From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 624: When Possessive Micah Starts Dissing Anyone Who Eyes Clyde (Part One)

Chapter 624: When Possessive Micah Starts Dissing Anyone Who Eyes Clyde (Part One)

Clyde’s attention had never truly left Micah, not once since they encountered Director Jiang.

Even as he exchanged polite smiles and meaningless pleasantries with businessmen whose names he barely registered, even as influential figures circled closer once they recognised who he was, Clyde was acutely aware of the arm looped through his. Of the way Micah’s fingers would tense, then loosen. Of the subtle shifts in his posture, too small for anyone else to notice, but glaringly obvious to Clyde.

At first, Clyde assumed it was because of Nabil Lobart or Gu Donghai.

Both men hovered nearby with barely concealed interest, their eyes flicking between Clyde’s face and the white-haired girl at his side. Nabil’s smiles were overly practised, his enthusiasm forced, while Gu Donghai’s eagerness bordered on obsequious. Clyde had seen that look too many times from people trying to calculate value, trying to weigh whether proximity to him could bring them profit.

He assumed Micah disliked them, considering all the hardships Micah and Ramsy’s family had endured in his past lives.

Yet as the minutes passed, Clyde began to notice something was off.

Micah didn’t even glance at either of them. Not even once. Instead, his gaze drifted restlessly across the hall, skimming over faces, pausing briefly, then moving on. His eyes carried a sharpness that didn’t match the relaxed curve of his smile. He looked like someone pretending to enjoy a performance while quietly scanning for an exit, or for someone he expected to see.

Clyde frowned slightly. Was he searching for someone? And if so... who?

Noas Lobart briefly crossed Clyde’s mind, though Clyde couldn’t pinpoint why Micah would be anxious over him. Noas he remembered from his past lives had seemed harmless enough, nothing that warranted this level of tension.

Then again, Micah had never reacted to people in predictable ways.

Micah shifted his stance subtly, angling his body a fraction closer, as if instinctively seeking shelter from the press of the crowd. He had stiffened for half a second, his fingers tightening around Clyde’s sleeve, before he consciously relaxed again, forcing his shoulders down.

The change was so slight that no one else noticed. Eventually, something eased. Clyde felt it the moment Micah’s grip loosened, not abruptly, but naturally. The tension drained from his posture like water from a cracked glass. Even the smile on his lips changed, softening into something genuine rather than carefully plastered.

Relief flickered through Clyde, though confusion followed close behind. Whatever Micah had been bracing for... it seemed to have passed.

Truthfully, Clyde wouldn’t have remained in this lobby if it weren’t for Micah. He despised these gatherings were filled with hollow flattery and thinly veiled ambition. Normally, he would have made a brief appearance, exchanged formalities, then excused himself without hesitation.

But Micah had said he wanted to stay. So Clyde stayed.

He endured the pointless conversations. The probing questions were disguised as concern. The lingering glances were directed not just at him, but at the person beside him. That part unsettled him more than he liked to admit.

He didn’t want Micah—Asena—to be dragged into the rumours that inevitably followed him. When people didn’t know his identity, her presence had been dismissed as a curiosity. But now that the room was aware he was Clyde Du Pont, president of La Riviere, attention sharpened. And attention bred speculation.

Clyde could already imagine the whispers. The assumptions. The grotesque narratives people loved to spin when they thought they’d uncovered a powerful man’s indulgence.

He didn’t want to be painted as a man with questionable tastes. More importantly, he didn’t want Micah to be reduced to a rumour. His love had never been about novelty. Or possession. Or spectacle.

He had loved Micah across lifetimes, across loops, across broken endings and restarts. It had always been Micah. Only Micah.

So when he noticed Micah’s mood visibly improve, Clyde leaned down slightly, lowering his voice so only Micah could hear.

"Done?" he murmured, his breath brushing Micah’s ear. "Can we move to our seats now?"

Micah turned toward him, eyes bright, something triumphant gleaming beneath the surface. He nodded eagerly, almost bouncing on his heels.

Clyde didn’t ask why. He gave the surrounding group a polite nod, perfectly timed, impeccably distant and guided Micah toward the hallway leading away from the lobby.

The moment they were out of reach, the shift was immediate.

Micah laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, squeezing Clyde’s arm as if he couldn’t contain himself. His shoulders lifted, his whole body practically radiating satisfaction.

Clyde exhaled, long and tired. He didn’t bother asking the reason. Today, Micah had acted too differently, concealing many things from him, saying he would tell him soon. Besides, Micah had always found joy in unexpected places.

"Why aren’t you asking me why I’m happy?" Micah asked suddenly, tilting his head to peer up at Clyde, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Clyde kept his gaze forward. "Would you tell me if I did?"

Micah’s smile widened. "Nope."

Clyde glanced down at him, unimpressed but indulgent.

Micah grinned back. "Just know you’re my lucky star! I must’ve saved a world or something in my last life to get you in this one."

Clyde’s expression didn’t change. "Last life, you still met me."

Micah waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. Before we got stuck in the loop."

"Right. Right," Clyde replied, nodding without enthusiasm.

They were nearing the edge of the lobby when someone stumbled and their drink tilted toward them.

Micah’s eyes narrowed instantly.

He reacted before Clyde even registered the danger, yanking Clyde back a step just as champagne sloshed forward, splashing harmlessly against the floor where they had been standing moments before.

Liquid splattered, the sharp scent of alcohol filling the air.

Micah turned sharply, his glare slicing through the woman who stood frozen before them, glass trembling in her hand.

Clyde brushed his sleeve, noting with mild annoyance that a corner of his jacket had still been dampened. The smell clung unpleasantly.

Waiters rushed forward, apologising profusely as they cleaned the mess.

The woman, pale and flustered, reached out as if to steady herself, her fingers stretching toward Clyde.

Micah’s temper snapped. He moved faster than her hand ever could.

"Oh, honey," Micah exclaimed sweetly, slipping his fingers through Clyde’s and squeezing tightly. "Are you alright?"

His voice was soft, syrupy, and girlish, almost painfully innocent.

"I heard on the news that green tea phenomenon type B is spreading rapidly," Micah continued, tilting his head with exaggerated concern, "but I never thought we’d encounter something so disgusting here."

The woman’s face drained of colour. "I...I didn’t mean to," she stammered, eyes glassy as she blinked rapidly, tears pooling. "I just tripped. I’m so sorry..." her voice trembled as if she had been wronged.

"Ugh," Micah cut in, lifting a hand to pinch his nose. "Now it’s the white lotus’s turn. The scent is getting stronger."

A few nearby guests snorted.

Clyde bit the inside of his cheek, eyes dancing with barely concealed amusement as he watched Micah perform.

The woman flushed crimson, tears spilling freely now. She glanced desperately at Clyde, seeking sympathy, but his attention remained fixed on Micah, expression unreadable.

Her companion, emboldened by her distress, stepped forward angrily. "Such a beautiful girl," he sneered at Micah. "What a shame her mouth reeks."

Micah’s smile vanished. He sneered. "Your nose must’ve lost its function. I won’t fault you for it."

The man stiffened.

"After standing beside green tea for too long," Micah continued calmly, "it’s natural. You can’t even smell fresh air anymore. I thought it was just your eyes, but it seems all your senses are gone."

The man’s face twisted with rage. "What did you say?"

"I read that second-hand exposure causes blindness and deafness," Micah replied with a sigh. "It’s tragic, really."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Not all people were dumb. Of course, they could see through the woman.

The man’s veins bulged, ready to snap.

"Ah! My dear friend!" a familiar voice boomed.

Micah flinched. Fuck. Why was he meddling now?