From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 653: They Meant Well

Micah stepped out of the hospital room slowly, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft sound that still made several heads turn. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if the air itself had grown heavy and settled on his back. The bright hallway lights washed the color from his already pale face, and the faint crease between his brows made him look older than usual, almost lost. One hand stayed in the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curled tight, while the other brushed along the wall for balance. His steps were uneven. His right foot dragged just a little, the limp subtle but stubborn.

He didn’t look at anyone.

Albert Ramsy sat at the far end of the row of chairs, posture straight, hands resting on the head of his cane even though he didn’t need it while sitting. His expression didn’t change when Micah approached, but his eyes followed every step. Micah lowered himself into the seat beside him with care, jaw tightening for a second as his ankle protested. He hid it quickly, but not quickly enough. Then he went still.

Around them, the rest of the Ramsy family had been waiting, conversations dying the moment Micah appeared. Elina’s hand had already lifted halfway, as if she meant to call his name, but the word never left her mouth. Aria shifted forward in her chair. Willow’s lips parted. Jacob straightened. They had all been ready to speak at once.

But Micah didn’t see any of it.

His gaze was unfocused, fixed somewhere on the shiny hospital floor tiles. Nurses passed. A trolley rolled by. A phone rang at the reception desk. None of it seemed to reach him. He looked like someone who had walked out of a storm but left his mind behind in the rain.

Elina’s fingers curled into her palm. The urge to grab him by the ear, to scold him right there in the hallway like when he was ten and had climbed the garden wall, burned hot in her chest. Disguising himself as a girl. Sneaking into an auction. Getting harassed by some reckless young man. And for what? For excitement? For fun? He’d come back with a strained ankle and with that man glued to his side, claiming him as his boyfriend.

Her son. Her ridiculous, stubborn, impossible son.

Her anger was stuffed right behind her ribs, with no way of releasing. Her jaw was set so hard it ached. If not for the hospital setting, if not for Albert sitting there, she would have marched over already.

Jacob, sitting beside her, noticed the tremble in her sleeve and gently touched her wrist, a silent reminder to breathe. His own expression was troubled, but his worry ran in a different direction. His eyes stayed on Micah’s face, studying the emptiness there.

Cross-dressing.

The word itself didn’t anger him the way it did Elina. It confused him. It worried him in a quiet, creeping way. Micah loved attention, yes. He loved trouble. But this... this felt different. Was it stress? Was it the aftermath of the baby-switch scandal? Losing his place in the family story, his identity shaken, his pride wounded?

Jacob’s chest tightened. He wanted to talk to his son properly, not in passing jokes or half-serious scoldings. A real talk. If needed, he would swallow his pride and plead to Micah.

He would arrange an appointment with a psychologist if it came to that. Not because he thought Micah was "wrong," but because he was worried something inside him had become ... off balance.

Earlier, when Darcy had been there, Jacob had almost asked. Darcy was close to Micah. But that Clyde Du Pont had appeared, smooth and unreadable, and with a hand on Darcy’s shoulder had quietly steered him away before Jacob could get a word in.

Jacob and Elina shared a look at the memory. Their feelings toward Clyde were tangled.

On one hand, it was hard to believe a man like that, calm, powerful, older, carrying the weight of an entire corporation, would willingly stay around their disaster of a son. Micah was chaos wrapped in expensive clothes. He talked back. He poked at people’s patience just to see what would happen.

On the other hand... that was exactly what worried them. What if Clyde indulged him too much? Let him run wild? Encouraged his nonsense instead of setting boundaries?

Aria leaned closer to Willow and spoke under her breath, though her eyes never left Micah. "He looks like he had cried."

Willow nodded faintly. Micah had a deep connection to Zhou Ruyan since he was a child. Of course, seeing her in that condition would take a toll on him.

Unlike their parents, Aria and Willow didn’t immediately jump to identity crisis conclusions. To them, Micah dressing as a girl fit neatly into the long list of "Micah-causes-trouble" incidents. It was extreme, yes, but not out of character. He had always chased reactions.

But what they couldn’t ignore was Clyde. When Clyde had pulled Darcy away earlier, there had been familiarity there. Ease. Not distance. Not blame.

