From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 97: The case of Asena

Clyde Du Pont stood at the foot of the hospital bed, his tall fra casting a shadow over the silver-haired boy lying asleep beneath the sterile white sheets. His pale blue eyes were sharp and unblinking as they studied the boy’s delicate features as if trying to mould the sa one himself.

The boy’s face was ghostly pale, his lips cracked from dehydration, and his silver hair, slightly tousled, spread over the pillow. Clyde’s gaze bore into the young man’s face, searching for the resemblance.

An IV line was in his right hand. Clyde’s gaze lowered to the bandage around the burn on his left hand, which clearly had dictated the placent. Most patients had their IV placed in their non-dominant hand, but not this one.

Clyde’s fingers tightened around the wooden prayer beads on his wrist. He tugged them absently, his mind filled with questions and mysteries.

He looked familiar, and at the sa ti, did not.

Was he related to Asena?! The question popped into his head the mont he saw the silver-haired boy outside of the car.

He hadn’t left, instead, he had stared at the boy being helped into the car, writhing in pain but too proud to let out more than a groan. The resemblance was there in the boy’s posture.

And that was why he now stood here like a warden, watching the boy with scrutinising eyes.

He knew he had beco weak, rembering anything related to her.

"What’s his na?" Clyde asked, his voice quiet but commanding.

Emile flinched at the sound, nearly dropping the bottle of water he had been sipping from. He blinked rapidly and looked at the bed. "Micah..." he muttered, then frowned, forehead creased in concentration as he thought hard to rember the family na.

Clyde glanced at him.

Emile trembled. "Sothing with R... what was it?!... ah! I rember. Ramsy. Micah Ramsy."

Clyde’s head turned slowly toward the boy on the bed, his eyes narrowing like a wolf catching the scent of blood.

"Wait, Micah Ramsy?!" Dean, who had remained quiet near the window, asked in disbelief.

Emile nodded, confused. "Yeah, he is a fashion design major - my roommate. You saw him this morning, he stord off after I accidentally called his friend a servant."

Dean rubbed a hand across his face, then looked at his uncle. "Should I notify his family??"

Clyde shook his head. "No. And don’t let them know I was involved. Not a word."

Emile ca close and whispered. "Is he famous or sothing?"

"Yeah, kind of. He is the heir of Ramsy High Tech Empire."

Emile’s mouth turned into the shape of an ’O’. Even he had heard that na. But with how protective he was of that black-haired boy with worn-out clothes, he had never guessed he was an heir to a wealthy, powerful family.

Dean watched his little uncle’s back as Clyde turned and walked to the attending doctor.

"How is he?"

The doctor, flipping through a chart, looked up respectfully. "Fortunately, he was brought in just in ti. The pain was caused by acute gastritis, likely from excessive consumption of NSAIDs for pain relief or from undergoing massive stress. I heard he has eaten greasy and spicy food, which makes it worse. He vomited blood from an ulcer. We have perford an endoscopy and cauterisation to seal the blood vessel and stop his bleeding, and took a biopsy. We had also given him fluids, dication like an antacid, and antibiotics. He will be fine after so rest, but he should take dication for a ti and avoid spicy and greasy food. Not to ntion, minimise the stress around him."

Clyde gave a short nod, absorbing every word. Then he turned back to Emile, his expression slightly softer. "You did a great job. Stay with him. Make sure he is okay before returning to the dorm."

Before Emile could stamr out a reply, Clyde had already turned and walked away, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor.

Dean and Emile exchanged stunned glances, neither was entirely sure what had just happened.

The car door closed with a soft thud. Clyde sat in the back seat, his posture rigid as he spoke.

"Investigate everything about the young master of the Ramsy family," he ordered his assistant, his voice cold. "Where he had been, who he had t, everything. I want a full report by tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," his assistant replied.

As the car drove, Clyde’s fingers resud their movents over the wooden prayer beads.

There were too many coincidences to ignore.

Jacklin had told him Asena was studying at QC University as a freshman.

So was the silver-haired boy. Aside from the hair colour(that anyone could dye), the resemblance was uncanny if you paid extra attention to details. Even the sa slender fra, the sa height, the sa shape of the round eyes, the thin lips...

And always wearing a choker necklace or a high-collar blouse to hide her bare neck. Was it because of Adam’s apple?! Otherwise, who wore sothing like that in a hot sumr?

But the most telling clue was the burn on his left hand. Clyde had seen the bandage with his own two eyes. And Jacklin had gone endlessly about how Asena had burned her hand while cooking. Of course, the emphasis was on the cooking.

Then ca the final blow to his rational doubts: the boy’s major. Fashion design.

Getting into the QC University fashion program required real talent. He knew that woman, the dean, would never allow anyone to set foot in her departnt using connections or bribery. If the Ramsy family had just wanted to stash him sowhere quietly, they surely would have chosen safer majors like social sciences or sothing that aligned with their tech empire.

Yeah, the Asena he rembered had style. Elegance. Sophistication.

With that, a suspicion blood in his mind.

It sounded magical and absurd. But it also made sense.

Like how Jacklin and Dean had failed to find Asena for an entire year. Or how she had humiliated Aidan Wilson, a handso bachelor whom every girl threw herself into his arms, so thoroughly he lost his mind and was barred from bidding at the hotel. Was it a business move? A strategy?

Or how a girl had single-handedly taken down three grown n in that studio.

His heart beat harder against his ribs.

Why would anyone do all this?

Why was he cross-dressing? Was he, Clyde Du Pont, just another target in whatever ga he was playing? No. He shook his head. Not possible. Not even he knew he had a thing for beautiful cosplay- furry ears and all.

Why had he gone to Leo McKay’s fan eting?! Did he know Jacklin?!

Clyde paused. When they had faced each other in that studio, Asena had looked surprised, even wary. There was no sign of recognition. Yeah. She didn’t know him.

Clyde rolled the wooden prayer between his fingers, jaw tense. All he had was a suspicion. A bandaged hand. A scattered trail of clues. He needed proof.

Clyde stared out the car window as a question ford in his mind.

Why did he need proof? For what? To confront the boy for fooling him? Making his emotions go through sothing he did not want to feel? Hold him accountable?!

Clyde rubbed his wooden prayer beads for a long ti until the storm and confusion in his pale blue eyes vanished.

No, he just wanted to close the case. If it were proved that he was indeed Asena, he could put the matter aside forever.

Yeah, his interest was just for that reason.