From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 726: He called me BABY!

Micah slammed the bedroom door shut so hard the sound echoed through the hallway, the sharp bang seeming to bounce right back at him. He stood there for a moment, frozen, his hand still gripping the doorknob as if letting go might somehow undo what had just happened. It didn’t. Nothing could undo it.

His ears burned a furious red, the heat creeping all the way down his neck. His heart pounded wildly against his ribs, each beat loud and accusing, like it was mocking him for his stupidity. His insides dried up from humiliation.

What had he just said?

The words replayed in his head, clear and merciless. Every syllable. Every tone. Every shameless complaint he had thrown out into the open air, into the presence of his entire family.

Micah squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "No... no, no, no..."

Why? Why did they have to show up today of all days?

He forced himself to think, pacing a few steps before stopping abruptly. His mind scrambled, trying to piece together the timeline. Saturday. Right. It was Saturday.

His expression twisted. But that didn’t explain anything! If anything, it made it worse. His family never just dropped by like this. They were always careful not to intrude on their space. Especially now. Especially when they knew.

Micah covered his face with both hands, his fingers pressing into his temples as if he could squeeze the humiliation out of his skull.

For Pete’s sake, they knew he and Clyde were together. They knew they lived together.

Why did couples go out on Friday night? Have a date? Of course, it was to get intimate!

"So why," he muttered through gritted teeth, "would you come over, showing up your son at his lover’s place first thing Saturday morning?!"

It was practically a setup. A trap. A perfectly executed ambush designed to ruin his dignity. He dropped his hands and stared blankly at the wall, his expression darkening.

No. No, there was someone else to blame here too. His eyes narrowed. Clyde.

"That jerk..." Micah hissed under his breath.

Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t he warned him? Even a single word, just one, would have saved him from this disaster.

He could have coughed. Sneezed. Dropped something. Anything! But no. He had just stood there. Silent. Letting Micah walk right into the kitchen and...

Micah made a strangled sound and grabbed his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

"Fuck..."

His gaze dropped to his outfit, and his expression cracked completely. His pyjamas. Those pyjamas. Bright. Soft. Embarrassingly childish. The kind Amy would never, ever let him forget.

Micah stared at them in horror for exactly two seconds before letting out a frustrated yell.

"Shit!"

In one swift motion, he yanked the pyjama top over his head and kicked off the bottoms, throwing them onto the floor like they were his enemy. He glared at the crumpled fabric, his humiliation finding a new target.

"This is all your fault too!" he snapped, as if the clothes could hear him.

He stomped on them, once, twice, three times, each step fueled by pure frustration.

Only after venting a tiny fraction of his anger did he finally turn away, marching toward the closet with determined, heavy steps. He grabbed the first decent-looking clothes he could find, a simple t-shirt and a pair of loose jeans, and threw them on in record time.

Once dressed, he turned toward the mirror. That was a mistake.

Micah froze. "...You’ve got to be kidding me."

His silver hair was an absolute disaster, sticking out in every possible direction like a bird had decided to build a nest overnight. He reached up, trying to smooth it down, but it barely helped.

And then there were his lips. Red. Swollen. Way too obvious.

Micah leaned closer, squinting slightly before his eyes widened in horror. "No way..."

His hand drifted to his neck. There they were. Faint, but unmistakable. Marks. His clavicle wasn’t spared either. Even his ear, his poor ear, hadn’t been spared by Clyde’s relentless attention.

Micah’s face flushed all over again, a fresh wave of embarrassment crashing into him.

"Despicable..." he muttered. "A rogue... no, worse. Absolutely diabolical."

He pointed accusingly at his reflection, as if Clyde might somehow see it through the mirror. "You’re done. Completely done."

But the anger didn’t last long. It melted quickly into despair.

Micah let his forehead fall against the wall with a soft thud. He stayed there, unmoving, his shoulders slumping as reality settled heavily on him.

He couldn’t go out there. He really couldn’t. His family was out there. After what he had said. After how he had said it.

Micah let out a quiet groan and tapped his forehead against the wall again. And again. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to express the depth of his regret.

"Kill me... just kill me now..." he mumbled miserably.

Honestly, if Clyde had just grabbed him and kissed him in front of everyone, it wouldn’t have been this bad. That was normal. Public affection. Slightly embarrassing, maybe, but nothing like this.

No. This was worse. Because it wasn’t just affection. It was his words. His very specific, very shameless words.

"Doing a dine-and-dash? At least give me a shower afterwards!"

Micah made a strangled noise and covered his ears.

"Stop! stop! Stop!"

But it didn’t stop.

