From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 683: Finally Arriving in North

The winter sky over Isatis City had been a dull sheet of pale grey the entire morning, like a lid pressed down over the world. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of Clyde’s penthouse, the skyline looked muted and distant, the buildings softened by thin mist. The city below moved as usual, cars flowing through intersections, pedestrians bundled in coats, but inside the apartnt, the air felt still and heavy.

Having finally shaken the Ramsy family off his back, for now at least, Micah found himself facing a different kind of obstacle.

He sat cross-legged on the wide cream-colored sofa, socks brushing against the plush surface, elbows resting on his knees. Across from him, Clyde stood near the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff. His reflection in the glass looked sharper than usual, jaw set, brows drawn together.

"So?" Micah tilted his head slightly, pretending to be relaxed. "Do you have ti to tag along or not?"

The mont Clyde had heard about Micah planning to go north with Darcy, his expression had darkened. Not angry...but worse, it was filled with hurt.

"Weren’t you supposed to stay with ?" Clyde asked solemnly.

Micah’s fingers tightened around the hem of his sweater. He lowered his gaze and scratched his cheek in a small, guilty gesture. After Zhou Ruyan’s condition had worsened, everything had changed. He had reduced his visits, postponed dinners, and declined outings. Clyde had never complained directly, but Micah could see the disappointnt hiding beneath his calm smile.

He had heard from Emile that his little uncle, aka Clyde, had wanted to throw a banquet, to formally introduce Micah as his partner to the Du Pont family. A public acknowledgnt. A declaration.

But Zhou Ruyan had passed away before anything could be arranged.

Since then, Micah’s life had felt like a string of white flowers and incense smoke. Funeral halls. Black clothing. Condolences whispered in polite tones. He still woke so nights expecting to hear his grandmother’s voice calling him downstairs for tea.

Grief lingered like winter fog... thin but persistent. He had promised Clyde that, at the very least, they would spend the New Year holiday together. And now he was about to break that promise.

"Well..." Micah cleared his throat and forced a casual tone. "They haven’t seen since the birthday banquet. They miss . And Darcy’s never t them. They think it’s a good opportunity to see their biological grandson."

Clyde gritted his teeth but he didn’t call him out. It was obviously a lie. The Palr family were not the kind to call on Micah in this situation for such a thing. They were too mindful of their social standing in Isatis city, not wanting to bring sha to their daughter. So Clyde knew they had always maintained distance from the Ramsy family, careful not to drag them into scandal. Their move to the north had not been a coincidence... it had been a retreat.

They would not have insisted Micah co now. This was Micah’s decision.

Clyde clenched his fists behind his back. If it weren’t for Luca McKay, if that idiot hadn’t stirred trouble, Micah wouldn’t have panicked and rushed to leave.

When the bodyguard reported that Micah had fled upon seeing him, Clyde understood at once. Micah had guessed sothing.

The problem was that Clyde could not leave Isatis City. His elder siblings were flying back for the New Year. As the current patriarch, his absence was unthinkable. The Du Pont mansion would be filled with relatives, partners, and shareholders. His position required him to be there.

He was trapped.

"I see," Clyde finally said, voice controlled. "With the weather up north, flights are unreliable. Snowstorms. Cancellations. If that happens, you’ll be stranded at the airport." He turned around slowly. "In that case," he continued, "I’ll lend you my private jet."

Micah’s ears perked instantly. His eyes lit up like soone had switched on a lamp inside him. "You would?" he gasped. "Yay! Wonderful!"

Clyde arched a brow, lips curling into a dangerous smirk. "That happy? Huh?"

Micah imdiately sensed the dissatisfaction hiding beneath that tone. He straightened and forced a reluctant expression, pressing his lips together.

"Of course not," he said dramatically. "I’m very sad you can’t co. But... Knowing you care this much about makes ... overjoyed. Truly."

Clyde snorted. "Your acting skills have improved," he said dryly. "You should start accepting those entertainnt offers. Your future as the nation’s green tea and white lotus lead is secured."

"Really?" Micah clasped his hands together and nodded seriously. "I’ll accept your auspicious words. Thank you."

Clyde’s eyelids twitched. He had forgotten how shaless Micah could be. He let out a long breath and sat down heavily beside him. "I’m beginning to feel like Darcy’s the boyfriend here. He lives with you in the Ramsy mansion, goes to uni with you, and even gets to travel with you."

