Chapter 32: White Phantom of Stockport

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"If another person tells me my face is 'perfect for infiltration,' well... I shall personally shorten their lifespan."

"Pfft... Hahahaha! Oh, this is priceless. Absolutely priceless."

That mocking laughter exploded right inside the eardrums.

Shut up.

The voice cracking up inside Kyle’s skull definitely wasn't his own. It was Viper. The metallic, neural parasite currently having the time of her life at his expense.

Nursing his growing irritation, Kyle sat frozen in the back of the ultra-luxury Bradley-Lux sedan, staring at his reflection in the tinted glass. He looked thoroughly miserable.

Why did it have to be a dress?

Specifically, a midnight-blue evening gown that clung tight to his frame, costing far more than the black-market value of his kidney. If there was any silver lining to this total humiliation, it was down below.

Kyle sneaked a glance downward. Hidden safely beneath the long, elegant hem of the silk dress were comfortable, expensive flat sandals. Zero heels. Total comfort.

At least I won the shoe argument. High society can take my dignity, but they won't take my footwear.

"I am an apex biological weapon, Kyle. I couldn't care less about your shoes."

Her laughter faded.

"But seriously, 'Guinevere' is a masterpiece. Your bone structure is surprisingly flexible, my dear Little Princess."

Little Princess? Gross. Don't make it weird, Viper.

A visible shudder ran down Kyle's spine at the nickname, triggering an instant response from the entity wired into his brain.

"Since my consciousness is integrated with your nervous system, I am merely acknowledging your current physical state," Viper explained proudly.

The smug tone shifted instantly, cooling into something clinical and precise.

"But I suppose I should help you out. Since you cannot open your mouth sounding like a baritone football hooligan, I am synthesizing a localized peptide—a highly concentrated enzyme—and secreting it directly into your larynx."

Wait—

A sudden, freezing coldness stabbed his throat. Kyle gasped, instinctively clutching his neck as a tight pinch spread through his vocal cords.

"Restricting blood flow to the thyroarytenoid muscles now," Viper reported casually. "Thinning the vocal folds to raise your frequency and soften the resonance. Go ahead, give it a try."

Kyle swallowed hard, forcing himself to open his mouth.

"Test. One, two... three? What the—"

Brain short-circuiting instantly, Kyle froze.

The voice slipping past his lips was smooth, melodic, and undeniably female. A husky, incredibly elegant alto.

Screeech!

The steering wheel violently jerked.

Panicking at the sudden female voice, the driver made the luxury sedan fishtail. Up front, even the silver-haired patriarch lost his composure, staring at the rearview mirror in utter confusion.

Whoa. That is... actually terrifying, Viper.

Stuart, however, didn't even blink.

"Viper's work?" He asked coolly.

Amused eyes locked onto Kyle, absorbing the sheer absurdity of the flawless transformation.

"For a second, I thought a stranger had literally breached the car," Stuart admitted, staring with a mix of genuine awe and deep, profound discomfort.

"More like Viper's fault. Don't laugh!" Kyle frowned.

"You're welcome," Viper bragged inside Kyle's mind. "Now, try to walk like a lady, even if you are cheating with those flat sandals."

Before Kyle could snap back, the heavy sedan glided to a gentle stop.

Outside the window stood the Kimpton Clocktower Hotel. If any building in Manchester screamed 'disgustingly rich old money,' it was this place. Huge Victorian red-brick walls, glowing stained-glass windows, and a massive ballroom packed with bronze chandeliers.

The ultimate high-society battleground.

Click. 

The rear door opened.

Stuart stepped out first, looking incredibly sharp in his formal black three-piece suit.

Then came Kyle—or rather, 'Guinevere McClary.' He slid out onto the pavement, smoothing down the velvet gown with a grace he didn't even know he possessed.

"Looking good, you two."

The cold greeting welcomed them the moment their feet hit the lobby entrance. Ethan was already waiting by the VIP vanguard, blending into the crowd in a sharp tailored overcoat. His calculating eyes did a quick five-second sweep over them.

Seeing Kyle blend perfectly into the wealthy crowd without shouting like a dude, Ethan’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

Stepping forward, the handler deliberately cut into their walking path just as they cleared the security checkpoint. Pretending to adjust the alignment of Stuart's collar, Ethan leaned into the center of the duo, dropping a deadpan whisper.

"Remember, my dear niece. Try not to punch any dukes tonight, Kyle. Velvet is a nightmare to clean."

As Ethan stepped away, Stuart immediately turned to face Kyle and offered his arm in a formal gesture. 

A tiny, rare smirk played on his lips—he was clearly enjoying his partner's internal suffering.

