From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 85: Pretty Lies, Ugly Truth

Chapter 85: Pretty Lies, Ugly Truth

Micah glanced at the man in front of him, silently taking in every detail with a calm that barely concealed his disgust. The man reeked of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke, the scent thick in the air, even in broad daylight.

Behind his fake smile and slicked-back hair, Micah could see it. The man’s eyes weren’t admiring.

His gaze was filled with those disgusting thoughts, undressing him, picturing him naked.

He was a man; he could see it. He knew that look all too well.

Micah was at a loss as to why, among all these girls, the man had picked him. He wanted to brush past and ignore the comment, but just for a second, he imagined Nora or his cousins in his place, being approached with an offer like that. His blood boiled. No, he needed to see what this man was really after. If what he thought was indeed the case...

Micah blinked, forcing his face into a docile expression, masking his annoyance. He tilted his head, widening his eyes with a touch of faux innocence, looking at the man a bit naively.

"Go on, what were you saying?" he said sweetly, his voice girlish and melodic.

The man faltered for a second, wondering if he had imagined the sudden death glare from earlier. The girl was so sweet. How on earth did he think the girl wanted to punch him?

"Would you like to be a star?!" he said eagerly, stepping closer. " I am a scout. Our agency specialises in discovering new talent. Models, actresses, influencers...whatever you want, we can help you make it happen. You have the look. The bone structure. The height, the rate vibe that makes people stop and stare."

Micah widened his eyes. "Oh! Really?!" he gasped, touching his cheek and smiling shyly.

"Oh, definitely," the man said, talking faster now. "We’ll start with a quick photo shoot. Send a portfolio to some of our partners, magazines, and casting directors. We have trainers who’ll teach you how to pose and how to walk the runway. You’re gonna be famous."

Micah nodded, feigning a dazed sort of excitement.

"Why don’t you come and take a look?! It’s just around the corner. I am sure you’ll love it and sign right up"

Micah hesitated just enough to make the man think he was winning, then followed.

The walk was brief, down a side street, then up a flight of narrow stairs in a dated building. Micah’s shoes clicked against the floor as he climbed, and he kept his shoulder relaxed, his smile faint but polite. The man was rambling on and on about how this could be Micah’s break.

When they reached the third floor, the man opened a door and gestured grandly. "Right this way."

The place was cramped. The studio had grey walls and minimal furnishings. A sickly mix of sweat and stale coffee clung to the air. Two other men were already there, one middle-aged, with a pot belly and balding head, the other younger, who gave Micah a long, unsettling look. He exchanged a meaningful glance with the other. Then smiled.

"Come in, come in," he said. "We have been expecting fresh talent."

Expecting. Micah nearly gagged. He would be a fool if he didn’t realise what that meant. But he remained smiling and stepped inside.

The scout gestured toward a room where there was a backdrop and a battered camera on a tripod. "Let’s get a few test shots, yeah? Just to see your angles."

Micah followed him into the room. At first, the poses were standard: turn this way, chin up, smile, but it didn’t take long before things began to shift.

"Maybe unbutton your blouse a little? Just for the neckline."

Micah hesitated.

"It’s just for lighting. Promise."

He did it, two buttons down.

"Now, try lying on the couch. Arch your back a little more."

Micah complied. Mind working fast. The man behind the camera clicked away, while another adjusted the light.

"Maybe slip off the top? Just suggestively. We’ll blur it later if needed."

Micah sat up slowly, lips parting. "Can I get a glass of water first?"

One of the men left without suspicion.

Micah turned to the one holding the camera, walking over slowly. "Hey," he said softly. "Can I... See the pictures?!"

Micah leaned forward slightly, cutely tilting his head.

The man gulped. "Umm..."

The moment the man dropped his guard, Micah struck. With a sharp twist, he grabbed the man’s jaw to stifle his cry. His foot landed hard between the man’s legs. "I meant every picture. From everyone. Where are they?!!"

He pressed harder, the man flinched, his face going pale.

He pointed to a drawer.

