Jianan took a long time to process and think before slowly replying. Other times, Song Yuqiao fell silent for a while before suddenly bringing up a new topic.

Song Jianan didn’t really feel like engaging, but Song Yuqiao, unlike his usual self, kept finding things to say.

After the high fever, his head still felt somewhat heavy. Listlessly, he leaned against the car window and came up with a good solution: he closed his eyes and decided to pretend to be asleep.

The car fell quiet, and the world felt much calmer.

Song Jianan’s tense nerves relaxed slightly, and the events of the past two days replayed in his mind frame by frame.

He felt an unprecedented sense of calm.

Song Yuqiao’s apologies hadn’t made him forget what was said the night before.

No one would love a clumsy, dull Beta—probably not even the Song Yuqiao from before.

But it was okay. Having already experienced abandonment once, enduring another blow wasn’t so bad. After the pain, life would still go on.

At least he wouldn’t end up as tragically as in his previous life—that was already good enough.

Once Song Yuqiao grew tired of him, he could leave Song Yuqiao and everything related to the Song family forever.

Those self-comforting beautiful dreams—if they shattered, so be it.

They were never meant to be his anyway.

The car moved smoothly along the road, and his thoughts grew increasingly hazy until he unknowingly fell asleep.

Perhaps the medicine he took had drowsiness as a side effect, because he slept deeply, unaware even when Song Yuqiao carried him to bed, and didn’t wake until evening.

The curtains were drawn tightly, blocking out all light, making it pitch dark. Song Jianan pulled them open, and the dim, yellowish light spilled in, casting a soft, gentle glow on his face.

But his dark eyes lacked their usual sparkle, seeming listless and dispirited.

Song Yuqiao pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black, save for a faint glimmer of light through the glass window.

Song Jianan sat on the bay window, knees hugged to his chest, head resting on them as he gazed outside.

He seemed to blend into the darkness, his figure frail and ephemeral, as if turning on the light would make him vanish along with the shadows.

Song Yuqiao paused at the doorway, not approaching, perhaps afraid of startling him.

Song Jianan heard the door open and waited, but when no one spoke, he turned belatedly and saw a tall, blurred outline in the darkness.

“Brother?”

Song Yuqiao flipped the light switch. The sudden brightness made Song Jianan instinctively close his eyes. His hair was slightly messy, with a few strands sticking up, and his face looked pale.

Song Yuqiao walked over. “Why are you sitting here?”

When Song Jianan opened his eyes, a tall, well-built figure stood before him, blocking most of the harsh light.

Song Yuqiao reached out and gently smoothed his tousled hair, straightening the stray strands.

Song Jianan paused briefly, then turned and pointed toward the garden with its lights on outside the window, whispering, "The garden looks beautiful in the evening."

Song Yuqiao followed the direction he pointed.

It was dark outside, and the garden was illuminated by bright incandescent lights, missing the soft, hazy beauty of the twilight.

"Tomorrow, I'll tell the gardener to change the garden lights."

He glanced at Song Jianan again and asked, "Are you hungry? The kitchen has some congee kept warm. Would you like some?"

Only then did Song Jianan remember he had only eaten breakfast that day, and he suddenly felt his stomach growl. He nodded and said, "I'm hungry. I want some."

He got down from the bay window, barefoot on the floor.

He had just recovered from a fever and had avoided turning on the air conditioning. The room still held the day’s residual heat, but the floor was cool and comfortable underfoot. Yet he curled his toes.

Because Song Yuqiao frowned.

Song Jianan lowered his head.

But the inexplicable anger he expected did not come.

Instead, Song Yuqiao picked him up in his arms, a hint of displeasure in his eyes. "A grown person still doesn’t know to wear shoes? You’re not fully recovered yet—aren’t you afraid of catching a chill?"

Song Jianan shrunk his neck and said quietly, "It won’t happen again."

Song Yuqiao’s steps hesitated barely noticeably. His large hand tightened, then slowly relaxed when he noticed Song Jianan’s eyes welling up from the grip. In a few steps, he carried him to the bed and set him down.

He knelt, took Song Jianan’s pale, slender leg and slipped on his slippers. As he let go, his gaze lingered for a moment on the fine-boned ankle, his expression flickering slightly before settling back into calm composure.

Though usually slow to notice, this time Song Jianan keenly noticed his lingering gaze and pursed his lips. Before he could dwell on it, Song Yuqiao stood up.

"Let’s go."

Butler Xue saw the two figures at the top of the staircase. By the time they reached the bottom, dinner was already set on the table.