"Ready, Guinevere?" Stuart asked. His eyes crinkled with a subtle, rare amusement at Kyle's internal suffering.

"Let's just get this over with, Stuart," Kyle replied in his flawless new alto voice.

Stepping into the Kimpton Clocktower's grand lobby was like walking into a cathedral of wealth. Waiters in crisp tuxedos floated around with trays of champagne, while the elite of Manchester mingled under the massive glass dome.

Despite his irritation, the science nerd in Kyle couldn't help but be amazed. He immediately got distracted, his eyes mapping the structural integrity of the vaulted ceilings and the acoustic dampening of the plush velvet curtains. For a solid two minutes, 'Guinevere' just stood there, staring at a pillar like a lost puppy.

Wait, where did Stuart go?

Kyle spun around, scanning the crowd. He finally spotted his friend near the entrance of the main ballroom. Relieved, Kyle took a step forward—then immediately froze.

Standing right next to Stuart was a group of very familiar faces.

Jay was there, practically vibrating with his usual over-the-top enthusiasm. Next to him was Kendl, sipping a drink with his trademark smug expression. And right behind them were Conny and Tessa.

Kyle's brain executed a flawless emergency abort sequence.

Nah. No. Dead against it. Those dead daft sods...

Without missing a beat, Kyle executed a crisp 180-degree pivot and began power-walking in the exact opposite direction, thankful that his flat sandals allowed him to move with swift, silent speed.

Back at the group, Kendl lowered his glass, watching the stunning girl in the midnight-blue dress abruptly turn and speed-walk away from them. He raised an eyebrow, nudging Stuart.

"Hey, Stuart," Kendl smirked, leaning in. "Did Jay's face just scare away your gorgeous cousin?"

Jay snapped his head around, entirely offended. "Excuse me?! My face is a work of art! Stuart already told us his cousin Guinevere was coming tonight, and I was just trying to be a welcoming host to a certified baddie!"

Conny rolled her eyes, her sharp tongue clicking against her teeth as she crossed her arms. 

"Welcoming host? Please, Jay. You were staring at her like a starving stray dog looking at a premium steak. If I were her, I'd run away to save myself from your embarrassing aura too."

"Hey! Whose side are you on, Conny?!" Jay barked back, his face flushing with anger.

"The side of sanity," Conny shot back flawlessly, trading a snicker with Tessa.

Stuart simply sighed, choosing to ignore their bickering entirely as his eyes tracked Kyle's escape.

While the squad argued, Kyle was busy making a tactical retreat toward the quietest corner of the room: the secondary drinks table near the balcony.

Stupid Jay.

Stupid Kendl.

Stupid, arrogant high society.

Kyle kept his head down, fiercely grateful that the gown covered his flat sandals.

Because if I were balancing on stilts right now—

Bam.

A solid wall of expensive fabric and lean muscle blocked his path. The sudden impact knocked him slightly off balance, though flat shoes luckily kept him from toppling over completely.

Before he could stagger, a hand shot out, catching him gently but firmly by the waist.

"Whoa. Careful there."

Deep. Soft.

The voice carried this weirdly gentle, sleepy vibe.

Kyle snapped his head up, ready to scream an insult—but the words choked in his throat.

Are you kidding me right now? Who is this pervert?

Standing in front of him was a guy who looked like a literal anime illustration.

He was tall. Taller than Kyle. He had a lean, athletic frame hidden under a perfectly tailored white suit, messy ash-brown hair falling into his eyes, and a devastatingly handsome face. He even smelled like cedarwood and rain.

The absolute definition of a fairy-tale prince.

"Are you alright, miss?" The stranger smiled, looking down at 'her' with sleepy amusement. "You seemed to be running from something."

Kyle blinked.

Blushing? Flustered? Not a chance.

Instead, a massive wave of pure, unfiltered annoyance washed over him. His face twisted into a scowl. Right now, he just looked like a thoroughly irritated guy trapped in a stupid dress, desperately trying to back away.

Viper! Kyle screamed inside his head, his skin crawling. Is this fella a proper muppet or what?! Why is he looking at me like that?

Get his hand off my waist before I chin him right in his mint teeth!

"Standard biological response to extreme facial symmetry," Viper noted in his mind, sounding way too amused. "But yeah, you're right. He's kind of annoying, my Little Princess."

Kyle didn't hesitate.

He violently slapped the guy's hand away and pushed himself upright, his face darkening with rage.

"I'm—I'm fine!"

Frantically smoothing out his gown, Kyle scrambled backward to put some distance between them.

"Just... physics! Momentum! You know how it is! If only you had a brain. Now keep your distance!"

The stranger tilted his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Completely unbothered by Kyle's prickly, defensive attitude, the stranger simply smiled.

