From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 141: He Who Inspires Me; Lines That Betrays Me

Chapter 141: He Who Inspires Me; Lines That Betrays Me

Early the next morning, Micah stepped out of the dormitory with a bounce in his step, his bag slung over one shoulder and a notebook clutched under his arm. He felt strangely refreshed like someone had lit a spark of new interest to drive him forward. The sky wasn’t completely bright, a ray of sunrise spread on the quiet buildings.

Micah took a deep breath and strolled toward the small garden behind the dorms, a quiet hidden spot near the lake where hardly anyone came at this hour.

He hadn’t even bothered with breakfast. He just needed to get the ideas down before they slipped away. Micah found a bench and plopped down. He flipped open a small notebook, already pulling out a pencil from the side pocket of his bag. He didn’t hesitate. His hand moved in a swift, practised line. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a tight line.

He started with the jewellery design, a birthday gift for Darcy. Something personal, simple but meaningful. He had already pictured it in his head the night before while lying in bed. A pendant with a clean yet elegant design. Micah’s lips stretched into a small smile as he quickly finished the sketch, even adding some light shading to make the shape pop off the page.

"There," he whispered to himself. "Uncle Graham can make it in time if I send it today."

He closed the small notebook and put it aside. Then, without waiting for a second, he opened his second notebook. This one was thicker, filled with sketches of old and new, half-baked ideas, notes in margins, fabric thoughts, and colour swatches taped to the corners.

Micah’s eyes gleamed. He grinned to himself like a kid about to unwrap a secret stash. He could finally show his designs to Georgina. That thought alone sent a thrill through him like he was injected with chicken blood. He couldn’t wait to draw.

His speciality was women’s fashion. People raise eyebrows about it sometimes or find it odd. But Micah didn’t care. His love for fashion didn’t come from trends or fame. It started at home.

He remembered being a little boy, watching his mother and sisters get ready for events. But more than anyone else, it was his grandmother, Zhou Ruyan, who inspired him.

She was always elegant, but frail. Her health meant she rarely left the house. Shopping was done through catalogues, or designers sent limited samples to Ramsy mansion. Micah could see she wasn’t happy with the choices, but she never said anything. She didn’t want to trouble Albert Ramsy with her preferences. She would smile and say it was good enough, but Micah saw past it. There had been a quiet longing in her beautiful dark eyes whenever others talked about the fashion shows they had attended, how stunning the models were, how outrageous or breathtaking the outfits looked.

Zhou Ruyan always listened silently, smiling faintly, never interrupting. But Micah could tell. It was agony for someone who had once been part of that world to be left so far outside it. Coming from a family renowned in the jade business, Zhou Ruyan had been a celebrated artisan, famed for her exquisite jade jewellery, crafted in collaboration with high-end fashion brands. Her work had once graced runaways and glossy magazine covers. But after her health declined, she was forced to step down from that glamorous life.

That’s where it all started for Micah. He had borrowed Aria’s clothes secretly and tried to put together a makeshift fashion show in that isolated place, just for his grandmother. He still remembered the way Zhou Ruyan laughed happily, praising him.

Of course, it became their little secret. The rest of Ramsy’s family had no idea how his passion started.

After that, the desire to make something beautiful for her ignited in him. Until now, he had made a few pieces for her. Nothing grand. But she wore them. Proudly.

Micah’s hand moved across the page again. Lines formed, curved built into the structure. But halfway through the sketch, his fingers slowed. His head tilted and stared.

"What?"

It wasn’t a dress, blouse or gown...

It was a suit... a clean sharp suit. Masculine lines. Broad shoulders.

He panicked. No...no!

Micah ripped the page out, crumbled it, and shoved it into his bag. His heart thudded against his ribs.

He had tried designing men’s clothing before. Every single time, it came out weird. Too stiff, too awkward. Something always looked off. He had tried sketching for himself once and ended up hating it. The proportions never sat right. It was like his hand just didn’t know how to see that kind of shape. He had thought he had no talent in that regard.

But now... he pursed his lips. He took a deep breath and began again. But every time he became distracted, his hands moved on their own, and the finished product would be the same. Another suit.

Micah stood up so fast that the notebook nearly slipped off his lap. "Goddamn it!" he cursed in frustration.

He paced a few steps in front of the bench, dragging through his messy hair. His eyes flicked toward the lake ahead. The surface was calm, a mirror of the pale blue... like his.

Micah closed his eyes. Why, of all people, did he have to be the one who inspired him?

Micah let out a long sigh and sat down again.

He shouldn’t be panicking. Maybe if he got them out of his system, his mind could go back to normal again.

With that, he began sketching again. Page after page. By the time he had finally looked up, his stomach gave a loud growl.

Micah looked at the sketches filling half of the notebook. He let out an angry chuckle. "Ha!"

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes in annoyance.

He gathered his belongings and returned to the dorm.

In the middle of the hallway, he spotted Darcy standing still, deep in thought.

Micah grinned. "Yo! What’s up?" he called out, walking toward him.

Darcy flinched, snapping out of his daze. His eyes locked on Micah’s clothes. Fresh, clean. Definitely not the ones he wore yesterday. And most importantly not the kind you slept in. Darcy’s eyes stopped on the bag on Micah’s shoulder.

"You’re just getting back now?" his voice had a touch of cold and anger.

Micah ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Yeah, I had something to do. Why are you standing out here?"

Darcy clenched his fists. So it was true.

Micah hadn’t stayed in the dorm last night. Should he believe the gossip on the forum?

Last night he had been worried. Micah’s mood had seemed off, distant and something about it had stuck with him. So, after Nick asked about the reason, Darcy had gone to check on him.

But Micah wasn’t there.

His roommates told him he had gone out in a rush. No explanation.

Darcy had waited in his room, worried, pacing back and forth. He had messaged Micah on WeChat, but there was no reply, not even the ’seen’ ticks.

He was so worried that he had picked up his phone to call him but then Nick sent that damn forum post link.

Darcy had clicked on it. There was a blurred picture, taken from a distance. But even then, Darcy recognised Micah instantly. The caption still burned in his mind: A Sweet Couple Quarreling in the Food Alley.

The post described how the uploader had stumbled upon what looked like a dramatic little lover’s spat, how the dominant CEO-type boyfriend had caught the other eating junk food, and how the two argued so cutely that the OP wanted a hot, mature boyfriend too.

Darcy had zoomed in on the picture. He recognised the man too. The same guy who gave Micah that expensive takeout that night.

His chest tightened.

He quickly reported the post and deleted it without thinking. But the damage was already done.

The doubt had taken root, eating him all night. He came to check. To see for himself.

Nick never mentioned Micah coming back. And now, standing in the hallway, Darcy saw him. Fresh clothes. A bag on his shoulder. Looking like someone who hadn’t just woken up but someone who had come back.

That knot in his chest twisted tighter. Fury filled his mind, sharp and bitter. He bit inside of his cheek hard, maintaining his composure.

Darcy wanted to ask Micah where he had been. Who he had been with. But the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to hear the answer.