From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 742: The Knock at Midnight

Contrary to what Clyde and Darcy had assumed, Micah was not engaged in conversation with any member of the Ramsy family. Instead, the voice that occupied his attention belonged to Leo.

The man had attempted to contact him earlier in the day through messages, but at that time, Micah had not been in the mood to entertain whatever it was that Leo wished to say. His mind had been elsewhere, preoccupied with the fleeting sense of freedom he had been chasing since arriving at the resort. Whatever lingering matters tied to the past, especially those involving the four gongs, had been deliberately pushed aside.

However, as night settled in and the quiet of the room stretched endlessly around him, sleep refused to come. The silence and the absence of Clyde, had grown too much for him to bear, leaving his thoughts to wander unchecked. It was in that restless state that curiosity had taken hold. Eventually, he had given in and returned the call.

Now, lying on his back atop the bed, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling of the very room he had once shared with Clyde, Micah listened.

At first, his expression had been neutral, almost indifferent. He had not expected much from this conversation, nor from Leo, nor from any of them. In his mind, he was sure that their attempts at reconciliation with Darcy would be slow and dragged out. Burdened with hesitation and self-interest. He had imagined endless apologies stretched thin over time, carefully worded promises designed not necessarily to make amends, but to maintain a fragile connection with him.

That was how it usually went. People clung. People delayed. People avoided the true weight of what needed to be done.

And yet, as Leo continued speaking, listing out in detail everything that had been prepared for Darcy, everything that had been arranged behind the scenes without fanfare or expectation, Micah found himself... surprised.

More than that, he was genuinely taken aback. This was not what he had anticipated.

There were no hollow reassurances hidden between the words. No vague declarations meant to placate rather than resolve. Instead, there was substance. Effort. Tangible actions that spoke far louder than any apology ever could.

For the first time, Micah felt something shift.

He had always believed that true forgiveness was something incredibly difficult to attain. Not impossible, but distant. Something that required far more than simple regret or carefully constructed words. Redemption, in his experience, was never something that came easily. It demanded sincerity, persistence, and above all, change.

And if he were to be honest with himself, he had never once held even the slightest expectation that they would reach that point. Not truly.

There had been no hope. No anticipation. Nothing but a quiet resignation to the idea that some things simply could not be repaired.

Yet now, as Leo spoke, as each detail unfolded with an unexpected weight of sincerity, Micah could feel that certainty begin to waver.

His eyes brightened ever so slightly, a faint light returning to them. Perhaps... it was not entirely impossible.

Perhaps, against all odds, they might eventually find a way to move forward. A future where the past no longer held such suffocating weight over them.

The thought was fragile. Tentative. But it was there.

And before he knew it, Micah had drifted into that possibility, allowing himself to imagine a future where things were... lighter for Darcy. Where resentment no longer lingered in every interaction. Where peace, even if imperfect, could exist.

It was a pleasant thought.

He had become so absorbed in that quiet, hopeful fantasy that the sudden, frantic knocking on his door shattered it completely.

Micah startled, his body jerking upright as reality came rushing back in an instant. His phone remained pressed against his ear, Leo’s voice still filtering through, but his attention had already shifted.

The knocking came again, louder this time. Urgent.

Confusion flickered across his expression as he rose from the bed and moved toward the door, his brows knitting together slightly. There was no reason for anyone to seek him out at this hour, not unless something had gone wrong.

He opened the door.

Standing outside was one of the bodyguards assigned to him, his usual composed demeanour replaced by visible tension. The moment he saw Micah, relief flooded his features so clearly that it was almost startling.

"Young Master! Thank God you are here."

Micah blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. "What is it?" he asked, his tone shifting, alert now.

"The boss contacted us," the bodyguard replied quickly. "He was unable to reach you. He said the stalker has found your location and is on his way here. It is not safe for you to be alone."

For a brief moment, Micah felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted. His heart sank.

The lingering warmth from moments before vanished instantly, replaced by a sharp, cold unease that spread through his chest.

Without wasting another second, Micah turned and moved swiftly down the corridor toward Ilyas’s room. His steps were quick, almost hurried, the earlier calm completely gone.

As he approached, he saw another bodyguard stationed outside the door. The man’s expression was grim, his posture rigid as he knocked repeatedly, each attempt met with silence.

No response. A bad feeling settled heavily in Micah’s chest. He stepped forward without hesitation and reached for the handle, pushing the door open.

The room was empty. The sight made his breath hitch.

"Ilyas?" he called out, stepping inside, his gaze sweeping quickly across the space. There was no answer. He checked the bathroom, pushing the door open only to find it just as empty.

Nothing. No sign of him anywhere. The unease sharpened into something far more alarming.

Micah immediately reached for his phone, intending to call him, but as the screen lit up, he realised that the call with Leo had never ended.

He moved to hang up, but before he could do so, Leo’s voice came through sharply, filled with urgency.

"Micah! Can you hear me? Are you with Ilyas Harper? Are you in danger?"

Micah froze. "What?" he responded, his tone tightening.

"Where are you?" Leo continued, his words tumbling over one another in clear distress. "The stalker... He is dangerous. Completely unstable. I thought this time was different from before, so I, no, that does not matter. You have to be careful. They are connected to a larger group, one that has ties to the authorities."

His voice was unsteady, bordering on panic.

Micah’s expression hardened immediately. "Stop panicking," he cut in sharply. "Tell me exactly what you know."

At the same time, he gestured toward the bodyguard, signalling for him to call Ilyas’s number without delay.

Leo inhaled deeply, forcing himself to steady his voice, though the tension remained evident.

"That lunatic is tied to an organisation based in the capital," he said. "After what he did to Ilyas, he nearly exposed everything, so he was eliminated. Completely erased. But the group shifted the blame onto the Ramsy family to cover it up. That is why you never found any trace of him before."

Micah’s brows drew together as he processed the information.

"Do not contact the police," Leo continued quickly. "They cannot be trusted. Not in this situation. Wait, was he acting alone? What if he was not? What if others are involved? What if this turns into the same situation again?"

His composure faltered once more, his voice spiralling back into anxious rambling.

But Micah had already gone still. A thought had formed. Noas Lobart. The system had chosen him for a reason.

His older brother would be the head of an underground organisation capable of influencing even higher up. Which made the chances of the mission succeeding very high.

During this time that Noas was behind bars, and then transferred to a mental hospital, Nabil Lobart had been too quiet.

Clyde had mentioned him before. They had monitored his movements carefully, watching for any irregularities, any indication that he might act.

But there had been nothing. Nothing at all. And that, in itself, now felt wrong.

Perhaps it had never been quiet. Perhaps it had only appeared that way.

Even without the influence of the system, even without a host to guide him, someone like Nabil Lobart would not simply abandon everything. Not when there was revenge to be taken. Not when there were still pieces left unfinished.

Micah’s expression darkened as the pieces began to fall into place.

This was not over. It had never been over.