There was not only the congee with century egg and pork that Song Jianan loved but also blanched shrimp and several light side dishes.

Only congee and side dishes were placed in front of Song Jianan, while the blanched shrimp were set before Song Yuqiao. Song Jianan couldn’t help glancing at them, then lowered his head to sip his congee, hardly touching the other food.

During the last two years of his previous life, he often skipped meals. Though his taste hadn’t changed much, he preferred meat over vegetables—he loved rich, hearty dishes.

As he drank his congee, he thought about inviting Jin Yu and Xie Mao out for crayfish once he returned to school.

After finishing a bowl of congee, he felt full. Just as he set down his utensils, a plate of peeled shrimp was pushed in front of him.

"Eat."

Song Jianan looked up in surprise.

Song Yuqiao wiped his hands with a damp towel and was replying to messages on his phone.

He took a bite of the tender shrimp, his nose tingling slightly.

The portion wasn’t large, and after finishing it, he found himself wanting more.

Song Yuqiao said, "If you want more, tell the butler tomorrow to make more."

Song Jianan murmured in reply but had no intention of commenting on the next day’s menu.

Feeling slightly sticky, he wanted to take a bath, but Song Yuqiao insisted on walking with him in the garden to help his food settle. It was half an hour before he was let go upstairs.

After bathing, he stayed in his room, waiting until Song Yuqiao returned.

It was quite late. Song Yuqiao asked, "Why aren’t you asleep yet?"

Song Jianan knelt on the bed, his dark eyes like dull stones, gazing at him as he said, "I was waiting for you to come back."

Song Yuqiao paused, visibly affected. Emotions swirled thickly in his eyes, but he held back, only reaching out to ruffle Song Jianan’s hair. "You sleep first. I need to get something and will be back in the study."

Song Jianan lowered his head and said, "Okay."

Song Yuqiao didn’t miss the hint of disappointment in his eyes. His legs felt nailed to the floor, unable to move. Gazing at Song Jianan’s soft hair, something surged inside him, threatening to spill over.

Especially when he noticed the red string on that snow-white ankle. As Song Jianan shifted his foot slightly, a silver bell chimed softly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. Suddenly, he reached out, lifting Song Jianan’s startled face, and leaned in to kiss him.

Caught off guard, Song Jianan panicked briefly before wrapping his arms around Song Yuqiao’s waist. He clumsily stroked Song Yuqiao’s back and kissed back just as clumsily.

His response was like a spark igniting a wildfire.

Song Yuqiao kissed him more fiercely and desperately than ever before, their lips and tongues tangling, the sounds of their kissing filling the air.

Song Jianan had never known kissing could be so exhausting. Gradually, he forgot about his hands, gripping tightly at the fabric of Song Yuqiao’s shirt as he struggled to respond.

Even though it was difficult, he never once thought of making a half-hearted effort or disappointing Song Yuqiao to end it quickly.

How could Song Yuqiao not feel his initiative and enthusiasm? Without stopping to question why, every cell in his body thrummed with excitement. Blood rushed, desire overwhelming reason.

Suddenly, he lifted Song Jianan and laid him down in the center of the large bed.

They lay across the bed, still kissing.

The taste of ice, the sound of entwined saliva, and their frantic heartbeats merged, creating an immense sense of happiness in Song Yuqiao’s heart. He had never felt such bliss—even if it might be an illusion.

The skin under his palms felt alternately cool and warm, indistinguishable from whose.

Snow-pale and glistening white, as if melting, leaving damp traces that shimmered under the light.

Soft lips captured a sweet cherry, feeling it wasn’t enough, so he bit down fiercely.

Song Jianan knew Song Yuqiao loved hearing him make sounds. Instinctively, he wanted to bite his lip, but instead, he parted his teeth, raising an arm to cover his eyes and the tears welling at the corners, allowing altered, unfamiliar sounds to escape his lips.

At times, his feet brushed against the sheets, producing soft chimes from the silver bell, mingling with his weak, unlike-him sounds—so embarrassing his ears burned, too ashamed to open his eyes.

But closing his eyes only amplified his other senses.

Not only were there the intermittent chimes and his own voice, but also low, heavy breaths and the sticky sound of lips parting from skin…

Instantly, Song Jianan’s ears flushed deep red, hyper-aware that Song Yuqiao’s lips were cool yet soft.

Song Yuqiao’s palms were broad, his fingers long and strong. A casual pinch, squeeze, or knead sometimes didn’t hurt, sometimes stung a little. Without looking, he knew red marks would surely bloom.

