Chapter 295: RiverBridge is Dead to Me
Micah shot to his feet so fast the bed shook beneath him. His fists clenched at his side. His breathing quickened, erratic, chest heaving with disbelief.
"There is more?" he cried, voice rising sharply. "What is it now? What else did you do? What else did you hide from me?"
Clyde stood frozen for a second, then lowered his eyes, avoiding Micah’s glare like a guilty child. His fingers reached for the hem of his sleeve and fidgeted there, twisting the fabric over and over.
For the first time, he truly thought he deserved to be punched in the face.
Silently, he turned to the nightstand and picked up a phone, his original phone. The one Micah had never seen him use.
Micah narrowed his eyes.
Clyde’s jaw twitched as he unlocked the screen. His thumbs hovered, hesitated. Then he typed something in.
Micah watched him in puzzlement. A soft beep echoed from Micah’s phone on the table. He walked over and grabbed it, suspicious. The screen lit up with a name he hadn’t expected to see. Aidan Willson’s WeChat account.
RiverBridge: I’m sorry...
Micah stared at the message, bewildered. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with one of the psycho male leads. He was just about to toss the phone aside when another message popped up.
RiverBridge: Micah! Please forgive me!
His heart stopped.
His spine went rigid. His fingers tightened around his phone as the realisation hit him.
Micah felt mortified. His eyes bulged. His mind stopped working. And slowly, mechanically, he turned his head to look at Clyde, who was still standing there, holding out not one, but two phones.
Micah’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "It...it was you? Not Aidan Wilson?"
Clyde bit his lips and silently held both phones out toward him.
Micah snatched them with shaking hands, glaring between the screens.
Two WeChat accounts. One labeled CL, the one Micah knew as Clyde. And the other, RiverBridge, the one he thought belonged to Aidan Wilson.
He scrolled through the Chat records quickly. It was undeniable evidence right in front of his eyes.
His entire body went still. His jaw clenched so hard it ached.
His nostrils flared as fury surged through him, hot and wild like a dragon ready to breathe fire.
And then his whole body snapped. He lunged forward like a bolt of lightning, grabbed the nearest object, a pillow, and smacked Clyde with it. Once. Then again. And again. Each blow was punctuated by a sharp yell, his face twisted in fury.
"You! You son of bitch! You could’ve just told me I texted the wrong number!" he screamed between hits. "Why did you do this to me? I wasn’t just fooling around! Do you get that? People’s lives depended on contact!"
The pillow thudded against Clyde’s chest, his shoulder, his stomach, over and over until Micah’s arms burned and his chest heaved. He kept hitting even when the pillow sagged in his hands, even when his eyes burned with fury. "God damn it!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Why?"
He finally let the pillow fall to the floor. His arms dropped limp at his sides, and he stared at Clyde like he wanted to rip his heart out and throw it off the balcony.
Clyde looked wrecked. His usually tidy blond hair stuck out like a bird’s nest, and his shirt, still damp from Micah’s earlier crying, was now wrinkled from pillow assault. But he hadn’t dodged once. He hadn’t blocked. He had even leaned forward, making it easier for Micah to hit him.
Because he knew. He had screwed up. Badly. And the worst part, he had no clue how to fix it. He regretted everything, especially not coming clean earlier. But how could he? He couldn’t risk Micah meeting Aidan. That man was dangerous, greedy, and manipulative. A womanizer with no moral compass.
But the method he had used was wrong. He hadn’t expected to fall for Micah this deeply. Hadn’t planned on acting on it. Or confessing. Or hoping that Micah might love him back. If he had known any of that, he would’ve never done something so childish.
"Why didn’t you say anything?" Micah demanded.
"I didn’t want you to meet Aidan," Clyde whispered.
Micah rubbed his face vigorously, letting out a frustrated groan. "That doesn’t make sense! You didn’t even know who was behind Rogueoverlord, did you?"
"I didn’t," Clyde admitted. "At first, I thought someone was trying to curry favour with me. Some opportunist who wanted to gain my trust by helping me."
Micah’s lips twitched, still panting.
"Then Emile gave me your WeChat account," Clyde continued. "That’s when I realised it was you. You. The one behind all the intel. I got excited, thinking you were interested in me..." Clyde looked away, ashamed. "Then, when you brought up Shimi Chemical Company. I got mad, irritated. Then panicked. I knew you had mistaken me for Aidan Wilson. I knew I should’ve corrected you, but... I didn’t. I ghosted you. Then I worried. You were going after dangerous people, might even have been deceived by him. So I led you to that charity gala, hoping you’d realise your mistake."
"Stop... stop talking!" Micah said, raising his hand. "Charity gala? You’re telling me... You lured me to that gala? You lied to me to go there for what?"
"You have met Aidan before. At the Royal Hotel. When you dressed up as Asena. At the fan meeting. Remember? The man you argued with?" Clyde said.
Micah’s mind raced, flipping through memories. He tried to put the pieces together. One face stood out. Alex Ford. The smug guy with the crooked rooftop.
Micah shot Clyde a glare. "Do you have a photo of Aidan?"
Clyde hesitated, then stepped forward and gently took his phone from Micah. He scrolled through emails in silence, then turned the screen toward him. "Here."
Micah leaned in. It was a photo from a business event. Alex Ford was standing near a bunch of sharply dressed elites. He pointed at him. "That’s Aidan?"
Clyde nodded once.
"Fuck!" Micah yelled. "Even he deceived me?!"
Micah realised Aidan had used another’s name and fooled him. He never doubted it because his Uncle Owen, a lieutenant general from the military, had given him his contact details.
Thank god he hadn’t let him know anything about himself...
Micah paused. "Crap! That WeChat moment!"
He had probably seen it too. Aidan knew his birth date! Shit!
Then, without warning, he hurled the pillow at Clyde’s head one more time. "This is all your fault!"