CHAPTER 488: I’M STILL LIVING IN THE PAST YOU FORGOT (PART TWO)

Darcy seized Micah’s shoulder in an iron grip. "What did you say? You’ll make them apologise to me! For what?"

Micah’s lips quivered as he murmured, "They hurt you, my little brother... They used me to get to you..."

Darcy’s hold on him tightened. Micah’s words were half true... half drunken nonsense. What did he mean, get to him? They all abandoned him.

"Micah, answer me. Who are they?"

Micah’s head swayed weakly from side to side. "I hate them. I fucking hate them..."

Darcy couldn’t get anything coherent from the drunken Micah. Frustration built inside him. He wanted to know more, but there was no way. Then suddenly Micah broke down, clinging to him, sobbing. "I’m sorry... I am really sorry..."

Darcy froze. For a moment, all sound vanished. Then his mind snapped. "To hell with this," he said through gritted teeth, yanking Micah’s collar, shaking him slightly. "Sorry? Sorry for what? For ruining my life?"

Micah’s hands trembled. "I’m trash. I couldn’t protect anyone." His voice was filled with self-loathing.

Darcy exhaled sharply, letting him go. "God," he said, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was losing it. No. He had gone crazy already. What was he doing, arguing with a drunk person? Trying to dig out the truth from slurred nonsense? What did he want to get from this? Tormenting himself more?

Micah slumped forward, his forehead resting weakly against Darcy’s shoulder. His breath was warm, unsteady.

Darcy sat still. His chest tightened painfully. He shouldn’t want this closeness. He shouldn’t feel the way he did... but he did.

Darcy shut his eyes. This was bad. His heart yearned for Micah’s touch, for the warmth of it, even as his mind recoiled. He still hadn’t let go of the past. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to see Micah like this, yet part of him felt almost satisfied, even relieved, to see Micah break. To see regret on his face.

His head throbbed, a dull ache spreading behind his eyes. In the end... did Micah remember or not? What was he talking about? What did he mean by "they"? Did he mean those four scumbags? When had they hurt Micah? Or, according to him, hurt Darcy? Using Micah to get to him?

It didn’t make sense. Micah’s words all contradicted what he had remembered from his past life.

He lifted a hand, hovering it uncertainly above Micah’s back. His fingers twitched, wanting to comfort him, but they never touched. In the end, his hand dropped back to his lap.

He couldn’t hold him. Even his heart had softened toward this fake heir, his resentment hadn’t disappeared. It lingered, poisoning everything.

What was he hoping to get by staying with Micah like this? Did he want Micah to choose him over the rest?

And if he did...then what? Become like the people he despised? A manipulative jerk who got high on control, tightening the reins around the neck of the person they claimed to love, making them do their bidding?

None of the loves he had seen in his past life were normal, let alone sweet.

All had been possessive, obsessive, and greedy. None of them pure. None of them kind.

Then, Micah’s phone rang. The sudden sound made both of them flinch. Micah fumbled in his pocket, his hand trembling. He squinted at the screen and mumbled. "Clyde..."

Darcy jerked. His hands turned into fists.

Micah smiled faintly at the name, but before he could answer, Darcy’s hand shot out.

He shoved Micah back, harder than he meant to.

Micah stumbled, nearly falling to the ground, and the phone slipped from his fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

The screen lit up with a name. "CL".

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. Was it really that person?

The call went unanswered. The phone fell silent, but Darcy’s gaze didn’t move from the screen.

Even if that person came, would Micah choose him over Clyde?

The thought rose, dark, bitter, and possessive. But he shut down that thought quickly.

Clyde Du Pont was a crazy man. Too dangerous to challenge. Too possessive to covet something he thought was his. Even in this life, even if Clyde seemed changed, he was still fixated on Micah, wasn’t he?

Should he meet the man? See how he behaved? Was he also reborn? That was why he had approached Micah so early compared to their last life?

The second time the phone rang, Darcy answered. He needed to know.

"Where’s Micah?" came Clyde’s voice, low and controlled.

Darcy smirked, though his voice was flat. "He’s wasted."

He had lured the man by emphasising that he was alone with Micah.

When Clyde arrived, Darcy intentionally provoked him. But the man looked at him without hostility. There was only a wry look in his pale blue eyes. Not even pure jealousy, finding the person he loved with him.

Darcy didn’t incite him more.

Micah, half drunk and delirious, had recognised Clyde immediately. When he saw him, his lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that came from somewhere deep. There was no fear in his eyes when he met Clyde. The words he mumbled were incoherent but uttered with a smile... they couldn’t be anger or hate. Not even nervousness.

Darcy couldn’t look away.

No... Micah didn’t remember their past lives. And Clyde didn’t either. The truth was in their eyes.

Clyde’s gaze, soft and full of affection, held no madness. No bitterness. No resentment, no guilt.

Just genuine care. They were full of love...

Darcy swallowed all of his words and questions when he saw how gentle Clyde was looking at the sleeping Micah.

The way Clyde was staring at Micah... he didn’t like it. But he didn’t want to go against this lunatic either.

Watching them, something twisted painfully in his chest. He was like an outsider...everywhere he looked, everywhere he went... nothing was the same. Only he remained as before, stuck in a loop of old wounds and older memories, seeing everything through the tint of his rose-coloured past.

He felt tired.

Perhaps going somewhere no one knew him was not a bad idea... yeah. Somewhere, he could stop being haunted.