Micah knocked him out cold.

"Damn disgusting!" he muttered as he opened the drawer and found rows of labaled USB drives and printed naked pictures.

He gritted his teeth and smashed the USBs, ripped the photos. Getting rid of every single one of them.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing??!" came a yell from the man returning with water.

Micah whirled around. "Fucking perverts! Scamming innocent girls into pornography? You thought I wouldn’t notice?!" he shouted, still using his girlish voice.

The man lunged. Micah dodged, turned, and landed a kick to his chest that sent him flying to the wall.

The middle-aged man arrived, red-faced. He grabbed a chair and threw it at Micah. It missed by inches, crashing into the light.

Micah didn’t waste time. He kicked the man’s knees. The man fell over to the ground, groaning.

A boy appeared from one of the rooms, maybe a few years younger than Micah. He stood there, just watching.

Micah straightened his back as he brushed the dust off his hands. "Where is the memory card or hard drive?!"

The boy pointed at another room.

Micah went in and smashed everything: monitors, backup drives, cameras, until there was nothing left. Then he looked at the boy. "Call the police. Tell them everything. I’ve got other things to do. Can’t waste time here."

He didn’t wait for a response. He opened the door to leave and froze. A man stood there. Tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut in a sharp suit. Cool pale blue eyes met him, studying Micah from head to toe. Something in his gaze wasn’t lecherous or suspicious, just quite observational.

Micah’s heart beat a bit faster, his expression wary. He knew he couldn’t take on the man.

But the man didn’t do anything. He glanced over Micah once more, then stepped past him and entered the apartment.

Micah didn’t stick around to find out who he was. He slipped away down the stairs and into the busy street below, adjusting his bag.

He pulled out his phone and called the big sister. He had no idea where he was.

****

Half an hour earlier:

"I told you, I have a meeting in an hour." Clyde Du Pont said into the phone, his voice calm.

"Please! Little uncle! Just one meal! We haven’t all had lunch together in months!!" came Jacklin’s voice.

"Fine. I’ll see what I can do." Clyde’s expression softened. He hung up the phone.

He stood from his chair and left his office. His company was in the middle of the CBD, with Windows reflecting the skyline.

As he walked down the street toward their usual restaurant, where Jacklin told him they had gathered, something silver flashed at the edge of his vision.

His head snapped up. Wasn’t it that girl?! Asena?!

His eyes followed the girl until he saw a man approach her. He could hear the conversation. His brow furrowed. He began to follow them quietly, at a distance.

He didn’t know why. His legs had moved before even his mind could command.

When he saw the girl step inside. He called his assistant, "Check out an agency on X Street."

He waited; his eyes locked in the building.

Clyde never involved himself in strangers’ businesses or even family. His world was contracts, boardroom, and keeping La Riviere’s legacy intact. Emotions were luxuries. The only ones he indulged in were for his niece and nephew, even that was limited.

Others never interested him. Not even stunning women. But this one was different...

When he saw her dressed in that costume, with those fluffy ears and tail, he had itched to touch them, to feel what it would be like...

Then he had snapped back to reality, shutting down those thoughts quickly and leaving the cosplay event.

Now, one year later, his eyes were still drawn to her. Clyde blinked, clearing those thoughts from his mind.

Minutes later, his assistant confirmed the agency was a front, known for illegal activity. Clyde’s jaw clenched.

Clyde strolled toward that apartment. He blamed himself. He shouldn’t have waited. When he reached the building, he could hear the sound of fighting, even groaning. Some kicking. Then her voice. Cursing.

Just as he was about to force the door open, it opened on its own, and the silver-haired girl stepped out.

Flushed, breathing heavily, but uninjured.

Behind her, the apartment was in dire straits. Everything was scattered and broken. The girl looked at him wearily.

Clyde didn’t speak. He stepped inside. The studio looked as if it had undergone an earthquake or a tornado. Three men, badly beaten, were grunting on the ground.

Clyde could feel something shifting inside him. For the first time, someone had left him speechless.