From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 743: The Wrong Kind of Trust

Meanwhile, far removed from the growing tension and urgency unfolding elsewhere within the resort, Ilyas remained entirely unaware of the danger that had already begun to close in around him.

An hour ago, he was seated comfortably in his room, the soft glow of his phone screen illuminating his face in the dimly lit space. The quiet atmosphere, which should have been restful, instead carried a faint sense of melancholy. It was not overwhelming, nor was it particularly dramatic, but it lingered persistently in the background of his thoughts.

After returning to his room earlier that evening, Ilyas had done what had gradually become a habit for him, he reached out to his online friend.

Their conversations had, over time, become a source of comfort. There was a certain ease in speaking to someone who existed beyond the constraints of his immediate reality, someone who did not carry the weight of expectations or complicated history. It allowed him to relax in a way that felt simple and unburdened.

However, tonight’s conversation had taken on a slightly different tone.

Perhaps it was the quiet of the night. Perhaps it was the subtle loneliness that came with watching others find companionship while he remained alone. Whatever the reason, Ilyas found himself speaking more freely than usual, allowing his thoughts to spill out without much restraint.

He had begun to talk, no, to ramble, about his friend’s relationship.

With an almost absent-minded honesty, he described how his friend’s boyfriend would go out of his way to prepare meals tailored perfectly to his tastes. He spoke about the small, thoughtful gestures, the quiet attentiveness, the way care was expressed not through grand declarations, but through consistent, meaningful actions.

He spoke of warmth. Of consideration. Of being chosen.

And though he attempted to present it casually, there was no denying the faint trace of envy that lingered beneath his words.

Ilyas was not bitter. But he was human.

Seeing such affection, such deliberate care, inevitably stirred something within him, a quiet longing for something similar. Not necessarily the same relationship, nor the same person, but the feeling itself.

To be thought of. To be cared for. To be important to someone in that quiet, steady way.

On the other end of the conversation, the man listened attentively. Then, with a softness that seemed almost instinctive, he responded.

He told Ilyas that he could do the same for him. That he could cook for him as well.

The words were simple.

Yet, there was something about them that struck Ilyas more deeply than he had expected.

Perhaps it was the timing.

Perhaps it was the sincerity, or what appeared to be sincerity, in the man’s tone. Or perhaps it was simply that Ilyas, in that moment, wanted to believe it.

He found himself smiling faintly, a warmth spreading through his chest.

It was such a small gesture.

And yet, it felt meaningful.

Before he could overthink it, before doubt could settle in, a thought crossed his mind, unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Was it possible... to meet him?

The idea lingered briefly.

Then, without fully considering the implications, Ilyas voiced it aloud.

He asked if the man would like to meet in person.

The reaction on the other end was immediate.

Enthusiastic.

Almost overwhelmingly so.

The man’s voice brightened instantly, filled with excitement that bordered on urgency. He spoke quickly, his words tumbling over one another as he expressed how much he had wanted to meet Ilyas, how he had hesitated to say it out of fear of being rejected, how the opportunity meant more to him than he could adequately express.

There was an intensity to it.

A desperation that, in hindsight, might have raised concern.

But in that moment, Ilyas did not dwell on it.

Instead, he felt... flattered.

Wanted.

Ilyas mentioned that he was currently out of town, which created a brief moment of hesitation.

But that hesitation did not last long.

He insisted.

He said he would come to him.

He said he would bring his favourite dessert.

The gesture was thoughtful, almost charming in its simplicity.

And Ilyas, caught in the warmth of the moment, did not think too deeply about it.

Without much deliberation, he gave him the address of the resort.

The decision, made so casually, carried far more weight than he realised.

A short while later, the man called again.

His voice carried a sense of movement, the faint background noise suggesting he was already on the road.

He told Ilyas that he was on his way.

He asked him to come out to the entrance.

Ilyas hesitated briefly.

He glanced toward the direction of Micah’s room.

At this hour, it was safe to assume that Micah was asleep. The entire resort had grown quiet, most of its occupants likely resting after the events of the day.

He did not want to disturb anyone.

It felt unnecessary.

