From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 57: Not All Heroes Wear Capes… Some Wear Skirts

Chapter 57: Not All Heroes Wear Capes... Some Wear Skirts

On Friday morning, Micah exhaled deeply as he zipped up his suitcase. Everything was ready. He smoothed a hand down the side of his simple black hoodie and murmured to himself, "Okay, no turning back now."

The Ramsy family had long been used to his temperamental behaviour. They just let him do what he wanted most of the time. No one opposed his last-minute trip. Obviously, it was Micah’s last holiday before moving to the dormitory at the beginning of the semester next Monday.

Outside, a sleek luxury car from the Ramsy garage hummed in the driveway. Driver Dan stepped out to grab his suitcase and place it in the car boot.

Micah slipped into the car, waiting for Driver Dan to take him to the airport.

"Young master, may I ask... where are you going?" Driver Dan said.

"To Jay City, you know how its beaches are famous," Micah answered, unbothered by the driver prying into his privacy.

"Yeah, I went there with my family last summer. The scenery was on another level," Driver Dan agreed.

Micah just hummed. After that, Driver Dan talked about what fun things they had done there through the ride.

Micah rested his chin on his palm, gazing outside absentmindedly. His mind was too occupied with today’s plan to pay attention to the driver’s words.

Upon arriving at the airport, Micah thanked the driver and went inside.

But instead of heading toward check-in, he wheeled his small suitcase into the airport arrival hall, blending with the crowd before slipping out another exit.

Once outside, he hailed a taxi.

In the rear seat, he put on a cap, a mask, and sunglasses. Pulling his hoodie tighter around himself, he leaned back as the taxi took him to the nondescript hotel he had scouted earlier, a modest business-class inn nestled a block away from the Royal Hotel. Close enough to walk, yet low profile enough to keep curious eyes away.

Once inside his room, Micah locked the door and wheeled his suitcase over to the bed, flicking the latch open with a click. He tugged it open and lifted a padded makeup case and a neatly wrapped wig box from underneath his clothes. Setting both on a small vanity stand, he took a deep breath and sat down.

"This is for a noble cause," he reminded himself. "Not weird at all!"

He carefully wrapped a mesh net over his snow-white hair, flattening it to his scalp. His hands moved quickly. Contact lenses first, changing his warm bright hazel eyes to a colder shade of green. Then foundation, smoothing over his already clear skin until it looked almost doll-like. He dusted a light pink blush across his cheeks, added soft contouring to his jawline, and applied a hint of gloss to his lips.

Fake eyelashes came next, making his eyes rounder, more doe-like. He applied mascara with precision, then grabbed the wig, a snow-white layered cut with soft waves that framed his face delicately. He smoothed the bangs in front, covering his forehead perfectly.

He considered a black one, but LioNessQueen had seen his cosplay and profile picture before. Too much of a change might raise questions, and he couldn’t risk blowing his cover.

Besides, this colour helped him lean into the slightly gothic image he was going for today.

He had weighed the pros and cons before reaching this conclusion. He was tempted to play the role of a shy shut-in girl, but with his reckless and arrogant streak solidified in his bones, he was sure he couldn’t pull it off.

Then, Micah stood up to change his clothes. His lips twitched as he held up a padded chest plate. He repeatedly told himself.

"This is for a great cause! Repaying Darcy after occupying his place for eighteen years! It’s not shameful at all!"

He strapped the prop on over his chest, muttering curses under his breath as the synthetic material settled against him. Then with careful movements, he slipped on a dark green pleated long skirt that shimmered slightly under the light. It reached just above his ankles, swishing softly as he walked. The silk blouse he chose was a deep grey that hugged his slender waist tightly. He put on dark chunky lace-up ankle boots, giving himself a sense of rockstar flair.

Lastly, he picked up a black cap and tugged it low over his long snow-white wig, hiding the distinctive colour just enough to look mysterious without seeming absurd.

He gave himself a full-body spin in the mirror and was satisfied with his attire. "Perfect."

