Chapter 454: Dreams of the Unchosen, Reflections of the Unloved
Two days ago:
Darcy opened the door and stepped inside the villa. A quiet heaviness had settled over him since lunch with Micah. His footsteps echoed faintly through the empty hallway, reminding him how alone he was. He exhaled a slow, shaky breath and ran a hand through his dark hair.
Micah hadn’t let him speak. That expression replayed in his mind like a broken record. During lunch, after Micah introduced him as his brother, Darcy had tried to protest, to show his displeasure, to stop Micah from categorising him as a brother. Yet, Micah had snapped at him, begging him to stop.
Darcy clenched his jaw. He had obeyed, albeit reluctantly. He could never go against Micah.
But it hurt. Why didn’t Micah care about the feelings he had swallowed for so long?
He walked up the stairs slowly, one hand trailing against the banister. His heart felt restless. He couldn’t stop thinking about Clyde’s face. That calm, assured smile. The way he looked at Micah.
Darcy’s throat burned.
He feared the relationship between Clyde and Micah would get more intimate if he stayed silent. He didn’t want to lose this chance. Even though Micah had brought Clyde here, he never introduced him as his boyfriend. It meant their relationship wasn’t permanent yet, not official. There was still a crack he could slip through.
He reached his room and pushed the door open. He tossed his phone onto the bedside table and collapsed backward onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes dimmed.
He was out of options. He wasn’t the kind to use underhanded methods. No, he was not the type to use force or coercion.
His only option was to show his sincerity. He wanted Micah to choose him over Clyde willingly. Not because of guilt. Not because of pity.
Darcy turned onto his side, and his eyes landed on the embroidered black pouch resting on the desk. Anger flashed in his eyes. He grabbed it and threw it into the bin.
Clyde! If he wasn’t there... the thought flashed in his mind abruptly. His heart trembled. He buried his face into the pillow, disgusted by his own thoughts.
His eyes slowly fluttered shut, exhaustion tugging at him.
His mind drifted even as he tried to think of a way, any way to make Micah see that his feelings were real. That Clyde wasn’t the only one who deserved the place at Micah’s side. Before he realised it, he had fallen asleep.
He fell into a strange dream.
At first, he thought he was floating. His body felt weightless, suspended in an endless white space. Beneath him stretched a scene that didn’t make sense, like watching a play from above.
He saw himself.
He saw Micah too, standing beside him. Around them stood faces he recognised: people he had known, trusted, hated. But their expressions were wrong. When they looked at Micah, there was adoration. When they looked at him, there was contempt.
Then, in the next blink, it all reversed. Their gazes shifted. Those who had once looked at him with disdain now looked at him with affection, and those who loved Micah now looked at him with disgust.
Darcy’s head throbbed. The images twisted together, merging into a blur of sound and colour. He pressed his palms against his temples.
He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
He tried to wake up, but something held him there, a heavy, invisible pull.
Then, suddenly, his dream self, the version of him standing beside Micah, lifted his head. And their eyes met.
Darcy’s chest tightened violently. His reflection’s gaze was hollow, too aware, too sharp, and then everything around him went dark.
When he woke up, the ceiling came into focus slowly. His breathing was shallow, uneven. He sat groggily in bed and massaged his temple. Then, suddenly, the fragmentation of memories filled his mind. He groaned, clutching his head in agony.
He tried to steady his breathing, but pain shot through his skull sharply. He gasped. "Stop... stop it..."
The pain built until his vision dimmed again.
When he opened his eyes the second time, the air in the room felt different. Still, silent, almost heavy.
Darcy blinked, a colder look settling in his eyes. He looked around. "Where is this place?" he mumbled in the quiet room.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to piece together his jumbled memories. Then he froze. He tilted his head back and barked a laugh.
It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
Was he out of his mind?
Fallen in love with that foolish fake heir?
He scoffed softly, his laughter curling into something colder. "What did this version of me see in him, anyway?"
Had he fallen under the same spell as the others?
He paused. His eyes narrowed. No. Those four... It wasn’t like before.
They weren’t obsessed with Micah yet. The only one who had approached Micah was that shameless, silver-tongued bastard, Archie.
Leo only knew Micah as his saviour... he tilted his head. What had happened to make Micah help Leo?
And Silas... he was fixed on him this time, not on Micah. There was still no sign of Aidan.
He tapped his chin, deep in thought.
It was different from his past life. Micah had gotten close to Clyde, something that never happened in the previous life. Micah feared that man.
Was Micah also reborn? Why did he change the course of his past life?
The idea struck him like lightning.
No. He shook his head. If Micah truly remembered everything, if he were reborn, he would have feared him. He would have gone straight to those four from the start and dealt with him before the truth was known. Those four would have done it gladly, desperate to gain brownie points from Micah.
Then what was the reason? Why did Micah come to him first? To deceive him?
The air felt suffocating. He stood up and went downstairs.
He moved to the couch and sat down, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers interlaced tightly, the knuckles pale.
He would wait for Micah to return, to see his expression up close, to see what was really his motive. He needed to see him, to look Micah in the eye and see if the softness there was real or just another lie.
Darcy’s lips curved into a faint, mirthless smile.
"Let’s see which one of us is really pretending this time."
He leaned back, eyes fixed on the front door, and waited in silence.