From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 644: When You’re Not Here

Micah rolled in the bed from right to left, then back again, the sheets twisted around his legs. His head was a mess, his heart was a mess, and even his body felt wrong. After the third turn, he finally gave up and sat up abruptly, hair messy, breathing uneven.

"...Fuck, the makeup!" The words burst out of him as he slapped his own forehead. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

How could he forget something so simple?

He had been so busy being hurt and angry and confused over Clyde’s cold attitude that he had completely forgotten he was still wearing his disguise. He was still Asena, from the white wig, makeup, right down to the fake chest, dress, and everything.

No wonder he felt so uncomfortable!

Grumbling under his breath, Micah carefully slid off the bed. His injured ankle protested the moment his foot touched the floor.

"Tch..."

He grabbed the bedframe for balance and hopped awkwardly toward the bathroom, moving like a crippled rabbit. Every small movement reminded him how helpless he felt right now.

The bathroom light flicked on, too bright for his tired eyes. He stared at himself in the mirror.

A stranger stared back. White hair fell over his shoulders, soft and elegant. His face was pale and delicate under layers of careful makeup. Long lashes, light eyeshadow, a perfect disguise. Normally, he would admire how convincing it was. Right now, it only made him more irritated.

He reached up and carefully pulled off the white wig. The pins tugged at his scalp, making him wince. When it finally came free, his short silver hair fell messily around his face, damp with sweat.

Next came the makeup. He soaked a cotton pad and wiped hard across his cheek. Foundation smeared away, revealing his real skin underneath. He scrubbed faster, like he was trying to erase everything that had happened tonight.

Eyeshadow, eyeliner, lipstick.... gone, one by one. His face slowly returned to being Micah Ramsy. Then he reached down and undid the hidden clasps beneath the dress. The fake chest came off next. The moment he peeled it away, he sucked in a deep breath.

"Ahhh..." He felt like he had been released from a cage.

Finally, he slipped out of the dress and stood there in the bathroom in just his shorts, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. He could breathe again. He stared at himself in the mirror, bare-faced and tired.

"How do girls do this every day?" he muttered in disbelief. "This is insane."

He couldn’t imagine putting on makeup, tight clothes, and acting perfectly all the time.

It really was both magical and terrifying.

Dragging his feet, he went back into the bedroom.

He pulled on a loose T-shirt and grabbed a baggy pair of shorts. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he carefully slipped them on. His ankle brace dug into his skin.

"Annoying..."

Everything was annoying.

After dressing, he let himself fall backward onto the bed with a soft thump, one arm thrown over his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, blankly watching the faint reflections of city lights.

When would Clyde come back? The room felt too quiet without him. If Clyde didn’t come back soon... what was going to happen between them?

Micah’s chest tightened. Should he beg for forgiveness? The thought made his stomach twist. But what excuse did he even have? He couldn’t tell Clyde about the system, about him trying to trap the transmigrator, about hearing the system and its host.

Wouldn’t that just make things worse?

He turned his head to the side, staring at the empty space on the bed where Clyde had been sitting before leaving.

Should he go after him? But Clyde had told him to stay put. Micah dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, broken sigh.

"Hahhh..." The sound echoed weakly in the quiet room.

He shifted slightly, and a familiar scent reached his nose. The bed and the jacket lying nearby still smelled faintly of Clyde. That clean, calm, woody scent... sandalwood mixed with something cool and sharp.

It made Micah’s heart ache even more. He needed more. He suddenly sat up and looked toward the wardrobe.

"...This is ridiculous," he muttered.

Still, he hopped over, limping, and opened the wardrobe door. He leaned in, sniffing one piece of clothing after another like a desperate fool. A suit jacket. A shirt. Another coat.

Nothing. Nothing smelled strongly like Clyde anymore.

He closed the wardrobe slowly, shoulders drooping. Feeling pathetic, he returned to the bed, grabbed Clyde’s jacket, and hugged it tightly against his chest. He buried his face into the fabric and breathed in deeply.

The scent had faded, but it was still there. Barely. "How long are you going to be gone..." he whispered.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Clyde’s name was right there.

