Mistakenly Marked – Chapter 18

Hospital Ward

The late-spring nighttime chill slowly vanished.

The car’s interior was cramped, suffocating.

            

The omega tilted her head back, shoulders pinned by the person before her, pressed into the seat, spine sinking into the backrest.

But she didn’t struggle at all.

Behind the sunglasses, pale silver eyes like polished glass trembled, gaze lowering to the person nodding almost meekly.

            

Heartbeat instantly like a drum.

A moment later.

Beside the road where the crowd had dispersed, the black Bentley’s door was opened. The person in the passenger seat stepped out and hurried around to the other side.

            

After opening the door and leaning down, Bo Suiqing draped Xu Jialuo’s arm over her shoulder and carefully helped her out.

Thankfully, she’d changed into flat shoes after the gala—moving around would be much easier.

But supporting someone a full head taller than herself was still a struggle.

            

Bo Suiqing didn’t feel tired, though.

She just kept watching Xu Jialuo’s flushed, fever-burnt face and tightly furrowed brows, one hand braced against the car, shuffling step by step until she finally settled her into the passenger seat.

Before starting the engine, Xu Jialuo’s phone—left on the driver’s seat—began to ring.

            

Bo Suiqing picked it up. The screen showed the caller ID: “Lin Qingman.”

Eager to get Xu Jialuo to the hospital, she hit decline.

But the caller rang right back. As she declined again, her finger slipped an extra swipe, landing on the call log.

            

A long string of mutual call records filled the screen.

Bo Suiqing’s movements froze. Her gaze stalled.

The warmth that had been gathering in those pale silver eyes gradually cooled, crystallizing into a sheet of glacial ice.

            

A few seconds later, she set the phone to silent and slipped it back into Xu Jialuo’s jacket pocket.

She started the engine and drove off.

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“The test results will take a little while. Please wait, Miss Bo.”

            

“Mm.” Bo Suiqing turned her head, gaze fixed through the small window in the ward door on the person lying in the hospital bed. “I don’t want any related news leaking out from here.”

“You can rest assured on that front. This is a VIP ward—we take your privacy and the patient’s very seriously.”

The vice president smiled and made small talk.

            

“Your mother recently donated a batch of new equipment to the hospital. Our administration and patients are all deeply grateful.”

Then he lowered his voice. “I ran into Professor Xu today. He mentioned you didn’t come in for your treatment this morning—what—”

“Please pass a message to the Professor for me,” Bo Suiqing cut in. “From now on, I won’t be continuing treatment.”

            

The vice president was taken aback. “Has the treatment taken effect, then? Your pheromones won’t go… out of control anymore?”

“Mm.”

In truth, they hadn’t.

            

It was just that the unsolvable contradiction triggering her condition had been resolved.

The vice president nodded. “That’s wonderful.”

He turned to look at a doctor approaching nearby. “Doctor Chen is the youngest and most accomplished Chief Physician in our Pheromone Department. She’ll take excellent care of your friend.”

            

“Hello. Chen Yanbai, Pheromone Department.” The short-haired doctor with a crisp, efficient bearing stepped forward and got straight to the point. “How old is your friend?”

“Twenty-five.”

The doctor nodded. “Based on a preliminary assessment, though cases like this are quite rare, your friend appears to have differentiated.”

            

Even though she’d suspected as much, Bo Suiqing still faltered. “Why is this happening?”

“Twenty-five is indeed well past the average age for differentiation. But your friend’s case is exceptional—her scent gland sustained an injury.”

Bo Suiqing froze for a beat. “An… injury?”

            

Hearing the surprise in her voice—clearly she hadn’t known—the doctor looked puzzled. “You didn’t know? A scar that long…”

If they were friends, it would be hard to miss.

“…”

            

Bo Suiqing didn’t answer.

With the mask removed and only sunglasses left, the flawless, fluid lines of her beautiful face visibly tightened.

Perhaps touching on patient privacy, the doctor hesitated for a second. After receiving a glance from the vice president signaling her to continue, she went on.

            

“Your friend has an old scar approximately five centimeters long on her scent gland.

“It appears the injury was quite severe at the time—likely it damaged the gland and arrested her differentiation.”

“…Old… scar…”

            

Repeating the doctor’s words without realizing it, Bo Suiqing asked quietly, “How long ago was the wound inflicted?”

“That’s impossible to determine.”

The doctor shook her head. “Once your friend regains consciousness, you can ask her yourself.”

