44: You, a Beta, Want to Sue Me on Behalf of an Omega?
3 a.m., Shengfang Biotech Headquarters underground garage.
A black business van sat parked next to the chairman’s reserved spot.
In the back seat, Hua Yong sat pressed against the window, while the driver up front had just swapped out on shift.
Both Chang Yu and Shen Wenlang agreed: it was utterly absurd that Hua Yong personally monitored Sheng Shaoyou’s every move almost 24 hours a day.
But no one dared interfere with this high–ranking, wildly wealthy young man hopelessly consumed by love.
No one dared ask why he insisted on staying so close, lowering himself to play paparazzi for the crown prince of Shengfang.
“Love makes people crazy,” Shen Wenlang had remarked.
And not just Hua Yong—his Beta secretary, Gao Tu, seemed to be going crazy lately too.
He’d been taking inexplicable leave, and on his first day back even started discussing personal topics like child–rearing with Shen.
Then, even more outrageously, not long after that conversation, this Beta—who had trailed behind Shen like a tail since school—actually handed in his resignation.
Seriously?
Resigning… to take care of a pregnant Omega partner?
Staring at Gao Tu’s resignation letter, Shen Wenlang laughed angrily. No wonder the usually tight–lipped Gao had suddenly brought up children.
When Gao had said, “If your Omega got pregnant one day, what would you do?”, Shen—remembering how he’d drunkenly slept with an Omega—immediately darkened and retorted harshly:
“Obviously, abort it. What else?”
Gao’s face had turned strange then, hurt and a little horrified.
Shen’s mood had soured further:
“Don’t ask me dumb questions like that during work. You know I hate Omegas.”
For years Gao had handled dozens—maybe hundreds—of Omegas on his behalf.
And now he was asking stupid crap like this?
Lately, always leaving work to soothe that melodramatic Omega at home—had Gao caught that idiot Omega’s disease?
“Anything else? If not, get out.”
The thought of some Omega lying in Gao’s arms through every heat, his own temper flared.
Gao stood silently at the desk for a moment longer, as if still unwilling to give up. Then, hesitantly:
“But forcing an Omega to abort…”
“Stop saying Omega this, Omega that. Don’t you find it disgusting?”
Gao’s face flushed red, his hands trembling slightly, and his voice rose:
“Mr. Shen, please stop saying such insulting things about Omegas! That violates the ABO Equality Accord!”
In ten years, Gao had never spoken to him that way.
Shen Wenlang never imagined the meek, silent Beta—who always followed behind him—would one day stand up to him… over an Omega.
Anger roared through him. He lifted his chin and sneered:
“What’s wrong, Gao? You, a Beta, want to sue me on behalf of an Omega?”
—
In the end, Gao didn’t sue him.
But he did resign… for the sake of a pregnant Omega.
Looking at Gao’s resignation report, Shen was livid, writing him off as another lovesick idiot.
This moron had clearly lost his mind.
He thought any other boss would be as lenient as Shen? Letting him take leave at will, paying him enough to support his hospitalized sister and that troublesome, pregnant, heat–ridden Omega?
The thought of the thick scent that clung to Gao made Shen irritable.
How much fluid exchange had to happen for that Omega’s scent to stick so stubbornly to Gao? Who knew Gao, who seemed so proper, was actually such a beast in bed?
No—why the hell did he care how Gao was in bed?!
Damn it! He must’ve caught that lovesick fool’s disease—thinking all kinds of nonsense!
—
In the rearview mirror, Hua Yong reclined lazily, his shoulders relaxed.
No one would guess he hadn’t slept in nearly 96 hours.
This young master was absurdly strong—always someone others looked up to—but never as openly ruthless as his predecessor.
His face was exquisite, his demeanor calm, and only when angered did he reveal the chilling pressure of a ruler.
If the X Group’s leadership had feared the previous master more than they respected him, then with Hua Yong they both respected and loved him.
This beautiful young man—who’d ascended at barely twenty—was their emperor, their beacon.
He’d led them out of the bloody shadows into a path where they could rise without sacrificing their lives.
If the executives of X Holdings had a god, it was Hua Yong.
