Chapter 402: A Grandson’s Burden
After the door was closed, Clyde let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and lifted his hand to his head. His long fingers pressed against his temple as though he could push the pain away, but the throbbing only grew sharper.
His cool expression twisted in discomfort. The tendons in his neck bulged from the pain.
He leaned forward slightly, one palm covering his forehead while the other clutched the edge of the table. His lips moved silently, a faint hiss escaping when the pressure in his skull peaked, sending a stabbing jolt behind his eyes.
He had been determined not to let Micah see it; the last thing he wanted was to make the boy more worried than he was. Not to mention, his grandfather had demanded he leave; how could he allow Micah to see him like this? Micah would certainly insist on staying, making the situation worse for himself.
So, he had pushed himself to appear as usual. The strange part was that all of that had started the moment he met Albert Ramsy.
Yet, Clyde didn’t dwell on the reason for it. A call bell was fixed to the wall beside the bed. His hand groped for it, his movements uncoordinated. When his fingertips found it, he pressed it once.
He kept massaging his temples, thumb digging into the side of his head in a desperate circle.
The door opened quickly. A nurse rushed inside, her expression shifting to alertness at the sight of him hunched forward. Her voice blurred, words too fast for him to process. He was guided to lie down on the bed. His vision tunnelled. Above him, the ceiling light flickered before dimming into darkness.
The last thing he remembered was the image that flickered across his mind’s eye... gloomy clouds rolling over a worn-out apartment building. A memory, a dream, or just a hallucination? He couldn’t tell before everything went dark.
****
Micah sat stiffly beside his grandfather in the car, every nerve so tight as if he were sitting on pins and needles. The leather seat felt too hot against his palms, his knees bouncing restlessly. He stole cautious glances at Albert Ramsy from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his expression. The old man’s profile was the same as always, strict. That only deepened Micah’s unease.
Albert Ramsy’s fingers twitched where they rested on the handle of his cane. "Say it... Whatever’s on your mind," he said in the end.
Micah jerked, caught off guard. He fidgeted with the hem of his pullover, twisting and turning it into a knot. "Grandpa, it’s not really related to him..."
Albert Ramsy looked at him sideways. That look alone made Micah swallow the rest of his words.
"Micah." Albert’s voice deepened, slow and deliberate. "It’s time for you to grow up. Look at yourself." His eyes narrowed at his grandson. "Bruised and beaten. Easily getting kidnapped. You don’t even think of the people who care for you. You are not a thug. You are Ramsy’s heir. Act like one."
Micah’s fingers froze on his pullover. His chest felt heavy, each word banging on his head like a hammer.
Albert’s grip on the cane tightened. "Bring bodyguards with you. Learn to tell who you should associate with and who you shouldn’t. Stop making trouble for the sake of it. I’m afraid one day you will stumble into something no one can drag you out of."
Micah lowered his head until his hair shadowed his eyes. His lips parted, ready to argue, to defend Clyde, defend himself, but his tongue felt heavy. He knew his grandfather was right. The memory of Aidan’s eyes, wild and obsessive, burned into his mind. The terror of that encounter made him realise how wrong he was to think everything was just a childish game. That there was no danger, no consequences.
But even knowing that, the words stung. He wanted to yell to say he was doing all of these stupid things to protect them, to change their future. but who was kidding? No one would believe him. No one except Clyde.
The realisation left his heart hollow. Whenever he was separated from Clyde, this strange heartache sprouted inside his chest. He started to think it wasn’t just love anymore.
Albert Ramsy looked at his grandson with worry. Their society, their standing in this city, was a battlefield. It was not a place anyone could survive, especially acting like Micah. How long could they keep shielding him? Sooner or later, there would come a time when Micah should face a hardship no one could help him with. He wanted to toughen him up. To train him until he could stand on his own two feet. If he had to play the villain in his grandson’s eyes to prepare him, then so be it.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the Ramsy estate. The towering gates opened silently, and the sleek black vehicle pulled inside.
When they arrived, Albert Ramsy didn’t send Micah off right away. Instead, he kept him close, escorting him to his private residence. The family doctor was summoned and checked Micah from head to toe. After the doctor assured Albert Ramsy that he was fine, he led Micah into the study. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and old books; the heavy desk dominated the centre of the room.
Zhou Ruyan sat gracefully on one side, her tea cup steaming faintly in her hand, her eyes softened the moment they landed on Micah.
Micah offered a soft smile in greeting.
Albert settled into his chair, his cane placed neatly against the armrest, and studied Micah in silence.
Micah shifted in his seat, every cell of his body tingling with discomfort under his gaze. His hands rested awkwardly on his lap, fingers twitching.
Zhou Ruyan remained quiet too. Her delicate hands cupped the porcelain, her lips pressed together. She knew how close that incident had been, how easily it could have gone another way. Her mind kept circling to Micah’s cryptic words from before, when he had brought Darcy here. She couldn’t help but wonder...Was it related to this?