From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 730: The Tragic Tale of a Man Who Didn’t Even Get That Far (part two)

Chapter 730: The Tragic Tale of a Man Who Didn’t Even Get That Far (part two)

Clyde had not intended to go out that night.

In fact, for several days in a row, he had been avoiding any form of social gathering altogether. The penthouse, once filled with presence and warmth, now felt uncomfortably vast and hollow, every quiet corner echoing with the absence of a certain silver-haired individual who had, without permission, become an inseparable part of his daily existence.

However, Mason had been persistent. Relentless, even.

The invitations had started as casual suggestions, then gradually escalated into direct messages, then phone calls, and eventually, thinly veiled threats disguised as jokes. Under normal circumstances, Clyde would have ignored him entirely. But tonight, after hours of sleepless staring at the ceiling, replaying conversations that had already ended, he found himself... agreeing.

And that was how he ended up seated in a dimly lit private section of an upscale bar. The atmosphere was lively, almost suffocatingly so.

Music pulsed through the air in steady, rhythmic waves. Laughter rose and fell in uneven bursts. Glasses clinked together in careless celebration. Everywhere he looked, there were people leaning into one another, speaking too closely, smiling too brightly, touching too easily.

It was unbearable. Clyde sat back in his seat, shoulders slightly slumped, his usual composed demeanour replaced by something noticeably heavier.

He had not been sleeping well. That fact alone would have been manageable under normal conditions. However, the cause of it made everything worse. Micah. Or more specifically, the lack of Micah.

Being apart from him for even a short period of time had proven far more disruptive than Clyde had anticipated. The absence was not quiet or subtle. It was loud. Intrusive. Persistent.

And then there were the reports. That had been the final blow.

Clyde had received confirmation, reliable confirmation, that Micah had been seen in the company of several different individuals over the past few days.

Not just anyone. Attractive individuals. Every single one of them.

That detail, in particular, had settled heavily in his chest, refusing to dislodge. His thoughts spiralled in directions he could not entirely control.

Was Micah searching for a replacement? Had he grown tired of him already?

Had everything Clyde believed, everything he had convinced himself was steady and mutual, been nothing more than a temporary fixation?

The uncertainty gnawed at him. He had investigated, of course. He could not stop himself.

Each person Micah had been seen with had been quietly looked into, their identities examined, their backgrounds reviewed, their connections analysed.

There had been nothing alarming. Nothing threatening. None of them were a real threat to him. And yet, that did not ease his mind. If anything, it made things worse. Because the real question remained unanswered.

And Clyde found himself unable to ask it.

Despite everything, despite the certainty he had carried through countless lifetimes, despite the unwavering belief that Micah’s feelings had always been genuine, doubt had taken root.

A small seed. But one that was beginning to grow.

"Drink." Mason’s voice cut through his thoughts as a glass was placed firmly in front of him. "Bottoms up."

Clyde lowered his gaze. The liquid inside was dark, strong, and unmistakably potent. He was not particularly fond of alcohol. He drank when necessary, during business meetings, social events, or strategic interactions, but rarely for enjoyment.

Tonight, however... His eyes drifted briefly across the first floor. Couples sat close together, whispering, laughing, leaning into one another as though the rest of the world did not exist.

It felt like mockery. Without another word, Clyde reached for the glass and downed its contents in one smooth motion. The burn was immediate. Sharp. Unpleasant. But welcome.

"Trouble in paradise?" Mason asked, watching him with open amusement.

"What kind of question is that?" Georgina added, leaning slightly forward. "Should this not be the most blissful moment of your relationship? Honeymoon phase? Especially after that very public declaration?"

Clyde pressed his lips together. The reminder was unwelcome.

"Did he reject your proposal?" Dylon asked bluntly.

Clyde shook his head. "I have not proposed yet."

Georgina shifted closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And what about the gift I prepared for him?" she asked. "Did that not... move things forward?"

Clyde shot her a sharp look. "I have not even resolved that matter, and you are bringing it up now?"

Georgina shrugged, entirely unapologetic. "What harm could there have been? If he disliked it, he could have simply ignored it."

Clyde exhaled slowly. "That was not the issue."

"So what exactly happened?" Lin Heye asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

Clyde hesitated. For perhaps the first time that evening, genuine embarrassment surfaced. He did not particularly enjoy recounting the sequence of events aloud.

