From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 700: The Road to Recovery (part two)

Four weeks had passed since the surgery.

The days no longer blurred together the way they had in the beginning, but time still moved in a strange, slow rhythm inside the hospital. Morning therapy. Rest. Lunch. More therapy. Visitors. Night. The steady beeping of machines had become part of Micah’s background world, like a second heartbeat.

He was still in Malayer City.

Despite the Ramsy family’s influence, despite the convenience of transferring him back to Isatis City, Micah had refused to move.

The accident and emergency surgery had spread across social media within hours. Headlines, speculation, blurry photos taken outside the hospital. Some accounts exaggerated it into near death. Others created stories about conspiracies and family disputes. There were even ridiculous posts claiming sabotage.

Micah had seen a few of them during the first week before Clyde confiscated his phone.

He had no desire to return to Isatis City just to become a spectacle. He didn’t want reporters waiting outside hospital gates. He didn’t want whispers in hallways. He didn’t want pitying looks from strangers.

He wasn’t an exhibit. He wasn’t an animal in a zoo.

Besides, the medical team had firmly advised against transferring him too soon. The neurosurgeon had recommended at least six weeks of stable recovery before considering relocation. Moving him prematurely, they explained, could disrupt his rehabilitation schedule and increase risk.

So he stayed.

The Ramsy family along with Flora and Nora had gone back to Isatis City after the first week, returning to manage the companies and public matters that could not be left unattended. They visited on weekends, usually Elina first, her eyes still carrying traces of the fear she had not fully shed. Jacob would follow, quiet but attentive. Aria and Willow came too, bringing flowers and small comforts, trying not to show how shaken they had been.

Darcy had wanted to stay full-time. Micah had refused. "Don’t," he had told him gently. "You have your mother. And your life."

Darcy argued at first, stubborn and emotional, but Micah held firm. He did not want Darcy abandoning everything for him.

In the end, the Palmer family and Clyde took responsibility during the week.

Clyde did not merely stay. He settled in.

He moved into the hospital room as if it were a temporary residence. A folded blanket on the couch. A small bag tucked under the chair. His laptop on the side table, though it remained closed most of the time.

With the way Micah had been, disoriented, frustrated, occasionally silent for hours, Clyde had quietly cut off access from certain people.

The four who insisted on visiting were turned away. When they attempted to contact Micah directly, Clyde blocked their calls and filtered their messages without hesitation.

Micah knew. He didn’t object. He didn’t have the energy.

Clyde had also wanted to move him back to Isatis City under private care. He had offered to arrange everything discreetly.

Micah had refused that too. For once, Clyde had not argued long. Instead, he shifted his focus entirely.

He handed most of his work to Dean and Jacklin. Meetings were rescheduled. Appearances postponed. His older brother and sisters stepped in to oversee La Riviere’s operations. Clyde remained in Malayer City, his world reduced to a hospital room and the slow progress of rehabilitation charts.

Meanwhile, the fashion show in Jay City went ahead without Micah. His design was displayed. It was a success.

Photos of the runway circulated online. Critics praised the bold structure and subtle detailing. Some mentioned his absence, adding sympathy to the commentary. Others insisted the design spoke for itself.

Micah didn’t know which reason weighed more, talent or tragedy. He found that he didn’t care as much as he thought he would.

Contentment came quietly. At least something he created had not been broken.

Visitors came often. Distant relatives, Family friends. People he barely remembered meeting in the town square. They brought fruits, flowers, well wishes. Most stayed only a few minutes when they saw how tired he became.

One visit surprised him. Ilyas. The young man had stood at the foot of the bed, hands tucked into his coat pockets, studying him carefully. His gaze had shifted between Clyde and Darcy more than once, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Micah had noticed. He did not ask. He didn’t have the patience for complicated expressions or hidden meanings. It was Darcy who had led Ilyas away in the end.

The four who had tried to reach him through texts and calls persisted for days. Micah ignored them. Clyde gladly enforced that silence.

And so four weeks passed.

—

They had never talked about that day. Not properly.

The accident existed like a sealed box placed in the corner of the room. Both of them knew it was there. Neither reached for it.

Until one quiet afternoon.

The sunlight filtered weakly through the window. Micah had just finished a therapy session and was resting against the raised hospital bed, his silver hair falling loosely over his forehead. His right side was stronger than before, but still unreliable. He could lift his arm now, though slowly. His leg responded with effort. The numbness lingered but had dulled.