His body trembled lightly, plump toes curling and uncurling.

Unable to bear it, Song Jianan opened his eyes again.

A faint coolness brushed his skin. He curved his lips slightly, his damp eyes glimmering with a trace of laughter.

When an Alpha releases pheromones on the bed outside of rut season, it signifies that the Alpha is highly aroused, unable to rationally control their pheromones.

An expanse of snow-white skin lay within Song Yuqiao's palms and lips, gently kneaded and slowly teased, its pristine purity tainted by sensual colors.

Song Yuqiao, nearly desperate and greedy in his licking and sucking, produced sounds that would make anyone blush, from the tender cheeks down to the chin, neck, and collarbone...

Jia Jia had willingly offered himself up for him, to be fully enjoyed.

At that thought, his breathing grew heavier again, buried in Jia Jia's snow-white skin, wishing it would never end.

The tension built, yet he held back.

Song Jianan, tense and uncomfortable, couldn't help but urge him on, actively reaching out.

It was like scratching an itch through a boot—only making it more unbearable.

Song Yuqiao lifted his head, his light-colored pupils darkened with lust, a gaze so intense it was almost frightening.

Song Jianan, momentarily unsure whether to stop or continue, looked flustered and uncertain.

Did he not like it?

Song Yuqiao gazed deeply at him, reason and desire warring within him, using all his strength to restrain his impulses.

Just as Song Jianan was on the verge of tears, Song Yuqiao's remaining rationality returned. He moved the hand away and got off him.

Song Jianan panicked, rising as well, his two slender, pale arms winding around him like vines, his face pressed against Song Yuqiao's back, whispered pleadingly, "Brother, don't go, okay?"

His lips kissed gently through the thin shirt, light yet deliberate, like a hook tugging at his heart, teasing and irresistible, making one crave more.

Falling tears dampened the thin fabric, showing not an ounce of tenderness but only a heavy, thick desire growing wild.

Song Yuqiao gently placed his hand over Song Jianan's, stopping it from sliding downward.

His sharp eyes fixed on a blank spot on the wall, his handsome face full of restraint. "Jia Jia, stop messing around. You're still sick."

The veins in his arms bulged, his grip controlled with care, his body tense and rigid, his back stiff, not daring to relax in the slightest.

He fought to suppress the surging waves inside, wary of making another mistake.

Jia Jia didn't know better, but he couldn't indulge him.

"I've heard that when you have a fever or a cold, your body temperature is higher than usual, and it feels really good. Don't you want to try it, brother?"

Song Jianan's voice was soft and gentle, obedient and tender, just like the lips kissing the back of his neck and gland—but both his words and actions were boldly explicit.

He took that soft flesh into his mouth, kissing it gently, biting clumsily, inexperienced.

Unaware that an Alpha's gland should never be touched, as Alphas would instinctively feel discomfort, interpreting it as a provocation, stirring violent emotions.

The neither too light nor too heavy biting on the back of his neck nearly made Song Yuqiao lose control—not with violence, but with the urge to turn around, pin the provocateur beneath him, and teach him a harsh lesson, making him understand that touching an Alpha's gland comes with a price.

He automatically ignored the hint of careful pleasing and appeasing in that voice, his fingers curling over Song Jianan's hand, gripping tightly, the nerves in his brain cortex madly throbbing and screaming.

The Alpha's eyes blazed like fire, nearly severing the last thread of rationality. "Do you know what you're saying?"

Song Jianan, leaning on his back, didn't stop his actions, his voice muffled. "Brother, try it."

The rationality on the brink of collapse completely collapsed.

Song Yuqiao's Adam's apple bobbed. "Okay."

He turned, cradled Song Jianan's head, and leaned in to kiss him.

No need to suppress instincts—just give in completely.

But a Beta's body couldn't withstand an Alpha's unrestrained desire, so he still held back from acting on impulse.

A flicker of fear shot through Song Jianan's heart. He nervously closed his eyes, trying to relax, only to find it wasn't as terrifying as he had imagined.

Song Yuqiao was so gentle it made him feel dazedly as if he were some treasure being cherished.

The thought was too absurd. He quickly suppressed inappropriate thoughts, yielding submissively.

...

"Why is Jia Jia so well-behaved today?"

Song Yuqiao's voice full of pleasure rang in his ear.

Song Jianan didn't want to answer, holding him tighter, lifting his slender neck, large kiss marks starkly exposed under the light.

