CHAPTER 256: MORE THAN A RIVAL

Clyde hugged Micah tightly, adjusting the boy’s weight in his arms. He stepped forward, took two steps down the corridor, then stopped short as if something occurred to him mid-motion. "Oh right," he said, turning his head slightly toward the boy trailing behind, "Could you grab the flower and the box from the passenger seat?"

His voice was calm, but there was a trace of fatigue buried beneath it.

Darcy, who had been walking just a step behind, blinked. He turned around without saying anything and walked toward the car. He gently picked up the delicate bouquet and small white box, handling them more carefully than he expected of himself, clutching both to his chest, he followed Clyde into the building.

Inside the elevator, there was silence.

Micah had gone completely limp in Clyde’s arms. His head was tucked beneath Clyde’s chin. The contrast between Micah’s flushed cheeks and Clyde’s composed face felt jarring, like two separate worlds colliding in a mirrored reflection.

Darcy stood beside them, holding the flower and the box like offerings, unsure what to do.

An awkward stillness hung between them.

Ding.

The doors slid open.

Clyde strode out of the elevator. He didn’t glance back to check if Darcy followed. As they reached his front door, he unlocked it with a passcode and stepped inside.

He didn’t wait.

Without a word, Clyde walked straight down the hallway and turned left, disappearing into the guest room Micah had stayed in before.

Darcy trailed behind slowly, stepping into the house with the hesitance of someone who didn’t quite belong. The space was neat and stylish. He put the flower and the box on the kitchen counter.

In the guest room, Clyde leaned down and gently laid Micah on the bed.

Darcy stepped in after him and knelt wordlessly by the edge of the bed. He began to take Micah’s shoes off, careful not to wake up the boy.

Clyde remained standing beside the bed, eyes fixed on Micah’s face. Slowly, he reached down and removed the glasses from his nose.

His thumb hovered for a second before brushing lightly across Micah’s cheekbone. There, beneath the closed lashes, was still a faint rim of red.

His jaw clenched. The faint muscle movement in his cheek betrayed him. He looked away.

Without a word, he reached for the blanket and pulled it over Micah’s body, tucking it up to his shoulders. Then he turned abruptly and walked out. Darcy rose and followed, quietly closing the door behind them.

In the hallway, Clyde looked at the dark-haired boy. "You can stay in that room," he said plainly, pointing to the next door. "I will be there," he gestured toward the far end.

Darcy blinked. "Oh. Okay." Then he hesitated. His hand fidgeted with his sleeve. "I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name..."

"Clyde. And you?"

"Darcy."

Clyde nodded, "I have work to do," he said flatly. Then he strode toward his study, leaving Darcy alone.

Darcy walked to the living room and glanced at the flower and the box on the kitchen counter, right where he had left them. His lips pressed into a thin line. His fingertips lingered on the edge of the box.

He picked up the bouquet and walked softly back toward Micah’s room. He opened the door with care, stepped inside, and left the flower on the nightstand.

He didn’t linger.

Turning around, he left the room and closed the door behind him. Then, remembering the box, he opened the fridge, placing the cake inside with a small, dry chuckle.

Why did he even care? About his rival’s gift? About the cake and flowers?

His mind wandered back to earlier. Clyde’s expression when he had said Micah had cried. The change was instant. A sharp glint of fury had flashed through Clyde’s gaze, just for a second. It had been quiet, simmering, dangerous.

He didn’t know why. But he could guess the reason.

He also couldn’t picture Micah crying. The arrogant young master, the one who barked orders and glared like a prince, shedding tears? That showed how close he was to his grandmother.

Maybe Micah’s family tried to keep it quiet. Hiding from him the news of his grandmother. But someone had let it slip.

Didn’t Micah say Clyde was a family friend? Maybe this was why Clyde had come for Micah?

Darcy ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. He wandered to the other guest room. He peeled off his suit and stepped into the bathroom.

The toiletries were all new, fresh towels, an unopened toothbrush, and shampoos neatly arranged. Everything had been thought of.

Like a hotel, he thought. Or like someone always expects visitors...

After his shower, he dried off and found a pair of spare pyjamas folded in the closet. He dressed quickly and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t familiar, but knowing Micah was just in the next room calmed him. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

Meanwhile, Clyde was pacing in his study. His hands were clenched behind his back, and his expression had gone blank.

He wanted to go back into that room.

To hug Micah. To hold him close. To whisper into his ear that he wasn’t alone. That it was okay. That he didn’t have to cry for people who didn’t deserve him.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. He dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk, hands running over his face before falling to the surface of the wood.

The Ramsy family...

He hated them. Every inch of him loathed them.

Was it why Micah had tried so hard to get on Aidan Wilson’s good side? Was it some scheme from Ramsy’s orders, or Micah’s desire to be recognised by his family? Or did he want to get revenge?

Clyde didn’t know which one it was. But it didn’t matter. In the end, Micah was the one getting hurt.

His eyes drifted toward the stack of files on his desk. Contracts. Blueprints. Cooperate with other companies.

Maybe it was time to give the Ramsy family a taste of their own medicine. Clyde picked up his phone and called his assistant.

"Prepare the alternate route on Project Yekta," he said flatly. "Push our media contracts to rerun that piece on Ramsy’s offshore holdings. Unverified is fine. Let the speculation start."

"Yes, sir," came the reply on the other end.

He ended the call and stood.

It was 2 a.m.

He walked back into the darkened living room. He was just passing the hallway when something flickered in the corner of his eye.

Movement.

He turned sharply.

"Micah?" he said, voice low and surprised. "What are you doing out here?"