Micah left the room. He made sure to hunch slightly when walking, passing off his 178cm height as a bit shorter. He used this boot, especially because of this reason. They gave onlookers the impression that his tall height was related to his footwear-enhanced shoes.

The street hustled with the typical Friday rush as Micah stepped out in full disguise. His look, a mix of goth girl and antisocial rocker, earned him a few curious glances, but most people simply looked away after a moment. His aura said: don’t talk to me unless you want to die.

Exactly what he needed.

Micah’s lips stretched upward.

Micah took a leisurely stroll to the Royal Hotel, getting used to the way his skirt moved, the rhythm of walking in boots, and adjusting his voice in his head. The man he was meeting, Alex Ford, had been texting nonstop that morning.

AAA: you better not be late

AAA: take the entrance on the left, the concierge desk.

AAA: don’t make me wait.

Micah rolled his eyes.

However, with his awful sense of direction, he got lost and took some time to find the lounge.

After a few wrong turns and awkwardly asking for directions, he finally found the place. Inside, it was filled with the scent of roasted coffee beans, soft piano music, and the low murmur of morning meetings. He paused at the entrance, scanning the room. There were far too many single men seated at the tables, most in suits or business casual attire.

He gave up on guessing and approached the front counter. "Excuse me, I’m looking for Mr Ford."

The staff heard the name, and his forehead twitched. "Ah, yes... please follow me."

Then he guided him to a table in a secluded area.

Aidan Wilson sat in a shadowed booth near the back, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his eyes glued to the entrance. He was waiting for that boy. So when he saw a girl approaching him with the staff, his displeasure rose.

"What?!" he snapped.

The staff quickly opened his mouth. "Mr, Ford, this young lady was asking for you."

Aidan paused. He had told the staff that if someone had asked about Mr Ford, they should guide them toward him.

Aidan’s gaze intensified on the girl, who reeked of a rebellious teenage attitude. The girl studied him in return.

Micah was shocked to see the man he had chatted with was this good-looking. He understood where his arrogant haughty temper came from. He didn’t even flinch when the man stared at him.

"What is it?!" Aidan said after a moment.

Micah tilted his head and dropped a small brown pouch onto the table.

"Here. I was told to give this to you." Micah said in an arrogant girl’s voice.

Aidan looked at those fair hands for a moment. Then the realisation hit him.

He shot to his feet, his chair scraping back loudly.

"Damn! Where is he?!"

Micah stepped back instinctively, startled by the sudden movement and the towering figure. Just then, a man in a black suit appeared beside the angered man and whispered something in his ear.

Aidan took a deep breath and opened the pouch. It was full of US dollars.

He glanced at the girl and saw her eyes widen.

"You didn’t know what was inside?!" Aidan asked skeptically.

Micah shook his head and feigned ignorance.

"What? No, I just thought it was a simple gig with a decent reward, so I took it. I didn’t expect it to be full of cash..." Micah uttered in frustration.

"What ad?" Aidan paused, stunned.

"There was this post about making a delivery in exchange for a limited-edition Jimi Hendrix collector’s casket."

Micah pulled out his phone, showing a ridiculous post from an obscure goth group about a "rare delivery gig" with a promised reward. The ad was fake, of course. He had made it himself and posted it through a burner account one day ago.

Aidan’s expression turned grim. A Second later, a crash echoed as Aidan slammed a glass onto the floor, shattering it into thousands of shards.

The chaos came suddenly. Micah was ushered to leave the lounge, and he happily obliged.

He knew the man had not seen his face completely in the dim light of that night. And with his professional disguise, the possibility of a mistake was really low. He chuckled, putting his hands into the pockets of his skirt and bouncing with spring in his steps.

As Micah disappeared into the lobby, he felt a warm thrill of satisfaction surge through him.

He was confident he could pull off his scheme and be done with those psycho male leads.

What he didn’t know was that a man’s gaze was fixed on him the entire time.

From a nearby hallway, a tall man watched Micah walk away, sharp eyes narrowing with interest.

Then he took a last look at furious Aidan Wilson and turned back.

"Let’s go to the bidding," he said to his assistants standing behind him.