Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Forget it, why humiliate myself?

He ultimately gave up.

A few days before the performance, Ji Qingyu grew restless, compulsively clearing out clutter around the house. In the villa's piano room, he stumbled upon a wooden box tucked away in the deepest part of the wardrobe, hidden beneath a pile of miscellaneous items.

Ji Qingyu wiped the dust off the box, slid the golden latch to one side, and with a rhythmic click, lifted the lid.

Inside were dozens of used pheromone suppressant bottles, scattered randomly. Beneath them lay a thin injection journal.

The records were remarkably regular: almost every few months, there would be a cycle of injections—three times daily during each period, with dosages increasing over time. This was completely abnormal.

It indicated that the omega’s heat cycles were rarely fulfilled. Without sufficient alpha pheromones, they had to rely on medication. Ji Qingyu knew that only bonded omegas experienced heats this intense.

They desperately craved their partner’s pheromones. If they didn’t receive enough, their bodies would burn with relentless desire.

Some alphas even used their pheromones to manipulate omegas, prolonging their heats to satisfy their own selfish desires.

This was not a good thing.

Ji Qingyu had endured six years with the cheapest, lowest-quality suppressants. His once healthy body had become weak and emaciated, and his reflexes and concentration had declined as a result.

According to the log, this omega had relied on suppressants for over eight years.

It meant this omega had been controlled by their alpha partner for a long time.

Ji Qingyu’s palms felt cold. He flipped to the last page and saw the name Luo Sheng. His anxious heart sank completely.

There were also two letters, likely addressed to Fu Han. Ji Qingyu didn’t read them. He tidied everything up, curious why Fu Han hadn’t taken this box away as well. Perhaps he had forgotten.

He decided to ask Aunt Wang what items Fu Han usually took. Before he could find her, Fu Han’s assistant suddenly arrived.

“Madam, President Fu sent me to retrieve two letters,” the assistant said, looking anxious and almost in tears when he saw Ji Qingyu. “He said they’re in a wooden box—very important items.”

“Wait a moment,” Ji Qingyu said. Just as he thought. He handed the box and letters to the assistant and was about to say goodbye when he noticed the assistant hesitating.

“What is it? Just say it, don’t be afraid,” Ji Qingyu said, offering the assistant a cup of warm water.

“Madam, President Fu has been in a bad mood these past few days. I made a mistake at work and upset him. Going back now would mean getting scolded,” the assistant said, his face turning red with embarrassment. “Could you come with me? Just for a little while—I’ll deliver it and we’ll leave immediately.”

Ji Qingyu thought his presence would only make things worse. What might have been a mild scolding could turn into a dismissal if he interfered.

He was about to refuse, but seeing the assistant’s pleading eyes, his heart softened. Besides, Fu Han treated everyone the same—perhaps his presence could divert some of the anger.

He got into the car with the assistant. The interior carried a cool sandalwood fragrance. Both sat in silence. The assistant spoke first: “Madam, President Fu placed your wedding photos on his desk—several of them.”

“Oh,” Ji Qingyu replied woodenly. His hair was tied back, falling softly over his shoulders. He clasped the box tightly with both hands and asked softly, “Is it because his office often hosts business clients?”

Maintaining a good family image was important.

“Madam, a while ago, the president stopped working overtime, but then he started again. I asked him about it, and he said there was no one at home…” The assistant’s voice grew quieter. “Were you very busy recently?”

Ji Qingyu forced a dry laugh. “Just keeping myself occupied, nothing serious.”

The assistant kept talking, unable to contain himself. “Actually, I used to be a fan of Fu Ran’s pairing, but now I fully support you two. I even have videos of your wedding saved on my phone.”

Ji Qingyu was stunned. The assistant handed him a phone. The video on the screen had high views—it showed him and Fu Han exchanging vows. Fu Han’s hand rested on Ji Qingyu’s waist, his gaze intense as he looked down at him. Ji Qingyu quickly handed the phone back.

Before he could say anything, the driver turned sharply, and the car stopped at the company building. Ji Qingyu followed the assistant cautiously upstairs. As the elevator doors opened on the top floor, he heard the sound of reprimands.

When he turned around, the assistant pushed him into the office and disappeared.

Clutching the box, Ji Qingyu walked in uncertainly. Fu Han was as intimidating as always, his calm demeanor intimidating. Several employees stood trembling before him. The heavy atmosphere was abruptly broken by Ji Qingyu’s entrance.

“What are you doing here?” Fu Han’s frown deepened, his tone cold and distant. He waved his subordinates away and loosened his tie, leaning against his desk.

“I—I came to deliver something,” Ji Qingyu said, glancing around. There were no wedding photos on the desk. He quickly handed over the box and prepared to leave immediately.

“Stop.” Fu Han’s voice turned icy. Ji Qingyu froze in place.

Fu Han knocked on the box, the sound clear and measured. “Did you look at what’s inside?”

“No,” Ji Qingyu replied, thinking, Let’s assume you’re talking about the letters.

But Fu Han opened the box and took out the two letters, unfolding them slowly. “These were written by my other father. His name was Luo Sheng.”

“Where is he now?” Ji Qingyu went along with it, following Fu Han’s lead.

