CHAPTER 362: THE DEVIL WEARS BURGUNDY

Micah returned to the Ramsy estate with quick, restless strides. He didn’t waste a second before heading upstairs. The day’s dust and sweat clung to his skin, and tonight he needed to play a role, one that required nothing less than perfection.

He slipped into the shower, trying hard not to think about someone stranded somewhere. After drying off, he stepped into his walk-in closet, where rows of neatly arranged suits waited like soldiers ready for inspection. His hand hovered briefly over lighter shades before he dismissed them. No. He needed something darker, sharper, something that radiated arrogance. He chose a tailored black suit, the jacket cut to highlight his lean frame and broad shoulders. The trousers were slim, pressed to his ankles.

Beneath it, he slid into a burgundy shirt, the deep red blooming richly against his pale skin. He left the top three buttons undone, deliberately exposing his collarbone. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, tugged the collar wider, almost daring anyone to call him indecent.

He needed to act tonight. The more he resembled the hot-headed, haughty, waste of a young master he was rumoured to be, the better the chance of Gu Feifei using her tricks.

Micah was sure his older sister, Willow, was thinking the same. No way that braindead girl could scheme against them like that. The mastermind was someone else. He was sure of it.

Micah picked up a dark-framed pair of glasses from his dresser and slid them onto the bridge of his nose. He looked at the mirror. With how his hair was groomed and how he dressed, he was every inch the symbol of vanity.

His lips curved into a smirk. Perfect.

But as he reached for his phone, his good mood vanished as quickly as it had come. The screen was blank, devoid of the message or reaction he had been craving. It was the tenth time he had checked it after arriving home. Not to say the countless times from the moment he had posted that Moment.

Where was that infuriating man? Why hadn’t he seen his post? He gritted his teeth in anger. Shouldn’t Clyde be unsettled by now, jumping up and down like a fish tossed into hot oil, to call, to confront him?

Instead, silence.

Micah’s fingers twitched against the phone, itching to call Clyde and cuss the man to his heart’s content. He imagined Clyde’s calm, unreadable face on the other end of the line, the infuriating steadiness in his voice that made Micah want to both punch him and... something else. He drew a sharp breath, forcing himself to lower the phone. Maybe he was in a meeting or on a flight. He should be magnanimous and give him more time.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Micah quickly ran down the stairs to meet his mother’s disapproving gaze.

Elina sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead as though he were a headache given form. "You aren’t going to a nightclub, you know that, don’t you?"

Micah feigned surprise. "Of course not. Don’t I look cool?" he said with a grin and twirled in a slow, deliberate, full 360, looking smug.

A vein throbbed at Elina’s temple. Her hand itched to button his shirt and smooth his hair, but she forced herself to stop. "Well, the joke’s on me then. I was foolish to think you were actually going to socialise properly."

Micah’s smile grew, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Mum, you worry far too much. With this handsome face and figure," he smoothed his jacket with a flourish, "there’s no way I’ll ever end up alone."

Elina reached out suddenly, pinching her son’s soft cheek with more force than gentleness. "Little brat."

Micah yelped, "I’ll be late. Is driver Dan ready?" he wiggled under her hand, voice muffled.

Elina released him and waved a hand. "Yes, yes. Go on, then. Have fun," she said, voice lost all enthusiasm.

Micah leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against her cheek before striding toward the door. "Bye, Mum."

Outside, the sleek black limousine waited at the front steps. Micah slid into the back seat and pulled out his phone again, this time pressing Emile’s contact. The line clicked after a few rings.

"Hey, I’m on my way."

On the other end, there was a mix of noises, rustling, hurried whispers, and overlapping voices in the background.

"Tell him you will be late!" a muffled voice urged.

"No, no...fake a stomach ache halfway there," another insisted.

Then, a sharp inhale, and Emile’s breathless voice took over the receiver, clearly cutting them off. "Alright, I am ready too," he said quickly, blocking other voices.

Micah leaned back into the seat, one brow arching, a sly smile curving across his lips. "See you then."

He ended the call and chuckled under his breath. He knew it. His post had made Du Ponts restless. The commotion in the Du Pont mansion should be a sight to behold. It was a pity he couldn’t watch it with his own eyes.

Then his expression turned gloomy. His smile faltered. His gaze dropped back to the phone, thumb brushing the edge of the screen. Still, Clyde had not contacted him.

It appeared he had reached out to Du Ponts instead of him. They knew exactly what Micah had meant in that post.

Micah’s fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening. Except Clyde, Micah was certain no one else could guess his meaning. Shit. That jerk had always had a way to get under his skin. That bastard didn’t even have to lift a finger to drive him mad.

Couldn’t he just behave like others, be a jealous boyfriend for once?

Micah leaned back, tilting his head against the seat, eyes narrowing at the ceiling of the limousine. The passing streetlights cast fleeting shadows over his face. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes gloomy.

That jerk. Always finding a way to get on his nerves. This wasn’t fair. Clyde never played his cards according to common sense. One moment, he was sweet, promising he would stand by his side; the next, he would vanish into thin air.