"Seriously. If you’re going to run off after driving the car, the least you could do is make sure the pitiful car had received a full service..."

"AHHH!" Micah shouted, dragging his hands down his face again. "Why would I say that?!"

He had actually confessed with his own mouth in front of everyone that he was a bottom! A Zero! That he was at the mercy of Clyde!

For the love of God, it wasn’t about being on the receiving end... it was about the fact that he’d basically admitted, that he got bullied in bed!

That got under his skin.

As long as no one said it out loud, everything stayed behind closed doors. Everyone could speculate but there was no proof. But right now, the image of the arrogant, prideful young master he had worked so hard to maintain, the one everyone knew, had been shattered.

And worse, he had just outed himself. With his own mouth. In front of his entire family!

He paced in a small circle before dropping back down onto his knees near the wall, his entire body radiating frustration. If he could reach into his brain and rip the memory out, he would.

No hesitation. No regrets. Just delete it completely.

He was still spiralling in his thoughts, trapped in his own humiliation, when the bedroom door creaked open behind him.

Clyde stepped inside quietly. His gaze immediately landed on Micah. The sight made him pause.

Micah was kneeling on the floor, his forehead lightly bumping against the wall, surrounded by an almost visible cloud of gloom. It was so thick, so heavy, that even Clyde, who rarely felt uneasy, hesitated for a moment.

Still, he knew better than to stay away. This was his fault. He, the almighty Du Pont patriarch, couldn’t even stand there unfazed, in front of the Ramsey family, pretending nothing had happened. The moment he heard Micah’s yelling and trashing, he had fled the kitchen, using the excuse of checking on Micah.

Letting out a small breath, Clyde walked over. "Hey..." he said gently. "Are you alright?"

Micah froze. Then, slowly, very slowly, he lifted his head. The movement was stiff, unnatural, almost eerie, like an Annabelle doll being pulled upright by invisible strings. His eyes locked onto Clyde. And in the next second, he shot to his feet.

"You asshole!" Micah snapped, his voice sharp as he marched forward and punched Clyde square in the chest. "This is all your fault!"

Clyde didn’t dodge. Didn’t block. He just stood there and took it.

"If you hadn’t been messing with me this morning, if you had just said something, anything! that my family was here, I wouldn’t have!" Micah’s words stumbled over each other in his frustration. He hit Clyde again, though it lacked real force.

"I wouldn’t have ended up like this!"

Clyde let him vent. He knew he deserved it. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I know."

Micah let out a frustrated sound, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Do you have any idea how fucked up this is? How am I supposed to go out there now? Damn it! I’ve never been this humiliated in my life!"

His breathing turned uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Seeing that, Clyde’s expression softened further. He reached out and gently pulled Micah into his arms, wrapping them around him in a steady, grounding hold.

Micah didn’t resist immediately, but his mind was still racing.

His mother. His sister. The moment he stepped out, they would definitely say something.

Elina wouldn’t let it go. Aria would make it worse.

Jacob and Willow might stay quiet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t thinking about it. Flora... Flora was kind. She wouldn’t tease him. But the others?

Micah groaned and suddenly kicked Clyde in the shin.

"Hiss!" Clyde winced slightly, the pain catching him off guard.

Micah pulled back just enough to glare at him, clearly ready to continue his assault.

Clyde reacted quickly. He tightened his hold, not enough to hurt, just enough to stop Micah from escaping and launching another attack. Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping into something softer.

"Baby... please," he murmured near Micah’s ear. "I was wrong."

Micah froze instantly. Completely. It was as if someone had hit a pause button on him. Mechanically, he turned his head, his movements stiff like a rusty robot long overdue for oil, until his gaze met Clyde’s.

"...What did you just call me?" he asked.

Clyde met those bright hazel eyes he loved the most and repeated. "Baby."

The word was simple. Soft. But it hit Micah like nothing else. His breath caught. The anger, the frustration, the humiliation, all faded in an instant, replaced by something warm and fluttering.

His ears turned red again, but this time for a completely different reason. His heart skipped. Then raced. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, catching him completely off guard.

"...Oh," he said faintly.

Clyde watched him carefully, noticing the shift immediately. The tension melted from Micah’s expression, replaced by something softer, almost dazed.

Relief flooded through Clyde. He had been one step away from serious consequences. Possibly fatal ones. No he had really escaped a great calamity.

He was sure Micah would aim for his family jewels next and end his bloodline on the spot.

And somehow... he had escaped. Pure luck. He had never used that word before, not once, not even in their most intimate moments. And yet, somehow, it worked.

Micah liked it.

Clyde exhaled quietly, a small, inward sigh of relief. Crisis avoided. For now.