TPLTMOE - Chapter 8

Ling Ran waited anxiously for Jiang Zhiyu’s nod of approval when the distant roar of car engines cut through the silence.

Voices—laughter, greetings—drifted closer, weaving through the estate toward the main hall.

His blood ran cold. Long lashes fluttered, trembling as if a single blink might send tears spilling over.

Just as footsteps crossed the threshold behind them, Jiang Zhiyu finally relented. A faint smile curved his lips as he stepped aside, granting silent permission.

Ling Ran didn’t hesitate. In three frantic strides, he bolted up the staircase, ducked into the nearest room, and slammed the door shut with a resounding bang.

Song Yi, who’d nearly taken the door to the face, froze mid-step. A cold sweat broke down his back as he glanced warily at the figure still lingering on the stairs.

The Omega had chosen the wrong room—Jiang Zhiyu’s bedroom.

Jiang Zhiyu’s expression remained unreadable, though his gaze lingered on the closed door.

Below, the newcomers caught sight of him and called out, “Ah, President Jiang! Long time no see! Old Tang and I were just admiring your beachfront villas—got any spare ones for us?”

“That coastal drive alone was worth the trip,” added Old Tang. “Though at eight figures, even if there were vacancies, my wallet would weep.”

“Come now, with our connections, surely you’d give us a friend’s discount?”

Jiang Zhiyu, who’d originally intended to change, instead loosened his tie with a careless tug. Two buttons undone, his usual stern demeanor softened into something more indolent.

With a wave, he summoned a server bearing champagne.

“Name your preferred villa,” he said, sipping his drink. “Documents processed within a week—at twenty percent off.”

Twenty percent. A discount worth millions, and a blatant power play.

Old Tang had built his fortune on hotels and tourism; Liu Xiangheng, the one angling for the deal, dominated commercial real estate. With Jiang Group’s latest land acquisition pending development, either partnership promised mutual profit. Jiang Zhiyu was more than happy to trade favors.

Owning a villa here would fuel their bragging rights for years.

Upstairs, the murmur of the growing crowd seeped through the floorboards.

Ling Ran perched on the edge of an armchair, spine rigid, as if even the furniture might reject him.

He’d realized his mistake too late—this wasn’t a guest room. The bed was broader, a set of casual clothes laid out atop the duvet. Jiang Zhiyu’s bedroom. And the man had clearly been on his way to change when Ling Ran hijacked the space.

Sneaking out now risked exposure. Better to wait out the party here.

A charging cable salvaged from the nightstand revived his dead phone. The screen lit up with a barrage of missed calls: four from Ling Mo, one from Ling Su, and twenty from Qin Chengyue.

A new message popped up:

[NoWatermelons]: LING RAN!! If you’re alive, PICK UP!!

[NoWatermelons]: WHERE ARE YOU? Ignoring calls and texts? Next step: POLICE!!!!

[NoWatermelons]: CALL ME BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The punctuation assault made his eyes ache. He dialed Qin Chengyue.

The call connected in one ring.

“Finally!” Qin Chengyue’s voice crackled with static and fury. “I thought some alpha had kidnapped you! Do you know how worried I—”

“I’m fine,” Ling Ran cut in. “Just… a minor situation. You didn’t say anything to my siblings, right?”

“Please, I’m the soul of discretion. Told your sister you’ve been with me. They bought it. But you—” A dramatic pause. “Where are you? Not home, not answering… Don’t tell me you actually eloped?!”

“Of course not!” Ling Ran’s grip tightened on the phone.

“Fine, fine. I’ll interrogate you properly later. But first—” Qin Chengyue’s tone shifted. “Do you remember Yin Chu? Chief anchor of News Breakthrough?”

Ling Ran sank onto the bed’s edge. “Of course. His show inspired half the journalism students in the country. I met him during interviews—kinder in person than on screen. Why?”

Qin Chengyue hesitated. “This is just hearsay, okay? But… I thought you should know before marrying Jiang Shengyi. Better now than after the wedding…”

The more Qin Chengyue spoke, the tighter Ling Ran’s chest became. "Chengyue, just tell me."