Clyde sat in the chair beside him, watching. There was something different in his gaze that day, something intent.

"Was it them?" Clyde asked suddenly.

Micah looked up, puzzled. "Who?"

"Those four," Clyde clarified, voice low. "Your accident... did they do something?"

The air shifted.

Micah blinked, processing the question. He replayed the memory as best as he could, the road, the sudden loss of control, the impact. His memory still felt incomplete, like parts had been erased.

"No..." he whispered after a long pause. "I don’t think so."

Clyde studied his face carefully, as if searching for doubt. His expression tightened briefly. Something dark flickered in his eyes before he suppressed it. He didn’t press further.

"Are you hungry?" he asked instead, tone shifting deliberately.

Micah examined him for a moment, then nodded faintly. "A little."

Clyde stood up immediately. He retrieved the insulated flask from the side table and poured warm soup into a small bowl. Steam curled gently into the air.

He sat on the edge of the bed and dipped the spoon carefully.

"Slow down. It’s still hot," he murmured, bringing it to Micah’s lips.

Micah swallowed after each spoonful, the warmth spreading through his chest. It felt comforting. By the seventh spoon, he shook his head. "Enough."

Clyde didn’t argue. He set the bowl aside and wiped the corner of Micah’s mouth gently with a napkin.

Silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable. But charged. As if something unspoken hovered just beneath the surface.

They looked at each other in silence. Micah broke the quiet first. "I’m cold," he whispered.

Clyde reacted instantly, standing and grabbing the blanket from the couch. He returned quickly and draped it carefully over Micah’s shoulders, tucking the edges around him.

Micah waited. But the man did not move again. Was he being too subtle?

"I’m still cold."

Clyde paused, confused. He glanced at the thermostat on the wall and began to move toward it.

Micah sighed softly. He should have known.

"Come hug me," he said plainly.

Clyde froze mid-step. For a second, he simply stared. Then he turned back slowly.

Without a word, he removed his shoes and climbed carefully onto the bed, positioning himself stiffly beside Micah. He lay on his side, uncertain, afraid of hurting him.

Micah shifted with effort. He turned toward Clyde and moved closer until his head rested against Clyde’s chest.

Clyde inhaled sharply but then wrapped his arms around him, careful and protective.

The warmth came instantly. Micah’s heart, which had been restless all afternoon, began to settle.

After a moment, he spoke softly. "Am I ugly now?"

Clyde frowned slightly. "What?"

"I’m scared to look in the mirror," Micah admitted quietly.

His silver hair covered the area near his temple where the surgery scar curved subtly beneath. He had not properly examined it yet. He had avoided mirrors during therapy sessions, turning his head away.

Clyde looked down at him. Then he chuckled lightly. "Yeah," he said seriously. "You should remain indoors. Don’t go out scaring innocent people."

Micah narrowed his eyes. With his left hand, he reached up and pinched Clyde’s chest sharply.

A sudden yelp escaped Clyde’s mouth. "Micah!" he forced his voice to remain steady.

Micah blinked. The texture under his fingers felt... different.

He paused. Then realized.

"Ohhh," he stretched the sound teasingly.

Without hesitation, he pinched again, precisely the same small, sensitive point.

Clyde sucked in a breath through his teeth, jaw tightening. His hand instinctively tightened around Micah’s waist.

"Even in this situation," Clyde muttered darkly, "you still find time for mischief?"

Micah buried his face against Clyde’s chest, hiding a faint smile. He didn’t answer.

Clyde just sighed helplessly and hugged him tighter.

For a while, neither spoke.

Micah listened to Clyde’s heartbeat beneath his ear. Steady. Strong. The accident had come without warning. One moment everything had been normal. The next, everything had shifted.

It had frightened everyone.

It had shaken both of his families. The Ramsys and the Palmers seemed closer now to Clyde, accepting him as Micah’s boyfriend. Darcy moved more naturally among them than before. There was less stiffness. Less unspoken tension.

Micah didn’t know if he should consider himself lucky or unlucky. Something terrible had happened. But something else had softened too. He decided not to think too deeply about it.

As for those four... Why they had sought him. Why they had insisted on seeing him after the accident.

That could wait. He would deal with it when he returned to Isatis City.

For now, he let himself remain in this small, contained world. Complicated matters could wait outside. Micah closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the peace beside Clyde.