Chapter 418 - 418: Random Day [FIXED!][24/06!]

Kyle walked through the London streets, his pace unhurried. The encounter with Viktor had drained him more than he wanted to admit. Not physically—the Russian hadn't laid a hand on him. But mentally. Emotionally. The weight of navigating a man like Viktor, of balancing calm and caution, had taken its toll.

"I need proper rest."

His body was already feeling the brute of it all. The days had blurred together—the library, the Gucci store, the bathroom with Ella and Cassandra, the date with Jane, the encounter with Viktor. Each event had demanded something from him.

Presence.

Focus.

Control.

"I didn't expect it to be this hectic."

But having Viktor here made things easier. Strange as it sounded, knowing the Butcher was in London, watching, waiting, meant Kyle didn't have to worry about the unknown. Viktor was a known variable. Dangerous, yes. Unpredictable, yes. But visible.

"I know where he is. I know what he wants. That's more than I had before."

Kyle's shoulders ached. His neck was tight. He could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the kind that came from sleeping in unfamiliar beds and waking up to unfamiliar sounds.

"A massage would be nice."

He smiled at the thought. The ladies would be jealous if they found out he went without them. Cassandra would raise an eyebrow. Ella would make a joke. Jane would stay quiet but look hurt.

"I can't do that to them."

Kyle shook his head, still smiling.

"Ridiculous. Who would have thought?"

He was a family man. Not in the traditional sense—no wife, no suburban house, no white picket fence. But a family nonetheless. A chaotic, unconventional, beautiful family.

He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't notice them.

Three youths. Standing on the corner. Their faces were covered—masks, the kind that covered the lower half of the face. Hoods pulled up. Hands in pockets.

Kyle's body tensed on instinct.

He had been in enough dangerous situations to recognize the signs. The masks, the casual stance and the way they were looking at him.

"They're young. Too young to be a real threat."

But still, he was cautious. He would be foolish not to.

Then one of the youths approached him. He was tall—not quite Kyle's height, but close. His mask was black, his hood was grey, and his eyes were the kind that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

"Excuse me," the youth said, his voice polite. "Could you help us?"

Kyle's brow furrowed. "Help you with what?"

The youth pointed upward. "Our ball. It's stuck."

Kyle looked up.

There it was—a football, wedged in the branches of a tree that overhung the pavement. It was high up, too high for the youths to reach.

"Oh."

Kyle blinked. His caution faded, replaced by something close to amusement.

"They're not muggers. They're just kids who lost their ball."

He looked back at the youth. The others had gathered, their eyes expectant.

"We would've climbed," the tallest one said, "but the branches look too thin. You're tall, though. Thought you might be able to get it."

Kyle studied them. Their masks, which he now realized were a fashion choice rather than a disguise. Their polite tone, their hopeful eyes.

This is what happens when you get used to violence. You see threats everywhere.

"Alright," Kyle said. "I'll get it."

He walked to the base of the tree and looked up. The ball was stuck in a crook, nestled between two thick branches. It wasn't too high—just out of reach for the youths.

Kyle jumped. His fingers brushed the ball but didn't catch it.

He jumped again. Same result.

"Give me a boost," he said.

The youths exchanged glances. Then two of them crouched, hands laced together. Kyle placed his foot in their hands and let them hoist him upward.

His fingers caught the ball. He pulled it free and dropped to the ground.

"Here," he said, tossing it to the tallest youth.

The youth caught it, his eyes wide. "Thanks, man. That was impressive."

"Just lucky I'm tall."

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Kyle paused. "What gave it away?"

"The accent. And the way you looked at us." The youth smiled. "You thought we were gonna rob you."

Kyle didn't deny it.

"We're just kids," the youth said. "We play football. We lose balls. We ask tall people for help."

Kyle nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to..."

"To a country that isn't America?" One teased, the other nudged him slightly with a stern facial expression. He didn't appreciate that joke as it could be interpreted wrongly.

