From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)

Chapter 762: That Escalated Quickly… Then De-escalated

What followed after that moment could only be described as complete and utter chaos, the kind that spiralled too quickly for anyone to regain control.

voices overlapped as footsteps rushed across the floor, and the once tense atmosphere shifted into something far more urgent and unstable.

Clyde, who had maintained his composure throughout the entire ordeal, immediately stepped in to take control of the aftermath. Without wasting a single second, he began issuing instructions with calm authority, ensuring that the situation didn’t get worse.

Aidan, whose condition was the most severe, was the first to be dealt with. His unconscious, bloodied state left no room for hesitation, and Clyde arranged for him to be transported to the hospital without delay. Leo and Archie, though less severely injured, were also sent along for medical attention, their bruised and shaken forms a testament to the violent intensity of what had just occurred.

Silas, who had remained untouched during the entire confrontation, chose to follow them as well. His reasons were unclear, his expression as distant and unreadable as ever, yet there was no hesitation in his decision to leave with the others.

And just like that, they were gone. The room, which had moments ago been filled with conflict, anger, and chaos, fell into an almost unsettling silence.

Now, only two people remained. Darcy and Micah.

The shift was abrupt, almost disorienting. Micah moved first.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and reached for Darcy’s hands, his movements urgent yet careful, as though he feared causing further harm. His fingers wrapped gently around Darcy’s bloodstained hands, lifting them slightly as his gaze scanned for injuries.

"Did you hurt your hands?" Micah asked, his voice laced with concern and frustration in equal measure. "Why would you use your bare hands for something like this? You could have hired some thugs to do it for you. Why would you do this yourself?"

His brows furrowed as he examined the bruised knuckles, the torn skin, the evidence of violence still fresh.

"Your hands are important," he continued, his tone growing more insistent. "You write code with them. You create things with them. They are not meant for this kind of... this kind of destruction."

Darcy did not respond immediately. Instead, he simply looked at him. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something that lingered beneath the surface, difficult to define.

Then, after a brief pause, he spoke. "Why are you here?"

The question was simple, yet it carried a weight that Micah could not ignore.

Darcy had been certain. He had checked everything beforehand. Micah was supposed to be on a flight with Clyde around this time. That had been the entire reason he had acted so decisively, so boldly, without holding back.

He had wanted to catch those four individuals off guard. To expose them. To force them into revealing their true nature, stripping away the illusion they had carefully maintained for so long.

He had gathered evidence. Plenty of it. Enough to destroy them. Enough to send them to prison. Or, at the very least, to ruin their reputations, strip them of their status, their influence, their carefully constructed image. Especially Aidan. He had planned everything meticulously.

And yet... Instead of the outcome he had expected, he had been handed something entirely different.

A contract. One that placed everything under his name. As though he needed it. As though he would accept something like that. The memory alone made his expression tighten slightly.

He was not proud of what had happened afterwards. Losing control like that... It had not been part of the plan. But none of that answered the question that mattered most right now.

Why was Micah here?

Micah paused, his hands still lightly holding Darcy’s as he processed the question.

Then, slowly, he spoke. "Clyde told me that you had been asking about where I was," he explained. "I had a feeling that you were planning something. So... I asked him to help me find you."

Darcy’s gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. "And?" he asked quietly. "Are you disappointed in me now?"

There was a brief pause. "Or... are you afraid of me?" he added.

The question hung heavily in the air. "I always tried to hide this side of me," Darcy continued, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "The darker parts. The things I did not want you to see."

Micah’s reaction was immediate. He shook his head, firmly, almost desperately. "No," he said without hesitation. "They deserved what happened to them."

His grip on Darcy’s hands tightened slightly. "I’m not afraid," he continued. "I’m worried though. Worried that you might actually get hurt."

For a moment, silence lingered between them.

Then Darcy let out a soft chuckle. It was not entirely amused. But it was not entirely bitter either.

Micah exhaled quietly, as though relieved that the tension had eased, even if only slightly. He reached for his shirt and began gently wiping the blood from Darcy’s hands. Then he wrapped them with a torn strip of his shirt.

"We should go to the hospital," Micah said softly. "You need to get this checked properly."

Darcy pulled his hands back and stood up, shaking his head. "No," he replied simply. "I am fine."

Micah looked up at him, his eyes searching, uncertain. There was a slight tremor in his pupils, something fragile and unsteady.

"Are you... going to continue?" he asked quietly. "Are you going to keep going after them until the very end?"

Darcy paused. Then, slowly, he tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"And if I am," he said, "are you going to try to stop me?"

Micah shook his head again, though this time the motion was slower. "No," he admitted. "I don’t have the right to lecture you. Or to stop you from seeking your own form of justice."

His voice softened. "Whatever decision you make... I will stand by you."

There was sincerity in those words. Unwavering and genuine.

"But..." he continued, his gaze lowering slightly, "I just wanted to see you happy. I wanted to see you free from all of this... this endless cycle of hatred and pain."

Darcy’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "Do you think I have not tried?" he asked quietly. "I did. And I failed."

His gaze shifted slightly, distant for a moment. "Micah... you should focus on your own life," he said. "This is something between them and me."

Micah’s fingers curled slightly against his own palm. "But I cannot just live peacefully while you are suffering like this," he murmured. "How am I supposed to just ignore it?"

Darcy let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that revealed a rare trace of frustration. "Then what do you expect me to do?" he asked.

Micah hesitated. "I... I don’t know," he admitted. There was a pause before he continued, his voice uncertain. "If they end up miserable... if everything they did comes back to them... would that make you happy?" he asked. "Would you finally be able to move forward and live your life?"

Darcy stilled slightly at the question. His hand remained in his hair for a brief moment before slowly lowering.

Then he spoke. "Give it up, Micah," he said quietly. "That is not how it works." His gaze softened, though there was a quiet resignation behind it. "Some things can’t be forced."

Micah lowered his head. "...I am sorry," he murmured. "I never think things through before acting."

With that, he sank down onto the floor, his posture slumped as a heavy, gloomy atmosphere settled around him.

For a moment, Darcy simply stood there, watching him.

The silver strands of Micah’s hair caught the light faintly, contrasting against the dullness of the room. His gaze landed on his own hands, still wrapped in the torn fabric of Micah’s shirt, reminding him of what had just happened. Something in Darcy’s expression shifted. Softened.

After a few seconds, he stepped forward again and crouched down in front of him. Without saying anything at first, he reached out and ruffled Micah’s hair in a rare, almost gentle gesture.

"Don’t look so defeated," he said quietly. His voice was calmer now. "Time has a way of healing most wounds," he continued. "Perhaps... eventually... I will be able to move on as well."

Micah’s head lifted instantly. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice filled with sudden hope. A light returned to his hazel eyes, bright and unmistakable.

Darcy looked at him for a moment, those hopeful eyes reflecting something he had not seen in a long time. Then, slowly, he nodded. He did not know if it would be easy. He did not know if it would even be possible. But he could try. For Micah. For everything that still remained.

"Come on," Darcy said as he stood, extending a hand slightly. "Get up. Let’s leave this place."

Micah nodded quickly, the earlier gloom lifting as he pushed himself back to his feet with renewed energy.

Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed onto Darcy’s elbow, as though afraid he might disappear if he did not hold on.

And together, they walked out.