From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 670: Ghosts That Refuse to Stay Buried

Clyde’s car rolled smoothly onto the edge of campus, the engine quiet enough to blend into the hum of passing students and distant traffic. From the outside, it looked unremarkable, low-key, discreet, easily mistaken for any other vehicle passing through. Inside, however, Clyde sat stiffly in the back seat, his posture composed but his mind anything but calm.

He found himself wondering if he should go in at all. He clutched the phone in his hand. Impulse had brought him here; now rational thought was catching up. Even calling Micah was starting to feel like overstepping his boundaries. As if he needed to check on him, control him.

Anyone could see his behaviour was not normal. Clyde had been separated from Micah a few hours ago. He was supposed to be buried in work, not idle enough to show up here out of the blue.

Clyde remained seated, gaze angled toward the window as students crossed the paths in clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, laughter and idle chatter drifting through the autumn air. The campus looked peaceful. The late-afternoon sunlight slanted low enough to cast long shadows between buildings. It was the kind of scene that suggested nothing could possibly go wrong.

Clyde’s fingers curled slowly against his thigh.

A few minutes ago, the anxiety in his chest had been a dull, manageable pressure. Now it had grown sharper, coiling tighter with every passing second. He could not stop the images that surfaced unbidden in his mind... those four n appearing near Micah, blocking his path, speaking words that should never be spoken again. Words about a past life. About love that had never truly existed. About living together, about obsession disguised as affection.

It was ridiculous, he told himself. He knew he was making a mountain out of a molehill.

It was long ago. Ancient history, even across lifetis. And Micah himself had said it plainly: he hadn’t loved them. He had been nothing more than a puppet following a predetermined plot, emotions manufactured, choices forced. None of it had been real.

For God’s sake, it had been a different life altogether.

Yet Clyde’s frustration refused to dwindle.

His jaw tightened slightly as he exhaled through his nose. He didn’t want Micah to see this side of him, this restless, overprotective edge that bordered on possessive. He had already revealed far more than he should have. He was supposed to be the mature one, the stable presence Micah relied on. Calm. Magnanimous. Soone who stood above petty jealousy and ancient ghosts.

Not soone who showed up on campus like a storm looking for a fight.

Clyde straightened subtly, rolling his shoulders back as he forced himself into stillness. In his mind, he began a familiar internal prep talk.

You’re overreacting.

Darcy is with him. Emile is there.

Your people are watching them already.

Nothing will happen.

He inhaled deeply, preparing to lean forward and instruct the driver to turn around, to head back to the company. There was work waiting. Endless work. Responsibilities that demanded his attention far more than irrational fear.

His lips parted slightly. Then he saw him.

Clyde’s eyes sharpened, locking onto a lone figure weaving unsteadily across the path ahead. At first glance, what caught Clyde’s attention wasn’t the sheer fact of Archie’s presence on campus, that alone wouldn’t have been unusual. It was his condition.

Archie looked wrong.

His movents were sloppy, uncoordinated, his steps uneven as if the ground beneath him couldn’t quite be trusted. His shoulders slumped forward, his jacket hanging open and askew, one sleeve slipping down his arm. His face was pale beneath the afternoon light, eyes glassy and unfocused, darting erratically as if he were searching for sothing or soone but unable to concentrate long enough to find them.

He stumbled into a passing student, knocking shoulders hard enough that the other let out a startled exclamation. Archie barely reacted, muttering sothing unintelligible as he lurched onward, bumping into another person monts later.

Clyde’s heart dropped. He leaned forward sharply, eyes narrowing. His gaze flicked to the assistant seated in the front.

"Why didn’t you say he was drunk?" Clyde demanded, his voice cold enough to frost glass.

The assistant flinched visibly, shoulders tensing. "S-Sorry, sir..." he stamred, glancing back again. "We didn’t know he’d been drinking..."

Clyde didn’t let him finish. The door opened with a decisive click, followed by the heavy thud of it being thrown wide. Clyde stepped out of the car in one smooth motion, coat shifting with the movent, his attention already fixed on Archie’s staggering form. He moved fast.

Students noticed imdiately.

A tall man in an immaculate coat striding with purpose across campus drew attention on any day, but the tension rolling off Clyde made people instinctively step aside. Whispers rippled through the nearby crowd. A few phones were lifted, curiosity flaring.

Clyde reached Archie in seconds.

His hand ca down firmly on Archie’s shoulder, fingers digging in with controlled force, stopping him mid-stumble.

Archie jerked violently, spinning halfway around. His eyes struggled to focus, pupils blown wide, breath heavy with the unmistakable stench of alcohol. His expression twisted as recognition slowly set in.

Confusion gave way to rage.

