Chapter 374: Being at the Mercy of Silas Durant
The same night:
The streets were packed with a crowd, enjoying Saturday night when Clyde finally found the bar Emile had described over the phone. His shoes clicked sharply against the ground as he strode up to the entrance, his body tense.
The moment he pushed the heavy door open, the din of laughter, clicking glasses, and muffled music hit him. Clyde’s eyes scanned the dimly lit interior, looking left and right, searching for any trace of that silver hair. His chest constricted when he found no trace of Micah.
Instead, he spotted his nephew, Emile, moving through the crowd, expression pale and anxious.
"Little Uncle!" Emile called, breathless as he reached him. "I can’t find him!"
Clyde’s heart pounded violently. "How could you leave him alone?" The words came out colder and harsher than he intended, but the fear beneath his anger was suffocating.
"He said he was going to the restroom..." Emile’s voice trailed off as he noticed Clyde’s expression darkening further.
"Did you call him?"
Emile fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he handed it over. "I found his phone on the couch. He didn’t take it with him."
Clyde reached out and grabbed the device. The screen lit up under his thumb, and rows of missed calls danced in front of his eyes. Besides his name, calls from Micah’s family were there too.
Those missed calls made it clear, he hadn’t gone home.
Clyde dialled a number, and when his driver picked up, Clyde’s voice left no room for hesitation. "Search everywhere. Inside. Outside. Don’t leave a corner unchecked."
His bodyguards and driver scattered around.
Clyde began to move too. His eyes darted across faces, tables, darkened corners. He was anxious, a bad feeling spreading like ice inside his chest.
"Sir," one of his men hurried back, face grim. "Witnesses say a silver-haired young man had gotten into a fight near the back of the bar."
Clyde didn’t wait to hear more. He dashed toward the back. His breath came faster, ragged, each step heavier with dread. But when he reached the street behind the bar, there was no silver hair. His eyes darted around in the sea of people, hoping to see him.
Yet, his hope crashed.
With every passing second, it felt as though pieces of his heart were shattered.
Another report came in. This one was more alarming. "The boy was knocked out. Beaten up badly."
Clyde’s vision blurred for half a beat. He braced one hand against the wall, nails scraping over the rough surface. Micah. Where was he?
He couldn’t fathom where Micah could have possibly gone in that condition. But one person stood out in his mind.
He forced himself upright again and pulled out his phone, dialling that black -haired boy, thinking maybe Micah had contacted him or had gone to him.
The line connected. "Do you know where Micah is?" Clyde asked without a pause.
But the boy sounded confused. "No... I don’t."
Clyde closed his eyes, every muscle in his jaw tightening. "He’s disappeared. If you hear anything, tell me immediately."
"Okay," Darcy promised.
Clyde put the phone away. "Take me to the nearest hospital. Now." He barked at the driver.
His only hope was that someone would have brought Micah there. Maybe some kind passerby had done the humane thing and sent him to the emergency room.
He was near the hospital when his phone buzzed.
DescendantoftheDarkOne: Come to this address. He is here.
The address followed.
Clyde tapped it, pulling up the map. His brows furrowed instantly. He noticed it was in a residential area. Not a clinic or hospital. And most definitely not Darcy’s.
"Get in the car," he ordered Emile, who was going up the stairs.
"Ha?" Emile blinked, looking at the bright Hospital sign above his head.
"He’s not here," Clyde replied and slid into the car again.
They rode in silence. Clyde sat in the back seat, leaning forward, elbows braced against his knees, phone clutched tightly in his hand. Emile sat stiffly beside him, biting his lips, eyes darting nervously between his uncle’s expression and the passing street.
When the car pulled up in front of a high-rise, Clyde barely waited for the driver to stop before stepping out. "You wait here," he snapped at Emile and closed the door with a bang.
His long strides carried him into the lobby and straight toward the elevator.
By the time he reached the twelfth floor, Clyde’s heart was pounding crazily. He quickly called Darcy’s number, but it was rejected immediately. He typed a short message instead.
CL: I’m outside the door.
The moment the elevator door opened, Clyde barged toward the apartment door, his anxiety shooting up to the roof.
The door creaked open slowly. Darcy stood on the other side, face pale, expression caught between concern and fury.
Clyde’s features tightened, but he forced composure into his voice. "Where is he?"
"In a guest room..." Darcy whispered. "He doesn’t know I told you... But here is not safe." He shifted uneasily. "Silas Durant is the one who found him..."
Clyde’s face drained of any colour. His hands clenched at his sides, veins straining against his skin. "How dare he..."
"Micah said it wasn’t him." Darcy quickly cut in. "But still, I was worried. He hasn’t told his family what happened either."
Clyde dragged a hand through his face, fingers trembling slightly. "How... how is he?" he asked, hesitant.
"Awful," Darcy murmured. "He was beaten brutally. That... Silas said he might have broken his ribs."
Clyde closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard. He tried to control his emotions. "Why did he bring him here?"
"I don’t know..." Darcy shook his head.
Clyde took a deep breath and patted Darcy’s shoulder. "Thank god you are here. I was losing my mind..." he whispered shakily. "Can I see him?"
Darcy hesitated, then gave a small nod. He turned toward the guest room and opened the door.
Micah turned his face toward the doorway, silver hair falling messily across his bruised face. The moment his eyes locked on Clyde, they widened, then narrowed with fury.
"Get out!" he shouted, voice raw, before a sharp wince overtook him. His hand clutched his side as he drew a painful breath.
Clyde flinched as if struck, halting mid-step. Even Darcy tensed, shoulders jerking. Worry filled both of them.
"Micah!" Clyde’s voice cracked as he rushed forward, heart pounding. He stopped beside the bed, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Micah looked wrecked. Clyde’s heart squeezed hard.
But Micah refused to look at him. Instead, he turned his head towards Darcy. "Why?!" he mumbled.
Darcy froze, noticing the hurt and betrayal in Micah’s gaze. "I’m sorry." His shoulders slumped. "But I don’t trust him. And I didn’t have another option..." his voice trailed off.
Clyde kneeled beside the bed, hands trembling. "How? How did this happen? Why did you end up like this?"
Micah didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away, heavy with resentment.
Clyde leaned closer, and the faint familiar smell of sandalwood hit Micah’s face. His chest tightened even more. The emotions clashing inside of him were unbearable. Longing, anger, disappointment, affection. All at war.
He was furious at Clyde for leaving him out of the blue, for ignoring his calls, for not showing an inch of jealousy when he had posted that WeChat moment, for not calling him but others. Furious that when he needed him most, Clyde had not been there ... all of it left him irritated.
Yet, against his will, another part of him yearned to see him, to hear his voice, his embrace. Yearned for the comfort only Clyde could bring. The contradiction burned him alive.
In the end, he had drowned himself in alcohol to escape the panic, the ache, anything related to romance. And what had that led to? Being at the mercy of Silas Durant, one of the scum male leads. The irony was laughable.
And now even Darcy had betrayed him by calling Clyde here... he knew why Darcy had done that, but still it stung.