His throat seemed not his own; once he stopped suppressing it, the sounds that emerged were melodious and undulating. He hadn't known his voice could be so wanton.

For a moment, indescribable shame washed over him like a tide, yet he felt an unprecedented, scalp-tingling pleasure.

Song Yuqiao seemed to notice, chuckling lowly, overflowing with deep satisfaction.

He said with a hint of seduction, "Jia Jia is so well-behaved. Should brother reward Jia Jia?"

A fair foot swayed beautifully by his ear. He reached out, caught it, brought it to his lips, kissed the instep, and slowly licked the delicate, small ankle bone.

His narrow eyes fixed unblinkingly on that dazed face—hair disheveled, tear-streaked, eyes unfocused, rosy lips slightly parted, a red tongue faintly visible.

So beautiful.

Beautiful Jia Jia, belonging solely to him.

He curved his lips, a smile brimming in his eyes, his handsome face revealing an almost bewitching allure.

Deliberately teasing, he pressed, "Jia Jia, say, is it good?"

The pillow was suddenly crumpled by slender fingers, the captured foot kicking and swaying uncontrollably, yet only moving slightly within the broad palm.

Song Jianan forgot his purpose, completely unaware of what he was answering.

...

Due to the unique nature of his pheromones, Song Yuqiao had a perpetually low body temperature. Even when aroused, he differed from ordinary Alphas who seemed about to burn up.

His reactions were hidden within the dense pheromones, also flowing in the blood beneath his skin.

His gaze was as scorching as the inside of his mouth.

Song Jianan was enveloped in a moist, scorching hot embrace.

Soft and accommodating, attentively leaving no detail overlooked.

Something exploded in his mind.

The legs draped over Song Yuqiao’s broad shoulders shivered slightly.

The red finger marks and bite marks on his calves resembled plump, ripe strawberries under the light, as if soaked in milk—sweet and tempting.

Song Jianan was lost in a dizzying haze.

His limited experience all came from Song Yuqiao, who was usually rough and aggressive, leaving him with nothing but pain.

Only now did he realize that a Beta could also experience pleasure in such acts.

Embarrassed, he covered his eyes, his cheeks flushed bright red.

How could he sink so low, even craving more…

Song Yuqiao must have done it on purpose—intentionally wanting to see him toyed with, enthralled and helpless.

And he called it a reward—so cruel.

Song Jianan’s eyes welled up.

He let out a soft whimper.

Whether it was from too much pleasure or something else, he couldn’t tell.

Yet Song Yuqiao still had to ask him, “Jia Jia likes it?”

…

At the end of May, the night breeze brought a coolness.

The bedroom had lost its warmth, now filled with a brisk, chilly air, as if an early winter snow had just fallen.

Only an Alpha or an Omega could sense just how intense the S-rank Alpha’s pheromones were in the enclosed space.

The oblivious Beta lay obediently, as if soaking in warm water, tenderized and saturated, permeated with the Alpha’s scent from inside out.

But Song Yuqiao still wasn’t satisfied.

A little stronger, just a little stronger.

He wanted Jia Jia to carry his scent, never to fade.

His fangs grazed the neck, biting into a patch of tender skin. His light-colored eyes flashed red, and he pressed down, about to pierce the skin.

But he suddenly stopped.

Jia Jia couldn’t take it—he would cry.

Jia Jia had been so well-behaved today; how could he make him cry?

Restraining his instincts, he held back his eager fangs and instead placed a soft kiss.

…

The Alpha restrained himself, and the Beta submitted compliantly—it was an almost perfect night.

They resembled a deeply in-love couple, holding each other tightly afterward.

Their sweat-dampened chests pressed together, sharing heartbeats and body warmth.

By the time Song Jianan came to, he was already in the bathtub. He hurriedly pushed Song Yuqiao’s hand aside, his face flushed with embarrassment, avoiding eye contact. “I can do it myself.”

Song Yuqiao glanced at him, tousled his hair, said “Okay,” and left.

Song Jianan let out a sigh of relief, carefully cleaned himself, and took a shower before stepping out of the bathroom.

Song Yuqiao was leaning against the headboard, skimming a book. He looked up at the sound.

Song Jianan pursed his lips. “Brother, I’m done.”

Song Yuqiao set the book aside. “Go to sleep first. Don’t wait for me.”

When he came out of the bathroom, a bundle was visible under the covers.

His mind was clear now, and he had resumed his usual stern demeanor. But his gaze softened as it fell on the bed. Approaching, he realized Song Jianan wasn’t asleep.