"Ugh—fine!" Qin Chengyue blurted out. "Jiang Shengyi actually returned yesterday. He didn’t tell you, and last night he was out celebrating with a group—including Yin Chu. I saw it on a fan’s Weibo. But the photo could be fake!"

Ling Ran’s voice was featherlight. "Send it to me."

Qin Chengyue hesitated. "Maybe you shouldn’t—Where are you? Come to my place."

"Just the photo," Ling Ran said flatly. "I’ll visit you later."

He hung up.

The chat with Jiang Shengyi—still labeled "My A-Yi ♡"—remained unanswered.

Qin Chengyue’s photo loaded: a dim, grainy shot of a private room. A crowd grinned at the camera, but in the background, two figures were entwined in an intimate embrace.

Even blurred, Ling Ran recognized Jiang Shengyi’s profile—his arms wrapped around Yin Chu.

His blood turned to ice.

Why were they so close?

Why had Shengyi never mentioned him?

Ling Ran wasn’t one to assume the worst. Despite the ache in his chest, he clung to the hope of confronting Shengyi directly.

He studied the photo until his vision blurred, until the edges of the screen smeared with unshed tears.

Dizzy, he collapsed onto the bed, burying his burning face in the duvet.

Song Yi’s meticulous cleaning had left Jiang Zhiyu’s room scentless—no trace of alpha pheromones lingered.

Time slipped away. Whether from suffocation or heartbreak, Ling Ran’s thoughts grew hazy. His limbs weakened; his skin burned.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

Beneath two layers of scent patches, his fragile glands pulsed—ripe rose-and-grape sweetness threatening to erupt.

***

Haicheng’s elite swarmed the villa.

Jiang Shengyi arrived, chest swelling with pride at the turnout. Of course, he thought. They’re here for me—for my achievements.

Yin Chu, at his side, spotted the true center of attention: Jiang Zhiyu, encircled by tycoons, effortlessly weaving business deals into casual banter.

A few guests acknowledged Jiang Shengyi—only to angle for introductions to his uncle.

Within minutes, Shengyi’s jaw clenched. "I’m leaving."

Yin Chu caught his arm. "You can’t go! This is your night."

"Look around!" Shengyi snarled, glaring at Jiang Zhiyu. "Who are they really here for? I was a fool to think he’d ever celebrate me."

"Don’t be rash," Yin Chu soothed. "He wants you to grow—to stand beside him."

Jiang Shengyi, though seething with anger, couldn’t bring himself to shake off Yin Chu’s hand.

“Chu Chu, you’re too kind-hearted. Not everyone is as understanding as you are.”

Yin Chu still refused to let him go, tugging gently at his arm. “He is your uncle, after all. The two of you are always at each other’s throats—it puts me in an awkward position. Why not take this chance to talk things out with him?”

Jiang Shengyi scoffed. “Hard pass.”

“Go on, please? Do it for me, okay?”

Yin Chu’s eyes curved into smiling crescents, his soft hair brushing against Jiang Shengyi’s arm, melting even the coldest edges of his resolve.

“Fine. Only for you.”

But when they looked up again, Jiang Zhiyu had already vanished into the crowd.

Ling Ran was trapped in a feverish haze—a sensation he’d grown familiar with, yet remained utterly powerless against.

Terrifying waves crashed over him, swallowing him whole in an instant. He writhed in agony, sobbing, desperate to claw his way out of the darkness.

But even as tears drenched his skin, his eyes refused to open.

Then, through the delirium, a large hand reached for him, steady and sure, pulling him free from the abyss.

Blinding light flooded his vision. That same hand slid down to the nape of his neck, where long, forceful fingers brushed over his swollen gland—barely grazing the barrier—and a broken, almost unrecognizable cry tore from his throat.

Ling Ran trembled violently, his skin prickling as if devoured by a thousand invisible teeth. He whimpered, shaking apart, certain he’d die from the torment.

Until—

Like parched earth split open by a sudden downpour, an overwhelming, predatory scent surged through him, flooding every vein and sinew.

The air thickened with the heady aroma of tequila, rich and intoxicating.

A single breath was enough to drown in it.

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