After Being Taken Home By A Powerful, Possessive Omega - Chapter 1

A red warning light spun inside the car.

The drowsy driver jolted awake. The instant he saw the figure ahead, his pupils contracted violently, and he wrenched the steering wheel around.

The tires carved a glaring streak across the nearly deserted national highway before the car slammed into the guardrail beside it, barely managing to stop at the roadside.

The driver took several ragged breaths and looked through the rearview mirror at the woman who had suddenly appeared in the middle of the road.

Dust drifted across the lane.

The first thing he saw was not her face, but a pale, cold wrist. An old scar crossed it like a fracture in a piece of jade.

A trace of astonishment flashed through the driver’s eyes. For a moment, he actually forgot the situation he was in. Captivated, he narrowed his eyes, wanting to get a clearer look at her face.

The white mist surrounding the woman finally dispersed, revealing half of her face beneath the moonlight.

There were injuries on her face, and her lips were deathly pale. Only her eyes held any life. Reflecting that faint glimmer of light, they were so clear they were almost frightening.

The driver’s hand tightened around his phone.

Looking at that face, he felt it was familiar. When he raised his eyes, he met a pair of pale, mechanical eyes devoid of all expression.

At first, her gaze was completely blank and unfamiliar, like a newborn child looking upon an entirely foreign world.

A scene from several years ago flashed through the driver’s mind.

He remembered the news story that had dominated the headlines for days—the young woman adopted by the Pei family who had died prematurely.

She seemed to look exactly like this woman.

Ji Chun lowered her gaze to the car that had swerved to avoid her and ended up thrown against the guardrail.

The first thing she did after coming to her senses was feel inside her pocket.

Her fingertips touched only a single banknote. Judging roughly by its size, it was probably a fifty-yuan bill.

It felt as though a chip had been implanted in her mind, buzzing noisily to make its presence known.

She exhaled softly.

Her limbs, which had not moved in a very long time, refused to budge. She could only stand rigidly in place and use the one part of her body she could still control—her eyes—to examine this unfamiliar world.

She had transmigrated.

It was difficult to accept that fact.

After all, even though she had been disabled before transmigrating, left unable to move after an accident and confined to an intensive-care cryogenic pod, her family…

Her family was not wealthy.

Nor did they love her very much.

Her sluggish, faltering brain began to turn. Something did not seem to add up.

Then why had they kept her alive in an intensive-care cryogenic pod all this time?

A sharp pain pierced her head, as though something were forcing her to avoid a certain memory.

She exhaled and stopped thinking about it, turning instead to another problem.

She had only fifty yuan.

How was she supposed to compensate them for the stretch of road that had been damaged, as well as the car that was now hanging one-third of the way over the edge?

After thinking for a while, she decided to die and return to her original world.

As long as she stood here without moving, another car would eventually come along and run her over.²

Less than a minute after making that decision, a gleaming silver Maybach sped toward her and stopped smoothly beside her legs, less than an inch away.

The heat radiating from the car brushed against her icy legs, giving her the strange sensation that she was still alive.³

The window slowly rolled down.

The face revealed behind the wheel was aloof and aristocratic. The woman wore sunglasses, concealing whatever emotion was in her eyes.

“Get in.”

Ji Chun looked at the extraordinarily expensive Maybach.

Without the slightest hesitation, she limped toward it, moving the same arm and leg together as she clumsily scrambled and practically rolled her way inside.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the woman in the driver’s seat toss a card toward the driver who had just gotten out of the crashed car.

Then she drove away without another word.⁴

Unexpectedly, compared to the car’s hard, cold exterior, the furnishings inside were somewhat old.

Still, the overall atmosphere felt warm and sunny.

A small potted cactus had been secured in front of the windshield, with a pair of sparkling googly eyes stuck onto it.

The back seats were covered in fluffy cushions, with several stuffed toys arranged on top.

It looked as though someone had decorated the car to coax a child.