"No way," Dylon suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening. "Do not tell me you failed at a critical moment. That you couldn’t get it up..."

Clyde immediately kicked him under the table. "Be quiet."

Mason let out a short laugh. "That would be pretty damn funny."

Clyde set his glass down with more force than necessary. "We were caught afterwards," he said flatly. "By his family."

There was a brief pause. Then... Laughter erupted loud and unrestrained.

"What kind of unfortunate timing is that?" Mason said between laughs.

Clyde said nothing.

"Honestly, I never expected to see you in such a situation," Lin Heye added, clearly entertained.

"Regardless," Clyde continued, his tone growing more serious, "he moved out afterwards."

That managed to quiet them slightly.

"And since then," Clyde added, "he has been meeting other people... randomly."

Georgina reached over and patted his shoulder. "My friend... are you absolutely certain that the issue was only the interruption? Perhaps your... performance left something to be desired."

Clyde froze. For a brief moment, his expression shifted, surprise, disbelief, and something dangerously close to self-reflection. Then logic returned.

No. That was not possible. They had not even progressed that far. And if anything, Micah had been the one who had reached the climax more than he had.

Clyde shook his head. "That is not the problem."

He spoke with quiet certainty. No one challenged him.

"So let me summarise," Mason said casually. "You did not propose. Your partner moved out. And now he is spending time with other people."

"Are you trying to worsen his mood?" Lin Heye asked, clearly disapproving. "Rub salt in his wound?"

"I am merely stating the facts," Mason replied with a shrug.

"Instead of stating facts, perhaps we should consider solutions," Dylon suggested.

"Oh?" Georgina said, exchanging a subtle glance with the others.

Clyde did not notice. Glasses were refilled. One after another.

The conversation shifted, but the drinking continued. Clyde, despite recognising the pattern, did not refuse. At some point, halfway through yet another glass, he realised what they were trying to do.

And yet...

He allowed it. Because somewhere, buried beneath pride and restraint, there was a reckless thought. A desperate one. Perhaps... If he became sufficiently intoxicated...

Micah would come.

—

At that exact moment, in a completely different location, Micah was experiencing an entirely different form of misery.

He sat in a chair on the deck, his posture slumped, his expression darkened, his entire presence radiating an unmistakable aura of gloom.

It was so intense that even the staff, who were accustomed to his temper, instinctively adjusted their paths to avoid crossing him.

Even the ants passing by seemed to turn away, avoiding him.

His plan had failed. Spectacularly.

What had initially seemed like a brilliant idea, helping Darcy find someone suitable, had turned into an exhausting and fruitless endeavour. Micah had tried everything. Carefully arranged meetings. Convenient coincidences. Strategic excuses that allowed Darcy to be alone with potential partners. It did not matter whether they were men or women. Every single one of them had shown interest in Darcy.

And yet... Darcy remained indifferent. Unmoved. Completely unaffected.

Micah dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath.

And then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen.

Clyde. Without hesitation, he answered.

"Hello...?" he said, his voice slightly subdued.

The response was immediate. Noise. Loud, chaotic noise. Music. Laughter. Voices overlapping.

Micah straightened instantly. "Clyde?"

"Where are you?"

Before an answer could come through, another voice cut in.

A playful, flirtatious voice cut in. "Hey there, handsome... care for a drink?"

Something snapped. Micah’s expression darkened dangerously. He did not need further explanation.

"Listen carefully," he said, his voice low and sharp. "If you let anyone touch you, I swear you will regret it."

And with that, he ended the call. For a brief moment, he remained still, seething. Then he moved. Fast.

He contacted Clyde’s assistant. The response was vague, something about a meeting with friends.

That was enough. Micah immediately dialled another number. Lin Heye picked up on the third attempt.

"Micah?"

"Where are you, Brother Lin?" Micah demanded. "Where is Clyde?"

A pause. "Did he not return?" Lin Heye replied. "We had drinks, then went our separate ways."

Micah’s grip tightened around his phone. "He called me," he said. "He is intoxicated. Send me the address."

He was already moving. Halfway to the parking area, he stopped abruptly.

A sharp curse escaped him. He could not drive yet. Without wasting another second, he turned, exited the property, and flagged down a passing taxi.

As he climbed in, he repeated the address. His mind was already racing ahead. Toward one person. Only one. Clyde. He was dead meat!