From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 527: The Rebellious Teenager, the Calm Schemer, and

Clyde rolled up his sleeves and moved around the kitchen, turning on the gas stove.

Micah sat at the island counter, slumped forward with his chin resting in his hand, looking at Clyde with sparkling eyes.

The faint sizzle of butter hit the pan, followed by the rich aroma of lting cheese. Clyde reached out for the bread and pressed it onto the skillet.

Darcy walked into the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. "Really? Cheese at this hour?" His tone carried disbelief and irritation.

"They were the only thing in the fridge," Clyde replied without looking back. He flipped the bread, the edges already turning golden brown. "If soone had gone down to get ingredients, I could’ve made better snacks for Micah."

"Why are you ordering around? You have hands and feet, go get them yourself," Darcy replied disdainfully.

Clyde slid the grilled sandwich toward Micah and then shot an unimpressed look at Darcy.

Micah grabbed it imdiately and bit into the crunchy sandwich. "This is good," he said slowly, voice muffled by chewing. "Let eat in peace. I’ve had enough drama for one day."

Hearing Micah’s complaint, Darcy pursed his lips and did not continue to bicker with Clyde.

When Micah finished the last bite, he leaned back in his chair, stifling a burp behind his hand, looking content.

Darcy stared at him. "Finished? Co on, let’s go." He straightened from the wall, ready to leave.

Micah blinked at him, then tilted his head back lazily, looking upside down at Clyde. His silver hair spilled down, dancing in the air like threads of moonlight. "Hey," he said suddenly. "Do you know the Lobart family?"

The na made the other two freeze, statues still in place. Clyde’s hand, halfway to setting down the pan, went still. Darcy’s expression darkened instantly.

"What did you say?" Darcy asked, voice low and hoarse.

Micah tilted the chair under him, rocking it lazily with the tip of his shoe. "Lobart," he repeated, nonchalantly.

Clyde turned slowly, his movents asured, but his eyes full of surprise and alarm. "Where did you hear that na?" He was too focused on Micah and missed Darcy’s bizarre reaction.

Micah frowned. "Hmm? What’s with you? You look like I just dropped a ghost na!"

Clyde ran a hand through his blond hair. "That was just unexpected," he said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I happened to be reviewing a proposal related to them today. Small world. I suppose."

It was an excuse. But in reality, he was shaken; his knuckles were white against the edge of the counter.

The Lobart family. That na had been poison in every tiline he had lived through. They always found a way to slither into Ramsy’s holding, to twist the company into their control and usurp it.

Honestly, Clyde hadn’t cared much about the Ramsy family in his past lives. And once he realised who Micah really was, the truth had already been revealed, making Ramsy’s family cut ties with the fake young master. So he never intervened to stop the Ramsy bankruptcy. And the mont he found Micah’s cold body and his mories returned, Clyde swore to go after those four first, and that was all that mattered.

But that family was mysterious and sketchy.

Did Micah rember sothing from his past life?

Beside him, Darcy was not any better. He, too, had been defeated by that family in his past life. He rembered clawing his way in the Ramsy Empire, only to watch it crumble when that family arrived, swallowing every deal and cutting off every route to power. They had smiled while strangling him with contracts and debts, until the company fell apart piece by piece.

His temples throbbed. A sudden pressure built behind his eyes. He raised a hand to his forehead and hissed quietly.

"Darcy?" Micah’s chair scraped back as he stood up, alarm flashing across his face. "Hey! What’s wrong?"

Darcy staggered a step back, grabbing the counter for balance. His vision blurred for a mont, then snapped violently into sothing else.

He saw red.

An image of blood flashed in front of his eyes. It soaked into the floor beneath him, sticky and dark. His own body lay there, twisted unnaturally. Sowhere nearby, he could hear a voice, broken, crying, calling out his na again and again.

Darcy found it strange that he never thought about how he died in his last life until now. Shouldn’t his first emotion upon being reborn have been about how he had died or how he had t his demise?

Why was he fixated on Micah instead?

Darcy’s breath hitched.

"Darcy? Hey! Are you alright?" Micah’s panicked voice echoed in the kitchen.

Darcy felt he had heard these words before. The scene in front of him distorted. The bright kitchen lights faded into the dim, gloomy warehouse, where he was lying on the floor. Micah sat on his knees, clutching his shoulders, shaking him desperately. Tears stread down his face, landing warm against Darcy’s cold skin.

Huh? Why was the fake heir crying for him? Didn’t he hate him? Playing and fooling him with a sweet act all this ti?

Then Darcy saw those four drag Micah away by force, tearing him from his grasp. The door was shut with a bang.

The scene trembled like cracked glass.

Darcy’s vision shifted, and he spotted another body lying beside him. Blond hair soaked with blood...Clyde.

Then ca footsteps, slow and deliberate. Soone stopped just above his dying body. "Tsk, these two couldn’t finish the job and made ddle," a male voice muttered irritably. "Useless."

Darcy tried to see the man’s face, but his vision was a haze of red.

The voice continued, colder now. "Right, right. Stop nagging. I didn’t change anything! That protagonist shou still end up with those four, doesn’t he? I just got so entertainnt and money out of it."

There was laughter, cruel and detached. The sound of shoes clicking on the floor as the man walked away.

Darcy’s vision distorted more and more.

"Instead of nagging , check the value!" the voice said, growing distant. "Last ti it was 85 per cent. I’ve had my fun, I want to..."

The voice died down. Darcy could not hear anything more.

Because everything had gone black.