A Heartless Omega Regrets It When I’m Dying - Chapter 11

When Lin Wantang returned with the suppressant, Wen Zhiqing was already leaning against the edge of the bed. A cold, white hand gripped the sheets tight, knuckles bent with force, fingertips trembling in a way that looked like a seductive invitation. It was an act of extreme restraint, yet it carried a fractured, raw sensuality.

Lin Wantang lowered her eyes and tightened her grip on the suppressant.

She no longer loved Wen Zhiqing, but seeing her in such an uncontrollable state made a spot in her chest feel as though it had been seared by an ember—a faint, lingering throb. This tiny ache was likely just the ineradicable familiarity left behind in some corner of her heart that hadn’t been cleared out yet. Lin Wantang felt a surge of self-loathing; she had always been such a weak, indecisive person.

“Let me help you sit up first. You might have a slight headache after the injection, so you should rest early.”

There was no response. The room was silent save for Wen Zhiqing’s forced, ragged breathing—a tacit consent.

Lin Wantang paused for a moment before walking over.

Up close, she noticed that the skin exposed at Wen’s collar was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, shimmering under the lamp. The carotid artery in her pale neck beat visibly and urgently, the frequency startlingly fast. The deity usually enshrined above the clouds had collapsed; her breath was hot and broken, her lips lush and moist from unconscious biting. Her unfocused eyes were filled with shimmering, scattered light, a sight that could easily provoke dark, hidden desires in a bystander.

But Lin Wantang was never one to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable position.

She placed the suppressant on the pillow and leaned down, gently supporting Wen Zhiqing’s back to help her onto the bed.

Everything changed the moment Lin Wantang’s cool fingertips accidentally brushed against the slick, burning skin of Wen’s shoulder. In an instant, Wen Zhiqing’s well-defined hand clamped onto Lin’s wrist. Her grip was incredibly strong; the faint blue veins on the back of her hand bulged slightly against her stark white skin.

Lin Wantang tried to pull away. In the chaotic struggle of strength, an arm swung out and swept the suppressant off the pillow. The glass shattered the moment it hit the wooden floor, splashing a large dark stain of liquid that began to wind its way through the grain of the wood.

The slightly bitter scent of the medication diffused into the air, and everything thereafter was blurred into a damp night filled with overflowing pheromones.

Snow began to fall in the latter half of the night, covering the ground in a cold white that mirrored the morning light.

Lin Wantang opened her eyes. The heavy curtains blocked out the post-snow dawn, but in the dim light, she could see the disheveled bedding and the wool blanket piled on the floor. The lingering, intertwined scents of galbanum and tangerine pheromones still hung in the air.

But she couldn’t remember the details of the previous night clearly.

She used to be incredibly addicted to these intimate moments with Wen Zhiqing. She loved gazing at Wen’s blurred face—perhaps because it was the one time she could truly help her, or perhaps because it was the only time she saw expressions other than detachment or mockery.

But now, Lin Wantang felt a wave of nausea.

Wen Zhiqing loathed her so much; these moments during her heat were likely when she felt the most disgust and desperation. Yet, the old Lin Wantang had immersed herself in this fake intimacy. Looking back, she felt her past self was pathetically, disgustingly sentimental.

Lin Wantang propped herself up and looked at the glass shards on the floor, giving a silent, hollow laugh.

In truth, there was no difference between her and a bottle of suppressant.

It was such an obvious fact, yet she had spent so long deceiving herself. She found her own foolishness laughable.

Lin Wantang looked at her finger, still wrapped in the band-aid from the night before. Overnight, the edges had begun to fray and curl. She pinched a corner with her nail and slowly peeled it off, revealing the scabbed-over scratch.

Yesterday’s heart-wrenching pain had left behind only a healing mark today. In a few more days, even the scratch would vanish.

Feelings were the same way.

Once she understood this, Lin Wantang smiled with relief. Her smile was beautiful; as her features relaxed, the gloom that had gathered over the past few days suddenly dissolved. The smile spread from the depths of her eyes, rippling out like a gentle, shimmering light.

When Wen Zhiqing woke, she caught a hazy glimpse of Lin Wantang looking down at her finger with a soft, silent smile. Wen dithered for a split second before her expression darkened.

Lin Wantang didn’t notice she was awake. She carefully avoided the glass on the floor to put on her shoes, then used some tissues to pick up the large shards and drop them into the trash. It was only when she turned back to deal with the smaller splinters that she realized Wen was awake.

Wen Zhiqing’s face was grim, her gaze sharpened with undisguised loathing. Lin Wantang avoided her eyes but paused to offer a reminder: “There are still small glass shards on the floor. Don’t walk barefoot in here.”

Still no response.

