From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 52: This Meant The World

Chapter 52: This Meant The World

After the chaos at the pharmacy settled, Micah silently handed the small paper bag of medicine to Darcy. The label crinkled under his fingers, but he didn’t let go until Darcy took it.

"I talked to my grandfather. He is arranging for your mother to be transferred to our private hospital. A new attending doctor, someone we trust, and a new pharmacy nearby that won’t give you trouble. Everything is taken care of."

Darcy took the medicine as if in a daze. The weight of it in his hands felt unreal, light but loaded with years of unanswered suffering. Just half an hour ago, he had walked into the pharmacy prepared for another humiliating encounter. And now, this...

His worldview had shattered again.

He remembered the moment the higher-ups had shown up at the pharmacy, their hurried steps echoing against the tile. He remembered their questioning, the startled look on the staff’s faces, the dawning realisation that the orders to resist access had come from his mother’s attending doctor, Dr. Silas Durant. The same man who had pretended to care while making it deliberately harder to get the medication she needed. Dr Silas Durant had shares in the SAFA pharmaceuticals. That explained everything.

He couldn’t believe it. All these years, the humiliation, the sneers of the staff, the way bystanders would glance at him like he was an unfilial son, arguing at the counter like some delinquent. Every time he had to bargain, beg, explain, justify... all those sleepless nights working shifts after school, the gossip behind his back about the odd jobs he was forced to do.

Darcy’s chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. His throat burned.

He stared at Micah, this snow-white-haired, stubborn, arrogant boy who had unfolded everything with just one call. Yeah, one call to Ramsy’s patriarch and the scheme was revealed, even dealt with it.

"I wish I met you sooner...." he mumbled under his breath.

Micah didn’t catch it.

"Hum?!"

"Nothing.... Thanks." Darcy replied quickly, his voice rough and fragile. He looked away, swallowing hard.

Micah frowned as he studied Darcy’s pale face, the way his hands trembled a little.

"You don’t look great. Let’s get you out of here."

Without waiting for an answer, Micah placed a hand on Darcy’s back and guided him out of the pharmacy. As the glass door slid open, the heavy summer heat slammed into them. Darcy winced at the sudden warmth. But oddly, his cold fingers began to thaw, perhaps from the sun, perhaps from Micah’s steady hand on his back.

Yeah, there were still good people in this world. Maybe it was not just black and grey.

They walked in silence to the car.

Once inside, Micah started the engine and drove off. He didn’t say a word. His eyes were fixed on the road.

Noticing Darcy’s bizarre mindset, he felt his chest tighten. If he hadn’t switched, the real young master would have been held in the palm of Ramsy’s family, not experiencing this kind of situation.

The weight of guilt pressed on him. He clenched the steering wheel.

He drove straight to the small town near the Isatis city.

An hour later, the car rolled to a stop near a quiet beach. The sky was pale blue, the waves gently lapping the shore beyond the sand dunes.

Micah rolled down the windows. The salty breeze rushed in, filling the car with the scent of the sea.

"You..." Micah opened his mouth.

But Darcy beat him to it. "A few years ago, I firmly believed that when life handed you lemons, you could make lemonade. So I persisted, I tried hard. Believing where one door shut, another would open, maybe a smaller one but god would never abandon me."

Micah stilled, hands resting loosely on his lap.

Darcy’s voice was quiet and calm, but each word seemed to tear something from his chest.

"However, it became harder and harder... the bills piled up, my mother’s sickness worsened...people looked at me like I was dirt... yeah there were a few good people who helped us... but they had their own hardships."

Darcy paused, looking straight at the waves.

"Then I lived like a machine... all of my emotions were tucked away so I could survive... not to break under the huge burden on my shoulder. The funny thing was, people looked at me, admiring my positive view toward life, and praising me for my sense of duty toward my family, for my talent... yet none looked beyond that."

"I thought no one could get me, no one could see the world through my eyes... but today... you... you fought against them... for me.

Maybe to you, it was showing a kind act toward a stranger or a friend, being a hero, but to me... "

Darcy swallowed hard and met Micah’s red eyes.

"To me, it meant the world."

Micah clenched his jaw, pressing his teeth together, suppressing his boiling emotions from erupting.

He wanted to yell "sorry," to say it was all his fault. It should never have been him!

But he couldn’t...

For the first time, his mind stopped him from acting rashly. His tongue, which usually talked before thinking, was strangely quiet.

Darcy shifted. He noticed the shimmer of moisture behind Micah’s lenses, just a glint, but enough. His eyes widened in surprise.

"You! Why?!"

Darcy leaned closer, his hand lifting instinctively to wipe it away. But before his fingers could reach, Micah jerked his head to the side and flung the door open.

He stepped out, stumbling a little on the soft sand before walking away quickly.

The wind caught in his hair, brushing it wildly. The sand clung to the edge of his sneakers, scraping against his ankles as he walked. The pain in his heart was like a sharp knife piercing him, deep and unbearable.

"Micah, you damn bastard..." he cursed himself.

Back in the car, Darcy sat frozen. The image of Micah’s reddened eyes replayed in his mind like a broken tape.

"Why would you cry for me?" he mumbled, his expression blank.

The sea crashed softly beyond them, but the silence between the two boys was louder than any wave.

Micah crouched down, holding his head between his knees. Teardrops fell slowly on the glossy sand, disappearing faster than the pain, the guilt behind them could heal, could suppress.