Ji Chun blinked.

She felt none of the awkwardness or discomfort one might expect from climbing into a stranger’s car. She simply looked around curiously.

However, when her gaze swept over an extremely faint circuit pattern inside the car, shaped almost like a spiderweb, something needle-sharp seemed to flash in the deepest part of her vacant eyes.

It disappeared so quickly it could have been an illusion.

Then she turned toward the woman beside her, whose hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Her gaze once again became clear, dependent, and soft.

A clean, youthful voice rang out.

“Hello. My name is Ji Chun. What’s your name?”

The woman beside her did not answer.

But Ji Chun sensed the faintest tremor in her arm. Looking from the side, she could see through the sunglasses that the woman’s eyes were red.

Was she crying?

Why?

Because bringing along another person meant spending more money on fuel?

Or because Ji Chun had dirtied the passenger seat?

A traffic camera used to catch violations flashed as they passed.

Ji Chun suddenly remembered something and stiffly reached for the seat belt beside her.

Right.

Not wearing a seat belt meant a fine and penalty points.

But would someone who could afford such an expensive car really cry over that?

She tried to turn sideways and fasten it.

But her hands were so stiff. Her joints seemed to creak from being unused for so long.

After several failed attempts, she raised a pair of innocent eyes toward the silent woman beside her.

“Big Sister, I can’t fasten it properly. Don’t cry.”

The instant the words left her mouth, the woman’s hand began trembling so violently that it could not be measured.

Ji Chun quieted her breathing.

Carefully, she leaned closer and removed the sunglasses concealing the woman’s eyes.

The road lights fell into those eyes.

What lay inside was not light, but a thick silence that had been frozen for many years.

Only when an alarm suddenly sounded and red light swept across her face did a crack of living, agonized emotion split the frozen surface.

The car shook violently.

Ji Chun’s body instinctively tilted toward the woman, as if she wanted to protect something, but her confused mind stopped the movement midway.

Why did the woman beside her feel so familiar?

According to her memories, they had never met.

“Don’t move.”

The scent of sandalwood enveloped her from beside her.

It seemed to be a special kind of pheromone, and it smelled exceptionally comforting.

The car continued forward.

The flashing red alarm light fell across both of their expressionless faces, like a grand celebration.

No one stopped to watch.

At last, the nearly wrecked car came to a stop in front of a villa.²

A sensation both familiar and strange pricked at Ji Chun like a burning needle.

The car door opened, and moonlight poured in at an angle, falling across her slightly wooden face.

“Big Sister.”

Sensing the woman’s gaze, she calmly met it.

No emotion could enter the still depths of her eyes.

Pei Heng was undeniably beautiful, but Ji Chun did not feel dazzled.

What caught her attention instead was the faint beauty mark beneath the outer corner of Pei Heng’s left eye.¹

These were eyes capable of crying.

Ji Chun leaned closer again.

With one hand, she covered the woman’s eyes. With the other, she caught the scalding tear before it could fall onto the car.

Her voice was clear, gentle, and unhurried.

“Don’t cry.”

“Get out.”

The woman parted her lips slightly.

Her words carried the unmistakable authority of someone accustomed to standing above others, leaving no room for doubt.

Yet Ji Chun caught a faint crack in her voice, like an opening where the wind could slip through.

She slowly removed her right hand.

Pei Heng’s gaze fell upon Ji Chun’s slender, long fingers and the many small scars covering them.

“From now on, I’ll apply hand-care lotion for you every night.”

“Hm?”

“So rough.”

The woman leisurely picked up a silk scarf from inside the car and gently wiped the reddened corners of her eyes.⁴

Ji Chun did not quite catch those last two words.

The mechanical buzzing that had been inside her head since she woke suddenly exploded again.

She steadied her breathing and instinctively searched for a place that felt relatively safe.

Her gaze landed in Pei Heng’s eyes.

“Ding—Target individual has awakened. Binding character: Ji Chun.”

