CHAPTER 318: TRIAL BY ELDER (PART 1)

Arriving at the clinic, Micah was the first to jump out of the car. His shoes hit the pavement with a sharp thud, and he didn’t wait for Clyde to catch up. Shoulders stiff, jaw tight, he strode inside.

Clyde’s words from earlier still haunted him. Prying for a definition of their relationship, forcing him to tell others that he was Asena, like it were a simple fact to be dropped into casual conversation.

He was really annoyed. If he could utter those affectionate words easily to Clyde, if he could look at people without his throat clamping shut, then he wouldn’t have behaved like an idiot yesterday. He wouldn’t have hesitated, wouldn’t have tripped over his own pride and fear. He would’ve stood tall, smiled, and said clearly in front of Jacklin and others: Yes, I was Asena.

No. He couldn’t. He was too afraid. Too tangled in a mess, he couldn’t guarantee he would come out unscathed.

Micah’s strides slowed as he approached the receptionist’s desk.

Except Clyde, no one knew he had cross-dressed. Not his family, not his friends. Only Clyde. And Clyde had seen it with those sharp, unwavering eyes of his, and for some reason, instead of mocking, he had accepted. Worse, he had insisted it was fine.

But not everyone would.

Micah’s gaze dropped to the polished floor tiles. He could imagine it too clearly. People whispering, eyes cutting sideways when they thought he wouldn’t notice. They wouldn’t see it the way Clyde did. They wouldn’t accept it like Grandma once had when he was a kid. They would judge. They would want to know why. Why a boy like him would dress as a girl? Why someone loud, arrogant, explosive, the Ramsy heir no less, had such a... bizarre habit.

Micah’s lips twitched. They’d laugh. They’d mock. They’d call him things he didn’t want to hear.

It wasn’t that being homosexual was unacceptable. Times had changed. Marriage was legal, and people were freer than before. But acceptance wasn’t the same as tolerance. There was still the look. The flicker in people’s eyes. The whisper in the silence. Maybe most wouldn’t voice it outright, but they’d think, they’d assume, they’d judge.

And Micah could stomach that much. What he couldn’t stomach was them knowing about Asena. His cross-dressing. That was different. That wasn’t just eccentric, it was weird. How would it affect the Ramsy family, Clyde, and the Du Ponts? Their reputation?

His family didn’t even want him to be an actor, then what about this? They would freak out.

But he couldn’t tell Clyde that. Not when he had already held such a poor impression of the Ramsy family. If he said the reason, the man would be more hostile toward them.

Micah didn’t want that.

What Micah missed, blinded by his own turmoil, was how Clyde had looked at the situation from the eyes of an adult. Clyde knew too well that secrecy was poison, festering silently until it ate you whole. The sooner Micah came clean, the sooner he would breathe again. The massive burden of the birth-switch was heavy enough, Micah didn’t need more pointless stress strangling him. And Clyde knew his niece and nephew well enough to suggest that. They were steady, decent people who could carry such knowledge with care.

And Clyde didn’t want them misjudging Micah either. They already probably thought Micah had snatched him away from Asena. Especially Jacklin. There would always be a bit of displeasure in her until the case was clarified.

The hostess led Micah down the hall and into a softly lit treatment room. The faint smell of herbs clung to the air. Micah nodded curtly, avoiding her eyes, and slipped inside.

Meanwhile, Clyde sat outside the room. He leaned forward at first, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced loosely, staring at the floor as though it might yield some answers to the ache in his chest.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow the separation would begin.

Clyde exhaled slowly. He would have to be apart from Micah starting tomorrow. University rules were unyielding, four months in the dorm before freedom returned. Four months. The thought passed against his chest like a stone.

What should he do? Going to the university daily was too eye-catching, too conspicuous. His presence alone would stir gossip, draw attention Micah hated. But if he didn’t go, if he stayed away, and instead ask Micah to go out after class? He would be far too exhausted.

A sigh slipped from his lips, low and strained. His hands flexed against each other before he leaned back, tilting his head until it pressed against the cool wall behind him. For a fleeting second, he considered it, using his influence, bending the rules, carving out an exception for Micah to stay out at night. It would be so easy to pull strings.

But he dismissed the thought just as quickly. Micah would hate that. Not when Darcy was still in that dorm, not when he would be dragged into the public eye.

Even though they weren’t yet separated, Clyde’s chest already ached with a dull pain. His eyes slid shut, his breathing slow but not at peace.

Inside the treatment room, Micah lay back against the padded bed, his body stiff at first. Uncle Lin, steady and patient as always, began preparing the acupuncture needles. The old man’s movements were methodical, careful, the faint clink of metal tools filling the silence.

Micah tried to relax, but his mind wouldn’t still. His eyes flicked nervously to Uncle Lin’s face, then away again. The first needle prickled lightly into his skin, and Micah winced before forcing his expression to smooth.

"Is it painful?" Uncle Lin asked, his voice warm but observant, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to read what Micah wouldn’t say.

Micah’s chest rose and fell with a slow breath. His lips curved faintly, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. "No, not at all. I was just... annoyed at someone."

Uncle Lin’s brows arched. He leaned slightly closer, eyes glinting with the kind of wisdom Micah always found difficult to dodge. "What did they do? Don’t look at this old man like that, I have many connections, you know."

Micah smiled. "Thanks. But I can deal with him alone."

"Oh?" Uncle Lin said, his tone slow. His hands never faltered in their work, but his gaze sharpened knowingly. "Is it the one outside?"

Micah’s body stiffened before he could stop it. His lips pressed together, the muscle in his jaw twitching faintly.

He swallowed hard, forcing words past the tightness in his chest. "I know you advised me not to stray from my goal...that the universe had chosen me to carry this responsibility for a reason...that maybe I’m the last hope..." his voice trembled, and he paused, his eyes darting toward the ceiling. His throat bobbed once more. "But it’s really hard to..." he broke off, words snagging, burning on the edge of his tongue.

Micah’s chest tightened painfully. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit the path was lonely. That it pressed on him until he could barely breathe. That sometimes he just wanted someone to walk beside him.

He couldn’t confess that he had stumbled, that he had let himself fall into these tangled feelings, that he had dragged Clyde into his mess simply because he didn’t want to be alone anymore.