From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 155: I Slept in His Bed but Swear I’m Not His!

Chapter 155: I Slept in His Bed but Swear I’m Not His!

The next morning, Micah woke up slowly. For a moment, he just lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to remember what he had dreamed. His brows wrinkled a little, but nothing came to mind. He still felt a lingering warmth, like he had been hugged in his dream. All he knew was that it was a happy, sweet dream. One that made him feel fuzzy and warm.

He glanced around the room. Oh. Right. He was in Clyde’s place. He let out a soft chuckle and rolled into his side, the sheets rustling under him. He had crashed like a rock last night. Out cold the moment his head hit the pillow. No worries, no tension, not even a single worry about the man sleeping behind another door. A man he had known for what? Two weeks? More or less?

Since when had he started trusting people so fast?! He thought to himself, dragging his hand down over his mouth.

Micah shook his head and pushed the covers off with his feet. He stretched his arms over his head until his shoulders gave a satisfying pop. Then he went to the bathroom, yawning. The cool tile under his feet made him shiver a little but helped wake him up. He brushed his teeth lazily, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. It felt like he had found a safe haven. His body and mind seemed determined to make up for every hour of lost sleep.

He washed his face next, letting the cold water jolt him fully awake. He grabbed a towel and dried his face before quickly heading out.

The moment he opened the door, the smell hit him. His nose twitched. It was warm and a little sweet. Familiar in a comforting way. The scent of cooked rice mixed with milk and something faintly toasty. He followed the trail like a curious cat, eyes half-lidded, drawn forward like an anime character floating after the smell of a pie.

He turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped short.

Clyde stood in front of the stove, tall and proper, dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked into straight-cut black trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, showcasing his strong forearms. Micah caught the sight of a wooden bead bracelet on his left wrist.

Oh... so he liked this kind of accessory... He thought.

Micah watched Clyde for a moment longer in silence as Clyde stirred the porridge in the pot with a serious expression, like he was handling enriched uranium or something.

Micah let out a chuckle. "Morning."

Clyde turned his head, and his eyes landed on Micah and lingered.

Micah was still wearing Clyde’s clothes from the night before. They were obviously too big, the sleeves loose around his wrists and the hem of the hoodie hanging lower than it should. But somehow, instead of looking sloppy, it gave him this lazy, effortless charm, emphasizing his unruliness and arrogance.

Clyde’s gaze flicked down, then up again, staying a second too long before he finally replied. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"

Micah nodded and wandered toward the small kitchen table, plopping into one of the chairs without ceremony. "Hmm. Like a baby," he said, then pointed at the pot. "You can cook?!"

Clyde pursed his lips. He turned back to the stove and gave the porridge one last stir. The boy had slept peacefully last night while he, the host, had lost sleep over him staying in his place.

"Just some simple dishes," Clyde said with a calm voice. He ladled the porridge into two bowls and placed one gently in front of Micah.

Then he sat down in the seat beside him.

Micah immediately reached for the sugar jar but before he could open the lid, he caught Clyde’s gaze from the side, flat, judging and mildly threatening. Micah paused.

Slowly, he pushed the sugar jar back and grabbed the honey instead, drizzling it into the porridge. He stirred it up and took a spoonful, then brought it to his mouth.

The moment the taste hit his tongue, his eyes widened.

"Umm..." he let out a soft, happy moan and closed his eyes, chewing slowly, savouring the warm, slightly sweet flavour. The texture was smooth, with little pieces of almond popping up under his teeth. The taste was gentle, with just enough richness from the milk. He didn’t even like porridge normally, but this one was on a different level.

On the other hand, Clyde sat still as a statue, staring straight ahead with the faintest twitch in his eyebrow. The sound Micah made, too soft, too pleased, had no business being that... distracting.

He stared at Micah with intense dark eyes. Then he blinked and lowered his head, grabbing his spoon in a firmer grip.

He reached for the wooden prayer beads on his wrist and rolled them between his fingers.

"Oh, God! This is so good! Is it a family recipe or something?" Micah asked excitedly. He scooped another bite into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days.

"No, I make it for myself, usually..." Clyde said with a low voice.

Micah paused mid-chew. The way Clyde said those words felt off like he didn’t usually talk about it. Micah quickly swallowed and decided not to ask more. He feared he would step on a landmine of family drama or poke into Clyde’s sore spot.

"Can I have a second?" he asked instead, holding out his bowl like an eager child.

Clyde stood and refilled it. As he placed it in front of Micah again, he said gently. "Eat slowly. It is all for you. No one’s going to steal it."

"Hmm?" Micah tilted his head. "Are you living alone?"

"Isn’t that something you should’ve asked before crashing here overnight?"

"Well, I was tired yesterday..." Micah looked away, a little embarrassed.

"I live alone here," Clyde said. "But I usually stay at the family mansion with my niece and nephew. They’re not around at the moment."

He kind of wanted to hint at Micah that he was the patriarch of the Du Pont family.

Recalling yesterday’s Clyde offer to him being his fake girlfriend, Micah smiled mischievously to himself. Then, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to fish for my sympathy and bragging about your wealth at the same time? Let me say this upfront, no matter how rich you are, I am not going to stay here like some kept lover!"

Clyde’s lips twitched. Micah completely missed the point. Did he not know Dean had an uncle who lived with him? How on earth had Micah heard of Dean but not him, Dean’s uncle?! Why hadn’t Micah connected the dots yet?

Micah finally noticed Clyde’s expression had darkened slightly. "I’m kidding!" he said, laughing while raising his hands.

Then, Micah turned his head. "Geez...Can’t take a joke, huh? Is that how old men react?" he mumbled.

Clyde blinked. Wait, did he say kept lover? "What?" Clyde asked, a voice a little sharper. "Staying as a kept lover?"

Micah swallowed his mouthful. "Haven’t you seen in dramas? The male lead lures the heroine to his place, cooks for her, and takes care of her to charm her. Then Bam! He slaps a contract on the table...Be my kept lover to ward off the annoying flies! Shattering the heroine’s fantasized bubble of romance. Of course, they would end up together in the end. But not without showing lots of comic scenes like the heroine accidentally losing her way and encountering the naked male lead and blushing. Or screaming before accidentally falling into his arms, naked chest and all! Oh man... they were always so predictable..." Micah rambled on.

Clyde stared at him, feeling a headache forming at his temple. He was trying to tell this boy about his status in the Du Pont family. And this boy was talking about half-naked men in cheesy dramas instead?!

God help him.