CHAPTER 316: STAIRCASES WERE NEVER SAFE

Micah froze on the staircase, his hand gripping the polished railing a little too tightly. The blood rushed to his face as three pairs of eyes turned up toward him. Clyde’s niece and nephews. He assumed they would stay at that condo tonight... never thought he might run into them here. His throat felt dry, his posture caught halfway between going down or retreating up, like some cornered animal unsure which way offered the safer escape.

How could he downplay this? Say what? I was just visiting? Who would buy that?

Ah... they already hate him. Now, being caught like this, looking... cozy..... shit, their impression of him would sink even lower. If that was even possible.

Then Emile opened his mouth and let out nonsense. "Did we come at a bad time?"

Micah screamed in his head. Bad time? What was he implying? Don’t make it sound like he was doing something indecent with his uncle! This little demon!

He knew Emile was bad news! He was doing it on purpose. Just look at those blue eyes filled with amusement.

Micah’s pulse spiked as he caught the resemblance. For the first time, he saw it. The same sharp amusement that he had seen countless times on Clyde’s face. That damn gaze! Nephew and uncle mirrored perfectly.

Clyde, however, didn’t bother to humour Emile’s jab. He strode past without a word, moving into the kitchen with unhurried steps, his hand flicked the kettle switch, the faint hum filling the silence. He glanced back once, arching a brow at the trio. "You want to stand there all night?"

Dean and Jacklin finally moved from their statuesque positions. They lugged the heavy box of fruit and fish into the kitchen, setting it down with a dull thud before methodically storing everything in the fridge. Their movements were stiff, too precise, as though mechanical. Souls drained, expression tight.

Meanwhile, Emile slung his bag over one shoulder and went toward the stairs. He stopped deliberately at Micah’s level, leaning close. "You have a lot of explaining to do, young master Ramsy," he clapped Micah’s shoulder before striding up the rest of the stairs.

Micah sighed in exasperation and dropped his head. "Fuck!" he muttered under his breath. Emile, that bastard, was too perceptive. Too damn quick to connect the dots. He definitely would not get off his back unless he heard the whole story.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Micah descended the stairs tentatively. At the bottom, he slowed, craning his neck to peek into the kitchen.

Clyde stood at the counter calmly, the kettle hissing faintly beside him. He moved with deliberate patience, pulling out teacups, his profile unshaken, as if bringing Micah here was the natural thing in the world.

In contrast, Jacklin and Dean busied themselves robotically with the fridge, their shoulders stiff, eyes downcast. If there had been colour in their expression before, it had been drained clean away.

Micah bit down hard on his bottom lip, shifting weight from one foot to the other. His hands twitched uselessly at his side. He didn’t know where to put himself, didn’t know if he should walk right into the kitchen or hide in the living room.

Then Clyde turned his head, his eyes catching Micah, standing there like a nervous, naughty child ready to be reprimanded. His voice softened. "Micah, what is it?"

The sound of his name spoken that way... it made Jacklin and Dean both flinch. Their hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their tasks with exaggerated care. But inside, their minds were screaming in horror.

The car ride back earlier had been filled with speculation, with hushed theories whispered when they thought Emile might be asleep.

Why had little Uncle left with Micah all of a sudden? What was their link? What was everyone hiding from them? They couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation.

Even Dean had his suspicions but voicing them to Jacklin had felt unthinkable. Yet, now seeing Micah here, what more proof did they need?

Their uncle was not known for hospitality. He didn’t allow any leader to step inside, much less let a boy at the same age as Emile waltz in the Du Pont mansion. It didn’t matter that he was Emile’s roommate or Ramsy’s heir. Clyde never bent the rules for pedigree. He bent for no one.

Dean’s mind raced, trying to remember whether he had offended Micah before, or said something sharp. The appearance of this young man had shaken his worldview. The thought of Micah carrying some grievance straight to Uncle’s ear made his stomach twist. If that happened, Uncle would deal with them without asking for any explanation.

Micah was unpredictable. Impulsive and short-tempered. That was what Emile had told them. And Dean believed it. He didn’t want to risk Micah’s bad side.

On the other hand, Jacklin’s mind had gone blank. She prided herself on reading the room, on noticing who was drawn to whom. And yet, she had missed this completely. Her eyes darted between Clyde and Micah in disbelief.

Little Uncle wasn’t merely tolerating Micah’s presence... No, he was recognising him. Maybe the young man had not realised what that implied yet. But they knew too well. This was Clyde’s way of telling them, without words: consider Micah his equal.

How many women had schemed, clawed, begged for entry into this house? How many had been cut down mercilessly before they even reached the threshold? And yet Micah, this arrogant young master, was standing here, already inside.

Little Uncle never accepted a blind date, not to mention bringing someone in here.

That was why they had been so desperate to find Asena. The girl Clyde had shown interest in.

Micah, oblivious to the depth of their thoughts, stepped forward with uneasiness. His throat bobbed as he forced words out. "I should probably get going..." he said, eyes darting toward Jacklin and Dean, gauging their stiff postures. "I don’t want to... inconvenience your family..."

"What inconvenience?" Clyde’s reply was immediate, steady. "You are welcome here anytime. Don’t mind them."

Micah hesitated. "But..."

Clyde was already pouring the steaming tea into a cup. He brought it over and held it out, meeting Micah’s gaze with that calm certainty. "No but. Think of this as your second home. Drink first. I’ve already called Uncle Lin. We’ll go straight to your session afterwards."

Micah grabbed the teacup sheepishly. "Right. I forgot about that."

To the side, Jacklin and Dean felt erased from the room, completely excluded from their conversation. Their eyes locked on Clyde, feeling betrayed. They had messaged Little Uncle earlier, told him about the twenty fish they had caught, and he had said they could go back.

Why was he acting like he hadn’t known they were coming? Why was he acting like they didn’t exist? It was too much!