From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 192: Where the Water Must Stay Calm

Chapter 192: Where the Water Must Stay Calm

20 hours earlier:

After Micah slammed the car door and walked away without looking back, Clyde just sat there. For ten long minutes, he didn’t move. His hands rested on the steering wheel, but his fingers didn’t grip. His eyes didn’t blink. He sat like someone had sucked his soul away.

When the silence in the car became too heavy to bear, he finally turned the key and started the engine.

He didn’t even know where he was going. The car rolled through the city without a destination. The roads twisted and turned under his tires. Eventually, he found himself somewhere familiar. A quiet slope. A row of trimmed hedges. The iron gates of a private cemetery stood open.

He chuckled bitterly.

He parked and stepped out, letting the cold wind slap his face.

His shoes crunched softly over gravel as he made his way through the rows of graves. It was quiet. The only sound was the wind brushing past trees and the distant chirp of birds.

Then, he found the section with the Du Pont name carved into a stone arch.

There they were, his ancestors. His blood. The names of men and women he had barely known but who had passed down everything to him: title, power, and the chaos that came with it.

His steps slowed when he reached the last row. His eyes landed on the three graves side by side. His parents.

His memory of his uncle, his biological father, was foggy at best. A smile here, a low voice there. His mother? Nothing. Just the knowledge of her name and face from a photograph. They were strangers to him.

His father, the previous patriarch, had raised him. Everything was normal growing up, or so he had thought. But the moment his uncle died, everything began to shift. His father’s mental health deteriorated. The cracks grew each day until his father couldn’t tell who was who anymore. Clyde had listened to him mutter things in the dark, calling him by his uncle’s name. Confusing the past with the present. And one day his father snapped completely.

Then came the days Clyde couldn’t remember.

There was a gap in his memory. Days or weeks, gone, erased.

The psychologist said it was a trauma response, a defence mechanism. That his brain had blocked out something too painful.

But he always thought there was more to it. Why did he remember the truth about his birth, about them but nothing else? He felt more like someone had erased that part especially.

The madness of falling in love...

The three of them had it. Would he be the same?

His brother and sisters were normal. Nothing amiss. They didn’t see monsters in their sleep. They didn’t smash mirrors in the night or scream themselves hoarse.

But Clyde was different.

He had nightmares. The ones that he couldn’t remember. But the damage was always there when he woke up, shattered lamps, broken furniture, blood on his hands from gripping something too tightly.

The staff had feared him. So he dismissed them all.

At the Du Pont mansion, he moved to the west wing, far away from Dean and Jackline, trying to find peace. But it didn’t help. Sleep became a battle. Nothing worked to calm down his mood at night. He feared sleeping. The insomnia worsened. Until Uncle Lin showed up one day and took him to a temple in the countryside. A quiet old man gave him a bracelet of wooden prayer beads.

And everything changed.

His nightmares and his violent tendencies lessened. He could sleep a few hours without waking up in terror.

The master had told him something simple: Don’t let your emotions waver too far. Keep the water still, or you’ll drown.

So Clyde became expressionless. Cold. Blank. Like a statue in a suit.

But in exchange, he lost the ability to feel. Nothing stirred him. Nothing piqued his interest. He had forgotten how to laugh, how to hope.

Until Micah came.

Micah, with his mischief and wild eyes. With his secrets and his strange kindness. With that fire that made Clyde feel warm again.

But now...

Could he remain sane? Could he control himself?

Clyde looked down at the bracelet on his wrist. His fingers brushed the wooden beads gently, then curled into a fist.

Micah didn’t know any of this. He didn’t need to.

Clyde shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and looked toward the horizon. The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the stones.

He turned and left the cemetery.

Clyde went straight to the place where Micah had stayed two nights.

He lay down on the bed in the guest bedroom. But this time sleep did not come. He buried his face in his hands.

The idea of staying away from Micah made his chest hurt, but the idea of hurting him somehow felt worse.

He wanted to be near Micah. He knew it was selfish of him to think that way.

Yeah, he shouldn’t appear in front of Micah again. The boy was innocent. Why drag him to this mess?

The conflict in Clyde’s head never stopped.

He stayed like that until morning.

The next day, he put on a dark business suit. He couldn’t sleep last night, not even for a second. His eyes were tired. But he didn’t care. He smoothed down his tie, buttoned his coat and walked out.

He didn’t have any business at La Riviere Pharmaceutical. He wasn’t supposed to be there.

But Micah was going.

At least he could see him from afar. He missed him.

So he showed up quietly. He entered through a different entrance and made his way to the eighth floor where Micah was supposed to be.

Unbeknownst to Darcy and Micah, Clyde stood silently behind the glass wall mirror, his tall frame shadowed by the dim lights. His arms hung stiffly by his sides, one hand clenching and unclenching at his side as he stared into the lounge on the other side. From where he stood, the mirror reflected nothing of his presence, just a clean, silent room, but from his view, he saw everything. He had been standing there from the moment Micah walked in.

Not a single word had passed between them since the fight yesterday. Clyde had not contacted Micah. And of course, Micah hadn’t contacted him either.

His gaze fixed on the familiar figure sitting on the lounge couch. Micah. Wearing a blue button-down shirt, a blazer, and hair styled half perfectly. He looked tired. The shadows under his eyes had darkened. Clyde’s brows knit together at the sight.

It had only been a day, but it felt like weeks had gone by since Micah left his car. Since Micah looked him in the eye and pushed him away without even listening. Since Clyde sat alone in that car, stunned and sick with a hollow feeling in his chest.

Especially right now when he knew his own feelings.

His eyes shifted slightly to the person sitting next to Micah. A black-haired boy, probably around the same age. So this was the one Micah had asked about a favour for.

The dark-haired boy was dressed in ordinary clothes. Simple sneakers, a black hoodie, and jeans. Not a rich boy. So probably no family connection to the Ramsys.

So how did Micah meet him?

Clyde’s jaw tightened as he studied him. The way the boy leaned toward Micah just a bit. The way his fingers reached out to pinch Micah’s cheek, bold and unafraid. How they laughed together, natural, relaxed, like it had been happening for years.

Clyde’s heart ached.

Micah was smiling. His stiff shoulder from earlier was relaxed now. His eyes were soft, almost glowing when he looked at the boy beside him. When he blushed and glanced away, Clyde nearly ground his teeth.

That smile wasn’t forced. That softness wasn’t fake.

Clyde’s hand slowly moved to his necktie and tugged it loose. He couldn’t breathe properly. Not with that expression on Micah’s face burned into his brain.

He exhaled through his nose, quietly and sharply. The urge to punch through the glass hit him hard. Had he ever seen Micah smile like that because of him?

Could he make Micah this relaxed and happy?

Had Micah ever looked at him with those soft eyes?

No. The answer was no. Micah with him was always loud, short-tempered and angry.

Was it the best idea to insist on being near him?

This black-haired boy had done a better job than him.

Clyde didn’t even let himself get jealous. He had done that once. With that woman. And how wrong he was to think Micah was attracted to her.

This time he would wait. Wait for Micah to say who this black-haired boy was. Why did he act this way with him?

Clyde wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He touched the wooden prayer beads on his wrist. Slowly, the heat in his chest began to fade.

He glanced once again at the boy who made him feel alive.

Then, he turned around and left.