From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 690: Not Legally His

Micah did not remember the exact second he lost his balance.

One moment, the world was bright: white snow, blue sky, wind biting at his cheeks as the tube sped downhill. The next, everything tilted violently.

His head struck something hard. A sharp crack echoed inside his skull, followed by a burst of white light behind his eyes. It felt as though the sky itself had shattered and collapsed inward.

He rolled. The slope was steeper than he had realised. His body tumbled, shoulder scraping against packed snow, ribs knocking against hidden stones buried beneath the thin layer of ice. Then his forehead hit something small but solid, a stone protruding from the frozen ground.

The impact made his vision explode into darkness. When he forced his eyes open again, everything was wrong. The world swam in and out of focus. Snowflakes blurred into streaks. The sky felt too far away. Warm liquid trickled down the side of his face.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his sight. His eyelashes were sticky. He raised a shaking hand and wiped across his brow. When he pulled his fingers back, they were red.

His ears rang loudly, drowning out the world. A painful pulse throbbed through his skull, slow and heavy like a hammer striking metal. He tried to push himself up. The ground shifted under him. Then strong arms slid beneath his back and knees.

Micah barely registered the movement before his body was lifted in a bridal carry. His head lolled to one side, and pain flared sharply when his temple shifted.

The man holding him moved carefully, each step deliberate, boots crunching against snow. He adjusted his grip so Micah’s head rested against his chest to minimise the shaking.

"Stay awake," a voice muttered, tense and low.

Micah wanted to ask who it was. His lips parted, but a bitter, metallic taste flooded his mouth instead. He realised he had bitten the inside of his cheek when he hit the ground.

Blood pooled under his tongue. He swallowed instinctively and nearly gagged.

The man’s breathing was fast. They descended the slope at an angle rather than straight down, avoiding the steeper sections. Every time the carrier shifted his weight, he tightened his hold to prevent Micah from slipping.

Micah’s instincts were slow, dulled by shock. By the time awareness truly returned, the cold air had changed. The wind felt wetter. The sound of an engine roared nearby. He was lowered carefully onto something hard and narrow. It was a snowmobile. The engine vibrated beneath him.

A thick blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, tucked under his arms. Someone pulled it higher, covering his chest and pressing it tight as though afraid he might slide off.

Micah forced himself to turn his head. The driver wore a wide hat and dark sunglasses. Snow glare reflected off the lenses, hiding his eyes entirely. A scarf covered the lower half of his face. Not familiar. Micah frowned weakly.

Where was Emile? The last thing he remembered was the tube lifting into the air. He opened his mouth.

The movement sent a wave of nausea crashing through him. The metallic taste intensified. He swallowed again and felt his stomach churn. The snowmobile accelerated. Cold air slapped against his face. The world blurred as they sped across the snow.

Micah closed his eyes, trying to steady the spinning. Had he fallen far? Why was this stranger the one carrying him? Was Emile hurt too?

The engine roared louder as they reached the road below. After what felt like both seconds and hours, the snowmobile slowed. The vibration ceased.

Hands steadied him again. "Careful," the same voice muttered.

Micah felt himself being lifted once more. The blanket remained wrapped tightly around him, trapping warmth against his chilled skin.

When he forced his eyes open again, he saw a parked car ahead, its headlights cutting through the early evening dimness. Figures stood beside it. The moment his blurry gaze recognised one of them, he gave a faint, humourless snort.

Silas Durant stepped forward immediately, expression tight but controlled. He reached out and gently supported Micah’s jaw to tilt his face toward the light.

"What happened?" he demanded.

The driver pulled off his hat in agitation, revealing damp hair flattened against his forehead.

"He fell down the slope!" Aidan snapped, voice strained. "I panicked and brought him down here!"

"What did you do?" Archie’s voice cut in sharply from the side, anger barely restrained.

Leo stepped between them. "Stop arguing. He needs a hospital."

Silas ignored the rising tension and focused on Micah.

He touched the wound near Micah’s temple lightly. Even that minimal pressure sent lightning down Micah’s skull.

"Micah. Look at me," Silas said firmly. "Can you hear me?"

Micah nodded weakly. The motion made his vision blur again.

Silas’s questions came one after another, calm but rapid.

"What’s your name?"

"Where are we?"

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"Any vomiting?"

"Can you see my fingers?"

Micah tried to answer. His tongue felt heavy. Words wouldn’t form properly. Instead, his stomach lurched violently. He turned his head and retched, though little came out besides blood-tinged saliva.

Silas’s composure cracked slightly. "We’re leaving. Now."

They moved quickly.

Aidan opened the back door. Archie grabbed the other side. Leo helped guide Micah in, supporting his head carefully to avoid sudden movement.

Silas climbed in beside him, keeping one hand steady against Micah’s shoulder to prevent him from rolling. The car roared to life. As they drove, voices clashed.

"It’s your fault!" Archie snapped from the front seat. "You must have done something!"

"I didn’t touch him!" Aidan shot back. "The tube flipped before I could even call out!"

"You expect us to believe..."

"Enough!" Silas’s voice cut through the argument like a blade.

