From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 520: A Name Like Gunfire (part one)

Micah tugged his mask over his face and pulled his cap low before leaving the hotel room. His pulse still thudded unevenly from the conversation. Silas’s behaviour had gotten under his skin again. The man had a special talent for that. Micah’s fingers clenched briefly at his side. For a mont, he had been this close to hurling a series of curses at the walls, just to let the pressure out. But he stopped himself in ti. A rookie mistake, he thought bitterly. What if the room was bugged? The last thing he needed was to give himself away.

So he had swallowed his anger, straightening his blouse and walking out. So much for taking the upper hand. Ha!

Silas was such a pain in the ass. Every ti he t the man, he found a way to push his buttons. Every ti he lost control to that cold freak.

By the ti Micah stepped outside, the sky had shifted to a full late afternoon haze. Cars drifted past the hotel’s circular driveway.

He headed straight to Clyde’s apartnt first. After getting rid of his disguise, he sat behind the wheel. His irritation had not faded. If anything, it had only soured. He needed sothing physical to burn it out of his system. The shooting club wasn’t far, a private facility tucked behind a small forested area on the city’s north side. The concrete walls were lined with climbing ivy, the entrance marked by tal gates that opened with a soft click when his car approached.

Inside, the scent of gun oil and polished steel filled the air. The muffled echo of shots ca from the indoor lanes, steady, controlled bursts followed by the clatter of reloading. The place was mostly empty at this hour. Perfect.

Micah checked in with a nod to the receptionist and walked down the corridor. He changed into the protective gear, dark jacket, gloves, ear protection and tilted glasses, and moved to one of the inner booths.

He wanted to bring Darcy here before, teach him so self-defence, maybe how to use a gun. Who knew what those four would do in the future?

Didn’t Aidan kidnap Darcy and Nora in the novel? Anything was possible from those four lunatics.

But right now, he was too annoyed to drag them here. He raised his handgun, feeling the cool tal press into his palm. He aid.

The mont the first shot went off, the recoil snapped through his arm, sharp and clean. The target jerked back, a neat hole near the centre. He imagined it was that freak, Silas. He shot again and again. The repetitive sound muffled his irritation.

Still, it was not enough.

He emptied the magazine, pressed the release and slid the gun down onto the bench. Then, without hesitation, he walked toward the outer range.

Outside, the light had softened, perfect for shooting.

The open yard stretched ahead, surrounded by trees. The air slled faintly of grass and gunpowder. Targets hung from automated tracks that glided smoothly in the distance.

Micah exchanged his handgun for a Winchester rifle, heavier, colder, but steadier. He loaded it, lifted it against his shoulder and exhaled. His finger rested on the trigger with casual precision.

A technician released the clay pigeon into the sky, a bright spinning disc flashing orange against the blue.

Bang.

The disc shattered mid-air, a small burst of powder scattering like confetti. Another target launched. Bang. Another clean hit.

Those shots echoed through the yard. Micah kept going until his arms trembled faintly from the recoil and his breath ca rough.

When the final target burst, he lowered the rifle. His heart was still pounding, but the noise in his head had quieted.

"Wow!" a voice called out from behind, bright and curious. "Such precision! Are you a professional? Training for the Olympics or sothing?"

Micah turned his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "No. Just a hobby," he replied flatly.

The young man who had spoken stepped closer, smiling. "Isn’t it a sha, though? Such a talent."

Micah shrugged. "I am not that invested," he said, turning to carry the rifle back toward the armoury section.

The young man followed him. "Oh, that explains it. I was wondering why I’d never seen you in competitions before."

Micah paused briefly at the counter to hand the rifle to the attendant, then tilted his head just enough to glance at him. "I’m heading out."

He wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat with so stranger. His helplessness in front of Silas was ssing with his head.

In the locker room, Micah grabbed his phone and jacket, ready to take off. He was halfway to the door when the sa man appeared again, lingering by the entrance.

"Wait," he said quickly. "I think we started off wrong... I just wanted to know you, maybe make a friend." He scratched the back of his neck, looking awkward.

Micah looked at him quietly. The young man appeared to be around twenty; his appearance and deanour were ordinary. Strange. This club didn’t let just anyone in. mberships were limited to the wealthy or influential, heirs, military officers, or people connected to the elite.

He didn’t seem to belong to any of those categories.

"Sorry. But I am in a hurry." Micah said and stepped past him.

"Hey, young master Lobart!" soone called from behind.

Micah paused, hearing the na. Every hair on his body stood up. That na...

He turned his head.

The young man beside him tensed visibly. "I’ve told you to call by my na, Naos."

Three other young n walked into view, dressed neatly and fashionably. Their laughter carried the smug ease of privilege.

"How could we?" one of them said, grinning. "Your older brother would go after us if we got too familiar. We can’t afford it."

The group laughed again.

Naos’s expression shifted slightly.

The three newcors’ attention turned toward Micah.

"And who might this be?" one asked.

Micah wasn’t surprised they didn’t recognise him. He rarely appeared at those heir gatherings. And the circle of friends before knowing the story were second-generation, like Evan and Julian.

But these people seed to belong to the high-profile families.

But Lobart.... This family was mysterious. They were practically ghosts in the business world until late in the novel’s tiline, when they suddenly appeared and tore through half of the city’s economy like a storm. The Lobart family was the reason the Ramsy family had lost a huge tech deal and lost half of its footing in Isatis city’s high tech.

Micah had looked them up before. Their core operation was in the capital, far from here. So Micah had pushed them to the back of his mind.

But why were they here now?