From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 694: While He Was Unconscious (part four)

Inside the waiting room, Clyde was going insane.

From the outside, he looked composed. He sat upright on the narrow hospital bench, long legs slightly apart, hands resting on his knees. His coat was still immaculate despite the chaos of the evening. His expression was calm, almost cold. Anyone who did not know him would think he was rely waiting.

But inside, sothing was splintering.

The longer the red light above the operating room stayed on, the tighter the invisible grip around his heart beca. Ti had turned viscous. Each minute stretched unnaturally long, as if deliberately mocking him.

At first, Clyde had forced himself to remain rational.

He had built his life on steadiness and control. Panic solved nothing. Panic clouded judgnt. So he had suppressed it. He had compartntalised the fear, locked it away behind steel doors in his mind. He had focused on logistics instead, on contacting the best surgeons, on ensuring the operating room was cleared imdiately, on making sure no one interfered. His voice had been steady. His instructions precise.

He had even reassured Darcy with a nod. Everything that could be done had been done. And yet now, with nothing left to arrange and no crisis left to manage, there was only waiting.

And waiting was far more dangerous. Because with nothing to do, his mind began to wander. The what-ifs slipped through the cracks he had tried to seal.

Like Darcy, who sat a few seats away with his head lowered and fingers locked tightly together, Clyde began to feel the fear he had been holding back.

mories he had buried surged upward. Micah lying motionless on the ground. He rembered touching that cold, rigid body in that rundown apartnt, rembered the way the mories returned each ti, rembered Micah suffocating alone. And how Micah’s life ending again and again in that grotesque, senseless ways.

Those past lives, those twisted tilines where tragedy followed him relentlessly, flooded Clyde’s thoughts with rciless clarity.

He knew the external force that had once manipulated their fates had been eliminated. Fuck! He was the one who had done it.

He had dismantled that system piece by piece. Tracked its host. Torn it apart without hesitation. He had not allowed himself rcy during that process. He had made sure there would be no second chance for it to rise again.

So why...Why was Micah still lying in an operating room?

Clyde’s fingers trembled. The movent was subtle, barely visible, but he felt it as clearly as if lightning had struck through his veins.

What if he had been wrong? What if he had missed sothing? What if there was another hidden hand manipulating events, sothing he had not yet uncovered?

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

He clenched his hands together tightly, fingers digging into his own skin in an attempt to steady them. The tremor lessened but did not disappear.

Across the room, Ida noticed him. She had been sitting beside Darcy, her back straight despite the exhaustion lining her features. The older woman’s attention shifted to the blond man sitting alone on the bench, radiating sothing raw and almost unbearable. It contained sorrow, anxiety and restraint stretched to its breaking point.

He did not fidget like Edmund downstairs nor pace or curse. But the air around him felt heavy, charged.

Ida studied him discreetly. They were not close. In fact, they had barely spoken. She only knew his na and the family he ca from. Du Pont. A na that carried weight across continents. A family that stood at the very top of industries that most people only read about in newspapers.

He looked like a man accustod to control. Authority clung to him naturally. Even seated, even silent, he exuded command.

And yet now, that sa man looked... fragile.

Ida belatedly rembered what Darcy had told her earlier, that he was Micah’s boyfriend. Her gaze softened slightly.

Was it her ddling that had sohow dragged this powerful man into their small remote town?

A strange thought flickered through her mind. Well... a little jealousy was not entirely a bad thing.

She almost smiled at herself for thinking that at such a mont. Then she shook her head lightly. Now was not the ti for wandering thoughts. Micah had been inside far too long.

She turned to Darcy. "Should you go talk to him? Maybe comfort him?" she asked quietly, her eyes shifting toward Clyde.

Darcy’s head snapped up, as if he had been pulled from deep underwater. His face was pale, his lips slightly parted from shallow breathing. He followed her gaze. For a second, he simply looked at Clyde. He saw the rigid shoulders. The tension in his jaw. The way his hands were clenched too tightly.

Darcy swallowed. He understood exactly what Clyde was thinking. Probably even more than Ida did.

The past had not only scarred him. It had scarred Clyde too.

Darcy shook his head slowly. It was not indifference or coldness. It was restraint.

If he walked over there now, if he tried to say sothing reassuring, perfunctory words he himself did not fully believe, it might shatter whatever fragile control Clyde was maintaining. They were both barely holding themselves together. Empty comfort would not help. It might make everything worse.

Ida pressed her lips together but did not insist. Instead, she asked gently, "Dear, should we call your mother then? I an... both of them?"

Darcy froze slightly at the phrasing. Both of them.