"Why the hell is it you!" Archie slurred, his voice thick and uneven. His words dragged together as he squinted at Clyde. "Why you... of all people!"

Spittle flew as he shouted, his balance wavering. Before Clyde could react further, Archie’s arm swung wildly, a clumsy punch aid more by emotion than coordination.

Gasps broke out among the surrounding students.

Clyde leaned aside, letting the punch miss him completely. In the sa fluid motion, he caught Archie’s wrists, twisting them downward and forcing him off-balance. Archie let out a strangled yell as Clyde pushed him down, pinning him with practised precision.

"Fuck! Let go!" Archie scread, thrashing violently. His movents were frantic, desperate, bordering on hysterical. "I have to see him! I have to..."

His voice cracked, breaking into sobbing laughter before snapping back into rage.

"He should know!" Archie shouted, eyes bloodshot, face contorted. "It wasn’t my choice! It wasn’t! I was forced into it! Shit!"

Students had fully stopped now. A ring of onlookers ford at a cautious distance, murmurs spreading like wildfire.

"Isn’t that famous esports captain?"

"Soone call security!"

"Is he drunk?"

Phones were raised higher.

Before the situation could spiral further, Clyde’s people moved in.

They appeared swiftly, efficiently, two n stepping forward to restrain Archie properly, another positioning himself between Clyde and the crowd. Archie was still struggling, cursing incoherently, his head jerking back and forth as tears stread unchecked down his face.

"Micah!" he shouted suddenly, voice cracking. "Micah, listen to !"

Clyde’s expression hardened. He pulled out his phone and placed the call without hesitation.

"This is Clyde Du Pont," he said coolly when the line connected. "There is a student on campus currently intoxicated, exhibiting violent behaviour and attempting to assault people."

He turned slightly, eyes scanning the growing crowd. "Yes. Throwing punches. Public disturbance."

The response on the other end was imdiate.

Clyde listened briefly, then replied, "I’m near the north gate. I expect this to be handled promptly."

He ended the call. The effect was imdiate.

Security guards arrived within seconds. They took Archie firmly by the arms, lifting him despite his resistance. His head lolled, then snapped up again as he continued shouting, words slurring together.

"I never liked him!" he cried suddenly, voice hoarse. "Micah! You have to believe !"

His strength finally failed him. His head dropped forward, shoulders shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Clyde stepped aside, watching Archie’s pathetic behaviour in silence. In comparison, Silas appeared more subdued after knowing the truth that night. But Archie seed to have lost his mind, unable to cope with reality. It was better to use it as a reason to send him off for good.

One of the security guards looked down at Archie with open contempt. In broad daylight. Drunk beyond reason. Possibly worse. A disgrace.

The Dean arrived shortly after, mopping sweat from his brow as he hurried toward the scene. His steps slowed when he spotted Clyde standing nearby, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.

Of course.

His last interaction with Clyde Du Pont had involved a change to dormitory rules, for Clyde’s nephew. And Clyde was not rely an influential alumnus; he was one of the university’s largest sponsors.

The man’s aura was too imposing. Out of everyone, why did this student have to provoke him?

It was just his luck.

The Dean forced a smile and approached quickly. "Mr Du Pont," he said, breathless. "I’m terribly sorry about this situation. May I ask what..."

Clyde gestured subtly toward Archie.

The explanation required little elaboration.

The Dean’s face tightened as he assessed the scene, then turned serious. He lowered his voice. "I apologise deeply for the unethical behaviour of our student," he said. "I assure you, this will be handled according to university policy."

He hesitated, then added carefully, "I hope you won’t take this against a young, foolish man. At this age, even a breakup can shatter a person’s sanity."

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping further. "If the police are involved, the university’s reputation would suffer... and it wouldn’t be beneficial for your nephew either."

Clyde listened, unmoved.

"I’m not suggesting we let him escape consequences," the Dean continued quickly. "On the contrary. He will face serious disciplinary action, suspension at the very least, possibly expulsion. His behaviour violates our student code of conduct, alcohol policies, and harassnt regulations. He will also be required to attend alcohol abuse prevention and behavioural awareness programs."

Clyde considered this for a mont. Then he nodded once."Then I’ll let you handle it," he said evenly. "I trust this won’t happen again."

Relief flooded the Dean’s face.

Clyde cast one last glance at Archie, who was now slumped between guards, muttering incoherently, eyes unfocused and red-rimd.

Many people were holding up their phones, recording the scene.The sight did not please Clyde. Archie’s constant use of Micah’s na was sothing Clyde had no intention of letting spread.

"About the footage... My assistant will take care of it," he said to the Dean and turned away.

On cue, the assistant stepped forward and addressed the Dean.

Clyde left the campus without another word, not looking back.

As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed.