From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 625: When Possessive Micah Starts Dissing Anyone Who

Aidan Wilson waltzed straight into the centre of the gathering as if the space naturally belonged to him, his steps unhurried, confident, the kind of confidence built on never having faced real consequences. His gaze locked imdiately onto the white-haired girl beside Clyde, sharp and assessing, a familiar glint of calculation flickering at the edge of his eyes. The corner of his mouth curled upward as he stopped a step away from them, head tilting slightly as though he were amused by a private joke.

"Ah! My dear friend! I was looking for you," Aidan said, his voice smooth, lazy, carrying just enough intimacy to sound deliberate.

The mont he appeared, the atmosphere shifted.

Whispers rippled outward like disturbed water. Several people straightened subconsciously; others leaned in, suddenly interested. Aidan Wilson was infamous in these circles. A womaniser. A Playboy. A man who treated clubs like living rooms and people like disposable accessories. His reputation preceded him so thoroughly that no introduction was needed, and none was wanted.

The looks aid at Asena changed almost instantly. Admiration twisted into judgnt. A few gazes grew condemning, as if reassessing her character based on Aidan’s attention alone.

Micah noticed. He simply didn’t care. His focus remained fixed on Aidan’s face, cool and detached, with his mind already working. Last ti, it had been kidnapping. A blunt, ugly move born of arrogance. This ti, Aidan had walked in openly, smiling, unafraid. Micah’s interest had piqued, waiting to see what sche Aidan was plotting now.

Beside him, Clyde stiffened. The shift was subtle, his hand lifted instinctively, as if to pull Micah behind him, to place himself between Micah and Aidan like a wall.

Anger flashed briefly across Clyde’s face, dark and restrained. He was still angry at Aidan over the kidnapping, but Micah had not let him take revenge, saying it wasn’t the ti.

Micah reacted at once. His fingers slid into Clyde’s palm, tightening just enough to stop him. Not a yank. Not a dramatic gesture. Just a quiet, firm grip that said stay.

Clyde glanced down, eting Micah’s eyes. He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening, but he stayed where he was.

Micah turned back to Aidan, lips curving into a mocking smile that never reached his eyes. He tilted his head, studying him openly, unapologetically.

"Did the aning of ’friend’ change without my knowing?" Micah asked lightly.

Aidan blinked. Just for a fraction of a second, surprise flickered across his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then amusent rushed in to replace it, bright and unmistakable. His eyes glead, as if he’d just been handed an unexpected toy.

So the girl still had claws.

Or perhaps, Aidan’s gaze flicked briefly to Clyde, then back to Micah, perhaps Clyde Du Pont had spoiled her too much. A little affection, a little protection, and suddenly she thought she was untouchable. Classic manipulation. Carrot and Stick. He should have handed it to Clyde, he already had the girl in the palm of his hand.

He’d beaten her before, turned her into a ss of bruises and blood, watched her crumble. And now here she was, standing tall, picking fights, wearing the confidence of soone who believed herself to be the future Madam Du Pont.

Aidan’s smile widened. "Don’t be so cold," he said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "After everything we shared, hearing that really wounds ."

His tone was playful, almost affectionate, but his eyes never softened.

Micah looked at him. And felt nothing. No anger. No lingering resentnt. Not even the familiar edge of hatred. Whatever emotions had once existed had been worn down through repeated entanglents, scraped away until nothing remained but revulsion.

Just pure, unfiltered disgust.

Between love and hate lay a thin, dangerous line. Hate ant investnt. Hate ant caring.

Micah didn’t even grant Aidan that. Especially not Aidan.

Leo, perhaps, could still exist sowhere at the edges of Micah’s tolerance. Barely. But this man, this walking pile of arrogance and entitlent, this piece of shit, didn’t deserve even a scrap of attention.

Micah turned away from Aidan mid-thought and leaned slightly toward Clyde, voice dropping into sothing sweet and intimate.

"Honey," Micah said casually, eyes flicking back toward Aidan with exaggerated scrutiny, "this one must’ve caught one of those face-erasing illnesses. Tsk. No wonder I found him ugly. What if he spread it? That’s scary!"

Clyde froze. Then he coughed, sharply, lifting a hand to his mouth to hide the curve of his lips. His shoulders shook once before he smoothed his expression, eyes warm as they fell on Micah. He gave Micah’s hand a gentle pat, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"Don’t be afraid," Clyde said calmly. "Let’s go. I have a spare change of clothes in the car. I don’t intend to let myself get infected either."

Micah nodded, allowing Clyde to guide him away, fingers still laced together as they turned toward the hallway.

Behind them, Aidan stood very still. His smile had vanished completely. He felt like a mountain of dog food had been shoved straight down his throat.

His eyes burned as he watched them leave, fury twisting together in his chest. Good. If she wanted to play gas, he would indulge her. He would show her exactly where she stood, how fragile her position truly was.

Clyde Du Pont, like any other influential person, would not get married because of love. He was just toying with her. And when the shine wore off, he would discard her without hesitation.

Aidan would prove it. He would tear that illusion apart, wring information from her about the young man who had helped him, then toss her aside like the rest.

For a fleeting second, he forgot entirely about the Ramsy family, the fake heir, the real one, all of it slipping from his mind.

His gaze snapped instead to the woman nearby, the one who had failed so spectacularly earlier. Useless.

He turned on his heel and left the gathering, already plotting his next move.