Chapter 369: Moonlight in the Crowd
The private jet touched down smoothly on the runway, its engine still humming as the cabin lights flickered to life. Clyde leaned forward in his seat, fingers drumming restlessly in the armrest. He hadn’t even waited for the seatbelt sign to turn off before pulling out his phone, switching it on the second the wheels kissed the ground. The device buzzed violently in his hand, notifications flooding in.
Before he could even dial Emile, a name on the screen of his phone froze him. A string of missed-call texts, WeChat messages, and calls from one person.
His pupils dilated. Micah.
Why did he call so many times? What had happened? A sharp chill ran down his spine.
Without wasting another second, Clyde stormed off the plane and pressed redial. Reaching the car, he slid to the back seat, his voice low and clipped as he ordered his driver.
"Head straight to the Gu residence. Don’t stop for anything."
Meanwhile, the line rang once, twice, three times but no one answered. Clyde’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking. He called again. Still nothing. A cold sweat spread across his palms as he jabbed at the screen, dialling Emile. He didn’t pick up either. The sense of unease clawed at his ribs.
"Drive faster!" He barked.
The driver flinched but stepped harder on the accelerator, the engine growling.
Clyde tried Dean next. "Do you have any news from Micah?" he said the moment the call was connected.
"Uncle... no, Emile won’t take our calls..." Before Dean could finish his words, Clyde ended the call ruthlessly.
The hour-long drive was cut nearly in half under his demand for speed. Clyde was on the verge of yanking the car door open, ready to bolt into the Gu residence himself, when his phone finally rang. He snatched it up before the first note had even finished.
"Emile," he snapped. "Where is Micah?"
On the other end, Emile’s breath came in ragged gasps. The background noise was chaotic, with muffled voices and shuffling.
Emile looked at the situation in front of him, his eyelid twitching.
Micah swayed on his feet, as if the ground itself were unsteady beneath him. His eyes blazed with a wild light.
When Micah had returned half an hour ago, his face was pale to the point of translucency. But before Emile could ask a single question, the young man had seized his wrist with an iron grip.
"We’re leaving," Micah had hissed. His voice had been hoarse, desperate.
Those hypocritical men who tried to stop them hadn’t stood a chance. Micah had kicked one of them aside, dragged Emile outside before anyone could react.
Emile, still stumbling to keep up, thought that would be the end of it. But no, Micah didn’t go back to his home. The nightmare was only beginning.
Instead of home, Micah had ordered the driver to find the nearest bar.
"Your stomach problem..." Emile had started, his tone cautious, worried.
The glare Micah had shot him silenced him instantly.
"Say another word," Micah murmured. "And I’ll throw you out of the car."
Emile, not wanting to leave him alone, shut his mouth instantly.
When they arrived, Micah hadn’t hesitated. He strode inside and ordered an entire bottle of wine. Then another. And another. Each glass disappeared down his throat like water. Emile had tried, again and again, to intervene, but Micah didn’t even acknowledge him. He just drank like a madman.
At last, with no other choice, Emile had snuck his own phone and dialled Clyde. Relief filled him when he heard the familiar voice.
"Little Uncle! Help!" Emile’s words tumbled over each other in his panic. "He’s... He’s lost it. I don’t know what to do, he’s..."
"Slow down! Where are you?" Clyde asked.
"In a bar. Near the Gu family mansion." Emile said breathlessly, before his phone was snatched away.
"Who are you talking to?" Micah slurred, his voice thick, heavy with liquor, as he grabbed Emile’s phone. His face was flushed crimson, eyes glossy and unfocused. His glasses had vanished somewhere, his silver hair a wild, tangled mess.
"Micah, give it back!" Emile pleaded, lunging forward, but Micah’s strength was frightening even in this state.
"Micah!" Emile gasped, struggling.
Micah sneered faintly, then tossed the phone on the ground with a dull clatter. "I said if you talk, I’ll throw you out."
Clyde’s heart sank as the muffled voices and the crash of the mobile phone met his ear. His grip on the phone whitened his knuckles.
"Nearest bar to the Gu family residence," he ordered curtly, his voice low. "Find it. Now."
Meanwhile, inside the bar, Micah leaned back against the leather booth, tilting his head back until it touched the wall. His chest rose and fell unsteadily, the alcohol numbing the sharp edge of his anxiety. Since the moment he spotted Aidan until now, he had been on the brink of losing his composure, crumbling down under the pressure. But now, finally, the storm inside him dulled, replaced by a heavy emptiness.
Yet, the moment Emile said Little Uncle, a deep anger and disappointment surged inside his chest. The man had not responded to his calls when he needed him. And why the hell could Emile reach him, but not him?
He pushed himself upright, staggering to his feet. Emile shot up beside him, hands outstretched to steady him.
"Careful."
Micah shoved him away. "I’m going to pee..." He mumbled, his lips curling into a sneer.
Emile froze, torn between following and obeying.
Micah wandered off, but instead of heading toward the restrooms, he pushed open the heavy rear door to the outside.
The cool air hit his hot face, bringing some clarity.
He wanted to be alone. He hated this, hated himself, hated the weakness that had taken root in him. Being this vulnerable and having no one to lean on...
Seeing Aidan again, scheming with Gu Feifei, had nearly made him have a panic attack in that cramped restroom.
Why?
Why should he be this frightened? Over what... just a dream? It didn’t make sense. It felt like he had personally experienced the terror of those four monsters, not just read some texts in his dream.
It was like survival instincts...
His mind buzzed, losing the train of that thought.
His steps faltered as he moved slowly down the sidewalk, his vision blurred without his glasses. The neon lights of the district bled together in streaks of colour, faces turning to indistinct smudges. Still, he sensed the life around him. The neighbourhood was wealthy, upscale, yet its streets were crowded with people, buzzing with Saturday night energy. Laughter rang out from corners, the clinking of glasses echoed from patios, and music spilled from open doors.
And there he was.
Alone.
No jacket, no phone, no money. He discarded the jacket and silenced the phone lay somewhere back at the booth. His slender frame was dressed only in a burgundy shirt that clung to his lean form, paired with black fitted trousers that emphasised his long legs. Amid the sea of people, he looked like something dropped from another world.
His silver-white hair caught the streetlights, fluttering with each gust of wind, as if a strand of moonlight shimmered among the crowd.