From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 654: Before the Swans Part

Micah sat beside his grandfather with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, shoulders slightly hunched, the earlier noise of the hallway fading into a distant blur. He kept sneaking glances at Albert Ramsy from the corner of his eye, then quickly looking away. His lips parted more than once, breath drawn in like he was about to speak, but every attempt ended the same way. His mouth closed again, words shrinking back down his throat before they could take shape.

He didn’t know how to start.

Even though Zhou Ruyan had told him more than once that Albert cared deeply for him, that the old man paid attention, that his opinions mattered, Micah couldn’t believe it. His grandfather had always felt like a towering presence, someone solid and unshakeable, someone who carried authority as naturally as breathing. Talking casually to him, trying to comfort him felt unnatural, like trying to joke with a mountain.

Maybe Grandpa just wanted some quiet, Micah thought, eyes dropping to the floor tiles. Maybe he didn’t need a noisy grandson buzzing in his ear while he was already dealing with too much.

Micah rubbed his palms together, the skin warm and slightly damp. He swallowed, still searching for courage, when Albert spoke first.

"What did she tell you?"

The voice startled Micah more than the question. It was still deep, still familiar, but the sharp, commanding edge it usually carried was gone. In its place was a rasp, a tired roughness like his voice had dragged through too many sleepless hours.

Micah looked up quickly. Albert wasn’t looking at him, just staring straight ahead, fingers folded over the curved handle of his cane.

Micah pressed his lips together before answering. "Grandma just... teased me when I tried to convince her."

Albert let out a slow breath through his nose. "So you couldn’t change her mind either."

Micah shook his head, gaze lowering again. "No..." The word came out small, almost embarrassed.

For a moment, only the distant beeping of hospital equipment filled the space between them. Then Albert lifted a hand and rubbed at his eyes, thumb and forefinger pressing into the corners like he was trying to ease a headache that had burrowed too deep.

"Honestly," he began, voice slower now, each word carried with effort, "I didn’t have the heart to insist either."

Micah looked up again.

Albert’s shoulders seemed heavier than usual, his straight posture softening just a little. "She has had more than her share of hardship all these years. Your grandmother... she is a fighter. Always has been. A few years back, the doctors told her the same thing. Said she only had a little time left. Just a few months."

His grip on the cane tightened.

"But she stayed. She struggled. All this time... for me. Because she knew..." His voice wavered, and he paused to swallow. "She knew I couldn’t be without her. I became useless without her. An incompetent old man."

Micah’s chest tightened painfully.

Albert gave a quiet, humourless breath that might have been a laugh once. "I feel selfish. I begged her to fight. To stay alive. I thought it was love. But what did I really do? I isolated her. Pulled her away from everything she enjoyed. Kept her confined, like a bird in a cage, all in the name of love."

His eyes shone, though he still didn’t look at Micah.

"Because of me, she gave up almost everything she loved. Jewellery design. Jade carving. Fashion events. The workshops she used to visit. She gave them up, one by one, just to stay by my side a little longer." His voice trembled now, the words thinner. "Was it worth it? Was she happy? Or did I just clip her wings with my selfishness?"

Micah’s vision blurred. He blinked hard, but tears slipped out anyway, warm trails down his cheeks.

Albert continued, quieter. "Who knows... maybe if she had kept doing what she loved, stayed active in her world, she might have held on longer."

Micah couldn’t hold back anymore. He scrubbed at his face, but the tears kept coming. The love between his grandparents wrapped around him like something warm and aching at the same time. One afraid to leave the other alone in the world. The other afraid he had stolen too much in the name of love, tormented by guilt over his own selfishness.

"Grandpa..." Micah’s voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Since I was little... Grandma’s eyes always lit up when she saw you. I noticed. I was always glued to her side, so I saw it more than anyone. The way she smiled differently with you."

Albert’s fingers stilled on the cane.

"I think she was really happy being beside you," Micah said softly. He sniffed, laughing weakly through tears. "I actually got jealous once. Other kids bragged about their grandmas taking them out to fun places. Parks, fairs, all that. I threw a huge tantrum and said I wanted Grandma to take me out too. But you refused to let us go."

Albert’s brows knit faintly, memory stirring.

"I cried and asked her why she always listened to you and stayed indoors," Micah went on, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. "And she just patted my head and said you two were a pair of swans. That swans die if you separate them. Then she pointed at me and said I was the ugly duckling, still free to roam anywhere."

Micah let out a breathy laugh. "I looked at her like an idiot. I didn’t get it. She just laughed and told me that when I grew up, I’d understand."

He took a shaky breath. "Grandpa... now I understand. I can’t imagine for a second what would happen to me if the person I love left me..."

Albert’s throat moved as he swallowed.

"Don’t assume the worst," Micah said gently. "Don’t drown in doubts. Instead of sitting here being miserable, you should go in there and tell her how grateful you are to have her. Tell her while she can still hear it. Don’t sulk outside like a kid throwing a tantrum."

Albert cleared his throat and gave a low hum of acknowledgment.

Up close, Micah noticed the faint redness creeping over the old man’s ears. It made his lips curve despite the tears. Some things never changed.

Silence settled again, softer this time. Then Albert leaned more firmly on his cane and pushed himself to his feet. He turned slightly toward Micah, eyes clearer now.

"How bold you’ve become," he said, a faint spark returning. "Daring to flaunt that you’re in a relationship in front of me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll scold you?"

Micah sniffed and shook his head, a small grin tugging at his mouth. "Nah. Grandma already approved. You won’t dare go against her."

"Immature brat," Albert muttered, though there was no heat in it. "Nowadays young people even lecture their elders about love."

Micah chuckled, shoulders relaxing for the first time. "What does love have to do with age? Don’t be so narrow-minded, Grandpa."

Albert shook his head, looking half exasperated, half fond. He patted Micah’s shoulder, firm and warm. "This isn’t over. I’ll deal with you later."

He turned and walked toward the hospital room, steps slow but steadier than before.

Micah watched him go, then lowered his head, hands dangling between his knees again. The hallway felt quieter now. He wasn’t as young as his grandfather thought. He had lived more years than his grandparents ever did. He knew how much regret could crush someone. All those times when he had lost the chance to be with Clyde, to be with someone he loved, had slashed at his already tattered soul, torn his heart into a thousand pieces. He wished his grandfather would cherish the little time he had left with Zhou Ruyan, so he wouldn’t be left with regret.

Footsteps approached and stopped right in front of him.

Before he could look up, something cool pressed against his cheek.

Micah jerked back with a small yelp, eyes snapping up to meet Darcy’s dark, amused gaze.

"Here," Darcy said, holding out a plastic cup beaded with condensation. "Put it on your eyes, crybaby. Before you start looking like a swollen puffer fish."

Micah glared. "Who are you calling crybaby? I wore contact lenses last night. Must’ve scratched my eye. That’s all."

"Sure," Darcy said, rolling his eyes as he dropped into the seat beside him.

Micah looked around. "Where’s Clyde? I thought you two were together."

"Yeah. He got a phone call. He’s busy." Darcy shrugged.

"Oh." Micah took the cup and gently pressed the cold side to his eyelids, glasses tucked away in his hoodie pocket.

Darcy watched him for a moment, expression softer than his tone. "Drink this. Sweet things help your mood."

He held out another cup, a smoothie this time.

Micah hesitated, then took a sip. The fruity flavour spread across his tongue, not too cold, just right. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Darcy was always like this, acting cool and distant, yet quietly meticulous in the way he cared, noticing small details others missed. It always got to Micah.

It left a quiet warmth in Micah’s chest.