If Micah had really broken down because of the switched-babies issue, Clyde would at least feel awkward around Darcy... or keep some distance out of consideration.

Yet Clyde wasn’t cold to Darcy at all. And Micah wasn’t either. That didn’t fit the "emotional breakdown" theory.

Willow remembered the way Clyde looked at Micah the night before, with disguise, without disguise, it hadn’t mattered. That gaze had been steady, soft around the edges. Fond. And the way he kept saying Micah’s name while speaking, like it sat naturally on his tongue.

No one could force Micah Ramsy into anything. The world could burn before he did something he truly hated. Pride was stitched into his bones. The idea that Clyde made him cross-dress never even entered their minds.

Once that misunderstanding cleared, the suspected cheating, the supposed two-timing, Willow had to admit something uncomfortable: she couldn’t find a serious fault in Clyde.

She knew exactly how difficult her little brother was. If even half the rumors about Clyde were true , violent, short-tempered, ruthless , he would have lost patience with Micah within a week. Not quietly stayed by his side.

Still... she wasn’t satisfied. Her gaze softened as she looked at Micah now, sitting small and silent beside Albert.

Micah was like a persimmon fruit: the skin looked smooth, but the taste was astringent enough to dry your mouth. His first impression was always terrible. Arrogant. Loud. That mouth of his invited punches on a daily basis.

But once you got past that outer layer, there was sweetness. Softness. A kindness he hid so badly it almost hurt to watch.

And because of that bad first impression, he never had many close friends. Admirers came and went, scared off by his sharp edges. Dating? His experience could be counted on one hand.

Clyde, though... Clyde was composed, mature, already deep in the world of responsibility and power. Would he really go on silly dates? Amusement parks? Get dragged into messy adventures in the jungle or desert just because Micah felt like chasing adrenaline?

He was the president of La Riviere. The Du Pont patriarch. His schedule alone probably crushed spontaneity. Micah lived for excitement. For heart-pounding, reckless fun. Would Clyde fit into that world... or would Micah end up shrinking to fit into Clyde’s?

That question sat heavily in Willow’s chest.

Earlier, when Clyde had left the hospital room, the four Ramsy members had exchanged looks, curiosity obvious. They wanted to know him better. Measure him properly.

Darcy had noticed. And he had mocked them. But even then, Clyde had chosen to leave with Darcy instead of staying to talk to them.

That detail hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Now Micah was here, physically close, but emotionally somewhere far away. He didn’t greet anyone. Didn’t joke. Didn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment. He just sat beside Albert, hands clasped loosely, staring ahead.

They were all aware that their earlier attitude had left a mark on Micah. None of them were blind to it. The memory of their own words still lingered uncomfortably in their minds, the way they had questioned him, doubted him, and openly complained about him bringing Clyde here. They had even suggested, more than once, that Clyde should leave, that his presence only complicated things. At the time, they had thought they were being protective, reasonable even. But now, sitting in the quiet hallway with Micah only a few seats away yet feeling miles apart, those words felt harsh and ill-timed.

Micah had not argued loudly back then. He had not shouted or thrown one of his usual dramatic fits. Instead, he had simply stood his ground in that stubborn, unmovable way of his, chin lifted, eyes steady, declaring that Clyde was family. Not a guest. Not an outsider. Family. The firmness in his voice had surprised them, and in a way, it had unsettled them too.

Now they understood more than they had before. The ugly suspicion they once carried... that Clyde might be cheating, that there was something improper or deceitful going on, had been wrong. Completely wrong. The truth had been sitting right in front of them the whole time, and they had failed to see it.

Still, from their point of view, they had not known. How could they have? The mysterious white-haired girl they had seen or heard before, the one tied to all the misunderstandings, had actually been Micah himself in disguise.

Honestly, Micah should at least show them some leniency as they had no idea about it.

They kept sneaking glances at him, not knowing how to break the ice. How to get Micah to come over and talk.

The hallway felt strangely quiet around them now that the two aunts and their families had stepped inside the hospital room.

Yet, no one dared to speak while Albert was there, his presence calm but commanding. So the family sat with their questions, their worries, their frustrations, all unsaid, watching the boy who had always filled every space with noise fall into silence instead.