After all, this was just a simple meeting.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing dangerous.

Or so he believed.

With that thought, Ilyas stepped out of his room alone.

The night air greeted him with a cool stillness, the kind that made every sound feel slightly more pronounced. The pathways, though familiar during the day, seemed different under the cover of darkness.

Shadows stretched across the ground.

The silence felt deeper.

And almost immediately, Ilyas realised that he was... lost.

He had not paid much attention to the layout of the resort earlier, and now, without clear landmarks visible in the dim light, he found himself wandering uncertainly.

Still holding his phone, he continued speaking with the man, describing his surroundings as best as he could, attempting to orient himself.

It took some time, but eventually, he began to recognise certain features.

The path became familiar.

Relief settled in.

As he walked, the man informed him that he was getting closer.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked a question.

"Is it all right to wake your friend?"

Ilyas blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Resorts like this usually have electronic gates," the man explained. "There might be alarms. It’d be a problem if I triggered something trying to get in."

Ilyas paused. The thought had not occurred to him. Of course. Security systems. Staff.

It would have been more appropriate to inform someone, or at the very least, to wake Micah and explain the situation.

A faint sense of guilt settled in. They were all asleep. Disturbing them now, especially over something like this, felt inconsiderate.

"...You are right," Ilyas admitted, his voice tinged with mild frustration at himself. "I did not think about that."

There was a brief silence. Then the man spoke again, his tone reassuring.

"It is all right," he said. "I am sure there are other ways to get in. Perhaps a place where the fence is lower. I’ve come all this way... I really don’t want to leave without seeing you."

There was something in his words that made Ilyas feel even more guilty.

The man had made the effort to come all this way.

Turning him away now felt... wrong.

"I think..." Ilyas began slowly, recalling something he had noticed earlier, "There is a section near the orchard where the fence is lower. We might be able to see each other from there."

The man agreed immediately, his eagerness returning.

He asked for directions, and Ilyas began to guide him.

Turning toward the stables, Ilyas considered using one of the horses to reach the orchard more quickly. The distance was not insignificant, and walking would take time.

However, upon arriving, he realised that most of the horses had already been secured for the night. Some were resting quietly, while others were locked within enclosed stalls.

It was not practical. Reluctantly, he abandoned the idea and continued on foot.

The journey felt longer than expected.

The night seemed to stretch endlessly around him, the quiet amplifying every sound, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet, the faint rustling of leaves in the distance.

Eventually, he reached the fence.

It was constructed from a series of iron bars, sturdy but not entirely insurmountable. Even if they could not cross, they would at least be able to see one another, perhaps exchange a few words, perhaps share the dessert the man had promised.

That thought brought a small, nervous smile to his lips.

He adjusted his posture slightly, his fingers fidgeting unconsciously.

Then... The sound of an engine broke through the silence.

Headlights appeared in the distance, cutting sharply through the darkness as a car approached. Ilyas’s expression brightened immediately.

A mix of anticipation and nervous excitement filled him. This was real. The car came to a stop. The engine fell silent. But the headlights remained on.

The brightness was overwhelming, making it difficult, impossible, even, to see who was inside the vehicle.

Ilyas hesitated. A faint unease crept into his chest. Still, he forced himself to speak.

"...Hello?" he called out, his voice slightly uncertain. "I am right here, in front of you."

For a brief moment, there was no response. And then... Something shifted. A sudden movement.

Before Ilyas could react, before he could even process what was happening, a cloth was pressed firmly over his mouth and nose from behind.

The action was swift and precise. The scent was sharp, overwhelming.

His body tensed instinctively, panic surging through him, but it was too late.

His voice was cut off completely.

His limbs weakened almost immediately, strength draining from them as dizziness overtook his senses.

His vision blurred. The world tilted. Darkness began to close in at the edges of his sight.

He did not see the face of the person who had grabbed him. He did not have the chance.

His eyes fluttered shut, consciousness slipping away before he could fight back.

And in that final moment, as everything faded into nothingness, a single thought lingered in his mind.

A quiet, bitter realisation. He had been foolish. Far too trusting. And now, it was far too late.