"Physics. Right. Well, I'm glad it brought you over to this table. I'm Arthur."

An extended hand offered an introduction, paired with a gaze that treated Kyle like the most fascinating thing in the room. Kyle stared at the fingers with a mix of disgust and dread, entirely aware that if Kendl or Jay saw this, he would never hear the end of it.

"Arthur," Kyle repeated.

The name caused the scholar to pause for a full second, utterly captivated by the unusual, velvety texture of her voice.

Kyle didn't take the hand. Instead, he folded his arms tightly across his chest.

"Well, Arthur, if you'll excuse me, I have a profound lack of interest in networking tonight."

The rejected hand remained in the air for a fraction of a second before Arthur smoothly retracted it, slipping it into his pocket. His smile didn't fade; if anything, his sleepy, deep-set eyes sparked with newfound curiosity.

"A girl who dislikes networking at an elite auction gala," Arthur murmured, leaning back slightly against the edge of the mahogany table. "That's an anomaly in this building. Are you here with one of the bidding delegations?"

Cold sweat broke out beneath his temple. Great. Excellent. The guy is sharp.

"Oh, he likes the thorns, Little Princess," Viper purred maliciously in his mind. "Perhaps you should tell him your name is Kyle and see if he still looks at you like a tragic poet."

Shut up, you overgrown tapeworm, Kyle fired back, internal panic mounting.

"She is here with people who actually belong in this tier of high society, Arthur. Unlike those who merely treat the family crest as a passport."

The voice—sharp, pristine, and dripping with absolute aristocratic venom—cut through the air like a localized blizzard.

Another tall guy stepped up to the table, clad in a sharp charcoal-gray suit. Dark hair was slicked back perfectly, and eyes practically flashed with chilly, calculated arrogance.

Kyle’s heart violently skipped a beat.

Lancelot Davenport...

The sole heir to Davenport Tech, a massive global hardware empire. But more importantly to Kyle’s current nightmare: he was Jay’s older brother. Kyle had been to the Davenport estate dozens of times to tinker in Jay’s garage. Lancelot knew his face perfectly.

Instinctively tilting his head away, Kyle let the silver-white wig fall forward to obscure his jawline, his skin crawling with a whole new layer of pure terror.

Lancelot didn't even look at Kyle. His icy glare was locked entirely on the boy in the white suit.

"Don't wander off, Arthur. Our joint venture signs in less than an hour. If the Vance representative goes missing over a hallway distraction, my father will call off the deal."

Arthur... Vance?

The realization clicked like a heavy lock snapping shut. This sleepy-eyed prince was Blythe’s distant cousin—the famous, ultra-elite scholar who had been studying abroad.

Arthur didn't lose his smile. He turned a serene, dreamy gaze toward Lancelot.

"And you shouldn't stress yourself so much, Lancelot. It ruins the posture. Davenport Tech might manufacture the world’s fastest processors, but it clearly hasn't optimized your manners yet."

The air between the two heirs instantly plummeted past freezing. It was a flawless, terrifying corporate cold war.

What a bunch of absolute mongrels.

Kyle screamed internally.Lancelot’s sharp eyes idly drifted over.

Jay's brother.Right here.If he looks too closely, I am socially executed tonight! Viper, do something!

"Statistical analysis indicates their passive-aggressive egos are creating a localized black hole, Little Princess," Viper giggled in his mind. "Use the distraction. Move!"

Lancelot adjusted his silver cufflinks, looking down at Kyle with an aloof, polite nod.

"My apologies for the disturbance, Lady...?"

"Guinevere," Kyle delivered smoothly, forcing the synthesized female alto to sound flat, cold, and utterly uninterested. "Guinevere McClary. Overseas branch."

He didn't wait around for an answer.

"Now, if you two are quite finished with your petty round table drama, I need to go find a glass of water that hasn't been contaminated by high-society pretense."

Arthur looked like his soul had just been struck by lightning.

The guy was practically begging for more of "her" toxic, defensive attitude. Even Lancelot, the undisputed robot king of poker faces, let his composure crack for a microsecond.

A girl who looked like an SSR-tier porcelain doll but spoke like a seasoned mafia boss? Yeah, they were completely out of their depth.

But before the two corporate princes could say a single word—

"Ayo! Look! That white-suit guy already snatched her up! He’s cheating!"

Oh, great. The main disaster has arrived.

Jay’s loud mouth echoed across the entire VIP lounge, instantly vaporizing the high-class atmosphere. He was practically dragging a deadpan Stuart behind him, with Kendl following like a tired parent.

But then, the universe decided to troll them.

The tail end of Kyle's smooth, husky alto voice drifted right into their ears.

Freeze.

