From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 741: A Dangerous Kind of Near (part two)

Ilyas’s gaze lowered slightly, then shifted toward the faint glow of his phone resting nearby. The screen remained dark, but the thought of it alone was enough to draw his attention.

Recently, there had been someone. An account. Someone who had been messaging him consistently, though neither of them knew anything substantial about the other. No real names, no identifying details, no expectations.

Just words.

It had started on a day when the silence of his apartment had felt particularly suffocating.

He had been alone, as usual. The outside world felt distant and unwelcoming, a place filled with too many eyes, too many chances of being recognised. Even the thought of stepping outside had been enough to make him hesitate.

So he had stayed inside. Confined. With nothing but time stretching endlessly before him.

He had always known, at least on some level, that his preferences did not align with what others might consider typical. He found himself drawn more toward men than women, though he had never acted upon it, never explored it beyond quiet acknowledgment.

There had never been an opportunity. Or perhaps, more accurately, he had never allowed himself one.

But that day, in a moment of impulsive curiosity mixed with lingering boredom, he had installed an online dating app.

He had not expected much from it. Perhaps a distraction. Perhaps nothing at all.

He had not realised, however, just how exposed such a platform could be. Messages had flooded in almost immediately and most of them were far too inappropriate.

Some were crude beyond belief, others outright vulgar, accompanied by images he had no desire to see. It had been overwhelming, unpleasant, even slightly unsettling.

One by one, he had blocked them without hesitation, his expression remaining blank as he did so.

There was no anger, no embarrassment. Just... disinterest.

Eventually, he had reached a point where the entire experience felt like a mistake. His finger had hovered over the option to delete the application entirely, ready to remove it from his life as though it had never existed.

And then, one message appeared. It was simple. Normal.

The profile picture attached to it was decent, neither exaggerated nor inappropriate, and the message itself carried none of the aggressive tone he had come to expect.

The person on the other side introduced himself awkwardly, almost hesitantly, admitting that he was inexperienced and unsure of how to approach someone in this kind of setting.

There was something unexpectedly sincere about it. Something... genuine and endearing.

Ilyas had paused. Then, after a brief moment of consideration, he replied.

What he hadn’t realised was that the app showed how far away the other person was, and this one was far too close.

From that point onward, the conversation had developed naturally. There was no pressure and urgency. They spoke about small things at first, daily routines, minor inconveniences, fleeting thoughts. Gradually, the topics expanded. Work. Frustrations. Moments of quiet reflection.

What stood out most was how easy it felt.

For once, Ilyas did not feel the need to guard his words carefully. He did not have to worry about being recognised, about maintaining a certain image, about the implications of what he said.

He could simply... talk. And the other person never pushed. Never pried into his personal life. Never demanded more than what Ilyas was willing to give. It was... comfortable. Strangely so.

Over time, those conversations had become something he looked forward to, a small but consistent presence that eased the sense of isolation that had once weighed so heavily on him.

Now, sitting here, watching Micah, seeing the quiet glow that came from being in a relationship...He found himself wondering.

Should he try it too? The thought lingered. It did not disappear.

Later that evening, after they had returned to their rooms and the day had drawn to a close, Ilyas found himself tempted. He picked up his phone. Hesitated briefly. Then began typing.

A simple message. A continuation of something that had already begun. What he did not know, what he could not possibly have known, was that the person on the other end of that conversation was not what they appeared to be.

That behind those carefully chosen words lay someone who had shattered him completely in another life. Someone dangerous. Someone far from harmless.

Meanwhile, completely unaware of this quiet development, Micah remained wrapped in his own thoughts. Without much hesitation, he initiated a video call, his expression brightening almost instantly when the connection went through.

"Hey," he said, his tone light, almost expectant. "When are you coming over?"

On the other side, the atmosphere could not have been more different.

Clyde stood within his office, his posture tense, his attention divided between the call and the situation unfolding around him. Nearby, Darcy remained focused on the monitors, his eyes fixed on the streams of information moving rapidly across the screens.

