From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 657: Micah Said ‘Ah’ and the Room Collapsed

In the waiting room, Felicity Ramsy sat close to her husband, Owen Booker. Jemima and Arlo were curled into their parents, small hands gripping their parents’ sleeves, sensing the heaviness even if they didn’t fully understand it.

Mabel was beside her brother, Jacob, her voice slow and measured as she spoke about their mother’s condition. Her husband, Graham Sanford, sat slightly apart, quiet enough that he almost blended into the background. Vivian and Cora were unusually subdued. Vivian’s eyes were faintly red. She had been scolded earlier, and the sting still lingered. Cora looked lost, shoulders slightly hunched, as if this was her first real encounter with the idea of losing someone.

A little farther away, Willow, Aria, and Darcy were bickering in low voices over something trivial, their argument more teasing than hostility.

And in the middle of it all, Clyde’s eyes found him instantly.

Micah’s silver-white hair stood out like a soft glow under the lights. He was buried in Elina’s embrace, his face turned inward, cheek pressed against his mother’s shoulder. Elina’s hand moved slowly through his hair, over and over, a silent rhythm of comfort.

Micah wasn’t speaking. He was just listening to the others talk, eyes lowered, breathing even.

Something in Clyde’s chest tightened. He walked forward, ignoring the way conversations faltered and eyes shifted toward him. The hush that followed his steps was obvious, but he didn’t slow.

Felicity paused mid-sentence beside Owen. Jemima peeked out from her father’s arm. Arlo’s fingers tightened in his mother’s sleeve.

Mabel’s gaze lifted as well, thoughtful and sharp. Jacob followed it.

By now, the two aunts knew who he was. Clyde Du Pont. President of La Riviere. And from the hints Zhou Ruyan had dropped, he wasn’t just some business associate. He was close to Micah. Closer than simple friendship. Maybe something like an older brother... or something they didn’t yet have a name for.

Clyde gave them a polite nod, acknowledging their presence without stopping. Then he reached Micah’s side and sat down beside him.

The movement made Elina glance up, but she didn’t pull Micah away.

Clyde held out the bag. "Here. Eat this," he said gently. "You didn’t have any breakfast."

Micah stirred, like someone surfacing from underwater. He straightened a little, turning his head. "Thanks," he said, voice soft. Then his brows pulled together. "What about you?" His eyes moved over Clyde’s face, lingering.

Clyde did look paler than he had that morning. The sharpness around his eyes hadn’t faded; if anything, it had deepened.

"I don’t have an appetite right now," Clyde replied. "I’ll eat later."

He opened the package. Warm steam drifted out, carrying the scent of porridge and fresh buns. The simple smell felt oddly comforting in the tense air.

He took out a spoon, stirred the porridge once to let some heat escape, then picked up a steamed bun.

Without making a big show of it, he brought the bun toward Micah’s mouth.

Micah didn’t even hesitate. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned forward slightly and opened his mouth, taking a bite. His cheeks puffed faintly as he chewed, movements slow, absent-minded.

Clyde watched to make sure he swallowed properly before offering the spoon next.

Around them, the room had gone strangely quiet. The Ramsy family stared. The Du Pont juniors stared.

Emile stood a few steps away, bag still in hand, blinking. Jacob cleared his throat awkwardly. Elina looked between Clyde’s calm expression and Micah’s obedient one, her eyes wide with poorly hidden shock.

But the two at the centre of it didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

Micah swallowed and took another spoonful. Some colour returned to his lips. Elina’s gaze was soft but complicated as she looked at Clyde.

Clyde adjusted the angle of the spoon, careful not to spill. His movements were steady, patient, like this was the only thing in the world that mattered right now.

The public display of affection blinded everyone. Damn, they didn’t see that coming! It was the universal thought in the waiting room.

Obvious to everyone else, Micah and Clyde continued to sit close together on the long hospital bench, shoulders nearly touching, their knees angled slightly toward each other like two people sharing a private space in the middle of a crowd. The world around them continued to move, voices rising and falling, people shifting in their seats, plastic bags rustling, but it all felt distant, like background noise behind a glass wall.

They were completely in their own bubble. Which made the rest of the room feel even more awkward.

A few steps away, Emile cleared his throat, trying to pull the atmosphere back to something normal, something that didn’t involve everyone staring at the quiet intimacy unfolding in front of them.

He plastered on his usual easy smile and lifted a hand in greeting. "Hello, Aunty. Hello, Uncle."

He said to Jacob and Elina, his tone polite but warm.

"This is breakfast my uncle prepared for everyone," he added, gesturing with his chin toward Dean and Jacklin behind him, both still holding several bags.

Aria immediately stood up, as if grateful for something to do. She stepped toward Dean and took a few packages from his hands. "I’ll pass them around," she said softly, moving from person to person.

Jacob nodded at Emile, accepting one with a quiet thank you. Elina gave him a gentle smile.

Willow had already met Dean and Jacklin before, so she greeted them with familiarity. Jacklin, ever the social one, stepped forward and introduced herself properly to Mabel and Felicity, exchanging a few polite words and light smiles that didn’t quite hide the curiosity in the older women’s eyes.

Meanwhile, Darcy reached over without ceremony, snatched a package straight from Emile’s hand, and plopped back into his seat. He opened it immediately, the smell of food making his stomach growl. He took a big bite, completely unbothered by the tense undercurrent in the room.

Emile dropped down beside him. For a moment, he didn’t talk. He just looked. At Micah and Clyde. At the Ramsy family.

Something about the scene felt... strange. But not in a bad way. More like a picture that should have been chaotic somehow settling into place.

No one was pushing Darcy away. No one was treating Micah differently either. There was no coldness, no boycott, no obvious rejection. They looked... harmonious.