Song Jianan wriggled under the thin blanket, his messy-haired head peeking out. He blinked and stared straight at him.

Song Yuqiao asked, “Not sleepy?”

Song Jianan shook his head. Remembering he had something to say, he quickly sat up, grabbing Song Yuqiao’s arm. “Brother.”

A hint of amusement passed through Song Yuqiao’s eyes. “What is it?”

Song Jianan released his grip and lowered his head, not daring to look at him. Afraid that the courage he’d mustered would vanish in his presence, he closed his eyes and blurted out all at once, “I want to go back to school tomorrow for classes, and for my part-time job…”

He ducked his head further. “I won’t do photoshoots anymore, no modeling. Can I do something else for work?”

The smile vanished from Song Yuqiao’s eyes. His gaze swept over Song Jianan’s fluttering lashes, the dark, watery eyes now hidden, the bowed head and lowered brows—so docile and pitiable, utterly deceptive.

He gave a cold laugh.

He knew it—Song Jianan had come onto him despite his condition, and there had to be an ulterior motive.

Part-time job, part-time job!

So obsessed with working—did he think the money Song Yuqiao gave him wasn’t enough? Or did Song Jianan, even after their intimacy, still want to maintain a pose of innocence, drawing a clear line between them?

Did he really plan to leave after a year, free and unmarked?

No wonder he was so eager for Song Yuqiao to sign the agreement quickly!

What did Song Jianan take him for?

Something to use and discard?

He had provoked Song Yuqiao first, and now he still thought about leaving?

As if things could be that easy!

Song Yuqiao’s eyes turned icy as he cupped Song Jianan’s chin and lifted his head.

Cutting words rose to his tongue, but then he recalled last night—Song Jianan’s flushed cheeks, his burning body, losing consciousness in his arms. The words rolled on his tongue but were swallowed back.

Staring into those teary dark eyes, he said flatly, “A reason? Give me a reason. Why are you so set on working part-time?”

Song Jianan shook with fear, his lips quivering.

But he’d made the first move? Was Song Yuqiao still not pleased? Why wouldn’t he agree?

What will it take for Song Yuqiao to stop interfering with his life?

His thoughts were written all over his face, easy to read, and Song Yuqiao's expression grew even darker.

"Jia Jia, didn't the agreement state it clearly? This is your obligation. Using it as a bargaining chip isn't enough."

Song Jianan widened his tear-filled eyes, his lips trembling, unsure how to argue back. He called out, aggrieved and helpless, "Brother..."

Song Yuqiao let out a cold laugh again, his eyes growing even icier. "So you still remember to call me brother."

"Do you really see me that way as your brother? Is there anything you wanted that I haven't given you? Yet you go behind my back to take on part-time jobs, even posing in revealing women's clothing? Do you know how many people have seen your photos? How many people have—"

He cut himself off abruptly, suddenly pushing Song Jianan away and turning his back, taking a deep breath.

Song Jianan bit his lip, staring at his back. He lifted the back of his hand to wipe away his tears, then after a long pause, lowered his gaze and said in a very quiet voice, "What kind of brother sleeps with his younger brother?"

Song Yuqiao's back visibly stiffened.

Song Jianan said, "I won’t model anymore, I won’t pose in women’s clothing. Isn’t that enough?"

If he hadn’t woken up in the evening and seen the message Wen Xue sent him, warning him that he couldn’t continue this modeling job, why would he have to plead with Song Yuqiao like this?

Song Jianan got out of bed, walked over, and wrapped his arms around Song Yuqiao’s waist, pressing his face against his back. "Brother, please let me. I’ll be more careful from now on, I promise I won’t make you angry again."

Song Yuqiao remained unmoved. "Jia Jia, what’s so good about a part-time job? Why are you so determined to do it?"

After a moment of silence, Song Jianan replied, "Part-time jobs pay money. I want to earn money."

"What about the card I gave you?"

Song Jianan loosened his grip. "When you no longer need me, can you guarantee you won’t take the card back?"

Song Yuqiao turned around, frowning, about to say something.

Song Jianan cut him off, looking calmly into his eyes. "Don’t say you won’t."

"Song Yuqiao, you must know by now—when the Song family kicked me out, they took back everything."

"Things that don’t belong to me, I don’t dare to hope for. But I also don’t believe I’ll be able to keep them."

Song Yuqiao said, "Jia Jia, that day will never come."

Song Jianan smiled bitterly and turned his head away. "Who knows?"