And tonight, that god showed no sign of sleep.
He lowered his gaze to review a report sent from P‑country.
From the rearview, the driver stole a glance at his young master. As always, his expression was unreadable, his features so perfect they hardly seemed real.
Then Hua Yong’s brow twitched. His sharp eyes lifted toward the dark lobby.
Five seconds later, the garage lights flickered on one by one.
“Kill the engine,” he ordered.
The driver complied at once, the dim light casting dangerous shadows across Hua’s face.
Click clack click.
A pair of hurried footsteps echoed through the garage.
Two masked men—one tall, one short—emerged from the building carrying a heavy, tightly–tied sack.
They moved quickly, working in sync, loading the sack into a van in less than two minutes.
The van roared to life and sped out of the garage.
The driver held his breath, watching, awaiting instructions.
The young master’s expression chilled, a deadly edge glinting in his eyes.
“Don’t lose them. The Alpha in that van is mine.”
The driver shivered, hurriedly started the car, and gave chase.
Those two fools had just stepped on a landmine—an unimaginable storm was coming.
—
On the outskirts of Jianghu, an abandoned warehouse.
The world outside was silent, save for a few faint dog barks.
Inside, dark and empty.
Sheng Shaoyou’s unconsciousness didn’t last long.
His S‑class Alpha body shook off the drugs quickly, and he opened his eyes, dazed for only a moment before clearing.
One kidnapper cursed when he saw:
“Shit, he’s awake! Didn’t they say that dose could knock out an elephant?!”
“Figures—an S‑class freak! Even harder to tame than a wild elephant. Whatever—better that he’s awake.”
From the shadows stepped a tall, scarred middle–aged man who yanked Sheng upright by his collar and sneered:
“Since you’re awake, don’t sit around. You’re not here to enjoy yourself.”
He kicked Sheng behind the knee, forcing him to kneel.
Sheng’s hands were tied, his head heavy, his face bloodied.
Father sick, company attacked, stock price crashing, lover kidnapped, natural disasters, emotional betrayal, now a ransom… what a shit year.
That feng shui master he paid two million to must’ve been a scam.
Through dry lips, he rasped:
“Gentlemen, we’ve never met, no grudges, right?”
“‘Gentlemen?'” The shorter man snorted. “Low–grade Alphas like us aren’t worthy of being friends with a fancy S‑class.”
“Ah, but everyone is a brother under heaven,” Sheng replied mildly. “You’re clearly here for money. Why not untie me and talk terms?”
His faintly–released S‑class pheromones made both men stiffen instinctively, despite him kneeling below them.
“We have nothing to talk about,” the short one spat. “We’re extreme anti‑S‑class activists. We hate arrogant S‑class Alphas and Omegas. You’re just unlucky to meet us.”
Sheng smirked faintly. Yeah right. You’re obviously hired muscle.
He wanted to suggest they go stake out X Holdings instead.
“What a noble cause,” he drawled. “Kidnapping in the name of faith?”
“Shut up!” the taller one barked, drawing a syringe full of pale blue liquid and jabbing it into Sheng’s neck.
The mixture of anesthetic and suppressant hit hard. His vision blurred, pain biting at his glands.
“Don’t go overboard! Killing costs extra!”
“Relax. Just a suppressant.”
The tall man drew a gleaming knife.
“S‑class, huh? Let’s see how cocky you are after we castrate you and rip out your gland.”
That word—castrate—finally made Sheng laugh, even as blood streaked his face.
He raised his chin, the ropes straining against his wrists until the fibers snapped, his hands free.
The scene looked like a frame from some forbidden, dark‑themed film—businessman–turned‑feral predator.
His suppressed pheromones burst out like fire, filling the room, forcing the D‑class Alpha to collapse bleeding and screaming.
The taller man, trembling despite his mask, tightened his grip on the knife.
Sheng’s figure loomed in the harsh light, his face half–hidden in shadow, cold lips curling into a deadly smile.
Slowly standing, he planted a polished shoe on the smaller man’s throat and asked—word by word:
“You. Want. To. Castrate. Me?”