"To being asked for help without a catch. And yes, America." Kyle chuckled faintly.

That was a good jab nonetheless and Kyle needed them to know he was fine with it.

The youth shrugged. "It happens. Not everyone's out to get you."

Kyle smiled. "Maybe not."

He turned and walked away, leaving the youths behind.

"Not everyone's out to get you."

The words stayed with him as he walked, settling somewhere warm.

Kyle had become far more paranoid as of late.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe London wasn't just a battlefield. Maybe there were still moments of innocence, of simplicity, of kindness that didn't require anything in return.

"Maybe I'm still capable of seeing them."

He reached the hotel and walked inside.

The family was waiting but now, he reconsidered meeting Elenaor.

-

Maya walked through the campus gates, her mind still tangled in the encounter from the day before. She had replayed it a dozen times—the way Kyle had looked at her, the way he had spoken, the way he had left without pushing.

"Why was someone like that looking for me?"

He was kind, polite and mature unlike the men and boys she was used to interacting with. He hadn't tried to impress her or intimidate her. He had simply... existed.

Unlike Leo.

She glanced at the boy beside her. Leo was walking with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his eyes darting toward her every few seconds. He was trying to be casual and failing miserably.

Maya felt the irritation rise in her chest.

"He's always there. Always hovering. Always waiting for me to notice him."

She thought back to Kyle again. The way he had sat across from her, his hands open on the table, his voice low and steady. He hadn't tried to close the distance. He hadn't tried to impress her. He had just... been.

"He respected my decision. He didn't push. He gave me his number and left the choice to me."

That was rare, men didn't do that. They pursued, they pressured, they persisted until they got what they wanted. But Kyle had done the opposite. He had offered and stepped back.

"Who does that?" Maya thought with a slight grin.

Leo noticed.

He had been watching her for years. He knew her expressions, her silences, the way her eyes went distant when she was thinking about something important. Right now, she was daydreaming. Maya didn't do that much.

But she was daydreaming now.

"It has to be Kyle."

Leo's jaw tightened. He had seen the man. Tall, handsome, and confident.

Leo had hated him on sight. But then Kyle had given him advice, real advice. The kind that made you think maybe he wasn't so bad.

"Stop following. Stop hovering. Talk to her like a person."

Leo took a deep breath.

He could have clung to her. He could have accepted her abuse—her dismissiveness, her irritation, her cold shoulder—just to stay in her orbit. He had done it before. He would do it again if he let himself.

But Leo knew he had to withdraw.

"Hey, Maya," he said, stopping mid-step.

She looked at him. Not interested. Just... looking.

"I think I'll be heading home now."

Maya sighed—a small, exasperated sound that cut deeper than any insult. She gestured dismissively, waving him off like he was an annoyance she was finally free of.

"She thinks I'm playing. She thinks I'll cave."

Leo didn't.

"No," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned and walked the other way.

For a second—just a second—Maya stopped. She looked back, her brow furrowed, her expression caught between confusion and something else.

"What has come over him?"

She had never seen him do that before. He always lingered. He always found an excuse to stay, to hover, to wait for her to change her mind.

But he was walking away.

She felt a brief flicker of curiosity—not attraction, not longing, just... curiosity. What had changed? Why was he acting different?

Then the moment passed.

She turned back and kept walking.

"Alright, later," she said, her voice flat and dismissive.

Leo heard her. He kept walking, his back straight, his hands still in his pockets. He didn't turn around.

"Damn. She is cold."

He muttered the words under his breath, but there was no bitterness in them. Just resignation. He had known Maya for years. He knew who she was and this was part of the reason he liked her so much. He knew she didn't feel the same way.

But something had shifted.

He had made a decision—a small one, a simple one—but it was his. He had withdrawn. He had walked away. He had shown her that he wasn't just a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

She looked curious.

Leo smiled to himself. It wasn't the reaction he wanted. But it was something. And that something felt like progress or could very well be delusion.