CHAPTER 482: THE HEIR WHO ACCIDENTALLY JOINED AN AUDITION (PART FOUR)

Micah pressed the heel of his foot on the ground, making the chair rock underneath him.

Silas showing warmth and care... what would that even look like?

It would be restrained, something he wouldn’t want to show too openly, but not awkward either.

Like the time he stopped when he saw him flinch...

Micah straightened his chair. Shit!

He was really stupid!

Micah slapped his forehead hard enough for the sound to echo faintly in the quiet rehearsal room. His fingers stayed pressed against his temple for a moment as he groaned under his breath. "Idiot," he muttered. "How did I not see it before?"

That night at Silas’s apartment, when he stepped close to grab the stereoscope, Micah had flinched instinctively, disgusted and terrified by what he thought the man might do. But Silas, instead of ignoring his reaction, had stopped, even bothered to explain what he was doing.

That bastard had cared enough to explain! To stop!

It had been strange. Right...Even when Silas examined his body, his hands were careful, restrained, touching no more than necessary and yet....

Micah lowered his hand and leaned back in the chair, replaying the memory in fragments. The dim light of the apartment, the sharp scent of disinfectant that clung to the air, and Silas’s expression, impassive, detached, but with a faint trace of something uncertain hiding behind it.

Micah couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but the man had treated him coldly, yet with a touch of care.

At that time, he had been out of it, angry at Clyde, too consumed by frustration to notice anything subtle. But now, thinking back with a clear head, he realised it. If someone like Silas, someone that cold, ever wanted to show warmth, it would look exactly like that. Not a smile. Not a gentle word. Just facts.

He had stood up against Clyde that night, telling him not to force Micah... but he hadn’t fought him either. Just stating the fact that he was the patient, needed rest, and no stress.

All of his actions contradicted each other.

That was it. That was the feeling Evelyn had wanted him to capture.

Micah stood, exhaling slowly, and walked out of the practice room. His mind subconsciously refused to understand why Silas had changed his attitude toward him, why showing care for him, as if an invisible wall was preventing Micah from delving deeper into the matter. All of his past few minutes’ thoughts about Silas, how Micah’s touch might be acceptable to him, how he never used the fake heir in his schemes in the novel, all of them were buried in the back of his mind.

When he re-entered the audition hall, the three judges were still seated exactly as before. Their heads lifted simultaneously when Micah stepped inside.

"I’m ready," he said simply.

Evelyn gave a small nod. "Alright. Show us."

Micah took his place at the centre of the room. Instead of focusing on the judges, he imagined someone else standing before him, someone whose closeness he didn’t quite know how to handle. A person who could barely tolerate being near him, and yet couldn’t quite pull away either. Like a blind person who could only see faint colours, hesitating to reach but reluctant to lose.

His expression didn’t shift, didn’t blink much, but his gaze wasn’t as cold as before; it wavered slightly, like he was hesitating to look away. He let the contradiction breathe through him: distance mixed with reluctant care. His hands twitched faintly at his sides before he forced them to stillness again. The warmth wasn’t in his face; it was in the tension he didn’t release, in the air between what he could express and what he refused to show.

The room grew quiet.

The director didn’t move. Her lips parted just slightly, as if caught mid-breath, eyes wide but unfocused. The man beside her, Harper, cleared his throat, breaking the surreal atmosphere. "Director."

The director snapped out of her daze. "Yes," she added quickly. "Thanks. That’ll be all. We’ll contact you regarding the result."

Micah bowed and left the room.

As soon as the door was shut, the director’s composure shattered. She clutched at her chest, a faint flush creeping up her neck. "Wow! Who was he? I was so mesmerised by the last look!"

"Evelyn. Are you saying you’ve finally found the one?" the man with glasses, Alford, asked.

"Yeah!" Evelyn, the director, nodded.

The man sitting in the middle tapped the pen against the table rhythmically, thinking. The boy looked familiar somehow. Where had he seen him? He said he wasn’t famous, with no ad history. Mmmm....

"Mr Harper, what do you think?" Alford asked.

"The one before him also was good too," Harper said, glancing at his notes.

"Yeah. For the first part, sure," Evelyn cut in quickly, shaking her head. "But when it came to showing warmth without actually showing it... He failed completely. He lacked in that regard. He just smiled. What kind of robot grins like that?!"

"Okay. Then it’s settled. We’ll pick this one. We had wasted enough time on it. I’ll report it to the Vice President." Harper said, setting his pen down.

"Then it’s decided. Do you want to see the other participants?" Alford asked.

"I’ll check them just in case," Evelyn said.

"Good. Then I’m going." Harper stood and left the room through the back door.

He walked down the corridor and took the elevator to the Eighth floor. When the elevator slid open, he stepped out and made his way to an office where the vice president was reviewing documents.

"Vice president," Harper said as he knocked. "Evelyn finally picked someone."

Willow lifted her eyes from the papers. Her tone was composed, but there was an edge of relief in her voice. "It was about time. I was starting to lose patience. Arrange a contract for him."

Harper nodded, already typing notes into his tablet. "Yes, ma’am."

Just then, Willow’s phone chimed, a soft ding usually ignored. Harper expected her to dismiss it like always, but to his surprise, she picked it up immediately. Her eyes brightened as she read the message, and for the first time, she smiled.

"Ma’am?" Harper asked, startled.

She stood up abruptly, slipping the phone into her coat pocket. "I’ll head to the presidential office," she said simply.

Harper watched her go, astonished. The vice president smiled! Why? She never reacted this way when she went to see her father before. No wait... maybe there was someone else? Could it be that she was going to see a lover or something?

****

Meanwhile, Willow took the executive elevator straight to the lobby. The glass doors opened with a faint hiss, and she stepped out, scanning the crowd. Her gaze caught two figures standing near the corner. One of them was unmistakably Micah, his white hair catching the light.

He was talking with another young man, tall and handsome. She paused, studying the stranger. Who was he?

Micah turned and spotted her almost immediately. He waved a hand, expression lighting up. Then turned toward Ilyas. "I’ll have to go. Text me if you get chosen, alright?"

The boy, Ilyas, nodded, holding up his phone. They had just exchanged numbers earlier.

Micah had been adamant about getting close to him. Besides Clyde, he was the second man Micah’s hands itched to design clothes for.

Micah jogged toward Willow, his movement easy and confident. His eyes curved with genuine warmth when he smiled at her. "Older sister!" he called, voice bright with affection.

Willow’s expression softened immediately. "Hi, did you have lunch?"

"Yeah," Micah said with a laugh. "It’s past 4 already. Of course, I’ve eaten. Let’s go. I’ve got something to tell you and Dad."

Willow looked at the young man who stood far away. "Who is that? A friend?"

Micah shook his head. "No. Just someone I met."

"Mm," Willow nodded, accepting the answer without pressing. She turned and started walking toward the executive elevator that led directly to the presidential floor where Jacob was. Micah followed her, talking.

Meanwhile, Ilyas remained rooted in place. He knew that woman. She was Ramsy’s first daughter and the vice president of the company.

This young man knew her? For the vice president to come all the way to the lobby... who was this white-haired young man?

He looked at the WeChat username.

RogueOverlord.

His lips twitched. Was he a chunibyo?