From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 681: Five Minutes Into the Conversation and I’ve Ruined It

Micah moved quickly once he made up his mind. By the next morning, he had already informed both sides of his family that he would be leaving for Malayer, the northern city, to spend the New Year there. And he made it clear that Darcy would be going with him.

He phrased it politely. Calmly. Like it was simply a change of scenery.

It was not.

Flora and Nora had already left Isatis City a few days ago. They had gone to a southern island, chasing warmer weather after the bitter winds began to sweep through the city. The forecast had predicted a mild winter. Instead, the temperature dropped overnight, and the air turned sharp enough to sting the lungs.

Darcy had insisted they go. He probably didn’t want them dragged into the drama. And Micah kind of guessed the reason but did not bring it up. There were too many ears in this city, too many people watching from shadows. Instead, he simply called Flora before making his own announcement.

"I’m sorry I won’t be able to see you during the New Year," he had told her softly.

Flora laughed gently on the other end. "Don’t apologise. You’re young. Go wherever you think you’ll enjoy yourselves. Have fun."

Micah swallowed at that.

Fun.

He did not know if Malayer would offer anything fun. But it would be farther away from everything.

Darcy found out about the trip the same way everyone else did, through Micah’s formal announcement. He did not interrupt or object. But his lips twitched.

Now he leaned lazily against the doorframe of the Ramsy family’s main living room, arms crossed loosely over his chest, listening as Micah briefed the family like he was presenting a business proposal.

Elina and Jacob sat side by side on the couch. Willow perched on the armrest, while Aria sat cross-legged on the carpet with restless energy.

Micah sat in front of them, posture straight, hands clasped in front of him.

"I’ll be leaving for Malayer in three days," he said. "Darcy will accompany me. We’ll stay with Mimi and Pops until after the New Year."

He sounded composed and resolute.

Elina and Jacob exchanged a look before Elina spoke first.

"Sweetheart..." she began carefully. "You know the New Year period is when people come to pay their respect for your grandmother. It’s tradition. We should be here to greet them." Her fingers tightened around the tissue in her lap. "How can we let both of you leave? What would people say if her two grandsons were absent?"

Jacob adjusted his glasses, nodding slowly. "Your mother is right. We’ve been trying to convince your grandfather to return for this. And now you two want to leave instead?"

Micah lowered his gaze to his hands. His fingers were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned pale.

"Do you really believe," he asked quietly, "that relatives and family friends are coming here to comfort us?"

He looked up. "Or are they coming to watch?"

The room fell silent.

"To see if we’re fighting over inheritance," he continued. "To speculate about our relationship. To check whether there’s tension. To gossip."

Elina inhaled sharply. "Everyone knows these kinds of gatherings aren’t entirely sincere," she admitted, her voice tight but steady. "Of course, there will be people who come out of curiosity. Of course, there will be whispers. I’m not naive, Micah."

She sat straighter, fingers lacing together in her lap as if bracing herself. "But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s our tradition. This is what families do. When someone passes, especially someone like your grandmother, we open our doors. We receive visitors. We greet them properly. We light incense. We pour tea. We thank them for coming."

Her eyes glistened, but her tone sharpened.

"If we ignore them, if we leave the house empty... what message does that send? It would look as though we’re disregarding her memory. As though we don’t care enough to stand here and represent her."

Jacob nodded slowly beside her, his expression grave.

"Your mother is right," he said in a low, steady voice. "It may not be perfect. It may even feel hollow at times. But customs exist for a reason. They hold a family together when everything feels fragile." He adjusted his glasses before continuing. "By staying, by receiving people, by following the rituals, we are honouring her. We are showing that her place in this family still stands. That she mattered."

Micah’s fingers tightened in his lap. He had tried to stay calm. He had tried to speak logically. But something inside him was fraying, thread by thread. He lifted his head slowly. "So what you’re saying," he asked, his voice quiet but edged with hurt, "is that appearances matter more than I do?"

Elina’s brows knit together. "That’s not what..."

"You care more about what people think. Or is it," Micah cut in, the words spilling out before he could stop them, "because I’m not your real son?"

The sentence landed heavily in the room.

"Micah!" Willow snapped immediately, shooting to her feet. "That was completely out of line!"

Aria stared at him in disbelief. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded. "Apologise to Mum and Dad right now!" She gestured wildly toward their parents. "You think you’re the only one who lost someone important? You think the rest of us aren’t hurting? We’re all mourning, Micah! Not just you!"

Micah dragged both hands into his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as if trying to steady himself physically. "I know," he said through clenched teeth. "I know that." His shoulders trembled faintly. "I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair."

The apology came, but it was frayed and exhausted. He dropped his hands, letting them hang at his sides before pressing them against his temples.

"I’m just... I’m at my wits’ end," he admitted hoarsely. "Every hallway, every room, every corner of this house reminds me of her. I can’t breathe without remembering." His voice broke on the last word. "I can’t stay here without thinking about her constantly."

Jacob and Elina looked at each other again, this time not in confusion, but in worry.