From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 737: The Dragon Who Could Not Keep His Treasure

Clyde’s carefully constructed plan of abducting his little wife and carrying him far away from every prying eye was abruptly forced into suspension when the sharp vibration of his phone cut through the haze clouding his mind. Even though his thoughts were sluggish and unfocused due to the lingering effects of alcohol, he was still capable of grasping the gravity of the situation conveyed through that call. The matter concerning the four n secretly eting again after two months, combined with the crucial developnt that Darcy had finally identified a suspect connected to Ilyas’s demise, was far too significant for him to ignore or delay.

No matter how much he wished to abandon everything and retreat into a private world with Micah alone, Clyde understood that his presence in Isatis City was indispensable. He needed to witness firsthand how matters would unfold, to observe every reaction, every exchange, every concealed intention that might surface. If he chose to ignore this and instead hid away with Micah sowhere secluded, far from the reach of the city, the consequences would not be as simple as temporary peace. Eventually, Micah would learn of it, and if anything went wrong, the bla would fall squarely upon Clyde. The trust he had painstakingly built would fracture under the weight of that decision.

A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as he lowered his gaze toward the small, warm weight resting in his arms. Micah, who had fallen asleep like an exhausted kitten, lay nestled against him, his breathing slow and even, his expression softened in unconscious peace. The sight alone was enough to lt away the harsher edges of Clyde’s mood. His expression gentled, and without realising it, he tightened his hold slightly, as though afraid that loosening his grip would allow Micah to slip away from him entirely.

The thought lingered in his mind, bittersweet and reluctant. He would have to delay his intentions, postpone the act of hiding away his most precious treasure within the depths of his taphorical dragon’s nest. The idea, which had seed so certain and irresistible only monts ago, now felt distant and unattainable under the weight of reality.

Eventually, the exhaustion overtook him completely, dragging him into sleep despite the chaotic swirl of thoughts in his mind. In his dreams, his desires took on a more vivid and fantastical form. He imagined himself as a magnificent golden dragon, powerful and untouchable, soaring through vast skies while clutching a beautiful young prince in his grasp. The prince struggled at first, indignant and unyielding, yet there was no real fear in his eyes, only a complicated mixture of defiance and reluctant trust. Clyde, in his dream, carried him away from everything, from danger, from betrayal, from a world that had never treated him kindly, determined to keep him safe within a hoard that no one else could reach.

However, the comfort of that dream did not last.

The following morning arrived with rciless clarity, dragging Clyde out of sleep and into a reality that was far less forgiving. The mont consciousness returned, it brought with it a pounding headache unlike anything he had experienced before. It felt as though his skull was being split apart from the inside, each pulse of pain echoing relentlessly through his mind. His stomach churned violently, waves of nausea rising and falling without warning, making even the act of breathing feel like a chore.

The hangover had fully manifested, leaving him weak, disoriented, and painfully aware of every poor decision he had made the previous night.

Fragnts of mory began to surface, disjointed at first, then gradually forming a clearer picture. Each recollection only served to deepen the grimace that twisted across his face. He had allowed himself to drink far beyond his limits, to the point where his judgnt had been severely compromised. In that state, he had acted recklessly, driven by emotions he had not properly controlled.

A flicker of panic shot through him as a particular thought took hold. If Micah had not fainted due to the overwhelming heat of the shower and the intensity of everything that had happened, then their first ti together might have unfolded in a way that would have been deeply regrettable. The re possibility that he could have crossed a line, that he could have forced sothing upon Micah while under the influence, made his heart stutter painfully.

The thought alone was enough to jolt him fully awake.

He turned his head too quickly in his urgency, causing a sharp groan to escape his lips as the motion aggravated his already throbbing headache. His eyes struggled to open, vision blurred and unfocused, as he searched for the familiar presence that should have been beside him.

However, the space next to him was empty.

A cold chill ran down his spine, cutting through the haze of his hangover with terrifying clarity. The absence felt imdiate and absolute, leaving no room for denial. A surge of fear gripped his chest, tightening painfully around his heart.

Had Micah left?

The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, accompanied by a rising wave of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. Without allowing himself ti to think rationally, Clyde forced himself out of bed, his movents unsteady and clumsy. His vision swam, and his body protested every step, yet he ignored the discomfort entirely.

He stumbled toward the door, desperation driving him forward as he attempted to call out Micah’s na. The sound ca out strained and hoarse, barely audible, yet filled with urgency.

Before he could take another step, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, and in the next mont, Micah appeared before him.

"What is it?" Micah asked, his voice laced with concern as he reached out to steady him.

The mont Clyde saw him, the suffocating tension in his chest dissipated instantly. Relief flooded through him so quickly that it left him montarily breathless. Without hesitation, he reached out and gripped Micah’s arms tightly.

Micah’s brows furrowed slightly as he examined Clyde’s expression, clearly noting the distress lingering there. However, instead of questioning him further, he simply guided him back toward the sofa with gentle insistence.

"Wait here," Micah said before pulling his hands free and moving away.

Clyde remained where he was, still trying to steady his breathing, his thoughts gradually settling now that the imdiate fear had passed. A mont later, Micah returned, holding a mug in his hands.

"Here, drink this," he said, placing it into Clyde’s grasp. "It is honey mint water."

Clyde closed his eyes briefly before taking a cautious sip. The sweetness of the honey combined with the sharp, refreshing taste of mint spread across his tongue, cutting through the unpleasant dryness in his mouth. The sensation was surprisingly effective, easing the nausea slightly and bringing a small asure of clarity back to his mind.

