CHAPTER 550: WHEN HIS EYES STRAYED (PART TWO)

The moment Micah stopped talking, the car fell into a harsh, uncomfortable silence that was deafening. With the silent electric engine, there wasn’t even a soft hum to fill the air.

Clyde kept his hands on the wheel, eyes forward, but his gaze kept drifting toward the silver-haired young man sitting beside him.

Micah wasn’t even looking his way. His cheek was propped against his fist, elbow on the door, his expression blank as he watched the city slide by. The evening sun was fading on the horizon, casting a faint orange streak over his pale hair, but he didn’t move, didn’t blink much, didn’t offer even a glance to show he was still present in the moment.

He didn’t think much of it, assuming he was just tired. That wasn’t unusual. Micah always shut down when he was exhausted. But what bothered him wasn’t Micah at all. It was the person sitting in the back seat.

Honestly, he didn’t like him one bit, nor did he trust him. First, because he knew this man would fall into the hands of whoever was scheming against the Ramsy family, he would be used as a pawn for sure. And if the Ramsy Empire took a hit, Micah would suffer too. That alone was enough to sour his mood.

But the second reason burned deeper. The manager’s texts, especially the pictures.

The moment he had opened them, he froze. Micah with cold makeup, long silver hair, slender figure wrapped in that bodysuit looked breathtaking. He had seen Micah dressed up before, even as Asena... but this... this made Clyde’s heart squeeze. Micah was beautiful enough to be unreal. Otherworldly. And yet...

In every picture, Micah was glued to Ilyas. Leaning close, eyes sparkling.

Clyde had stared at the screen, unable to think for several seconds. He had never considered himself easily shaken, but seeing Micah looking at another man like that, even if it was for a job, even if it was just the manager catching an angle that made things look worse, hit him harder than he expected.

Then, earlier, when Micah showed up, with his arm casually draped around the young man’s shoulders. Happy and bright.

Clyde’s displeasure grew thick and dark. When Micah suggested they drop Ilyas off on their way, Clyde didn’t protest. If anything, his expression sharpened.

Clyde knew nothing about this man, Ilyas. Maybe this way, he could find out more about him, a chance to learn who the hell this guy really was.

"We’ll arrive at Gosford Street soon," Clyde finally said, breaking the silence. "Where should we drop you off?"

Ilyas jolted slightly, his hands clasped together, moistening his dry lips before replying. "Just the first crossroad is fine. Thanks. My brother is picking me up."

Clyde nodded. "Alright."

Micah’s fingers curled into tight fists on his knee. He listened, teeth grinding. He mocked Clyde’s polite tone silently in his head with an exaggerated imitation, feeling annoyed. Clyde didn’t even treat Darcy like that! Why was he paying attention to Ilyas this much?

Micah shifted his chin on his fist, staring out the window. The city passed from autumn evening into the quiet glow of Sunday night. The world outside had been peaceful, but Micah’s mood didn’t match it.

By the time they reached Gosford Street, Micah had sentenced Clyde to imaginary punishments at least a hundred times. Each one more dramatic than the last.

The car rolled to a stop.

Ilyas exhaled shakily, his hand already reaching for the handle, feeling suffocated. "Thank you for the ride," he said quickly. "Micah, I’ll... I’ll see you tomorrow."

Micah offered a disheartened farewell. "Yeah. Take care."

Ilyas didn’t look back. He shut the door and fled the suffocating car as if escaping a burning house.

Micah watched him disappear, then peeked at Clyde, who was still staring at Ilyas’s blurry figure. "Can’t take your eyes off him?" he asked, voice sharp with mockery.

Clyde turned his head. "Hmm?"

Micah’s lips curved into a smirk. "Oh, I see. You were so mesmerised you didn’t even hear me."

Clyde’s brows lowered a fraction. Micah’s cold tone was the kind he only used when he was extremely angry. But Clyde couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong this time. He was baffled as to the reason to make this young master angry and displeased. "What is it?" he asked carefully.

Micah lifted his chin. "Nothing. I can give you his number if you want."

"Who?"

"Oh, don’t be nervous." Micah’s eyes narrowed. "I said it’s fine. I can handle it. Well, there was nothing between us in the first place."

With each passing second that Clyde listened to his words, his confusion only deepened. "Nothing between us?"

"I mean..." Micah tapped the window with a short, irritated rhythm. "You can do whatever you want. It’s the same for me."

His voice was light and casual.

But in Clyde’s ears, it had an icy undertone.

He didn’t speak. He gripped the wheel tighter and just drove. As he pressed the gas pedal more and more, the speed grew. He went straight to one of his places near the area. Being involved in real estate came in handy when he needed to be alone with someone. Clyde didn’t want to meet Darcy or let Micah see him. From last night until now, he had been fighting the urge to keep Micah away from everyone. He wanted to protect him, to shield him against all those awful things.

Yet, he had to swallow his feelings, holding himself back, not to scare Micah, not to meddle with his affairs.

And now, hearing Micah imply something he never wanted to even imagine, made all his reasoning and rationality go down the drain.

He pulled into the underground garage sharply. Too sharply. Micah’s body swayed with the sudden stop, his hand gripping the side handle the whole time as adrenaline shot through him. Micah was shocked by how fast Clyde had driven. His heart pounded so hard he could barely focus.

What the fuck was wrong with this jerk?