Jay and Kendl stopped dead in their tracks. For a second, their brains literally stopped working, completely mesmerized by the voice.

EMERGENCY ABORT PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.

Kyle’s survival instincts screamed at maximum volume. If Jay, Lancelot, and his own identity ended up in the same square meter, it was game over. 

Social execution. Instant death.

I am so cooked...

"Guinevere?" Arthur asked, snapping to attention when he saw Kyle turn paper-white. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything," Kyle hissed under his breath.

Time to activate street-fighter mode. Kyle didn't hesitate. He snatched a glass of sparkling water, chugged it to lube up his synthetic vocal cords, and moved.

No running. Running makes you look sus. Just a high-speed, aggressive slide.

Using a passing waiter carrying a tray of silver-domed steaks as a human shield, Kyle vanished from the Davenport brothers' line of sight like a ghost.

"Wait, what?! Where did she go?!" Jay yelled, slamming into the table a second later. 

He looked around like a confused dog, staring right past the massive marble pillar where Kyle was currently hiding. 

"She’s gone! The ultimate baddie literally hit the eject button!"

"Lower your volume, Jayden. You’re tanking our stock price."

Lancelot muttered the words under his breath. He looked genuinely ready to commit a crime.

"The lady obviously ran away because your voice is a public hazard."

Kendl crossed his arms.

His gaze shifted over to Arthur, who was still staring blankly at the empty space before them—looking exactly like a sad Arthurian poet.

"Told you, Jay. Your loud mouth is a literal girl-repellent."

Conny stepped up next.

She stared at the exact same empty spot, her face twisted into an expression of pure disgust.

"Honestly, Jay..."

She let out a sigh.

"The second you started sprinting over here like an overexcited German Shepherd? Any girl with half a brain would check her emergency exits."

"Hey! I am a certified gentleman!" Jay whined, waving his hands defensively.

Stuart, who was standing quietly at the back of the group, just stared at the marble pillar.

Specifically, at a tiny, glittering blue thread peekaboo-ing from behind the stone.

He internally let out a massive, exhausted sigh. His face, however, remained an unreadable stone wall.

"She’s an eccentric cousin," Stuart lied smoothly to save the mission. "Low tolerance for NPCs. Just leave her alone, Jay."

"I'm not an NPC! I just wanted to brag to Kyle at school tomorrow that I got a curvy bird's number," Jay groaned, completely deflating.

Behind the pillar, Kyle was literally pressing his spine into the cold marble, his heart beating like a machine gun.

Flustered? Romantic? Absolutely not. He was pale with the sheer, agonizing stress of someone who had just escaped a public execution.

"A masterclass in tactical retreat, Little Princess," Viper giggled in his brain, sounding way too happy. "Using the waiter as a smoke screen? Inspired. Though I think your fan club is still obsessed."

Eww! Hell nah! Delete that thought! 

Kyle ground his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed. 

I'm going to kill Stuart.

I'm going to murder Jay.

 And then I am going to throw this dress and these stupid sandals into an incinerator.

He looked down at his feet. His toes were aggressively gripping the leather straps.

This situation was pure insanity. He was trapped in a luxury hotel, surrounded by his best friends who couldn't recognize him, being hunted by a sleepy-eyed fairy-tale prince, all while trying to steal a bio-hazard emerald from a mega-corporation.

Kyle tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, his crescent eyes flashing with a dangerous, deeply annoyed light. He glared at the secure elevator doors at the back of the hall.

"Screw the high-society drama," Kyle muttered.

The voice was perfect and husky. A sharp, lethal smirk returned to those lips.

"Let's go steal that rock. But first... a timeout is needed."

Sliding away from the pillar, his flat sandals didn't make a single sound against the polished floorboards. He needed to get out of the blast radius of Jay’s booming voice and Arthur’s creepy, probing eyes.

Spotting the glass balcony doors on the second floor, he slipped right through them, escaping into the crisp, freezing Manchester night air.

Finally. Freedom.

Kyle leaned heavily against the stone railing, letting the wind blast his face. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the absolute rage radiating from every fiber of his being.

"A dramatic exit fit for a true heroine," Viper teased, her voice dripping with malice. "Though I gotta admit, looking out over the city lights in a luxury gown actually suits you, Little Princess."

Shut up, Viper. I’m just waiting for the crowd near the secure elevators to thin out, Kyle snapped back mentally.

He kept his back turned to the party. To anyone looking from the inside, he just looked like a rich, melancholic girl deep in thought.

But of course, high society never lets you rest.

Click.

The heavy glass door swung open. Kyle didn't turn around, keeping his frozen, aloof posture intact.

But his ears perked up instantly as soft, measured footsteps started walking toward him from across the wide balcony.