From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 736: What Must Be Given Up (part two)

The room fell into a suffocating and oppressive silence, one that seemed to press down upon each of them with invisible weight. It was not the kind of silence that brought peace or clarity, but rather the kind that lingered with unspoken thoughts, unresolved guilt, and the quiet acknowledgment of truths that none of them could easily escape. Even the faint sounds from outside the private room, the distant clinking of utensils and muffled conversations, felt as though they belonged to another world entirely, one that had nothing to do with the heaviness that now settled within these four walls.

No one moved. No one spoke. It was as if Leo’s words had carved something deep into the space between them, leaving behind an emptiness that demanded to be filled, yet none of them knew how.

Then, unexpectedly, Silas broke the silence. "I will give him all my shares in SAFA Pharmaceutical," he said.

His voice was calm, steady, and entirely devoid of hesitation, as though he had already considered this decision long before this gathering had even taken place. There was no trace of reluctance in his tone, no visible struggle in his expression. If anything, he appeared almost... resolved.

The others turned toward him almost immediately, their reactions varying from disbelief to outright shock.

Silas continued speaking, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, not quite meeting any of their eyes.

"I am certain that if my mother were to learn about what I have done to Darcy," he went on, his voice remaining composed despite the gravity of his words, "her disappointment in me would far outweigh any satisfaction she might have from seeing me inherit the entirety of the company. In comparison, relinquishing my shares would mean nothing."

There was a faint pause, brief but deliberate. "And after that," he added, "I will transfer to another city. I will take my mother with me and leave this place entirely."

The declaration settled heavily into the room, its impact undeniable.

Even Leo, who had been the one to propose such an extreme form of restitution, found himself momentarily stunned. He had expected resistance, hesitation, perhaps even outright rejection. What he had not anticipated was the sheer ease with which Silas had chosen to discard everything that defined his current life.

It was not merely wealth that Silas was giving up. It was status, identity, and the future that had been carefully laid out for him since the beginning.

Aidan let out a low laugh, the sound echoing strangely in the tense atmosphere. "Ah..." he drawled, leaning back slightly as he tilted his head upward, his laughter carrying a faint edge of bitterness. "So that is why you were always his favourite, huh..."

The remark hung in the air, neither fully mocking nor entirely sincere. However, the laughter did not last long. It faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind something more sombre.

"But I am not that generous," Aidan continued after a moment, his voice quieter now, though still laced with that familiar hint of defiance. "I cannot simply abandon everything that I have spent years building with my own hands."

Before anyone else could respond, Archie slammed his hand down against the table with enough force to make the dishes rattle violently.

"Then fuck off," he snapped, his voice sharp and filled with barely restrained anger. "If you are so proud of what you have done, then get the hell out of here."

Aidan turned his head slowly, his expression shifting into something almost amused. He brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag before exhaling lazily, the smoke curling upward in thin, twisting strands.

The arrogance that once defined him had diminished, worn down by time and circumstance. Yet, beneath that surface, there was still something untamed, something defiant that refused to disappear completely.

"It is easy for you to speak like that," Aidan replied, his tone carrying a subtle mockery. "It is always easier to demand sacrifice from others."

He paused, his gaze settling on Archie with a sharp, knowing edge. "What do you even have to give?" he continued. "Tell me. What is it that you are sacrificing? Nothing."

A quiet snicker followed his words, though it lacked any real humour.

Archie’s expression twisted almost immediately, his anger faltering for just a moment as something far more uncomfortable surfaced. Because Aidan was not entirely wrong.

In their previous lives, everything Archie had achieved, every victory, every title, every moment of pride, had been tied, in one way or another, to Darcy. Whether it was through support, sacrifice, or circumstances that he had long refused to acknowledge, the truth remained that his accomplishments were not entirely his own.

And in this lifetime, things had not been any better.

The position of captain in the SilverBlade League, the very title that had once defined him, had already slipped through his fingers. His reckless behaviour, his drunken incident at the university, and the subsequent suspension had not only tarnished his reputation but had also placed his participation in competitions on indefinite hold.

For the first time in a long while, Archie found himself with nothing to say.

His expression shifted repeatedly, as though he were searching for something, anything, to counter Aidan’s words. Anger, frustration, and denial flickered across his face in rapid succession, like a chameleon changing colours, yet none of it solidified into a response.

