Chapter 306: So...Do I Live Here Now?
The city skyline faded behind them as Clyde’s sleek black car slipped down unfamiliar streets. Micah leaned back against the passenger seat, arms folded, eyes narrowing at the way Clyde took a turn he didn’t recognise. The road ahead was lined with tall trees whose branches curved overhead like an archway.
"Where are we going?" Micah asked, his tone more curious than suspicious.
Clyde’s grip on the steering wheel tightened for a brief second before relaxing again. His pale blue eyes were fixed on the road. "To the main house," he replied in that calm, even voice that made it sound like there was no other possible destination.
Micah’s brows pulled together. "Huh? Why?"
"Because that’s where I usually live." A faint smile touched Clyde’s lips. "Don’t you want to see the mysterious Du Pont mansion? No one from outside the family has set foot there for ten years."
That made Micah pause. He had heard rumours about Clyde’s family estate, but never thought he would be invited. He was really tempted to see where Clyde had grown up. "Fine," he said, pretending it was no big deal, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Clyde glanced at him briefly, catching that flicker of interest. His smile deepened. He hadn’t wanted to return to the other place. Not after knowing who Darcy really was. There, Micah could not breathe without remembering that night, when that black-haired boy stayed. And honestly, Clyde couldn’t stand the thought of sharing that space anymore. Not when he knew Micah’s feelings...and not when he wanted Micah to belong entirely to him, here in his home without Darcy’s presence hovering over them.
The car slowed down as they turned onto a long, private drive. The gate swung open silently, as if the mansion itself had been expecting them.
Micah pressed a hand against the window, eyes widening as the house came into view. "Whoa..."
The Du Pont mansion rose from the ground like something out of a storybook, three stories of pale stone and towering windows, with ivy climbing one side in an artful sprawl. The rooflines were steep and elegant, capped with dark slate tiles, and the front steps were a broad sweep of marble that led to double doors carved with patterns so detailed they looked like lace in wood. Stone lions guarded the entrance, their eyes fixed in a silent challenge.
Micah stepped out of the car and craned his neck to take it all in. The air smelled faintly of rain and cedar from surrounding trees, and the faint gurgle of a fountain could be heard somewhere nearby. Everything else he had seen in his life, from every estate to every grand building, felt small and dusty compared to this. The craftsmanship, the architecture, and the material were top-notch.
Clyde had already rounded the car and was retrieving their bags from the trunk. "Come on," he said, his voice light.
They ascended the marble steps, the massive doors swinging open to reveal an entrance hall bathed in golden light from a chandelier dripping with crystal. A grand staircase curled upward, tall vases held fresh lilies, their scent mingling with the subtle perfume of old wood.
Micah entered the mansion, and it was eerily silent. "No housekeeper?" he asked Clyde, incredulous.
"No," Clyde replied, setting their bags neatly near the base of the stairs. "There is a nanny. But since we were away, I gave her a leave. Why?" he asked with amusement glittering in his pale blue eyes. "Are you scared?"
Micah immediately straightened, shoulders back, chest out like a soldier called to attention. "Scared? Who? Me? Huh!" He waved a dismissive hand. "I can take down a group of thugs without breaking a sweat."
Clyde chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Yeah. I’ve seen it."
Then he walked toward a side archway that led into the kitchen. The space gleamed with stainless steel and white marble counters. Clyde moved with easy familiarity, opening the fridge to retrieve a bottle of mineral water. He twisted the cap off, tilted his head back, and took a slow sip, his throat working as he swallowed, cooling himself after tolerating Micah’s gaze on him for the entire drive.
Micah’s eyes were already roaming, finding the taste of decoration agreeable to him. "Who decorated this place?" Micah asked, drifting closer to the dining room archway, fingertips brushing against the back of a velvet chair. "I really like it. It suits my taste so much."
Clyde choked mid-swallow, coughing sharply before lowering the bottle. He looked at Micah, his gaze layered, surprise, amusement, and something darker lurking beneath.
Micah tilted his head. "Are you okay? What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Clyde wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, thinking how Micah could utter those words so innocently. Clyde could easily tease him, ’Why did it matter if it suited your taste? Why? Did you plan on moving in? Becoming the madam of the house?’ But he bit it back. His lips twitched, betraying the thought he didn’t voice.
"Right. Nothing," Clyde said finally, setting the bottle on the counter. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Nice! Can I wander around?" Micah asked, eyes brightening instantly.
Clyde nodded with a resigned sigh.
Micah grinned and set off at an easy stroll, though his eyes were sharp, scanning for any sign of the life that had been lived here before, wanting to find out about Clyde’s childhood or his parents. Clyde’s words from yesterday still echoed in his head, Never being loved... and he couldn’t help wanting to know more. Maybe there were photographs somewhere. Maybe the staff could tell him stories. But with no one around, there was only the house to question.
He couldn’t get it out of his mind. Asking directly, Micah felt he might put Clyde on the spot, making him uncomfortable.
But the curiosity was just too big. He started on the first floor, his fingers tracing along smooth banisters and polished wood panelling. The sitting rooms were immaculate, with plush armchairs in deep jewel tones and heavy curtains framing tall windows. A library took one wing, yet...not a single photograph. No framed smiles. No evidence of birthdays, family, gatherings, or even a dog’s pawprint on a rug. It was so different from Ramsy mansion, where every hallway was filled with portraits, every corner holding some trace of the generations that had passed through. Here, it was as though the walls had never been asked to remember.
Micah’s steps grew slower as he climbed the staircase to the second floor. The carpet muffled his footsteps, and the long hallway stretched ahead, lined with closed doors. He tried them one by one, no sign of Clyde’s parents or siblings living there.
Then he reached the far end of the hall, where the light from the tall windows didn’t quite reach. A door stood slightly apart from the rest, its dark wood unadorned. Something about it drew him. He set his hand on the knob and pushed it open.
The moment he stepped in, he knew it was Clyde’s room. The familiar scent hit him, sandalwood.
The room beyond was simple, almost bare compared to the rest of the house. The bed was neatly made with dark grey linens, the desk tidy except for a single fountain pen and a closed notebook. Heavy curtains were drawn halfway over tall windows.
Micah stepped inside before his mind could tell him not to.