From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 122: Reflections in Hazel

Chapter 122: Reflections in Hazel

Georgina pushed open the classroom door and stepped out into the hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. She didn’t even wait to leave the building before unlocking her phone and dialling a number with swift, eager fingers. The moment the call connected, she spoke, breathless with excitement.

"Hey! I saw the boy!"

There was a pause on the other end before Clyde’s smooth voice answered, cool and unimpressed.

"Georgina, what are you talking about?"

She picked up her pace until she reached a more secluded area.

"Oh my God! I totally get what you see in him! The moment I laid eyes on him, my fingers started itching! I wanted to sketch some draft right then and there!" Georgina’s voice rose in glee.

On the other end, Clyde sighed and brought a hand up to his face, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose. He stood near a sleek black car, just outside a regional branch of La Riviere.

After Jacklin and Dean left him in the dining room, Clyde had gotten ready to check on the operation nearby. It was a pure coincidence that this specific branch was so close to QC University. He had just wrapped up a short tour when Georgina’s name lit up on his phone.

"I am not following..." he muttered, feigning ignorance.

"Don’t play dumb! I’m talking about that silver-haired boy with the black-framed glasses! His name is Micah!"

Clyde paused. He knew Georgina was sharp but not to this extent. How did she figure it out?

"Anyway, if you need help, I’m totally down!" she continued cheerfully, then suddenly paused. "Wait a minute, where is he going?" there was a beat of silence, and then a sharp gasp through the line.

"Oh, no....What happened to him?"

Clyde’s expression tightened. "Who?"

"Micah! He is clutching his stomach and running. Did something happen to him? He didn’t look okay..."

"Where is he going?" he asked, his tone urgent.

"He’s heading toward the north gate..."

Beep... Beep...

Georgina stared at her phone in disbelief. The call had ended. Clyde had hung up on her. Georgina’s expression turned incredulous.

Meanwhile, Clyde was already moving. He didn’t wait for an explanation, didn’t stop to think. His feet moved on instinct. In long strides, he crossed the small parking lot and entered the street. A breeze tugged at the edge of his tailored coat as he approached the university’s front gate. His eyes scanned the surroundings quickly. Students were moving about, some chatting, others on their phones or walking with backpacks on their shoulders. Then he saw him.

There, beneath a tree, a few meters from the path, stood Micah. No, rather leaned against it. The boy’s back pressed against the bark, one arm wrapped tightly across his middle. His face was ghostly pale, and sweat formed on his face. He was breathing in shallow gasps, lips slightly parted, as if every inhale hurt.

Clyde didn’t hesitate. He moved forward quickly.

Micah pushed off from the tree and tried to walk, sensing the curious gaze of passers-by. But he only managed two steps before the pain shot through his stomach to his back. His knees buckled. His body twisted sideways as the burning intensified.

His breath caught in his chest.

But he didn’t hit the ground.

Two strong arms caught him just in time. And then came a cold voice. "Are you alright?"

Micah blinked rapidly, confused, dazed. It was like he had a DeJa’Vu.

Slowly, he turned his head and looked up. He came face to face with those pale blue eyes again. His pupils dilated. He remembered the man. He was the one he met at the studio.

Micah jerked instinctively, trying to create space between the man and himself. But the man’s hold on him tightened. "Don’t move. I’ll send you to hospital."

Clyde knew instantly that it was the boy’s stomach. He was afraid he would throw up blood again.

"Let go... I don’t know you..." Micah mumbled.

"President, do you require assistance?" a respectful voice came from behind.

Micah looked past the man’s shoulder, and his eyes landed on the row of suited men, looking like white-collar workers standing there watching them.

"President?" he muttered under his breath. So this man wasn’t some random creep. He was someone important. Maybe too important. Why did someone like him keep showing up?

His presence at that studio might also be because he suspected something?!

Even though Micah knew the man was not dangerous, his instincts wanted to resist. He wanted to push him away, to walk on his own. But the emotional turmoil and the physical pain had drained everything. His body had no strength. And emotionally he was already worn out.

And truthfully, he didn’t want to see anyone connected to the plot right now. So he let the man guide him. With a firm but careful grip, Clyde walked Micah to a sleek black Bentley parked along the curb. The back door opened smoothly, and Micah was helped inside. He closed his eyes as he sat on the cool leather seat.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the private hospital. Micah blinked slowly as he looked out the tinted windows. He recognised it. The same place as last time. Of course, it was the closest high-grade facility to the university.

Inside, the doctor quickly inserted a line and began administering Pantoprazole into his veins for his peptic ulcer and morphine for his pain.

The relief came fast. The pressure and pain that had gripped his stomach slowly began to ease. Micah let out a shaky breath, eyelids fluttering closed.

Clyde stood at the foot of the bed, jaw clenched. A cold pressure radiated from him.

It was just a week ago that he brought the boy here. What could possibly have happened? What kind of stress was the boy under to end up here again? Wasn’t he just eighteen?! What could possibly be the reason for it?

Clyde glanced at Micah’s face. Despite the faint tan, the colour had drained from his face. He remembered when the boy had looked up at him, those wide hazel eyes behind the frame were filled with pain and loss. Clyde had been shaken by those eyes, not because they were unfamiliar, but because he had seen them before. In the mirror, years ago, when he had been just as lost.

Clyde had planned to get to know the boy slowly and casually by approaching him through one of his garment factories, without revealing his last name, his status, or his connection to Emile. He didn’t want to scare the boy off.

But now, Clyde wasn’t sure if slow was an option anymore. Something was going on in this boy’s life. He hadn’t meant to care this much. But something about this boy, the way he pushed through the pain, the way he kept secrets behind those hazel eyes, made it impossible to stay uninvolved.

With a quiet breath, he pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside, silently watching as the boy slept.

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