Chapter 423 - 423: The Morning After [FIXED!][30/06!]

Kyle woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains.

Not the grey, filtered light of London's typical morning—actual sunlight, golden and warm, spilling across the bed like honey. He blinked, disoriented, and realized he was alone. The sheets beside him were cool. Ella had already slipped out.

He stretched, his body humming with a vitality he hadn't felt in weeks. The exhaustion that had dogged him since arriving in London had lifted. His muscles were loose. His mind was clear. He felt lighter than he had in memory.

"What the hell is wrong with me?"

Kyle sat up and ran a hand through his hair. His libido had been a concern—three women, constant demands, the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep up. But if anything, his drive had only increased. He had matched them, exceeded them, and still woken up ready for more.

"I might be a sex addict."

The thought should have bothered him. It didn't. Considering the circumstances—the stress, the danger, the constant pressure—no one could blame him. It was a release valve. A way to stay grounded in a world that kept trying to spin him off balance.

"Besides, it's not like I'm hurting anyone."

He swung his legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The shower was quick, efficient. He dressed in comfortable clothes—nothing flashy, nothing that screamed wealth or power. Just a simple shirt and jeans.

"Today, I'm just Kyle."

He walked into the main living area and found the women already assembled. Cassandra was at the table, Junior in her lap, spooning something into his mouth. Jane was picking at a plate of eggs, her usual shyness tempered by the comfort of familiarity. Jasmine was coloring at the coffee table, her tongue poking out in concentration.

And Ella was in the kitchen, pouring herself coffee. She caught his eye and smirked.

"Look who finally crawled out of bed," she said.

Kyle ignored the jab and poured himself a cup. "What's for breakfast?"

"Everything," Cassandra said, gesturing at the spread. "Jane ordered for everyone."

Kyle glanced at the table. Eggs, bacon, sausages, pastries, fruit, toast, pancakes, and what looked like a full English breakfast. It was enough to feed an army.

"Jane ordered this?"

He looked at her. She was eating—not daintily, not hesitantly, but with the quiet determination of someone who had learned to enjoy food without apology. Her plate was piled high. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

"You hungry this morning?" Kyle asked, sitting down beside her.

Jane nodded, not looking up. "I always wake up hungry."

"At this point, no one's surprised," Ella said, settling into her seat. "Jane's stomach is a black hole."

Jane's blush deepened, but she didn't stop eating. "I like food."

"And we like watching you enjoy it," Cassandra said warmly. "It's nice."

Kyle smiled. The dynamic between them had settled into something comfortable. No jealousy, no competition. Just shared meals, shared space, shared moments.

He waited until everyone had finished eating before speaking.

"I need to tell you something," Kyle said. "I have a meeting today. With Anthony. The man from Pemberton Productions."

Cassandra looked up. "The one you had breakfast with?"

"Same one. He invited me to dinner with his family. Tonight."

Ella raised an eyebrow. "His family?"

"He's a family man. He wants to establish a relationship beyond business. I think he's genuine."

"And you want to go?"

Kyle nodded. "I do. But I'm not going alone."

The table fell silent. Jasmine had stopped coloring and was listening with wide eyes. Junior gurgled in Cassandra's lap.

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked.

Kyle took a breath. "I'm taking all of you."

The silence stretched for three full seconds.

Then Ella laughed—a sharp, surprised sound. "All of us? To dinner with some stranger's family?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Kyle leaned back in his chair. "Because I want him to see who I really am. He's been nothing but kind to me. Honest. Open. He doesn't deserve to meet a version of me that isn't real."

Cassandra set down her spoon. "Kyle, that's… that's really thoughtful."

"It's also insane," Ella said. "Three women? A baby? A little girl? You're going to show up like a parade?"

"Exactly." Kyle smiled. "He'll see the real me. Not the businessman. Not the negotiator. Just Kyle."

Jane had stopped eating. Her fork hovered over her plate. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm sure."

Cassandra tilted her head, studying him. "You know, it might be better if you just took Jane."

Kyle blinked. "What?"

"Think about it. Jane is the most professional among us. No tattoos, no visible piercings. She's young, she has that innocent glow about her. She would be a good representation of you."