“Hello, Host. I am System 007. Congratulations on transmigrating into another world and gaining a new life. Complete the tasks issued by the system, and you will receive a perfectly healthy body.”

A perfectly healthy body.

For someone who had spent years lying in bed pretending to be a vegetable, it was undoubtedly a deadly temptation.

She had suddenly been brought to this place. Having something that knew where she came from was better than having nothing.

Ji Chun released a long breath, and her uneasy heart gradually settled.

After thinking for a few moments, she said, “I won’t do anything inhumane.”

The mechanical voice froze for several seconds.

“Of course.”

“You have transmigrated into the world of an ABO novel. The person beside you is the novel’s most significant background character, Pei Heng. She controls several of the world’s major economic lifelines. According to the known plot, she will soon turn dark, causing the world economy to collapse completely.”²

“Therefore, your mission is to win her over, give her the warmth of a family, and save the world.”

Several seconds passed after the system finished speaking before Ji Chun slowly responded.

“Transfer me to a human representative.”

The system said, “Huh?”

“Switch me to a cuter system. You sound way too much like an AI.”¹

The mechanical voice flickered several times, then fell silent.

She had read this novel before, having stumbled across it by chance before going to sleep.

But for some reason, she remembered none of it.

Her memory seemed to have been damaged in some way.³

She remembered no one.

Yet she felt an inexplicable attachment and familiarity toward the woman beside her.

“Ding—That is because the system weakened the Host’s memories and implanted a special emotional connection. This will assist with the capture mission. Once the mission is complete, everything will return to normal~”

Ji Chun listened to the upgraded System Pro voice in her head and nodded.

Mm.

That sounded more alive.

She hated lifeless things.

After getting out of the car, she slowly shuffled toward the villa like a young animal that had only just learned to control its limbs.

She walked awkwardly, repeatedly turning around to look at the woman following one step behind her with a pair of damp, pleading eyes.

She was asking for help.

She was not used to walking.

But the woman deliberately turned her gaze away and refused to look at her.

The words were practically written across her face:

Walk by yourself.

Ji Chun sighed almost imperceptibly.

It took her more than ten minutes to cross that short distance.

The moment she finally reached the door, her entire body toppled stiffly forward.

She fell into a warm embrace scented with sandalwood.

The woman’s voice was cool, low, and unhurried.

“When there aren’t many people around, call me Big Sister. When we’re outside, or when there are a lot of people at home, call me Wife.”

Ji Chun leaned against the warm embrace.

A soft spot at the back of her neck pulsed faintly, bringing with it an unfamiliar, restless urge.

The woman extended a finger and pressed it against one of the slightly protruding fangs beside Ji Chun’s teeth.

“Don’t let them come out.”

Her voice was soft and light, carrying both helplessness and a trace of shyness, as though the only problem was that the time and place were inappropriate.¹

Ji Chun nodded and retracted the two sharp teeth.

Her tongue accidentally curled around the pad of Pei Heng’s finger before the woman could pull it away.

Pei Heng lowered her eyes.

The highly intelligent door lock scanned Ji Chun’s irises, and the front door opened in response.

“Little President Ji~ Welcome home.”

The villa, which had previously been filled with noisy conversation, fell deathly silent.

Several people were scattered across the sofas.

Their intense gazes landed on Ji Chun’s face—some pitying, some teasing, some confused, and some unfamiliar.

Ji Chun instinctively grew uneasy.

She turned toward the woman half a step behind her.

“Wife.”

The woman paused while changing her shoes.

“Mm.”

Then she crouched down.

She removed the shoes from Ji Chun’s feet, held her by the ankles, and gently guided them into another pair of finely made slippers.

“Go upstairs first. Come back down for dinner later.”

“No.”

Ji Chun wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t want to eat with them.”

“They won’t be here.”

Pei Heng’s gaze softened when she felt Ji Chun looking at her with dependence.

“There is only me here.”