From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 639: The Long Night at the Station (part three)

Clyde stepped out of the conference room and met the eyes of the last person he wanted to see.

Silas, still wearing his formal suit, stared at him unflinching. A thin layer of sweat was evident on his forehead. His short black hair was no longer neatly styled. His breathing was off as if he had rushed here. His gloved hands twitched slightly, betraying something dark beneath the surface.

Clyde pulled away his gaze, turned his body, and began to walk past him.

"Where is he?" Silas asked out of the blue.

There was something in his voice that made Clyde’s restrained emotions scream to break free.

"I see," Clyde mumbled as he took a deep breath. "How ironic. You are still the first..." he paused, then he tilted his head, staring at Silas’s unfathomable eyes. "But does it matter? You no longer have the right to ask."

He threw the words at Silas and nodded at the officer waiting for him as an expression of appreciation. He resumed walking toward him.

Silas shut his eyes, his face still, void of any obvious emotion. But if Luna, his mother, had been there, she would have noticed the sadness that emerged from the depths of her son’s existence.

Something no one else had ever seen or heard of. Not even when his white moonlight betrayed him.

Clyde followed the officer down the narrow corridor at an unhurried pace, his hands tucked neatly into his coat pockets, his expression perfectly composed. No one would guess that this man was about to face the person who had assaulted his lover.

The overhead lights cast reflections across the polished floor. Their footsteps echoed sharply at first, then dissolved into the layered noise of the station, phones ringing, distant arguments, the metallic clatter of doors opening and closing. Voices bled through walls, fragments of anger, fear, and bargaining. Somewhere down the hall, a man shouted in desperation before being silenced by a barked command.

This was the underbelly of the city’s order.

Not the clean boardrooms and courtrooms, but the grinding core of the system, where mistakes were processed, catalogued, and quietly destroyed.

Clyde walked through it as if through a familiar battlefield.

His face remained calm, but beneath that surface, something violent pressed against restraint. Since the moment he had seen Micah being assaulted, a storm had taken shape inside him, cold, merciless, and patient.

They stopped before a reinforced door.

The officer swiped a card and pushed it open.

Inside was a small visitation room, bare and colourless. A thick pane of bulletproof glass divided the space in two. Metal bolts framed its edges, giving it the feel of an aquarium for predators rather than a place for human conversation.

A single steel chair waited on Clyde’s side of the table.

He sat.

The metal was cold even through his coat.

His reflection stared back at him faintly from the glass, pale complexion, eyes dark and steady, like a storm held behind ice. He had not looked away from Micah when he lay on the floor earlier. He had memorised it.

Clyde would make sure Noas understood what that meant.

It did not take long.

The door on the opposite side opened with a heavy mechanical click.

Noas was shoved inside.

He looked nothing like the arrogant young man from the auction hall.

His hair was in disarray, his shirt rumpled and half untucked, his knuckles red where he had likely struggled. The handcuffs bit into his wrists, metal bright against trembling skin. The sharp lighting drained what little colour remained in his face.

He lifted his head. Their eyes met.

Something in Noas snapped.

"You!"

He surged forward, the chair screeching loudly across the floor.

The officer seized him from behind and wrenched him back.

"Sit down."

Noas struggled, breath coming in harsh, broken gasps, until he was forced into the chair and cuffed to the metal ring beneath the table.

The officer glanced at Clyde. "You have ten minutes." Then he left.

The door sealed with a dull, final thud.

Noas leaned forward as far as the restraints allowed, eyes bloodshot, veins standing out on his neck.

"Give it back!" His voice cracked with fury and fear.

Clyde remained still.

He crossed one leg over the other with deliberate calm and leaned back slightly, as if settling into a business meeting rather than a detention room.

"Give what back?" he asked mildly.

Noas slammed his cuffed hands against the table. "Don’t play dumb with me!" he shrieked. "You and that bitch took it away! That was mine!"

Spit flew from his lips. "That’s mine! Give it back!"

The word echoed in the bare room.

Clyde watched him quietly, as if observing an insect beating itself against glass.

Then, slowly, his expression changed. Not into anger. Into something far colder. A faint smile touched his lips.

Noas froze. Every instinct in his body screamed danger.

The smile was thin, controlled, and utterly devoid of warmth, the kind of expression that belonged to men who destroyed lives without raising their voices.

Clyde adjusted his cufflink leisurely. "I came to explain something to you," he said softly.

Noas stared at him, breath shallow.

"You believe you have been wronged." Clyde tilted his head slightly. "But you misunderstand."

His eyes sharpened. "This is not about you."

Noas frowned, confusion flashing across his face.

"I don’t care about your family name. I don’t care about your connections. I don’t care how many times you’ve escaped consequences before coming here."

Clyde leaned forward just a little. "When you crossed that line in public, in front of cameras, witnesses, and powerful families, you stopped being protected."

He smiled faintly. "You made yourself visible."

Noas’s throat bobbed.

"I came to tell you," Clyde continued, "that you are stranded here, in this world you despised the most, for the rest of your life. Enjoy it." He straightened.

Noas gaped at him, stunned. Then the realisation dawned on him. He shook his head violently. "No... no, that’s not true! You can’t do this! I was pushed into it! I didn’t want to come here to meddle!" His voice cracked. "You can’t do this to me!"

Clyde stood slowly. With absolute certainty. "You and that little helper of yours are finished."

He gave Noas a final look, calm, satisfied, merciless. "You picked the wrong person to touch."

Noas exploded.

"This isn’t over! Give it back! System... hey! Where are you? Do you hear me!"

His voice rose into a shriek as panic overtook rage.

The door opened. Clyde stepped out without a backward glance.

Behind him, Noas raged inside the glass cage, a man already swallowed by the entity he had believed would always protect him.