From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 705: Glass Beneath Our Feet

When Clyde returned to the living room, he couldn’t find Micah among the guests. The room was filled with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the low hum of overlapping conversations. Crystal chandeliers reflected warm golden light over polished floors, and the scent of expensive perfume mingled with the sweetness of fresh flowers arranged on every table. Yet for Clyde, all of it faded into background noise. His eyes scanned the crowd carefully, moving from one familiar face to another, but none of them were the one he was searching for.

A faint crease formed between his brows. Clyde’s gaze sharpened, sweeping past the buffet table, past Jacob speaking to Graham Sandford, past Elina smiling graciously at Jacklin.

Then he saw him. Micah was walking out from the same hallway from which Clyde had just returned. His steps were steady, but there was a certain stiffness in his posture, as if he were holding something back. The soft light caught the side of his face, outlining his sharp features.

Clyde’s heart skipped a beat. Why was he there?

A dozen thoughts struck him all at once. Did he hear the conversation between him and Darcy? Did he find out about Darcy remembering the past? Or worse... had he overheard enough to guess Clyde’s intention about the proposal? He had planned to be a surprise... Had everything unravelled before he could even take the first step?

His pulse quickened. He searched Micah’s face for a clue. For a flicker of suspicion. For anger. For hurt. For that smug look he sometimes wore.

But no... he seemed as usual. There was a faint pout on his lips, a trace of irritation perhaps, but nothing that suggested he had discovered anything catastrophic. His eyes were clear. His expression familiar.

Micah stopped in front of him without hesitation, then extended his hand and grabbed Clyde’s wrist. The contact was sudden but not rough. "Come here," he muttered, already pulling him away from the crowd.

Clyde allowed himself to be led without resistance.

They stepped out onto the deck, and the fresh spring evening air brushed against his face. The sudden quiet was a relief compared to the crowded hall. A gentle breeze rustled through nearby trees, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers. The city lights shimmered in the distance, soft and blurred like scattered stars fallen to earth.

Micah released his wrist and crossed his arms, leaning back slightly against the railing. His expression was half annoyed, half exhausted. "Don’t you have something to say to me?"

Clyde’s heart began pounding again. He forced his breathing to remain even. "Like what?" His voice was calm, carefully neutral.

Micah narrowed his eyes slightly. "Like giving me a heads up about this party?" He huffed, clearly displeased.

Clyde’s heart settled back into his chest. That was it?

He swallowed quietly, relief flooding through him so quickly it almost made him dizzy. "I was asked not to say," he explained. "They know you like the back of their hand. They were sure you would bail out if you heard about it beforehand."

Micah rolled his eyes dramatically. "Damn straight I would. Look at me! My CPU was already questionable before the accident, and now it has blown up!" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I was hiding from them in the back. My head hurts from constant chatting."

Clyde’s expression changed instantly. The teasing edge disappeared, replaced by concern. "What?" He stepped closer. "Where does it hurt?" His voice was full of worry now, low and urgent.

Micah groaned. "Ugh! Enough! I’m fine." He pushed lightly at Clyde’s chest. "Go get me a drink."

Clyde didn’t budge. "No alcohol," he said firmly.

"I know!" Micah shot back. "Get me a juice or something."

He turned toward the small outdoor furniture before Clyde could argue further, flopping lazily onto one of the couches. He sprawled there in an exaggerated manner, one arm thrown over the backrest, legs stretched out as if claiming the entire couch for himself.

Clyde sighed helplessly, the corner of his lips lifting slightly despite himself. "As you wish, your majesty."

Micah waved him off without looking at him.

Once Clyde disappeared toward the refreshment table, Micah’s expression shifted.

The playful irritation drained away, replaced by quiet contemplation. His gaze lowered, unfocused, as his thoughts began to untangle.

Earlier, he had noticed Clyde leaving with his grandfather and his parents, even Darcy. The sight had sparked curiosity immediately. The five of them walking together toward the study, faces serious, there was no way that was random.

He had tried to ignore it at first. But curiosity had won.

After waiting a few minutes to avoid being obvious, he had quietly slipped away from the crowd and followed the same hallway. His footsteps had been slow, cautious.

When he arrived near the study, the door had opened and his grandfather stepped out first, leaning on his cane. Albert’s face had been thoughtful, but not distressed. Then Jacob and Elina followed shortly after. His mother had looked slightly worried, but not devastated.

Micah had quickly stepped back into the shadow of the hallway before they noticed him.

Inside, only Clyde and Darcy remained.

His curiosity had sharpened. He had inched closer to the door, pressing himself lightly against the wall beside it. The wood was thick, and whatever they were saying came through muffled and intermittent. He could not make out full sentences. Only fragments.

"...tell him..."

"...first life..."

"...guilt..."

"...don’t make him choose..."

The tone, however, was unmistakable.

They were arguing.

Clyde’s voice had been low but firm. Darcy’s had been sharper, louder, edged with something volatile. When Micah dared to peek through the slight gap where the door hadn’t latched fully, he caught sight of Clyde’s grim expression. His jaw had been tight, his posture rigid.

That alone had unsettled Micah. He had never liked being the centre of conflict, especially not between the two of them.

Clyde had stepped out of the room, visibly tense.

Micah had waited for Darcy to leave too, planning to confront him casually and pretend he had just arrived.

But then... Crash. The sound of something shattering had echoed from inside the study. Micah’s heart had jumped into his throat. Without thinking, he had pushed the door open. "What happened? Are you alright?" His voice had come out louder than intended, edged with alarm.

Darcy had been crouched on the floor, squinting as he tried to gather the broken pieces of a small porcelain vase. The shards glimmered dangerously under the lamplight.

Seeing Micah, he had frozen.

Micah, who had rushed in too quickly, nearly lost his balance on the rug. His right leg wobbled from the sudden movement.

Darcy had stood up instantly. "Be careful!"

He had grabbed Micah’s hand, steadying him.

Micah had glared at him immediately. "Tell yourself! Why were you picking them up with your bare hands? What if you cut your finger?"

Darcy’s expression had softened at once. The earlier tension had vanished as if it had never existed. "Unlike someone, I’m not a whiner. I can handle a little pain."

Micah had narrowed his eyes and, without hesitation, used his left leg to kick him lightly in the shin. "Who are you calling a whiner? Watch your mouth! I’m as tough as nails!"

Darcy had winced dramatically before breaking into a small smile. "Sure, sure."

Micah had stared at his face then, something tugging at his thoughts. For a fleeting second when he had first opened the door, he had thought Darcy looked furious: eyes dark, jaw tight, something almost frightening beneath the surface.

But now?

Now he looked calm. Gentle even. Had he imagined it?

Micah had patted Darcy’s shoulder. "Just call a housekeeper. Don’t touch it."

"Alright. Go for now. What if you fell on them?" Darcy had used Micah’s earlier scolding tone against him, nudging him gently toward the door.

Micah had pouted but hadn’t argued further. He had left the study, though his mind had lingered on the sight of Darcy crouched among broken porcelain.

And now, sitting on the couch while pretending to be annoyed about the party, Micah replayed that moment in his head.

From the way Clyde’s expression had changed when he saw him in the hallway just now, slightly startled, slightly guarded, Micah was certain.

The two of them had argued about something related to him. He leaned back against the couch and stared at the night sky, tapping his fingers lightly against his arm.

What exactly were they hiding?

He sighed, feeling helpless. He knew in his heart the answer, but he had dread facing it.

Haiz... he should man up and confront the elephant in the room. Avoiding it had already caused enough damage.