Chapter 765: The Place He Never Wanted to See Again (part one)

The moment they arrived at the airport, the atmosphere surrounding them felt strangely muted. The evening air carried a faint chill that did little to ease the anxiety settling deep within Clyde’s chest.

Clyde slowed his steps slightly as he turned his gaze toward Micah, his expression marked by unmistakable concern. His brows drew together faintly, his eyes lingering on the younger man’s pale face, searching for any sign of warning. He thought the way Darcy had hit Aidan and then treated Micah with a cold shoulder was too much for the young man to bear. Was it okay for them to go on a trip at a time like this? Why was Micah set on following their earlier plan anyway?

"Where exactly are we going?" he asked at last, his voice low yet unable to fully conceal the worry threaded through it. After a brief pause, he continued, unable to stop himself from pressing further. "Is it far? Are you sure you can handle a long flight in your current condition?"

Micah did not respond immediately. Instead, he adjusted the blazer draped over his shoulders, Clyde’s blazer, pulling it more tightly around himself as the evening breeze lifted strands of his silver hair and brushed them softly across his face. The gesture seemed almost instinctive, as though he were seeking warmth not merely from the cold, but from something deeper, something far less tangible.

"I already told you," Micah replied after a moment, his tone deliberately light, though it lacked its usual liveliness. "It is a secret." He cast Clyde a brief glance, the corners of his lips lifting just slightly, though the expression did not quite reach his eyes. "And yes, I asked my doctor beforehand. He said I would be fine."

The answer did little to settle Clyde’s concerns, yet he did not press further. Instead, he allowed the silence to settle between them once more as he followed Micah across the private terminal.

The jet waiting on the runway belonged to him, yet at this moment, that fact felt strangely irrelevant. Out of respect, for Micah’s wishes, Clyde had chosen not to inquire further about their destination. He had suppressed his curiosity, convincing himself that whatever Micah intended, it must hold some significance.

And yet, as he observed the quiet heaviness in Micah’s expression, that decision began to feel increasingly uncertain.

Still, he said nothing. Sometimes, silence felt safer than the risk of pushing too far.

Inside the jet, Micah moved toward one of the seats and lowered himself into it, his movements slower than usual, lacking the effortless energy that once defined him.

As he settled into place, his gaze drifted downward, landing upon the faint stain marking the fabric of his undershirt. Though small and partially dried, the traces of blood remained unmistakable.

His eyes lingered there, unfocused, as though he were seeing something far beyond the stain itself.

Clyde noticed. He had been watching him carefully from the moment they boarded, his attention attuned to even the smallest shifts in Micah’s demeanour. The distant look in his eyes did not escape him.

Rising from his seat, Clyde crossed the space between them and reached out, his fingers brushing gently through Micah’s hair in a gesture that was both familiar and tentative.

"Would you like to change your clothes?" he asked softly, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. "Your luggage has already been placed in the room at the back."

He lifted his hand slightly, gesturing toward the rear of the jet.

Micah tilted his head in mild acknowledgment, his gaze lifting briefly as though processing the suggestion. After a moment, he gave a small nod. "Alright."

He stood, though the motion lacked its usual fluidity, and made his way toward the back without another word.

Clyde did not follow. Instead, he remained where he was, his hand lowering slowly as he exhaled a quiet breath. His fingers moved toward the wooden prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, brushing over them absentmindedly before tightening slightly, as though seeking something solid to anchor himself.

By all accounts, everything should have been resolved by now.

The conflicts of the past, the misunderstandings, the resentment, the tangled web of identities, had all been brought into the light and dealt with. There was no longer any hostility between the so-called true heir and the one who had once taken his place. The enemies who had lurked in the shadows, manipulating events from afar, had been removed. Those four scumbags who had once posed a threat to Micah’s safety no longer held any power over him.

And yet... Why did it feel as though something remained unresolved? Why did this lingering bitterness refuse to fade?

Clyde’s gaze shifted toward the closed door at the back of the jet, his expression tightening slightly.

