From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 647: The Arrogant Finally Confused

Emile lingered near the corner of the hallway, half-hidden by the shadow cast from the wall lamp. He leaned slightly to the side, peeking toward the closed bedroom door, restless. His foot tapped softly against the floor. After a while, the door finally opened, and Dean stepped out, his expression unreadable, shoulders stiff as if he’d just walked out of a minefield.

Emile straightened immediately and walked over. "So?" he asked under his breath, not bothering to hide the curiosity buzzing in his eyes.

Dean shook his head as he exhaled. "Uncle was standing there," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn’t get a word out. He was... just staring at me. Looked gloomy as hell."

Emile clicked his tongue. He leaned closer, lowering his voice even more. "If Micah really was cross-dressing..." He hesitated, then continued, whispering conspiratorially, "Do you think that’s why Uncle argued with him and then stormed off?"

Dean glanced down the hallway instinctively, as if worried someone might overhear. "I don’t know," he admitted. "Could be. Or it could be something else entirely. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something either of them wanted to talk about."

Dean raised an eyebrow and continued. "You’re taking this pretty calmly," he said after a beat. "Honestly, I thought you’d flip out. I was half-expecting you to go in there and yap his head off."

"Nah." Emile waved his hand dismissively, as if that idea was laughable. "Even a fool could tell it wasn’t the time for that. I’m not suicidal." He paused, lips curling into a sly grin. "I’ll get to him later. That sly little imp had his fun messing with us. I’ll make sure he pays for it eventually."

Then the grin faded, replaced by something more serious. His brows drew together slightly. "But honestly? I’m more worried about why they fought. Uncle doesn’t just disappear like that for no reason."

Dean nodded slowly. "Exactly. And neither of them wanted to say anything. Micah even seemed to think we were just curious about the cross-dressing." He sighed. "Which... wasn’t wrong. But that clearly wasn’t the real issue."

Emile turned his gaze back toward the closed bedroom door. The atmosphere around it felt heavy, like the air before a storm. "So... should we leave?" he asked quietly.

Dean considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Both of them were drenched when they came back. Physically and emotionally." He hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. "What if they catch a fever? Especially Uncle. And Micah’s injured... he’s not exactly in a position to take care of anyone else right now."

"You’re right." Emile nodded in agreement. "Alright. Let’s crash here tonight." He walked over to the couch and practically collapsed onto it, sprawling out without grace. "I’m beat."

Dean watched him for a second, then turned toward the study. He hummed in response "Hmm... I’ll keep an eye on the news," he said lazily.

By now, it was impossible for the upper class not to know what had happened. The moment the Du Pont family and the Lobarts became open enemies, shockwaves rippled through every social and business circle. Projects would stall. Partnerships would dissolve. Rivals would circle like vultures.

Someone had to watch for opportunists, those who loved stirring muddy waters and fishing for profit while everyone else was distracted.

Clyde’s reputation had never been spotless. In fact, it was controversial enough that people were always eager to twist narratives involving him. Dean frowned faintly as he thought about it. What if some rival decided to frame tonight’s incident as something else entirely? What if they spun the story into Clyde being the aggressor? Harassment. Assault. Even murder... rumours had no bottom line.

Thankfully, Clyde hadn’t been the one who’d beaten Noas. There had been two other men involved. But one of them was an actor, someone whose public image mattered. His career would almost certainly take a hit once this got out.

Dean didn’t want innocent people dragged into a power struggle they never asked to be part of. After a quick search, he located Clyde’s study and settled in, opening his laptop, fingers moving with purpose as he began to work.

They had rushed out of the auction venue the moment Micah called, saying their uncle was missing. Everything after that had blurred together. Jacklin had stayed behind, someone had to represent the Du Pont family. Even with the chaos, the auction had eventually resumed. Money and power rarely paused for personal drama.

Back in the living room, Emile had tossed his jacket and necktie somewhere near the couch. He lay there, staring blankly upward, replaying the night’s events in his mind.

The more he thought about it, the more awed he felt. Micah truly had talent. Not just looks or presence.... It was real, frightening talent. The kind that could fool people repeatedly without them ever suspecting a thing. Emile let out a quiet laugh, half-amused, half-exasperated. That guy should’ve debuted long ago. His skills were being wasted.

His lips twitched as he recalled all the times Micah had played them like fools. The memories piled up one after another, and suddenly it hit him.

