From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 277: Micah Testing the Waters and Drowning in Silenc

Clyde stood by the edge of the lake, unmoving, one hand slowly rising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

What the hell was Micah thinking?

The boy had just stripped down to his underwear, right in front of him, without a second thought. No sha. No hesitation. Just pure recklessness.

He really needed to teach Micah so damn self-awareness.

Clyde sighed, hard and low. He was confident in his own restraint, sure. But for a split second back there, he had felt sothing give. Sothing flickers, hot and dangerous, at the edge of his control. And if even he, with his iron will, felt that...

What if soone else had been here?

What if so creep saw Micah like that, wet skin, flushed cheeks, that sharp collarbone and narrow waist, all exposed under the sunlight, with no one else around?

Damn it.

Clyde gritted his teeth. Micah was really going to be the death of him. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought the others. What if those three idiots wandered over now and saw him like this? Saw Micah soaking wet, half naked, laughing like so mythical nymph who had never known danger?

They would tease him, say Micah was seducing him on purpose. Oh god. They would never believe it was just Micah being careless and painfully innocent.

"Hey!" Micah’s voice rang out across the clearing, echoing over the rushing waterfall. "Co down too!"

Clyde didn’t move. His expression was flat as he stared at the water.

"Oy! Old man! What, scared you’ll catch a cold?" Micah provoked.

Clyde gave him a look. "Yeah, that’s exactly it. So do a favour and co out quickly. Don’t let this poor old man wait around too long."

Micah blinked, taken aback. That was... new.

He had expected Clyde to bark sothing back, or at least tease him, not reply with that calm, even voice. There was no flare or irritation.

He swam back to the shore, eyes flicking up now and then to check Clyde’s expression. Nothing.

Micah hoisted himself up onto the grass, droplets sliding down his skin. He shook his body and hair like a wet dog, spraying water everywhere.

Clyde dragged a hand down his face in exasperation.

Micah bent down to pick up his clothes. They were damp from the grass and clung uncomfortably to his skin as he tried to pull them on. His shirt stuck halfway down his arms, wrinkling and twisting. His pants were worse, they were sung even dry. And now they were an effort to wrestle up past his hips.

He grunted softly in frustration, wincing as the wet fabric clung tighter.

Clyde couldn’t take it anymore. He sighed and walked over.

"Hold still," he muttered.

Micah froze as Clyde reached forward. His touch was quick, practical, and careful. He tugged the damp shirt down, then knelt to adjust the hem of the pants. Each touch sent a jolt through Micah’s skin, not from the cold but sothing he couldn’t even na.

His breath caught. He had done this on purpose, hadn’t he?

All of these reckless, childish things he had done it was just to get a rise from Clyde.

Pushing boundaries. Testing limits. Seeing how far Clyde would tolerate him. How much would Clyde give in to him?

How was he in Clyde’s eyes? A brat? A needy, soiled child? An annoying young man?

Micah wanted to know.

If he wanted to tell the truth to him, he had to be sure about Clyde’s attitude. What he thought of him. Was he just nice to him because he was a Ramsy? Emile’s roommate? What did he an to him?

He needed to know.

Clyde, expressionless, helped him, then stood up. Without warning, he grabbed Micah’s wrist in his hand and dragged him toward the horses. "Let’s go. You need a hot shower before you catch a cold."

Micah followed without argunt. The warmth of Clyde’s hand around his wrist lingered even after he let go.

When they reached the horses, Micah stopped abruptly. His fingers hovered near the reins, but he didn’t grab them yet. His eyes were slightly narrowed, distant.

Micah was confused. Clyde acted too calmly. If it were soone else, they would have gotten mad at him, saying not to be so childish. Too annoying. Act like his age. Act like a fitting heir. But Clyde always surprised him. Maybe... just maybe...

Clyde turned his head toward him. "What?"

"You..." Micah said hesitantly.

Clyde raised an eyebrow. "What is it? You can say it later."

Micah took a slow breath. "Why are you tolerating ? Is it because I’m Ramsy’s heir?" he asked finally.

Clyde’s heart skipped a beat. "Huh?"

"What if," Micah continued, voice lower now, shakier. "one day... I wasn’t?"

Clyde blinked, mouth parted slightly.

Micah didn’t back down this ti. His gaze was firm but vulnerable. "Are you only nice to because of Emile?"

Clyde stared at Micah’s pale lips, damp hair clinging to his face, and those wide hazel eyes that seed ready to break.

Clyde felt his throat tighten. He couldn’t joke and dismissed Micah’s question. Not this ti.

He also couldn’t tell the truth, not yet. Not here.

He couldn’t confess his feelings. What should he do?

Micah saw it. The flicker of hesitation, the pause that said more than words. His heart dropped. What had he expected? What was he even doing? He passed Clyde. "Never mind," he muttered, voice bitter.

He turned and swung onto the horse in one smooth motion.

Clyde jolted. "Micah..."

But it was too late.

Micah dug his heels in, and the horse took off the trail before Clyde could stop him.

His figure disappeared into the trees like a ghost, winds brushing at his hair and shirt as he rode away without looking back.

Clyde kicked the stone on the ground.

"Damn it," he spat in anger.

He reached for his horse’s reins and mounted quickly, his chest heavy with all the words he hadn’t said. He had screwed up big ti.

He should have realised Micah’s behaviour had gone past his usual antics. There was a reason for it. And he stupidly had thought it was all a tantrum.