"Oh... right... them..." He inhaled slowly. "My mum isn’t in good health. Let’s wait until Micah is out of danger. Even if we call her now, she won’t reach before the surgery ends." He paused. "And about the Ramsy family..." His voice grew quieter. "I’d appreciate it if you could call them. I’m not sure I can."

The last words ca out barely audible.

Ida noticed the subtle shift in how he referred to Flora and Elina. The hesitation. The careful choice of terms.

Her chest tightened. Her daughter had been right. Micah had beco the bridge between all of them. Without him, they were awkward fragnts trying to hold together.

She patted Darcy’s shoulder gently and stepped aside to make the call.

Darcy stood abruptly. He couldn’t bear to overhear the conversation. The explanations. The shock.

He walked down the hallway, boots echoing softly against the polished floor. His ski pants swished faintly with each step. They were still dressed in winter gear, heavy, insulated, out of place in the overheated hospital.

He had taken off his fleece jacket earlier, but even so, the warmth felt suffocating. He stopped in front of a wide window.

Outside, the world was still covered in snow. The road glistened under pale daylight. Everything looked calm. Normal.

His phone vibrated in his hand. He didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was. The Ramsy family.

A bitter, ironic laugh rose in his chest but never escaped. He had promised Jacob he would take care of Micah. And only days later, Micah was in surgery.

The irony was almost cruel.

Darcy exhaled and answered. The mont the call connected, Willow’s voice poured through.

"Is it true? How could Micah be unconscious? What happened?" Her questions ca quickly, one after another. "Is he really undergoing surgery?"

Darcy tightened his grip on the phone. "Yes..." His voice sounded strained even to himself.

Willow went quiet imdiately. The silence on the other end felt heavier than her barrage of questions.

"What Mimi was saying," she continued more slowly, "about Micah’s boyfriend... and so guys taking him. What exactly happened?"

Darcy forced himself to recount it clearly. "The Du Pont family and their friends ca here this morning. We were skiing. Then Emile ran over saying Micah was missing. We searched everywhere. Eventually, we checked the CCTV footage at the resort parking lot." He swallowed. "It showed Aidan Wilson and his friends taking Micah to the hospital. I didn’t even see him before he was taken into the operating room."

Willow inhaled sharply. "What? Why would he be there? That sounds suspicious."

"It is," Darcy replied evenly. "His friends aren’t ordinary people either. One’s the Durant heir. Another is Leo McKay. And the last one... you rember Russell, Micah’s friend? His older brother."

He did not exaggerate nor accuse. But he did not hide it either. He had an underlying motive. To make Willow wary of those four.

On the other end, Willow seed stunned. "That group is bizarre. How are those people even friends? That combination makes no sense."

Of course, Darcy could have ntioned they were the ones who had helped Asena, aka Micah in disguise, in the auction venue, but why should he? It was better if Willow suspected them. Darcy humd faintly in response. "Anyway, we’re waiting. Are you coming?"

"Yes. We’re on the way to the airport already."

"Good."

There was a pause.

Then Darcy added softly, "My mum... I an Flora... I haven’t told her. Nor Nora."

Willow’s voice gentled imdiately. "That’s probably wise. If she gets too stressed, it could trigger her MS to flare. I’ll send my chief assistant to pick them up. I know they’re vacationing nearby."

Darcy closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you... big sister."

Willow let out a small breath. "Silly boy. That’s what older sisters are for."

He smiled faintly. They didn’t need to discuss the rest. She understood.

Truth to be told, Darcy knew the Harper family was also nearby. Flora and Nora were travelling in the sa region as them. Darcy could have contacted them directly.

But Ilyas had been deliberately avoiding him lately. Any attempt to reach out might be misinterpreted. He would be accused of intrusion. Of obsession.

When in truth, Darcy had only been monitoring quietly. For protection. There had been no suspicious figures near Ilyas recently. But Darcy could not relax. Too many things had changed from the past.

And Micah... Micah had been worried about Ilyas.

Darcy lowered the phone slowly. A murmur rose behind him. He turned. A doctor in surgical scrubs was speaking to Ida and Clyde.

Darcy’s heart slamd against his ribs. He walked back carefully, each step deliberate, as if moving too fast might alter the outco. He studied Clyde first. The blond man’s posture had shifted. The rigid tension had eased, not entirely, but noticeably. His shoulders were no longer locked. His jaw was not clenched. Relief. It was faint but unmistakable.

Darcy’s vision blurred slightly. Micah was out of danger.

He hadn’t realised until that second that he had been holding his breath. It left him in a slow, shaky exhale.

The doctor continued explaining about stable vitals, a successful procedure, and the need for observation.

The words blurred into background noise. All that mattered was one thing.

Micah was alive.

Micah was fine.