Chapter 432: Caught Between Blond and a Hard Place
Micah stood stiffly at the door, eyelids twitching as his gaze swept the dimly lit room. He flicked his eyes toward the butler standing beside him, face twisting with disbelief. "Grandpa Sunny," Micah asked slowly, his voice full of incredulity. "This is really the room?"
The butler shifted his weight uneasily. His usually composed demeanour cracked, and he averted his eyes slightly as though embarrassed by the truth.
"Young master," he began cautiously, "the other rooms have not been aired in a long time. This was the only one available." He really was innocent. He had been halfway through cleaning the second-floor room when the old madam changed her mind and ordered him to prepare this one instead. But he knew better than to tell the young master. With Micah’s temper, a truth like that would have caused an outburst. No one in the Ramsy household wanted to offend this big Buddha. His wrath had been notorious for years.
Clyde patted Micah’s shoulder gently. "It doesn’t matter to me," he said, his tone even and calm. "This room is good enough for me."
Micah looked at Clyde. Good enough? He doubted the man really thought so. The annex room was smaller than any guest quarters on the second floor, with older furniture that still bore faint scratches and nicks from decades past. The wallpaper near the dresser had peeled faintly at the corners, faded patterns curling as though trying to escape. The air, despite the effort of cleaning, smelled faintly of dust.
Originally, Clyde was meant to stay on the second floor with the rest of them. But now, here he was, pushed aside, tucked away in a corner of the annex as though he were an afterthought. His grandmother’s intentions were obvious. She was showing her disapproval of Clyde. But why?
Micah exhaled sharply, then forced a thin smile at the butler. "Thanks, Grandpa Sunny. You can go."
The butler, grateful for the dismissal, bowed slightly and left quickly.
Micah stepped inside, looking around. His eyes drifted toward the bed. At least the linens were fresh, neatly tucked, and clean. He opened the closet; it was packed with fresh blankets, nightgowns, and towels. Thank God they hadn’t skimped on this!
Micah turned toward Clyde. "Sorry," he mumbled as his shoulders sank a little. "I’ve never thought Grandma would... do something like this."
Clyde, unfazed, drifted across the room with an easy grace. He walked to the balcony doors, finger brushing the handle before pulling it open. The night air spilled in at once, carrying the salty scent of the nearby beach. Outside, an old, tall tree stood close to the balcony, its branches arching high and wide. It blocked part of the beach view.
Clyde leaned his frame against the doorframe. "Well, I’m used to it."
Micah’s brows furrowed instantly. "Huh? Who would dare? Who would be so rude to you?"
Clyde stepped further out onto the balcony, resting one hand against the railing. The moonlight painted silver across his blond hair, turning every strand into a gleaming thread. He spoke calmly. "Most people are like that the moment they hear my name."
Clyde smiled bitterly. He had always wondered why it had been like that, but after the memory of his past lives awakened, he knew that was just his character’s sitting and nothing more. His suffering had probably been nothing more than careless amusement for the author who scribbled his story.
Micah blinked. His retort stalled on his tongue. He thought back... it was really like this. His grandfather warned him, too. Willow as well, the moment she heard he met Clyde. "I can’t understand, though. Why?" he asked, puzzled.
Clyde tilted his head back slightly, his gaze fixed on the glowing circle of the moon beyond the tree’s branches. The night breeze stirred his hair, brushing it across his forehead.
"Because of the past," he said quietly. "My parents and uncle... they all died before I turned fifteen. One after another." He paused, voice steady but hollow. "The La Riviere stock collapsed after that. And soon, rumours started to spread that it was my fault. That I was cursed. A jinx."
Micah’s eyes widened. His fists curled tightly at his sides, nails pressing into his palms. "That’s just bullshit!" His voice cracked with outrage. "What the hell does that have to do with you? How could anyone believe something so ridiculous?"
Clyde gave a small shake of his head, a sad smile on his face. "Yeah. But people don’t care about sense when they’re desperate to pin blame. Whenever I went, misfortune followed me. At least, that’s how it looked to them. It only made the rumours worse." He lifted his wrist, rolling the bracelet there lightly between his fingers. "Uncle Lu got me this... and even brought me to a temple. Things settled down afterwards, but I was tired. Tired of being watched, whispered about. So I stopped showing up at social gatherings altogether."
Clyde let the bracelet drop back against his skin with a faint clink. His eyes softened as he continued. "I trained Dean to succeed me. I was ready to step back, retire quietly... but then..." He stopped, words trailing off as something unspoken lodged in his throat.
Micah’s gaze followed the movement, his eyes lingering on the bracelet. "So that’s why I couldn’t find anything about you..." He mumbled.
Clyde turned then, resting his elbows on the railing. He leaned against it with casual ease, but when his pale blue eyes found Micah, the expression that flickered across his face wasn’t casual at all. His features eased, the kind that stripped away defences and spoke more than words ever could.
The breeze carried between them, tousling Clyde’s blond hair. The moonlight glistened in it, turning him into a figure carved from silver and light. His gaze held Micah with startling intensity, pale blue eyes locking onto him like he was the only thing that mattered. His lips curved slightly, a faint smile that only made his expression more tender.
Micah’s heart skipped a beat. Then another. His chest thumped violently, so loud he was certain Clyde could hear it.
"But," Clyde said quietly, his voice brushing through the night air, "the moment I met you, my life... turned colourful, lively and warm. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to stay, to protect you, to let you run free without fear... I’m glad I had the chance to meet you this soon... this time..." Clyde’s voice trailed off at the end.
Micah swallowed hard. He didn’t catch the end of it, lost in the pounding of his pulse, overwhelmed. His throat went dry. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell Clyde that it was the same for him too. That meeting with Clyde was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Yet his voice was stuck. His heart overflowed with emotions he couldn’t understand.
Clyde straightened slowly and stepped toward him. He stopped right in front of him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked down at him with the same gentleness that burned hotter than fire. Then he leaned forward, lowering himself enough to press a small, feather-like kiss against Micah’s forehead.
"Good night," Clyde murmured, his breath brushing warm against skin. "I’ll see you in the morning."
He pulled away with measured calm, though his eyes flickered sideways before he stepped back completely.
At that exact moment, a lazy knock sounded against the open door.
Darcy stood in the doorway, posture stiff, eyes sharp, taking the scene in front of him. "Micah, can I talk to you for a moment?" he said through clenched jaw.
Micah’s head turned slowly, his face already heating. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Darcy’s eyes. He gave a small, rigid nod, then he looked at Clyde.
The man offered him a triumphant smile, almost satisfied. He reached out and ruffled his hair. "Go on."
Micah instantly knew. He gritted his teeth and forced his legs to carry him out of Clyde’s room.
Inwardly, Micah screamed. Shit! Clyde, that sly man.
He had done that deliberately. For Darcy to see.
Fuck! Now, how the hell was he supposed to face Darcy without making things even more awkward?
He wanted to go back in and squeeze that infuriating man’s neck, choking him, wiping that damn smile from his face.
If you want to get back at Darcy, fine, but why drag him, this pitiful soul, into it?!