CHAPTER 528: WHAT HE FORGOT

Darcy’s eyes snapped open. A sharp breath tore his chest as though he had just been pulled out of water. Cold sweat dripped down the sides of his face, soaking his collar. His hands trembled uncontrollably, fingertips twitching in the air. His ears rang, high-pitched and relentless. What happened?

His lashes fluttered. Slowly, his blurry vision came into focus, the vague shapes around him forming into something solid.

The first thing he saw was a pale face hovering just inches above his own, Micah’s.

His silver hair was messy, clinging to his forehead from panic and sweat. His eyes, wide and filled with concern, trembled as if they might spill tears at any second. His voice was broken and shaky. "Hey, hey... are you alright? Talk to me!"

Another voice overlapped, lower and calmer. "Micah, let him go. Calm down first."

Darcy’s mind registered it... Clyde’s voice.

His pupils trembled as he turned his head slightly, eyes darting around the room. Where was he? The unfamiliar surroundings made his chest tighten.

"Darcy! Are you alright?" Micah’s voice came again, trembling, repeating the words like a broken record, his eyes focused on him.

Darcy’s expression softened slightly. This idiot was panicking more than he, Darcy thought to himself. "Mmm," he hummed weakly in response.

Micah’s shoulders dropped as though his entire body had lost strength. He exhaled shakily and slumped to the floor beside the chair Darcy was seated on. His knees hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Oh god. You suddenly lost consciousness! I was terrified..." he mumbled, voice cracking.

Darcy lifted a hand with effort, the motion sluggish and shaky. His palm brushed across his damp face, trying to piece things together.

But nothing came easily.

He had no idea what exactly had happened. His memories were jumbled, with whole pieces missing.

Until now, he had never stopped to think about how he had actually died. His mind had been consumed with hatred, hatred toward Micah, toward the Ramsys’ family, toward those four scum who had wronged him. But his focus had been misplaced. The fragments that returned to him now told a different story.

The enemy wasn’t any of them.

He had been played like a fool by someone else. Anger rose in his chest, quiet at first, then building into something sharp and hot. His hands clenched at his knees.

He didn’t know who it was. Who had used him? His memories blurred again, fragments dissolving before they could take shape.

But one thing was certain; the way his memory had triggered when he had heard the Lobart family’s name, the way everything about them reeked of gain from Ramsy’s bankruptcy, Darcy’d bet his life it wasn’t a coincidence.

He couldn’t believe he was used like a disposable pawn.

Micah’s worried voice snapped him out of his dark thoughts.

"Are you better? Can you stand? Let’s go to the hospital. It was my fault. I should have brought you there last time. Let’s get you checked. This is not normal." Micah rambled on. His words tumbled out too fast, his panic showing in every syllable. He reached forward, trying to help Darcy sit straight, ready to get him up.

Darcy blinked, then he grabbed his wrist. "Hey, stop talking for a second."

Then his fingers touched the bandage on Micah’s hand. "What’s this?" he asked, frowning.

Micah blinked, momentarily lost, then looked down at his own hand as if he had forgotten about it. "Huh? I told you I tripped and my palms got scraped. You chewed my ear off in front of my family at dinner."

Darcy’s brows knitted. He pressed his hand to his temples, eyes narrowing. "I don’t remember..."

Micah’s breath hitched. "No, wait! You even went on and on when Clyde asked about it..." His words trailed off as colour drained from his face. He turned sharply toward Clyde, eyes wide and frightened. "What’s happening? Am I the only one remembering this?" His voice trembled with disbelief.

Clyde sighed softly, reaching out to ruffle Micah’s hair in a calming gesture. "No. It did happen," he said quietly. "Let’s get him to the hospital."

Micah nodded, though his throat worked in a nervous swallow. He stood up. With Clyde’s help, they lifted Darcy carefully, supporting him on either side.

Darcy’s legs wobbled under his weight, his mind still foggy. He tried hard to focus on Micah’s words from earlier, but the space in his mind was blank. He knew his memory was jumbled, but right now it felt like everything was slipping away from him.

Meanwhile, Micah gripped Darcy’s arm tightly, biting his lower lip in panic. Those awful thoughts began to pour into his mind: self-blaming, self-loathing, thinking he was the reason Darcy had become like this.

His grip tightened more.

Darcy winced slightly. "Hey... relax. I am okay."

Micah loosened his grasp on him immediately. "Sorry... sorry."

Clyde, walking beside them, just watched them with calm eyes.

Yet his mind was far from still. Darcy had never shown any signs of illness before, nothing related to the brain or memory. So it shouldn’t be something serious. But still, this sudden fainting, this confusion, and the outburst... it wasn’t normal.

His eyes flickered to Micah. What concerned him more was this silver-haired man, Micah’s blind panic, the way his entire world seemed to crumble whenever Darcy stumbled.

Clyde couldn’t let anything happen to this dark-haired boy. Otherwise, Micah would lose it...

Within minutes, they arrived at the private hospital owned under La Riviere’s sponsorship. Because of Clyde’s connections, every step, from registration to room assignment and examination, was done at remarkable speed.

Darcy sat through countless tests, his expression blank as doctors spoke around him. When everything was over, the results came back, no abnormalities, nothing wrong physically. But still, the doctors insisted on keeping him for observation, just in case.

Micah sat beside Darcy’s bed, expression droopy. The sterile lights above made his already pale face look even more drained.

Darcy sighed, leaning back against the pillow. "I told you I am fine. You were overreacting."

"Ah, you didn’t see how white your face had become, how your eyes rolled back. It was really scary!" Micah said, burying his face in his palms, elbows resting on his knees.

Darcy reached out and patted his head. "Okay, okay. I am sorry for worrying you."

"That’s not it. You... you..." Micah stammered, his fingers tightening around the edge of his shirt, words catching in his throat. "You were acting strange..."

Clyde interrupted. "That’s enough. Let him rest. Why don’t you go buy some juice for him?"

Micah hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze lingered on Darcy for a few seconds longer, unwilling to leave. But finally, with a reluctant nod, he rose to his feet. "Alright," he muttered, and walked toward the door.

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