Harem System: Spending Money On Women For 100% Rebate!

Chapter 362: Not Now... [FIXED!] [28/03/26]

Kyle took a detour on the way back home. The rideshare driver didn’t question it when he changed the destination mid-trip, just adjusted the route and kept driving. Kyle needed to see Ella face to face, tell her about the trip himself instead of through a text message. After disappearing for two days without explanation, she deserved that much.

The car pulled up outside the apartment building. Kyle paid, tipped extra, and climbed out onto the familiar sidewalk. Home. Finally.

He took the stairs two at a time despite the ache in his shoulder, key already in his hand as he reached the door. The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside. Too quiet.

"Ella?" he called out, dropping his keys on the table by the door.

Nothing. He checked the bedroom, the bathroom, even the small balcony where she sometimes sat with her guitar. Empty. She wasn’t home.

Kyle sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t blame her. Why would she be sitting around the apartment all day waiting for him? She had her own life, her band rehearsals, gigs at the club, friends to see. And after he’d vanished for two days without a word, she probably wasn’t in the mood to stick around hoping he’d show up.

He already knew Ella wasn’t passive like Jane or patient like Cassandra. She had fire, opinions, and absolutely no problem letting him know when something pissed her off. His disappearing act would’ve pissed her off. Hell, she was probably out somewhere right now venting to her bandmates about inconsiderate men who thought they could just ghost people.

Kyle stripped off his jacket and shirt as he walked to the couch, tossing them over the back. The familiar space, the worn cushions, the coffee table he’d bumped his shin on a hundred times. God, it felt good to be somewhere normal. Somewhere that didn’t have armed guards and surveillance cameras and family heads plotting his death.

He collapsed onto the couch half naked, letting his head fall back against the cushions. His eyes started closing almost immediately, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave. Just five minutes. Just a quick rest before he figured out what to do about Ella and started packing for the trip and dealt with all the other shit piling up in his life.

The doorbell rang.

Kyle’s eyes shot open. He sat up, momentarily disoriented, before his brain caught up. Ella. Must’ve forgotten her keys or something.

He jumped up and rushed to the door without thinking twice, already forming an apology in his head for disappearing, ready to explain at least some of what had happened.

He yanked the door open with a smile that immediately froze on his face.

Not Ella.

Aiysha stood in the hallway, and she looked like an absolute mess. Her eyes were red and puffy, makeup smudged like she’d been crying for hours. Her hair hung loose and disheveled instead of the neat style she usually wore. And her clothes...

Jesus Christ, her clothes.

She wore a tight low-cut top that barely contained her chest, the kind of thing you’d wear to a club, not to visit your neighbor in the middle of the day. Her jeans were equally tight, hugging curves that Kyle had absolutely no business noticing right now.

"Aiysha, are you okay?" Kyle asked immediately, his exhaustion forgotten. Whatever personal drama he was dealing with could wait. She clearly needed help.

"I’m not," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Can I talk to you?"

Kyle’s brain screamed warning sirens. Both of them, alone in an apartment. Her dressed like that, him shirtless. Her clearly emotional and vulnerable. Him tired enough that his judgment was questionable at best.

This was a bad idea.

But what was he supposed to do, slam the door in her face?

"Sure, come in," he said, stepping back to give her room.

Aiysha walked past him, bringing with her the smell of perfume and something else. Alcohol. Definitely alcohol on her breath.

Kyle shut the door and sighed internally. Why couldn’t she have come wearing something more appropriate? A baggy sweater, maybe. A turtleneck. Hell, a full suit of armor would’ve been ideal right about now.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, keeping his distance, leaning against the kitchen counter while she stood near the couch.

Aiysha’s face crumpled. "Jones moved out. For the time being, he said. To give us both space to think. But Kyle, I don’t know if we’re going to get back together. I don’t know if this is the beginning of the end or if there’s still hope or..." Her voice broke.

Kyle sighed. This was the last thing he needed right now. He’d literally just survived being shot, drugged, and nearly executed by the mafia. He was running on fumes, his shoulder hurt like hell, and he had about a thousand problems to solve. And here was Aiysha crying about her relationship troubles.

But then he looked at her face, saw the genuine pain there, and felt like an asshole for being annoyed.

"Aiysha," he said gently, moving to sit on the arm of the couch, maintaining some distance. "The fact that Jones said ’for the time being’ is exactly why this marriage is worth saving. He didn’t say it’s over. He said he needs space to think. That means there’s still something there worth thinking about."

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.

"Jones is a good man," Kyle continued. "One of the best I know. And I’ve seen how he looks at you, how he talks about you when you’re not around. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear because things get hard. It’s worth fighting for. Worth struggling through the rough patches."

"But what if I’ve broken it beyond repair?" Aiysha whispered.

"Then you fix it. Together. That’s what marriage is." Kyle softened his voice. "Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m some relationship expert. I’m clearly not. But I know this: giving up is easy. Working through the hard stuff is what separates relationships that last from ones that don’t."

Aiysha let out a shaky laugh. "When did you get so wise?"

"I didn’t. I’m just really good at sounding like I know what I’m talking about." Kyle grinned. "It’s a gift."

That got a real giggle out of her, and some of the tension in the room eased.

They sat there for a moment, the atmosphere almost comfortable. Kyle could definitely smell alcohol on her breath now that she’d calmed down a bit. Not falling-down drunk, but enough to lower inhibitions, blur judgment.

He needed to be careful.

And then, without warning, Aiysha leaned in and kissed him.

Her lips pressed against his, soft and desperate, one hand coming up to touch his bare chest. For half a second, Kyle’s exhausted brain didn’t process what was happening. Then instinct kicked in.

He pulled back immediately, gently but firmly putting his hands on her shoulders to create distance between them.

"Whoa, whoa, hey," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Aiysha, no. We’re not doing this."

Her face crumpled again, but this time with shame mixed into the grief. "Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just... I felt so alone and you were being so kind and I just..." Fresh tears started streaming down her face.

"Hey, it’s okay," Kyle said quickly, still keeping that physical distance. "You’re going through a lot right now. You’ve been drinking. Emotions are high. But this isn’t what you want, and it’s definitely not what you need."

"I’m such a mess," Aiysha sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "I’m such a fucking mess."

Kyle had absolutely no plans to take advantage of her. None. Even if she’d shown up sober and willing, she was Jones’s wife. His friend. That line was uncrossable, regardless of how she looked in that outfit or how vulnerable she was right now.

He needed to shift this situation to safer ground. Fast.

"I know what you need," Kyle announced, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "Ice cream!"

Aiysha looked up at him, confused and tear-stained. "What?"

"Not just any ice cream," Kyle said, pulling open the freezer and scanning the contents. "A Kyle special! I learned this trick from... honestly I don’t remember where, but it works. Trust me."

He grabbed the ice cream, bowls, started pulling out other ingredients. Anything to change the energy in the room, to move them away from that kiss and back to something safe and normal.

"Kyle, I don’t..."

"Nope, no arguments. This is happening. We’re making the most ridiculously indulgent ice cream sundae you’ve ever seen, and you’re going to eat it, and it’s going to make you feel at least five percent better. Which, given the current situation, is a significant improvement."

He didn’t reference the kiss. Didn’t make it awkward. Just kept talking, kept moving, kept the atmosphere light and focused on something else entirely.

"Now," he said, scooping ice cream into bowls, "the key is layers. You can’t just dump everything on top. It’s an art form..."