            

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Below the 813 Building.

The night grew darker, the crowd thinning.

The driver pulled his searching gaze from the scattered people and turned to the person in the back seat.

            

“Miss, please don’t worry. Miss Xu may have already gone home on her own.”

“Gone home? Then why isn’t she answering my calls?”

Lin Qingman frowned and hit redial again. Still no answer.

            

Xu Jialuo was always so polite—she’d picked up every single time before. She’d never done this.

And the first two calls had been actively declined.

Had something happened?

            

Were there any recent kidnappings?

The more Lin Qingman thought about it, the more frightened she became. She looked down, scrolled through her contacts, and made another call.

“…Who is this?”

            

“Shangning-jie, it’s me, Lin Qingman.”

“…Hm?” On the other end, Xu Shangning was clearly just woken up, her voice thick with drowsiness. “Ah… are you looking for Luoluo… wrong number?”

“No, Shangning-jie, Xu Jialuo is gone!”

            

“…”

One second of silence, then Xu Shangning bolted upright in bed. “What did you say?!”

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Inside the ward.

            

For the patient’s comfort, the lights had been turned off.

Darkness pooled soft and thick. Only the light from the corridor seeped through the small window, faintly illuminating two figures inside—one lying down, one sitting up.

Bo Suiqing sat on a wooden chair beside the bed, the curve of her slender shoulders and back elegant.

            

On her porcelain-pale face, now stripped of its disguise, butterfly-wing lashes rested low, her expression blurred by the dark.

She quietly watched the person with closed eyes, lost in deep sleep.

Only her hands resting in her lap—fingertips curling tight—betrayed a heart that was not at peace.

            

On the bed, Xu Jialuo suddenly stirred. Her hand slipped from beneath the sheets and groped blindly.

Catching nothing, her striking, handsome brows drew tightly together as she rolled onto her side.

As though bereft of security, her body slowly curled inward.

            

With the motion, her long hair spilled across the pillow, exposing a length of neck as cold and white as snow.

Bo Suiqing’s gaze flicked there instinctively.

Now that she thought about it, this person always wore high collars.

            

And on the rare occasion she didn’t, she’d leave her hair down.

Never once had she worn anything with a low back.

She’d always assumed the reason was what the fans said—because Xu Jialuo herself was ascetic and modest.

            

But it turned out…

—”You didn’t know?”

She didn’t.

            

Because they weren’t friends at all.

And some things were only for close friends to know.

Bo Suiqing lowered her eyes.

            

Late spring. The chill hadn’t faded. Summer hadn’t fully arrived.

The ward’s nights seemed especially cold.

Bo Suiqing stood up.

            

Before she could decide whether to leave, the person on the bed stirred again.

Fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping at nothing, crumpling the white sheets.

Bo Suiqing stared at the creased fabric. After a few seconds of silence, she sat back down and reached out.

            

Slender fingertips came to rest lightly over Xu Jialuo’s trembling knuckles.

Only when she touched the burning heat of Xu Jialuo’s hand did she realize how ice-cold her own were.

She stopped. Bo Suiqing quickly pulled her hand back.

            

But her movement seized.

A beat faster, the musician’s ever-nimble hand turned over and pressed down on her retreating hand.

Burning hot. Firm.

            

Long fingers closed tight, wrapping her ice-cold hand inside a warm palm.

Bo Suiqing’s lashes fluttered. She didn’t move again.

After a long moment, still gazing at Xu Jialuo’s face, Bo Suiqing tentatively reached out and laid her other hand lightly on top of the one already gripping hers.

            

As cool, fine skin made contact, Xu Jialuo’s brows drew together.

Before Bo Suiqing could snatch her hand away, Xu Jialuo’s other hand came groping over.

Like stacking burgers, she gathered Bo Suiqing’s newly placed hand into her warm palm as well.

            

On the plain sheets, a small snow peak rose.

Bo Suiqing’s eyes widened slightly, reluctant to blink. Someone who had set foot for the first time in a realm she’d never reached before would fear waking from a fleeting dream.

Fingertips with light calluses, skin of a different, supple resilience. Palm lines imprinting onto flesh, knuckles overlapping like a woven nest.

            

Warmth flowed slowly along the clasped hands, spreading through every limb and bone of her body.

It was late spring, not yet summer.

The hospital ward was especially cold.

            

But the late-spring nighttime chill slowly vanished.

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