A Hidden Marriage Daily Life with the Film Empress O - Chapter 7

Tears kept sliding down from the corners of her eyes, seeping into her disheveled hair and leaving cold, wet traces behind. But she did not even have the strength to raise a hand and wipe them away.

Her body seemed to be trapped in a sticky swamp. The more she struggled, the heavier the force dragging her downward became.

“Intern teacher.”

She opened her mouth, and the taste of blood instantly flooded her entire mouth. At last, she squeezed a few words out from between her teeth.

A sharp pain suddenly came from her chest, as if someone were gripping a dull knife soaked in water and stabbing it fiercely into her, slowly stirring it around. Numbness and agony mixed together, making her unable to hold back a muffled groan.

“I… was only showing her around the school.”

Chang Qingyuan’s gaze passed over Si Beimuo’s tense shoulders and stared blankly at the ceiling. There was a water stain there, now blurred into an indistinct patch in the dimness, almost merging with the mottled wall paint.

She deliberately said it lightly, as if it were nothing. The end of her sentence even carried a faint, aggrieved tremble, as though she were explaining something perfectly ordinary.

“Are all the teachers at your school dead?”

Sure enough, Si Beimuo’s fuse was lit. The moment her anger erupted, it broke through her reason. She suddenly grabbed Chang Qingyuan’s cheeks, her fingertips grinding hard over the other woman’s bleeding lips.

“Why did it have to be you? Hm?”

The possessiveness surging in those eyes was almost overflowing, thick as ink that could not be dissolved, carrying a suffocating sense of control.

Chang Qingyuan trembled all over under that gaze. A near-suffocating pleasure climbed up along her spine, deepening the “despair” in her eyes by a few degrees. Even her breathing trembled in secret.

“I understand.”

Si Beimuo suddenly let go and straightened, her movements carrying a kind of calm before the storm.

She turned her head and looked to the side. The baseball bat she had dragged across the floor earlier had been tossed there, its metal body still stained with tiny flecks of blood.

“I’m going to kill that woman.”

Her voice was very soft, yet every word was clear. The killing intent in her eyes was undisguised, like a vicious beast staring at its prey.

Chang Qingyuan suddenly remembered what had happened half a year ago. It had been the same kind of out-of-control scene. Si Beimuo had held a broken wine bottle against an unconscious woman’s throat. In the end, Chang Qingyuan had crawled on her knees to Si Beimuo’s feet and been kicked until her ribs fractured before she barely managed to stop her.

The throbbing pain in her chest had yet to fade when another large mouthful of warm blood surged up, flowing down from the corner of her mouth and staining the skin at her neck red.

Si Beimuo had already stood up, still wrapped in a lingering murderous aura. She turned and was about to walk toward the door. Each step landed on the scattered glass shards, making crisp crunching sounds.

“Si Beimuo, Si Beimuo, don’t, don’t!”

Chang Qingyuan was so anxious that her whole body trembled. The remaining strength in her surged up. She struggled to lift her arm, and though the wound on her wrist was still bleeding, she grabbed Si Beimuo’s pant leg tightly, her nails almost digging into the fabric.

“It has nothing to do with her. She’s just a kid who only recently graduated. Don’t…”

She was not concerned about that intern teacher she barely knew. She was afraid. Si Beimuo was a Film Empress, a public figure. If someone really died, the consequences would be unimaginable.

With this person’s paranoia, if things truly reached that point, Si Beimuo might really act with the thought of dragging them both down together. And when that time came, the one locked away in a psychiatric hospital would only be her.

How could that be allowed?

How could she let the “pet” she had raised slip out of her control?

Si Beimuo’s movements came to an abrupt stop, as if she had been frozen in place. She stood stiffly where she was, the muscles in her back still tense, the hostility around her almost solidifying.

After a few seconds, she slowly lowered her head and looked down at the person lying on the floor.

The Alpha, who had always been cold and noble, had buried her head very, very low. The loose strands of hair over her forehead covered most of her face, leaving only her pale earlobes and constantly trembling shoulders visible. Her entire body gave off a battered, fragile vulnerability.

Her disheveled clothes could not hide the wounds covering her body. Blood from her wrist was dripping between her fingers onto Si Beimuo’s pant leg, spreading into small red marks.

Si Beimuo’s chaotic eyes went dazed for a moment. The killing intent churning in them seemed to be scalded by this fragility, and the hostility that had rushed straight to the top of her head suddenly jammed.

She stared at the hand gripping her pant leg tightly. Its knuckles had turned white from exertion, and it was stained with dirt and blood. Strangely, the impulse in her heart to destroy everything actually slowed.

Her thoughts seemed to be tugged by invisible threads, abruptly pulling her back to the afternoon when she first met this person.

Light in the auditorium slanted in through the tall windows, and dust floated in the beams. All the noise became a blurred background sound. Only the Alpha on the award stage was the clear focus.

That person wore an ordinary blue-and-white school uniform. Her slightly lowered eyelashes cast a small shadow beneath her eyes. When she accepted the trophy, her fingertips trembled faintly, but the instant she looked toward the audience below the stage, fragments of light burst in her eyes.

It was the unpolished brilliance of youth, mixed with just the right amount of a smile. Even the curve of her lips seemed like a trace kissed by sunlight.

The people around were applauding, saying she was a genius rarely seen in a hundred years, saying her future was promising. Even the air seemed filled with certainty about a “bright future,” so dazzling that one did not dare look directly at it, as if one more glance would burn them with hope that was far too blazing.