Wen Zhiqing threw back the covers and turned her back to Lin. In the dim light, the rise of her shoulder blades and the curve of her waist were stark, sketching a sharp, fragile silhouette.

Without a word, she dressed herself and headed straight for the door. As her hand gripped the handle, she looked back, flashing a smile that was a mix of malice and a trace of pity: “So, you’ve started practicing your job as a maid? Not bad. It gives you another career option for the future.”

Wen Zhiqing slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply. Lin Wantang didn’t give one anyway. She carefully dumped the last of the glass dust into the trash and slowly stood up.

In truth, the comment didn’t hurt her much. She had heard such ugly things too many times throughout her life.

Her earliest memory of childhood was living with her grandmother in a dilapidated residential building in a small county. Occasionally, when she went downstairs, other children would scream “bastard” at her.

Then one day, the doorbell rang. Lin Wantang ran to open it and saw two young, beautiful women standing against the light. They looked completely out of place in that old neighborhood; their glamorous clothes, jewelry, and expensive perfume shouted that they were from a distant, prosperous city.

Lin Wantang looked up and saw one woman whisper to the other. The second woman nodded slightly, but their faces were expressionless, their gazes devoid of warmth.

The two women—one an Alpha named Lin Shen, the other an Omega named Shi Cen—told her they were her mothers. She followed them to a luxury villa in North City. Soon after, a younger sister arrived.

Lin Wantang’s life didn’t change much after the sister was born; she still got new clothes and had a driver take her to school.

But she was incomparable to her sister, Shi Huan.

Shi Huan’s clothes were custom-made, every stitch woven by hand. Shi Huan was personally picked up from school by Shi Cen. When they returned, Lin Shen would personally tutor her. But Lin Shen and Shi Cen couldn’t remember what grade Lin Wantang was in, nor did they know her grades. They would cuddle with Shi Huan to sleep, but Lin Wantang was never allowed into their bedroom.

Lin Wantang thought for a long time about the difference between her and Shi Huan. The only thing she could come up with was that she took her Alpha mother’s surname, Lin, while Shi Huan took her Omega mother’s surname, Shi.

She felt like the villa wasn’t her home, and Lin Shen and Shi Cen weren’t her mothers.

After failing to be loved like her sister despite trying everything, ten-year-old Lin Wantang finally snapped. She cried and threw a tantrum, demanding to leave.

Amidst the mess, she heard her Omega mother scoff coldly: “A wolf cub that can never be tamed, indeed.”

That was when she finally learned the truth: she was Lin Shen’s daughter, but not Shi Cen’s.

“Wantang, be good, okay? We could have left you with your grandmother forever. We only brought you here because we couldn’t bear it and wanted you to have a better education so you can live independently later.”

“Wantang, you and Huanhuan are different. Huanhuan is the daughter Cen-cen and I share. Can you stop being spiteful and trying to compete with her?”

“Wantang, though it sounds cruel, I hope you can recognize your place. It’s better for everyone.”

After learning the truth, Lin Wantang was silent for a long time. Finally, she asked just one thing: “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

If she had known sooner, she wouldn’t have made such an ugly display of herself by craving their maternal love. She wouldn’t have lost her balance and shed those cheap tears over countless nights.

“It was because we loved you that we didn’t have the heart to tell you. We wanted to wait until you were an adult. Who knew you’d be so obsessed with status at such a young age…”

Much later, Lin Wantang nodded slowly: “I understand.”

Both were Lin Shen’s biological daughters, but Lin Shen only loved the crystallization of her true love. Lin Wantang was merely a burden she was forced to carry—a leftover from a former wife she never spoke of. In fact, Lin Shen felt a heavy sense of guilt toward Shi Cen and Shi Huan for forcing them to accept Lin Wantang’s existence.

Lin Wantang wanted to leave, to have a home that truly belonged to her, but she was just a child. That wish was a fantasy.

But she stopped using their maids and drivers. She took the bus to school and cleaned her own room. Occasionally, Lin Shen would see this and praise her for her independence, saying she’d surely find plenty of part-time jobs in university. Or, even if she didn’t get into college, she could at least find work as a cleaner and not starve to death.

That was when Lin Wantang realized that after the college entrance exams, Lin Shen would cut her off entirely. Lin Shen intended to leave everything to Shi Huan.

Knowing this, Lin Wantang actually let out a long sigh of relief, as if confirming an ending she had long suspected.

Pulling herself out of the old memories, Lin Wantang thought of Wen Zhiqing’s parting words and smiled with a sense of peace. It was just like all those years ago.

No matter how hard she tried, no one had ever truly loved her, and she had never had a home that truly belonged to her.

But it didn’t matter. From now on, she would love herself. She would give herself a home.

She would never again pin her hopes on something as ethereal as love.