Micah blinked, then shifted closer. He unfolded his legs and moved to Clyde’s side, slipping under his arm without asking. He leaned his head against Clyde’s broad shoulder, cheek pressing against the soft fabric of his sweater.

"Stop brooding. He’s my little brother. But seriously... I can’t stay here," Micah said quietly. "I need a change."

The city outside looked colder from this angle.

"And it’s not appropriate for to appear at the Du Pont mansion right now," he continued. "We’re still mourning. If I show up smiling and announcing our relationship less than two months after Grandma passed... people will say I’m heartless."

His fingers twisted lightly in Clyde’s sleeve. "If I look serious and proper, they’ll say I’m unhappy. That it’s a family arrangent. That you’re forcing ." He swallowed. "I waited this long. I don’t want anything to ruin us."

Clyde’s expression softened at once. He lifted his arm and pulled Micah fully into his embrace, letting him curl against his chest. He rested his chin lightly against Micah’s hair.

"My family isn’t like that," he murmured. "No one would dare gossip in front of ."

"I know." Micah closed his eyes. "But people’s hearts are unpredictable. What if soone says sothing accidentally? Even a joke can hurt."

Silence lingered between them, broken only by the faint hum of the heater.

Clyde reached up and gently played with Micah’s earlobe, thumb brushing against the cool skin. "Okay," he said at last. "I’ll listen to you."

Micah looked up.

"I might co to you after the third day," Clyde added.

Micah’s eyes curved into crescents, bright and warm. "Then it’s a promise."

Clyde nodded.

Two days later, under a sky even greyer than before, Micah and Darcy boarded the private jet bound for Malayer.

For nine long hours, the aircraft crossed a sky buried in cloud.

Micah had always disliked flying, though he never admitted it. The cabin was luxurious, with soft leather seats, polished wood panels, and warm lighting, but it still felt like being trapped inside a tal tube thrown into the sky.

He picked at the food without appetite. Even though it was Clyde’s jet and the catering was high-end, the als tasted flat to him. He preferred hot noodles from a roadside stall over elegant dishes at ten thousand feet.

Halfway through the flight, his stomach began to churn.

"Motion sickness?" Darcy asked, glancing over from across the aisle.

Micah shook his head weakly. "Nope. Never had it before. Maybe I ate sothing bad."

But as turbulence shook the plane lightly, nausea washed over him again. His ears popped painfully. The hum of the engine seed louder than usual. By the ti they descended, he felt like he had survived a storm.

When the jet doors finally opened, cold air rushed in sharply.

The runway was edged with snow. The world outside looked white and silver, the sky a pale washed-out blue. Their breath fogged imdiately as they stepped onto the frozen ground.

Micah shivered and tightened his coat around himself. The cold bit at his nose and cheeks instantly.

Darcy glanced at him with an unimpressed look. "Such a stubborn bull. You hate the cold and still insisted on coming."

Micah glared at him weakly but didn’t argue. He was tired. Hungry. Slightly dizzy. His ears still felt blocked.

They made their way through the small regional airport, boots crunching against patches of snow.

And then... Micah spotted them. The Palr family stood near the exit doors in a chaotic cluster. They were loud, bright and lively.

Colourful jumpers in red, green, and mustard yellow. Thick fleece jackets. Scarves wrapped loosely around necks. Ernest was gesturing dramatically while Edgar laughed so hard his shoulders shook. His grandfather, Louis Palr, was holding a thermos. The youngest uncle, Edmund, was attempting to build a tiny snowman out of the slush near the curb. Acting like a child instead of a twenty-six-year-old man.

Then Pops swatted the back of Edmund’s head in mock reprimand.

They were bantering over each other, voices overlapping, hands moving animatedly.

Then Ida t his eyes. She grinned from ear to ear, her wrinkles deepening. "Honey bun!’

The mont she called out, they turned all at once.

And then the volu doubled.

"Micah!"

"Look at you!"

"You’ve grown thinner!"

"And that must be Darcy!"

Before Micah could react, he was surrounded.

Ida Fayer pulled him into a warm hug that slled of detergent and cinnamon. Louis Palr patted his shoulder enthusiastically. Edgar tried to grab his suitcase.

Their laughter echoed in the cold air.

Micah stood in the middle of it all, montarily stunned. But then, slowly, he smiled. The cold wind still stung his face, but sothing inside him felt warr.