The room itself felt heavy, charged with an undercurrent of urgency.

Clyde softened his expression and replied, "Probably tomorrow evening."

Micah’s expression fell, and after a quiet grumble, he urged him to come sooner.

Clyde nodded, ending the call with a sigh.

They had already taken action. The information they had gathered regarding the suspect, the recordings, and the violations, had been forwarded to the local authorities. The evidence was substantial, undeniable.

Or at least, it should have been. The response they received was... unexpected. And deeply concerning.

The report had been dismissed. Completely. As though it held no weight, no importance, no reason to be investigated further.

It did not make sense. It should not have happened. That alone was enough to set off alarm bells.

Suspicion took root quickly, spreading through their thoughts with increasing intensity. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and it extended far beyond a single individual.

They began to dig deeper. Every officer within that station was examined, their backgrounds scrutinised, their records analysed.

Nothing. No clear indication of corruption. No obvious connection. Which, in itself, was suspicious. The conclusion they eventually reached was unavoidable. This was not the work of isolated individuals. It was organised.

A network operating beneath the surface, hidden but undeniably present. One that profited from exploitation. From trafficking. From the suffering of those who had no means to defend themselves.

Clyde and Darcy exchanged a brief glance. They were thinking the same thing. The Lobart family. More specifically, Nabil Lobart.

His recent selection as the successor to a powerful underground organisation based in the capital raised too many questions to ignore. If such an organisation existed, then it was entirely possible, likely, even, that its influence extended beyond a single location.

A branch here would explain everything. The targeting of Ilyas. The manipulation of events. The attempt to create conflict with the Ramsy Empire. Even the involvement of Chief Assistant Harper in stealing the core data.

Piece by piece, the puzzle began to form a clearer picture. It all pointed back to them.

Clyde did not hesitate. He mobilised everything at his disposal, connections, resources, information networks, anything that could be used to trace the extent of this operation and bring it to those with the authority to dismantle it properly.

But such an effort came at a cost. By the time they reached this point, both he and Darcy were visibly exhausted.

Then... Without warning, Darcy’s expression shifted.

His posture straightened abruptly, his eyes narrowing as something on the screen caught his attention.

"Shit," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. "He is heading to the resort."

Clyde froze for a fraction of a second before reacting instantly, rising to his feet. "What?" he demanded, disbelief evident in his tone. "How does he know?"

Darcy’s fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard, attempting to pull up any additional data, any clue that might explain the sudden development.

"I tried accessing his phone," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "But he is too cautious. He never tapped on any link or text message."

Clyde’s mind raced. "Could he have bugged Ilyas’s phone?" he asked, already reaching for his keys.

Darcy shook his head, though uncertainty lingered in his expression. "No... If he had that kind of access, he would have moved earlier. This timing doesn’t make sense."

It did not make sense. And that was exactly what made it dangerous.

Clyde immediately attempted to call Micah again. But the line was busy.

"He is not picking up," Clyde muttered, tension tightening his voice. "Who’s he talking to at this hour?"

Darcy glanced at the screen. "It might be Ramsy’s family."

That only made things worse. They couldn’t get through to Micah.

Without wasting another second, Clyde contacted the resort staff and bodyguards stationed near Micah, issuing urgent instructions, warning them to increase security, to remain alert, to prepare for any suspicious activity.

But even as he did so, he knew... It would not be enough.

The resort was far too large. Too many open spaces. Too many blind spots. No amount of surveillance could guarantee complete coverage.

And its greatest strength, its isolation, its privacy, had now become a vulnerability.

If someone knew the layout... If someone knew where to go...Then defending it would be incredibly difficult.

As Clyde and Darcy moved quickly, urgency driving every step, a heavy sense of dread settled between them.

Their hearts pounded. Because for the first time since this had begun, they were not certain they would reach in time.