Jane's face went scarlet. "Cassandra!"

"I'm just saying."

Ella snorted. "She's also the one who eats like a starving raccoon."

"I do not—"

"You ate three plates of breakfast, Jane. Three."

"Food is food!"

Kyle laughed—a genuine, full laugh that surprised even him. The tension in the room dissolved.

"Jane," he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. "You're perfect exactly as you are. You don't need to represent me. I'm not looking for validation from anyone."

Cassandra frowned. "But isn't it important to make a good impression?"

"I don't need to impress Anthony," Kyle said. "He needs to impress me. At the end of the day, I don't need him. He needs me."

The words hung in the air.

Kyle knew it sounded arrogant. But it was also true. He was the one with the money, the connections, the power. Anthony was a player in the entertainment industry, yes. But Kyle was a player on a different scale entirely.

"I'm taking all of you," Kyle repeated. "Because that's who I am. And if Anthony has a problem with that, then he's not the kind of man I want to work with."

Silence followed because this felt like a declaration.

Then Jasmine spoke up, her small voice cutting through the quiet. "Can I come too? I'll be good."

Kyle smiled at her. "Of course you can, kiddo. You're part of the family."

Jasmine beamed.

Ella shook her head, but she was smiling. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I've been told." Kyle stood. "Now, everyone get ready. Dinner's at seven. And Jane?"

She looked up.

"You can eat as much as you want. I'll order extra if the food isn't enough for you."

Jane's smile was small, shy, and absolutely radiant.

-

The kitchen of the Greenberg home was warm, filled with the rich aroma of roasting meat and herbs. Michelina stood at the counter, her hands dusted with flour, her dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She moved with practiced efficiency—seasoning, stirring, tasting—the rhythm of a woman who had been cooking for her family for decades.

Anthony appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up.

"Need any help?" he asked.

Michelina glanced over her shoulder, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're home early."

"The meeting finished ahead of schedule." He walked over and stood beside her, peering at the pots on the stove. "What's for dinner?"

"Roast lamb. Rosemary and garlic."

"Smells incredible."

"It would hope. I've been at it for hours!"

Anthony reached for an apron hanging on the hook and tied it around his waist. "Alright. Give me something to do."

Michelina raised an eyebrow. "You're offering to help?"

"I'm offering to be useful to my beautiful wife!"

"You're already useful, Anthony. You provide for this family."

"I provide money. You provide everything else." He picked up a knife and began chopping the vegetables she had set aside. "Now tell me what to do."

Michelina watched him for a moment, her expression softening. He was a busy man—meetings, calls, trips across the city. But when he was home, he was present. He didn't hide in his study or disappear into his phone. He was here, in the kitchen, helping her cook.

"You're a handful!" she said, shaking her head.

"And yet my hands aren't full..." Anthony shrugged. This made his wife giggle.

She stepped closer and kissed his cheek. "Are you sure Kyle will enjoy English food? He's American. He might be expecting something closer to home."

Anthony chuckled. "He'll love it. You're the best cook in the world. There's no person on earth who wouldn't enjoy your meal."

"You're biased."

"Am I? Anyone can testify!"

Michelina laughed—a warm, musical sound. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"That's the plan." Anthony said, planting a firm kiss on her cheek.

They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the rhythm of chopping and stirring filling the kitchen. Then Michelina paused, her hands on her hips.

"Do you think this will be enough?" she asked, gesturing at the spread. "I have no idea how many people he's bringing."

Anthony shrugged. "I don't know either."

"You don't know?"

"He said he was bringing his family. I don't know how big his family is but he is young so surely it cannot be large, can it?"

Michelina sighed. "Anthony."

"What? He's a private man. I didn't want to push."

"So we might be feeding an army?"

"Then we'll cook for an army." He smiled at her. "We're more than capable."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "You never change."

"That's what you get for telling a man you loved him just the way he is." And once again, his wife chuckled.

Michelina turned back to the stove, but she reached out and squeezed his hand. "I love you, Anthony."

"I love you too, Michelina."

The kitchen hummed with warmth and the quiet certainty of a marriage built on love. Outside, London hummed with its own rhythm. But inside, there was only family.