From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 227: The Path That Hurts to Follow

Chapter 227: The Path That Hurts to Follow

Clyde sat alone in his room, feeling that his world had turned grey once again. His bright colour, the one who had brought life into his dull world, had turned his gaze, his attention, away from him.

Micah hadn’t come to him. He hadn’t been invited. Left out entirely. The thought dug into Clyde’s chest like a knife.

And worse, Clyde couldn’t even walk up and confront him, not with all the tangled lies he created around himself. He was even forced to wait after the banquet ended to wish him a happy birthday.

He had played his cards too carefully for too long, and now he was stuck behind his own walls.

He had thought Micah trusted him and relied on him. They were close, weren’t they?

But not being invited to the banquet, then let someone else in that apartment...

It hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Clyde had only been there once briefly. He remembered the kitchen vaguely, the layout. So he knew it was Micah’s place. That counter in the photo... it matched.

But who was the person behind the cake? A friend? A girl? Or a guy?

His mind flashed to that dark-haired boy. Could it be him?

He felt suffocated.

The air in the room felt too heavy, like it was pressing against his ribs.

The image, Micah, smiling so brightly at that dark-haired boy, that teasing little smirk curling at the corner of his lips, eyes full of joy, filled Clyde’s mind. He had seen it that day, in La Riviere Pharmaceutical.

Was Micah laughing like that right now? In that apartment? With someone else at his side? Someone he had invited in, trusted enough to share something personal? A homemade cake on his birthday?

Clyde’s jaw tightened. He tried to erase that image, but it stayed stubbornly rooted in his mind, cruel in its brightness.

Did Micah not need him anymore?

That thought, quiet and poisonous, slipped in and spread deep. It stung horribly.

Why that picture, why that caption, why did it hurt so much?

It was illogical. Laughable even.

He was the one who had decided this, wasn’t he?

He had made a promise to himself that he would just watch over Micah. That he wouldn’t let his feelings bleed through. That he would stay close enough to protect, far enough not to hurt him.

That was the only way he could stay in Micah’s life.

So why now, did he want something more? Why, at this moment, did he feel like tearing down every wall he had carefully built just to ask, Who was it? Just to ask, Why wasn’t it me?

Clyde pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, hard.

Ah...it seemed the path he had chosen, the path that he thought was noble, clean, the right thing to do, was now harder to follow than he had thought.

It felt like walking on broken glass. Every step forward sliced deeper. Every distance he forced between them only made him bleed more inside.

And yet, he knew just how to keep walking.

His phone buzzed on the floor suddenly. He didn’t move at first. The buzzing stopped, then came again. With a low sigh, he reached down and picked it up, thumb brushing across the screen.

WeChat notification. Prodigy kids group chat.

ShiningBoy: Clyde, did you make that ugly cake? 👀 @RiverBridge

SeaLion: What ugly cake?

ShiningBoy: here.

A photo appeared. Lin Heye had forwarded the WeChat moment into the group. Micah’s post. The cake. The caption.

ShiningBoy: So you asked me for a recipe because of Micah’s birthday? You sly!

MagicalSon: Who is this Rogueoverlord?

ShiningBoy: Clyde’s future lover 😏 fre/ew.ebnovel.c om

SeaLion: Bro, you really made that cake?!

GracefulGoddess: Ugh! You two. Could you please not rub your lovey-dovey moment in my face?

MagicalSon: I think Clyde melted from happiness. Don’t disturb them.

The messages rolled in like punches to the gut. Clyde stared at the screen. The words blurred. He could practically hear their voices, teasing, loud, and clueless.

And for the first time, he felt the urge to quit the group chat.

They didn’t know. They thought it was sweet, funny, romantic even.

But for Clyde, it wasn’t. It hurt.

It wasn’t bad enough that he saw the WeChat moment; now these idiots had grabbed the knife and had twisted it hard in his heart with every message they had sent.

They had thought he had made the cake. That he and Micah were something. But the truth was colder, emptier.

He sighed and slowly typed.

RiverBridge: It wasn’t me.

The message appeared, stark and quiet, like a wave washing over their texts.

The chat went so still that it felt like the screen had frozen. No one replied.

Clyde stared at the screen bitterly. Silence. Like even the group couldn’t figure out what to say.

He set the phone down beside him and leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

A few minutes passed before a call came quickly. Clyde picked up and glanced at the screen. Lin Heye.

He pressed the green button, lifting the phone to his ear tiredly.

"Yeah?" Clyde answered, his voice low and flat.

"Come here right now!" Lin Heye’s voice exploded from the speaker. "We are calling an emergency meeting."

Clyde blinked slowly. "No..." he began, the word barely leaving his lips before Lin Heye cut in.

"No? What do you mean, no? Have you forgotten your last disastrous act in front of him? You want to repeat that mess all over again?" Lin Heye barked.

Clyde rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, pressing into his temple. "No, I won’t do..."

He was once again interrupted. "You won’t do what? Make a fool of yourself again? Blow every chance you’ve got left?" Lin Heyr said, not giving him room to breathe. "We need a plan. Come here!" The call ended with a sharp click.

Clyde stared at the now- black screen in silence. His hand dropped slowly on the mattress. He let out a long breath.

Maybe it was for the best. He was too close to losing control. Too close to doing something reckless: texting Micah, calling him, demanding to know why he didn’t invite him, why he was with someone else.

At least they could distract him. Even stop him.

He stood up slowly, knees stiff, breath low. One step at the time, that’s all he could manage.