Micah remained nearby, watching him closely until he finished the entire mug. "Feeling better?" he asked. "I’ve ordered hangover soup. It should be here soon."

Instead of responding imdiately, Clyde reached out and pulled Micah into an embrace.

Micah did not resist. He allowed himself to be drawn in, settling comfortably against Clyde as though it was the most natural thing in the world. However, his expression remained complex, carrying traces of emotions that were not imdiately visible on the surface.

Earlier that morning, Micah had woken up with entirely different intentions. His first instinct had been to retaliate, to confront Clyde for everything that had happened the night before. Yet those intentions had been halted when he noticed Clyde murmuring in his sleep, his expression strained and restless.

Curiosity and concern had led Micah to lean closer, listening carefully to the fragnted words slipping from Clyde’s lips.

"No... Micah... do not leave ..."

"Do not listen to them... they are going to kill you..."

"Please... Micah..."

The desperation in those words had been unmistakable.

Micah had not needed further explanation to understand the nature of the nightmare. It was a reflection of everything Clyde had endured, everything he feared losing once again.

In that mont, Micah’s anger had dissolved completely, extinguished as easily as a fla doused with water. No matter how complicated their situation was, no matter how many misunderstandings existed between them, one truth remained undeniable. Across countless lives and circumstances, Clyde had always been the one who loved him the most.

He had reached out then, smoothing the tension from Clyde’s brow before allowing himself to be drawn into his embrace. Softly, he had reassured him, repeating that he was still there, that he had not left and would not leave.

Gradually, Clyde’s restlessness had eased.

Now, as Micah sat in his arms once more, that sa quiet determination remained within him.

He had not expected his actions, particularly his efforts to matchmake Darcy with soone, to trigger such deep insecurity within Clyde. The man who had always appeared calm and composed had been pushed into uncharacteristic behaviour, resorting to thods that were far from his usual approach.

It was not difficult to understand why.

Clyde’s past had left scars that had never fully healed. His recent fall and the subsequent head surgery had only exacerbated those vulnerabilities, making them more pronounced and harder to control.

Micah could not change what had already happened, but he could choose how to respond moving forward.

Micah regretted his previous action. He shouldn’t have moved a few floors down. His overreaction had only made Clyde’s condition worse.

So what if he was attracted to Clyde? So what if he was the one who asked for intimacy first?

None of it would change the fact that Clyde had never abandoned him.

With a new resolution, Micah had got up and looked it up online how to help soone with a hangover.

The result was this mug and a takeout! Totally pathetic.

He tightened his hold slightly, his hand moving in a gentle, reassuring motion against Clyde’s back.

anwhile, Clyde could not ignore the growing sense that sothing was unusual. Micah’s behaviour did not align with what he had expected. There was no anger, no accusations, no sharp words demanding accountability.

This wasn’t like Micah. Shouldn’t he explode and accuse him of deceiving? Taking advantage of him?

So why was he acting like a caring wife, so accommodating and gentle?

Yes, there was only patience, care, and an unexpected gentleness. It unsettled him in a different way. He had anticipated confrontation, perhaps even punishnt. Yet what he received instead felt almost surreal.

Clyde sighed inwardly. He should wait. Eventually, Micah’s jig would be up. And he would know.

Eventually, he leaned back slightly, allowing a small distance to form between them.

"Do you want a painkiller?" Micah asked.

Clyde shook his head slowly. "No... I will be fine soon," he replied, his voice still rough.

Micah nodded before standing up, glancing briefly at his phone.

"The delivery should be here," he said, moving toward the monitor to check the entrance.

Clyde remained where he was, rubbing his forehead as a wave of quiet sha settled over him.

Not long after, Micah returned with the food, setting everything neatly on the dining table before gesturing for Clyde to join him.

Clyde approached slowly, sitting down with visible reluctance.

"That is too much," he said, glancing at the portion. "I do not have much of an appetite."

Micah paused, then wordlessly adjusted the serving, transferring a smaller portion into a separate bowl before placing it in front of Clyde.

Clyde began eating at a slow, asured pace.

Micah, understanding how sensitive soone in Clyde’s condition could be, refrained from speaking unnecessarily. Instead, he sampled the food himself, only to find it lacking compared to what he had grown accustod to.

After a few bites, he set the spoon down, a faint twitch forming at his lips.

It wasn’t bad. But compared to Clyde’s cooking or Lin Heye’s restaurant food it was a big eh!

He had grown picky after being taken care of by Clyde. Seriously, the man had spoiled him rotten.

Once everything was cleaned up, Micah turned back toward Clyde, only to find him sitting still with his eyes closed.

Concern imdiately resurfaced. He approached quickly, placing his hands against Clyde’s head. "Is it getting worse?" he asked. "Should I close the curtains?"

Clyde opened his eyes, his gaze softening slightly. "No... just stay with ," he murmured, wrapping an arm around Micah’s waist.

Micah did not hesitate to return the embrace.

"Why are you not scolding ?" Clyde asked quietly.

Micah let out a small chuckle. "I was not planning to bring it up, but since you are so eager to get lectured..."

He paused briefly before continuing, looking at head full of blond hair in his arms, his tone turned light and sincere.

"Forget it. I am not that unreasonable. I realised that my actions may have caused you to misunderstand. So let’s just say we’re even."

Clyde’s lips curved faintly, recognising that Micah was spitting nonsense.

He didn’t care what had made Micah act like a completely different person. He was just glad he was not abandoned or subjected to a harsh punishnt.