Emile groaned and dragged his hands down his face. His ears burned red. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "I let him see I had a crush on Asena."

He rolled onto his side, burying his face in a cushion. If Micah hadn’t been merciful... if he’d decided to openly tease him, Emile might never have recovered socially. At least the mischievous boy had spared him that much.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Clyde emerged from the bedroom, carrying an empty tray. He paused when he saw Emile still sprawled on the couch.

"You’re still here?" Clyde asked quietly.

Emile lifted his head. "Little uncle," he said seriously, "you already made that asshole rot in jail, right?"

Clyde placed the tray on the kitchen counter. "Yeah," he replied evenly. "He’s finished."

"Good." Emile sat up, eyes sharp. "I wanted to kick his ass even before I knew Asena was Micah. Now that I do?" His jaw tightened. "I’m disgusted. Furious. I should have punched that son of a bitch until even his mother wouldn’t recognise him."

Clyde picked up ice packs from the freezer and said, "So you realised it. Took you long enough."

Emile coughed awkwardly. "He is just that good. Even his sister didn’t recognise him." He hesitated, then asked, "Do you think that bastard knew Micah was cross-dressing? Was it why he had targeted him?"

Clyde turned to look at him. "No, that’s not the case," he said firmly. "And it’s better it stays that way. I don’t want the Lobarts, or anyone else coming after Micah." His tone hardened slightly. "As for his secret, only family and close friends should know. At least for now."

Emile raised his hand and made an okay sign. "Got it."

Clyde returned to the bedroom. Micah was fast asleep, his breathing even, his lashes casting faint shadows against pale skin. Clyde sat beside him, brushing his fingers gently through the silver strands. His gaze drifted to Micah’s injured ankle, which was elevated by the cushions. He reached out and wrapped the ice packs around it, careful not to wake up the young man.

After a moment, Clyde lay down beside him and embraced him in his arms.

While they finally settled into peace, on the other side of the city, others were not that lucky.

Aidan Wilson stood amidst chaos, watching months of careful planning crumble before his eyes. The auction venue buzzed with whispers, speculation, and outright gossip. No one cared about business anymore. People approached him not to discuss deals, but to pry, to fish for scandal.

Members of the Francis family wore grim expressions, clearly displeased. Gu Donghai and Gu Feifei were busy trying to stabilise the situation, their voices strained as they attempted to calm the restless crowd.

Outside, reporters and paparazzi swarmed like insects, drawn by the earlier commotion. Cameras flashed relentlessly.

The entire situation was a disaster.

If there was any silver lining, it was this: his older sister was likely out of the succession race now that the Lobarts had fallen so spectacularly. But even that tasted bitter.

Aidan clenched his fists as the auction dragged to its end. His head throbbed painfully. Flickering images flashed through his mind, fragmented and chaotic. Worse than the headache was the ache in his chest... an unbearable sensation, as though something precious had slipped through his fingers without him realising it.

He drank. One glass. Then another. And another. He kept pouring until the burn in his throat was the only thing he could feel. By the time the event concluded, he was thoroughly wasted. Nothing had gone according to plan. Everything had fallen apart.

The Francis family left coldly, making it clear they had no intention of maintaining connections. His hopes of obtaining the core data from the Ramsy family’s new AI project now seemed laughable... he hadn’t even managed to get close to either the real or fake young master.

The damn Lobarts had dragged him down with them, ruining his standing with the Du Ponts.

His vision blurred.

Alex Ford, his assistant, supported him as they left, guiding him into the limousine and later into his apartment. The entire ride passed in a haze.

But one image kept resurfacing. Again and again.

Once inside, Aidan barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting violently. He stared at his reflection afterwards, pale and shaking.

He had become the very thing he despised. He had forced himself on someone.

The hatred he felt for such acts ran deep, his older sister had lost her unborn child because of that kind of violence. Beating women. Rape. Those were lines he believed he would never cross. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

So how could he have done this? Was it really him?

No matter how much he looked down on the weak, on desperate people he manipulated for gain, he had always believed he had a bottom line.

And yet...

Had he committed those inhumane acts against a young man?

Aidan sank to the floor, clutching his head. Nothing made sense anymore. The memories felt fragmented, unreal, like someone else’s sins layered over his own mind.

He needed a doctor.

Whatever was happening to him, these visions and gaps...was not something he could simply ignore.