Leo observed the exchange quietly before speaking once more. "Everyone has something," he said calmly. "You simply need to decide what you are willing to let go of."

He paused briefly before adding, "When you have reached a decision, inform me. I will present it to Micah. If he finds it acceptable, we will proceed to hand everything over to Darcy."

There was no room for negotiation in his tone.

"And as for myself," Leo continued, his gaze shifting toward Archie for just a moment, the implication in his words unmistakable, "I will draft a contract transferring all rights to my assets and future earnings to Darcy. In a way, I’ll be his slave."

The statement was delivered with the same composure as before, yet its meaning carried significant weight.

Unlike Silas, Leo did not possess vast corporate shares to relinquish. His fame, his career, and the opportunities he had gained were all intricately tied to the support he had once received from Micah’s company. The compensation he had paid to terminate his contract with Twilight Entertainment had already drained him financially.

There was a reason he still resided under his parents’ roof.

For him, this decision was not about giving up excess wealth. It was about surrendering whatever remained of his independence.

Leo rose from his seat, signalling that he had said everything he intended to say. As he made his way toward the door, he paused briefly, turning his head just enough to direct a final remark toward Aidan. "You can throw as many tantrums as you want, continue resisting for as long as you wish," he said evenly. "It will not change the outcome."

His gaze sharpened slightly. "You will never be able to approach Micah again."

The words were delivered without emotion, yet they carried a sharpness that cut deeper than any raised voice could have.

"Give up," Leo added. "Clyde has already claimed him."

That single sentence shattered something. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet undeniable.

Aidan’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, the carefully maintained façade cracking just enough to reveal the impact beneath.

Leo did not stop there. "I saw it myself," he continued, a faint, almost mocking curve forming at the corner of his lips. "The marks on his neck."

He allowed the implication to linger before finishing, "Why do you think he allowed Micah to meet me?"

A soft chuckle followed, devoid of warmth, before Leo turned and exited the room without another word.

The door closed behind him with a quiet click. And once again, silence took over.

This time, however, it was far heavier than before.

Archie was the first to break. "Damn it!" he shouted, his frustration exploding outward as he grabbed the teacup in front of him and hurled it to the ground.

The porcelain shattered instantly upon impact, fragments scattering across the floor.

"Fuck!"

The curse echoed through the room as he pushed his chair back and stood abruptly. Without waiting for a response, without looking back, he stormed out, leaving behind only the remnants of his anger.

The room grew quieter still.

Silas rose to his feet next, his movements precise and controlled, as though guided by an unseen mechanism. He walked toward the door but stopped just before reaching it.

Without turning fully, he spoke. "Have you not realised why you were spared?" he asked.

Aidan lifted his head slightly, his expression blank, as though the question had not fully registered.

Silas glanced at him, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Why did neither Clyde nor Darcy destroy you?" he continued. "Or me?"

There was a brief pause.

"We were the cruelest," he said. "Toward Darcy. Toward Micah."

Aidan said nothing.

Silas’s voice remained cold as he went on. "You saved his life," he stated. "And I recognised the danger in time."

His eyes darkened slightly. "If he had been left alone in that snow, even for a moment longer, the consequences would have been irreversible. Paralysis. Brain damage. Perhaps even death."

The words were clinical, devoid of emotion, yet they carried an undeniable cold truth.

"It is time to move forward," Silas concluded. "Do not cling to something that no longer exists."

He paused briefly before delivering the final blow. "He will not return."

With that, Silas reached out and pulled down the door handle with his gloved hand, exiting the room and leaving Aidan alone.

The silence that followed was absolute. Aidan remained seated, unmoving, the cigarette still held between his fingers as its ember burned steadily.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly.

The heat eventually reached his skin, the burning tip pressing against his fingers, yet he did not react. It was as though the sensation failed to reach him entirely.

The ash broke away, falling quietly to the floor. And as it dimmed, so too did the light in his eyes.

There was no miracle waiting at the end of this path. No second chance hidden behind some unseen door. No impossible return waiting to defy reality.

There was nothing.

No way back. No redemption through fantasy. No wife-chasing crematorium. No path that could lead him to reclaim what he had already lost.

Only the quiet, inescapable truth remained. He was alone.