No missed calls or messages. Instead, the screen was filled with other people’s messages.

Darcy’s name appeared again and again.

DescendantoftheDarkOne: Micah, did you get home safe? How’s your ankle?

Emile’s messages were even more chaotic.

PeppyPanda: What happened? Why weren’t you with my uncle?

Even Willow had sent something. "I heard you knew the girl named Asena, she was there with Clyde Du Pont. Do you really know her?"

Normally, Micah would reply quickly. Right now, he didn’t have the energy.

He scrolled back to Clyde’s contact and stared at it.

One hour.

It had been one full hour since Clyde had walked out that door.

Micah bit his lip. Should he call? What if Clyde didn’t want to talk to him? What if Clyde was still angry?

His fingers hovered uselessly. Suddenly, a loud rumble of thunder shook the air. Micah jumped, heart leaping into his throat. Rain slammed harder against the windows. His worry exploded all at once. He didn’t care anymore. He pressed call.

The phone rang again and again. There was no answer. His eyebrows drew together tightly.

"Pick up... please pick up..."

He bit his nail and immediately called again. Still nothing. Each unanswered ring made his chest feel heavier. He was at a loss over who to call about Clyde’s whereabouts. Until now it never happened that he could not reach Clyde.

The man was always there. Always close. Within reach.

Hands trembling slightly, Micah opened his contacts list. His gaze stopped at Emile’s name. He called. The line connected.

"Hello?" Emile’s voice came through, hesitant.

"Emile," Micah said quickly, unable to hide the panic in his voice. "Do you know where your uncle is?"

"Huh?" Emile paused. "Little Uncle? I don’t know... He left the auction venue earlier." He stammered.

"I can’t reach him," Micah said urgently. "He’s not answering my calls. I tried several times..."

"Ah... Micah, slow down," Emile interrupted, hearing the tension in his voice.

"This has never happened before. I’m really worried," Micah said firmly. "Do you have his assistant’s number? Or his driver’s?"

Emile hesitated. "I... I don’t have it directly."

"Then ask Dean," Micah said. "Please."

"Okay, okay, don’t worry," Emile said quickly. "I’ll ask right now."

Micah could hear muffled movement, then Emile calling out.

"Cousin! Do you have Little Uncle’s assistant’s number? He’s not answering his phone!"

A moment later, another voice responded faintly in the background.

"What? That’s strange. I think I have it, wait."

Micah sat stiffly on the bed, gripping the phone. After a short pause, Emile came back. "Got it! I’ll send it to you right now."

"Thank you," Micah said, not bothering to hide his relief.

The message arrived seconds later. Micah immediately dialled the first number. The assistant picked up quickly.

"...Young Master Micah," the assistant said carefully, "President Du Pont was at the police station earlier, but he already left."

"Left?" Micah’s heart skipped. "Where did he go?"

"I’m not certain," the assistant replied. "He told us to leave."

Micah ended the call and immediately dialled the driver.

The driver answered. "Sir, the boss didn’t take the car," the driver said. "He went on foot."

"On foot?" Micah repeated.

"Yes."

Micah’s hand tightened around the phone. "Where did you last see him?"

He wrote down the street name the driver mentioned.

Something was wrong. He stood up abruptly. Pain shot through his ankle, but he ignored it.

"I’m not waiting anymore."

He grabbed a coat, rushing out of the apartment and into the elevator. As the doors closed, he called Darcy.

"Darcy," Micah said the moment Darcy answered. "Can you locate Clyde’s phone? He disappeared."

"What?" Darcy’s voice sharpened. "I’m on it."

Minutes later, he arrived at the parking lot where one of Clyde’s bodyguards was standing.

"Get the car," Micah ordered. "Your boss is missing."

The bodyguard froze. Clyde had pulled most of his security to Micah’s side before leaving.

After a second, he nodded sharply. "Yes, Young Master."

The car started. Darcy’s message arrived, telling Clyde’s last location before the phone had been turned off.

Micah stared at the address, heart pounding. It was just a few streets away from the address the driver had given him.

He pressed his forehead to the cold window, watching rain blur the city lights.

"Clyde... where are you?"