Silence followed.

Micah drifted in and out of awareness. The motion of the car made the nausea worse. The lights outside smeared into long streaks. His ears still rang. He thought he heard his name being called. Then everything faded.

******

Emile was running so fast his lungs burned.

Snow sprayed behind him as he scrambled back toward the tube slope. His boots slipped once, nearly sending him down again, but he caught himself and kept going. It was getting darker. The sky had shifted from pale blue to deep violet. The resort lights flickered on in the distance.

"Micah!" he shouted.

No response.

People were still laughing nearby, unaware of the panic knotting in his chest. He reached the main activity area and scanned frantically. When he saw Clyde, he nearly stumbled toward him.

"Uncle!" Emile shouted, voice breaking. "I can’t find Micah!"

The shout made several people turn.

Clyde reacted instantly. He crossed the distance in long strides and grabbed Emile by the shoulders. His hands were trembling.

"What do you mean you can’t find him?" Clyde demanded.

Emile was wheezing from the run. He forced air into his lungs. "We fell," he gasped. "The tube... it hit a slope. I couldn’t find him after."

Clyde’s face drained of colour. Without another word, he turned toward the slope.

Resort staff, sensing the urgency, quickly mobilised. One grabbed a sled. Another radioed for assistance.

Clyde ran down the incline, calling Micah’s name over and over. "Micah!" His voice echoed against the frozen terrain.

Mason crouched suddenly. "Clyde... look."

A small drop of blood stained the snow. Clyde’s heart dropped violently.

Darcy moved further down the slope, scanning carefully. He followed faint disturbances in the snow until he reached the bottom area.

A few minutes later, he ran back up.

"There’s a snowmobile track," Darcy said sharply. "Fresh. It goes down to the road."

Clyde’s jaw tightened. He turned to Emile. "You didn’t hear an engine?"

Emile shook his head quickly. "I was higher up. By the time I realised Micah might’ve been thrown, they were probably gone."

Dean stepped forward. "We should check CCTV."

They rushed toward the resort control office.

Jacklin and Soha were unaware in their room. Lin Heye and Dylon were at the hot spring. Only Clyde, Dean, Darcy, Mason, and Emile were present.

The staff pulled up the footage quickly. The screen flickered. There were four men in the area near the parking lot earlier.

Clyde’s expression darkened instantly. His eyes turned red, not from tears, but from fury. Then the footage showed Micah being carried. Limp. Unnaturally still. Clyde’s chest tightened painfully.

For a brief moment, his thoughts spiralled into something violent. He imagined tearing those four apart. Then his phone rang. Signal had finally returned. He answered without looking away from the screen. "Yes."

"It’s me. Silas Durant," came the voice. "Come to the first hospital immediately. He needs a family member’s signature for surgery."

For a second, he couldn’t hear anything but his own pulse. "Surgery?" he repeated.

"Subdural hemorrhage. It’s life-threatening."

Clyde inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. "I’m coming."

He ended the call. "Hospital," he said shortly.

Darcy was already moving. During the drive, no one spoke. Darcy quickly called the Palmer family to inform them. When he hung up, his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

Clyde stared straight ahead, jaw rigid.

When they arrived at the emergency entrance, they moved fast. The moment Darcy saw the four men standing outside the operating area, something inside him snapped.

He lunged forward. His fist connected with Aidan’s face. The crack echoed down the corridor. Aidan didn’t dodge. The punch split the corner of his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin.

Medical staff gasped. Before security could intervene, Mason and Dean grabbed Darcy and pulled him back.

"Stop it!" Dean hissed.

Emile stood frozen. He recognised them. Archie from the university. Leo McKay from the entertainment industry and Aidan Wilson from the auction. Silas Durant, who had checked on Asena before. Why were they all here?

Clyde walked straight past them toward Silas. "Where is he?" Clyde demanded.

"In emergency surgery," Silas replied evenly. "The blow to his temple caused a subdural hemorrhage. It required immediate intervention. They proceeded because it’s life-threatening, but they still need a family signature."

Clyde’s temple vein throbbed visibly. "Did you do this intentionally?" he asked coldly, looking at the four men.

Leo met his gaze without flinching. "No. We were here to talk. Aidan was only meant to pass along a message. Then the accident happened."

"I swear to god, I didn’t do anything. You can confirm with that young man." Aidan nodded toward Emile.

Clyde forced himself to breathe. Rage could wait. Micah’s life could not. He stepped toward the consent form. Right now, nothing else mattered except that Micah survived. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not listed as his family," the nurse said gently.

Clyde froze, pen stilled in his hand. He looked at Darcy. Neither of them legally counted.

Author’s Note:

Some readers who followed my first book may notice that I’ve written about subdural hemorrhage before. I chose to include it again because it is something deeply personal to me.

I once lost a family member to this condition. After he hit his head in a mild car accident, the signs were not taken seriously, and they continued driving. By the time the severity became clear, it was already too late.

I share this not to repeat myself, but in the hope that more people become aware of how serious head injuries can be.

Thank you for reading and for staying with this story.

Cheers! ❤️❤️