He already knew the answer. Until Micah returned to the way he once was, until he laughed freely, moved without hesitation, and carried himself with that bright, unrestrained energy that had once defined him, there would be no true relief. There would be no peace. But could he nurture the young man back to his usual cheery self all by himself? No. He needed Darcy’s help, the other victim. The key lay in Darcy’s hand.

His fingers moved once more along the beads until they brushed against a thin strand of silver hair carefully wrapped among them. His grip tightened slightly.

There was still hope. Darcy cared. That much was undeniable. Time, perhaps, would soften the sharp edges that remained within him.

Clyde exhaled quietly, his thoughts shifting once more. He should continue with his plan. He should proceed with the proposal.

And yet... A faint, humourless smile touched his lips.

Was Micah even in the state of mind to accept something like that now? Everything felt... uncertain. Why did it have to be so difficult?

Meanwhile, in the small private room at the back of the jet, Micah stood before the sink, water running steadily as he washed his hands and face with deliberate care. The cool sensation grounded him slightly, drawing him back from the chaos of his thoughts.

Afterwards, he changed into a fresh set of clothes, discarding the stained garments without a second glance.

When he finally lifted his head, his reflection stared back at him from the mirror. For a long moment, he just stared.

The person looking back at him appeared calm on the surface, yet his eyes told a different story, one of quiet resolve, tinged with something deeper.

This was it. The final hurdle.

If he could overcome this... then perhaps everything would finally fall into place. No more lingering wounds. No more unspoken pain. They could let go. Truly let go.

Micah drew in a slow, steady breath, his fingers curling slightly at his sides. He needed to be strong. The tremor in his hands had not fully subsided, but he could conceal it. If necessary, he could attribute it to what had happened earlier.

Yes. That would be enough. Clyde would not suspect anything. Because there was one undeniable truth. Clyde would never willingly return to that place. Which meant...

Micah’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile.

He would have to lead him there. No matter what.

The memory of Darcy losing control resurfaced briefly in his mind, and instead of hesitation, it only strengthened his resolve.

Clyde was different. More composed. More controlled. Which likely meant... His wounds ran deeper. Hidden more carefully.

Micah turned away from the mirror. There was no turning back now.

The flight passed in a blur.

Micah retreated to the room once more, taking a pill before lying down on the bed. The faint scent lingering in the sheets, subtle, familiar, belonged unmistakably to Clyde.

He closed his eyes. It was enough. The smell was enough for him to feel Clyde’s presence remaining by his side. He couldn’t ask for more.

Even now, he was likely still working, dealing with the aftermath of what had occurred earlier. If that incident were to become public... The consequences would be severe.

Micah drifted into sleep. When he awoke, a dull hunger gnawed at him. He returned to the main cabin, where Clyde was waiting.

They ate together in silence. Micah’s expression remained pale, his eyes distant and unfocused.

Clyde watched him, his chest tightening painfully. He wanted to help. But he did not know how.

By the time the plane landed, the quiet tension between them had only deepened.

Clyde reached out instinctively, his hand closing around Micah’s. It was cold. Far too cold. As they stepped off the plane together, Clyde’s movements faltered abruptly.

His entire body froze. Recognition struck him instantly. He knew this place. A cold wave of dread swept through him, his breath catching as sweat began to form along his brow.

Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned his head to look at Micah. Disbelief filled his eyes. But Micah did not give him the chance to speak.

Without hesitation, he pulled Clyde forward, guiding, no, forcing, him toward the waiting car. The urgency in his movements left no room for resistance.

The door slammed shut behind them.

"Drive," Micah instructed sharply.

The car moved immediately.

By the time Clyde managed to gather his thoughts, they were already halfway to their destination.

Panic surged within him. His hand shot forward, gripping Micah’s shoulders tightly, his expression filled with something raw and desperate.

"Don’t do this," he said, his voice hoarse, almost breaking under the weight of his fear. "Please... don’t do this."

He shook his head slightly, his grip tightening. He could not endure it. Not again. This was not supposed to happen.