“I don’t know. He left me. He disappeared when I was eight and never came back.” Fu Han tossed the letters back into the box. The glass bottles inside clinked softly. Ji Qingyu watched him, unsure why Fu Han was suddenly sharing this.

The office curtains were half-drawn, keeping out the sunlight from reaching their corner. Fu Han’s expression was blank, showing neither sadness nor emotion.

Ji Qingyu often felt that Fu Han was an emotionless being, always wearing the same impenetrable expression that made him seem distant and cold.

Fu Han spoke flatly, as if recounting someone else’s story. “The day he left, it was heavy rain. The storm washed away all traces of him. No one knew where he went. Fu Yunbai searched all over Jing City for him. Over the years, numerous agents have been sent to look for him across the country, but he was never found.”

“When he was still around, I often thought he was easily softened. Any servant who spoke kindly to him could make him happy for a long time.” Fu Han took out a cigarette from his pocket but resisted lighting it.

Fu Han’s face was frosty. Ji Qingyu couldn’t detect any emotion in him and could only listen silently.

“Later, he cut his own gland.”

Ji Qingyu’s heart tightened, and he looked up suddenly. For an omega to destroy their own gland—no one could predict the consequences. Without the gland to provide a constant hormone supply, it could be fatal for an omega.

Ji Qingyu thought of his own short time being a mother. He knew that if a mother were still alive, they would always care about their child. It was like the alpha-omega attraction—a fundamental natural law. Even after nearly six years, the memory of his lost child still caused him pain.

How desperate must Luo Sheng have been to choose never to return, never to see his child again? Or perhaps he had died while escaping long ago.

“Why were there so many used suppressants?” Grief clawed at Ji Qingyu’s heart, and he couldn’t help but ask.

“Because Fu Yunbai is a monster.” Fu Han’s voice dripped with hatred. “He couldn’t tell whether he loved or hated Luo Sheng more. Maybe he was just insecure—afraid my mother would leave him.”

“So he led Luo Sheng on, denying him pheromones? Forcing Luo Sheng to beg?” Ji Qingyu felt a wave of despair. Why could alphas mark countless omegas, while for omegas, once marked, it was like being trapped in an inescapable cage, forced to beg like a dog for scraps?

Ji Qingyu thought Luo Sheng had done the right thing by leaving. He should have run far away, to a place where no one could ever find him.

“I will never forgive Fu Yunbai. Of course, I won’t forgive Luo Sheng either, and I certainly won’t let you off.” Fu Han closed the wooden box and placed it on the desk. “What you did is no different from what they did—in fact, it’s even worse.”

Ji Qingyu curled his fingers, speechless.

Fu Han’s cold gaze settled on Ji Qingyu’s face, the kind of scrutinizing look that sent chills down his spine. He wondered if Fu Han had inherited Fu Yunbai’s genes and would subject him to the same cruelty.

It was almost laughable. Even without Fu Han lifting a finger, he had already endured such torment for six years.

Ji Qingyu didn’t want to hear anymore and turned to leave.

Fu Han’s hand reached from behind and settled on Ji Qingyu’s lower stomach. His tone was icy, laced with a probing question: “Ji Qingyu, is there anything you’re hiding from me? Speak now, while you still can.”

Ji Qingyu closed his eyes; all he wanted was to leave. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He felt Fu Han's grip on his abdomen tighten—Fu Han was growing even angrier. These past two days, Fu Han had been acting strangely, and this inexplicable rage left Ji Qingyu unable to pinpoint its cause.

Fu Han's emotions were always buried too deep. Ji Qingyu wasn't the most perceptive and couldn't uncover the root of it all, but he also didn't want to keep apologizing blindly.

He simply felt an extraordinary sympathy for Luo Sheng—a husband who was an obsessive, possessive madman, a son who resented him for leaving, a damaged gland, a promising future ruined in an instant, perhaps never again having the chance to return to the stage, forced to live in hiding. Or maybe not even that—perhaps he was already a ghost.

Who cared what Luo Sheng had been through all these years?

His own heart ached in sympathy. Thinking about it, his own experiences weren’t so different from Luo Sheng’s. The only difference was that he couldn’t even escape—even more pitiful.

Fu Han was clearly dissatisfied with his answer. That handsome mouth seemed ready to unleash more, an endless stream of venomous words, but in the end, he only grabbed Ji Qingyu’s wrist and pulled him into the break room.

When he was thrown onto the bed, Ji Qingyu noticed the photo frames on the bedside table, all turned face down. He had no way of knowing what was in them. The alpha bared his sharp teeth, and suddenly Ji Qingyu remembered his own child—the child he had aborted himself. Six years ago, those hopeless days and nights had pushed him to make that decision.

Poverty, illness, debt—how could he have brought a child into that?

Yet even as he tried to console himself, his lower abdomen seized with pain, and his heart felt as if it were being torn apart. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused. Now, filled with regret, he suffered the consequences of his actions every moment. He thought, perhaps Fu Han was right—he wasn’t a good mother.

Fu Han leaned over him again, his grip on Ji Qingyu’s chin so forceful that the cold, sharp pain reverberated through him.

His teeth brushed against Ji Qingyu’s gland, as if he were about to bite down viciously the next second.

Author's Note: