London, England
Thursday, Late Afternoon
The front door creaked open and then shut with the careful gentleness of someone trying not to wake a sleeping child. Miles looked up from the stack of clean clothes he was folding on the couch, just in time to see Carter walk in with two large paper bags tucked under each arm, the logo for Mora’s book store “A Likely Story” stamped in bold ink across the front.
“Love,” Miles said, eyebrows raised, “Please tell me you didn’t try to clear out my mum’s entire shop.”
Carter shrugged, setting the bags down carefully by the wall. “Didn’t try. Just... kinda happened.”
Mora stepped in behind him, pulling off her scarf with a faint smirk. “Don’t let him fool you, Miles. I still have plenty but I did try to stop him. Hell I even offered to give him a few on the house and give him suggestions, but he wouldn’t take a single one. Insisted on picking every book himself.”
Miles blinked. “Are you serious?”
Carter nodded. “Hey, If I’m gonna dig my way out of my own head, I might as well do it one chapter at a time. Sometimes a little retail therapy for some of my favorite things is just what the doctor ordered.”
Miles chuckled under his breath, though it didn’t quite mask the flicker of relief that passed through his chest. That was the first time in a while Carter had sounded like himself. Like there was still some fire in there.
“Where’s Brianna?” Carter asked, scanning the room with those quiet eyes of his. “And Riley?”
“Upstairs,” Miles replied, standing. “Riley finally wore himself out, passed out mid-sentence. Morrigan’s already down. Think Bri might’ve gone for a nap too—she looked like she needed it.”
Carter gave a small nod and headed toward the stairs, probably to peek in without waking anyone. Miles watched him go, then turned his attention to his mum, who was now unpacking a few of the books to check for damage from the way home.
“Well?” he asked, a little too hopeful. “You get through to him?”
Mora’s face didn’t light up the way he wanted it to, but there was something softer there. “I think I nudged him in the right direction. He’s listening. That’s more than he was doing before from what you were telling me.”
Miles rubbed his hands down his face, exhaling. “It’s been a lot lately. For both of us. Started with that damn Elimination Chamber match and has just been building through the whole tour. I thought coming here—being with family, getting away from all of it—might help.”
Mora sat down beside him on the couch, setting a book titled Unpacking the Storm on the table between them. “I see what you’re doing, dove. And I know your heart’s in the right place. You’ve always worn it on your sleeve, especially when it comes to him.”
He tilted his head, already bracing himself. He could feel that ‘But’ coming.
“But,” she added gently, “You can’t keep trying to hold everything together for the both of you.”
Miles stared at the spine of the book, his mouth a hard line. “I’m not—”
“You are,” she said, touching his arm. “I know you, Miles. You have done it since your father took off and then promptly died in front of you. You did it with me and Brianna...in your own way. And you’re doing it because you care. But love, Carter is a grown man and....and you’ve got your own fight coming. Against a man who’s made it very clear he doesn’t respect you, or what you stand for.”
He scoffed. “Yeah. Kevin bloody fuckin’ Carter.”
Mora raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve been doing everything but actually dealing with that.”
Miles looked up at her, and for the first time in days, the exhaustion gave way to something colder. Sharper.
“I’m trying not to. I’ve been biting my tongue until it bled,” he said, his voice low. “Because if I say everything I want to say about that man, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”
Mora nodded. “Then maybe it’s time you don’t stop. Maybe it’s time you stop pretending that what he says doesn’t matter. You are the one that won that contendership and don’t think I didn’t hear what you had to say but love- He came for you. Your whole career. Your worth. Are you really going to tell me that you are going to let that slide just because Carter’s struggling.”
Miles let the silence linger a few seconds longer, the weight of everything she said dropping into place like bricks.
“I just wanted something to go right this week,” he admitted.
“Well, you got him to pick out two bags of books on his own,” Mora said, squeezing his hand. “That’s something.”
He smiled faintly, but his eyes stayed distant, already shifting focus. Already moving toward Kevin.
“Now go order another damn bookshelf,” Mora added. “Before he takes over the coffee table too.”
“I’m so not looking forward to all the duty that will have to be paid when we go back to Vegas,” Miles quipped. Miles stood up and grabbed his one gym bag, “Do me a favor, let Carter know I went down to Hen’s gym for a bit and will be back before dark?”
“I will. Be careful out there.” Mora said, “Don’t get into any trouble.”
“None more than I’ve already been in.”
And with that Miles left and Mora sat there.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
----
London, England
Thursday, Early Evening
Hen's Boxing Gym – Peckham
The door to the old gym creaked just like it always had, metal groaning against its own stubborn hinges, and the familiar scent of sweat, leather, and liniment hit Miles like a long-lost punch to the ribs. He didn’t even make it past the second heavy bag before he heard the voice, raspy with age but still holding all the authority it ever had.
“Well I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Milo bloody Kasey, walking in here like he didn’t spend his teen years tryna turn this place into a fight club.”
Miles let out a small breath of amusement, turning toward the sound. “Hen.”
The old man stood just off to the side of the ring, arms crossed, towel over his shoulder, that same squint in his eye like he could still see straight through bullshit from a mile off.
“You know how many gray hairs I blame on you?” Hen said, voice rough with age but sharp with memory. “Every single one of ‘em came from the moment your mum moved you lot down here. You were like a stray cat that’d been kicked too many times and decided biting was easier than trusting.”
Miles offered a faint grin. “Oh come on, I didn’t give you that much trouble.”
“Bull fuckin’ shit,” Hen snapped. “You were a handful, Milo. Scrapping with every other boy who looked at your sister wrong, skipping school to train behind my back, stealing my wraps like I wouldn’t notice. I oughta make you run laps just on principle.”
“Please don’t,” Miles deadpanned. “I’ve already been yelled at by my mum today.”
Hen chuckled, but it faded quickly as his eyes narrowed. “As well she should, you tosser. And now you’re a grown man, out there letting some little pissant run his mouth about you like you’re nothing. What the hell happened to that fire you used to have?”
Miles’ jaw twitched. “It’s still there.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Hen said, stepping closer. “Kevin Carter’s been dragging your name through the gutter for over a week, and you’ve been letting it slide. You—Miles bloody fuckin’ Kasey—taking shit from a man who wouldn’t last one round with the version of you I used to have to pull off people.”
“It’s not that simple,” Miles replied, voice low.
“The hell it ain’t,” Hen barked. “You think keeping quiet makes you noble? Makes you better than him? All it makes you is an easier target.”
“I don’t want to become my dad,” Miles said suddenly, the words hard and quiet, like they’d been coiled behind his ribs for far too long. “I spent my whole life trying not to be Lyle Kasey. He would go out and pick fights for no damn reason, all to make a quick damn buck. He would bully people and hurt people just because he was fuckin’ told to. I don’t want to be like that.”
Hen froze for a moment. Then, softer but firm: “You’re not your dad. Not even close. You never were.”
Miles looked away.
“Look, Milo,” Hen continued, tone gentler now, “I knew your old man. I saw what that man was. Selfish. Cold. Cowardly. And he was controlled by something far worse than you could possibly imagine. I’m glad your mother got you out of that before they had the chance to dig their claws into you. You? You walked into this gym every damn day with the weight of your whole family on your back and still tried to prove yourself. Even when you got it wrong, it was always for the right reasons. You protected your sister. You looked after your mum. And now? You’re protecting Carter like he’s the last thing keeping you from cracking.”
“He is,” Miles said quietly.
Hen exhaled. “I get it. You love him. But loving someone doesn’t mean letting yourself get disrespected for their sake. Especially not by someone who doesn’t deserve your silence. Especially from the same man who had no issue smashing that elbow upside the head of Finn Whelan.”
He gestured toward the heavy bag hanging nearby.
“You wanna get your head straight? Start here. And remember who the hell you are. You ain’t that scared kid anymore, and you’re sure as hell not your old man. You’re Miles Kasey. The NEXT Internet Champion of SCW. Time you started acting like it.”
Miles stared at the bag, knuckles tightening around the straps of his gloves. That fire Hen mentioned—it was flickering behind his eyes now. Not explosive. Not reckless. Just controlled.
Like a storm he’d been kept leashed for too long.
“…Yeah,” he said, strapping his gloves on.
Hen smirked and stepped back.
“Good. Now hit the damn bag like it called your mum a liar.”
THUD.
The first punch echoed through the gym like a thunderclap.
The next few would be louder.
------
Miles burst through the front door like a man reborn.
Still drenched from the workout—hoodie soaked through, muscles buzzing with residual adrenaline—he looked like someone who had just climbed out of a war zone and liked it. Not everything inside him was fixed. Not even close. But for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he’d found his footing again.
The house was quiet save for the hum of the shower winding down, warm air perfumed faintly with steam, body wash, and Carter’s favorite shampoo. When Miles reached their bedroom, the bathroom door opened with a soft click, and there stood Carter, stepping out barefoot onto the tiles, wrapped in a towel from the waist down, another slung around his head.
He looked over at Miles with a raised brow. “You look like you just went ten rounds with God.”
Miles gave a crooked grin, chest still heaving. “Think I won. Barely.”
Carter smirked and turned to the mirror, tugging at the towel coiled around his head as casually as someone unwrapping a present. And then, just like that, it fell away.
Miles froze. And at that point he thanked the creators of baggy shorts.
It wasn’t just the way Carter’s damp curls framed his face now, or how the water glistened along the curve of his neck. No—what stopped Miles was the striking, unmistakable platinum blonde that crowned his husband’s head.
“Wait—” Miles stepped in, blinking. “When did that happen?”
Carter met his gaze in the mirror, eyes sparking. “Brianna helped out. Said if I was gonna put up with your dramatic ass, I needed to look the part. ALSO I may have insisted that I finally stop hiding who I really was and be at my best going into Paris to become World Champ.”
Miles laughed—genuinely, breathlessly, like something in his chest finally cracked open. “God, I love her.”
Carter shrugged, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I figured... if we’re gonna start over, I might as well look like the guy you first fell for.”
And that—that hit Miles like a punch in the soul.
He stepped forward, quieter now, hands sliding down to his hips as the weight of what he really needed to say returned.
“Carter, I owe you an apology,” he said, voice lower. “For ever making you feel like I was smothering you. I didn’t mean to. Not even close. I know you are all about standing up for yourself and I KNOW without a shadow that you can do that. You could have stayed that natural colour forever and I would love you just the same. But I love it.”
Carter turned fully now, giving him his full attention.
“I was scared, babe,” Miles admitted. “I kept looking for something outside myself to fix what was wrong. Thought if I could just... get a grip on everything, it would all fall into place. But the truth is, the only reason I didn’t fall apart completely was you.”
Carter’s face was unreadable, but his posture softened, towel loose in one hand.
Miles drew in a shaky breath. “I need to be honest about where I’m going from here. I’ve decided to step back in. All the way. And that means things are gonna change.”
“Change how?”
Miles hesitated, then stepped forward, close enough now to feel the warmth radiating off Carter’s damp skin.
“I can’t keep playing it safe. I’m done being the one people expect to be palatable. I need to make it loud that I’m still here. And when I do, people are going to talk. It might get ugly. I might get ugly.”
Carter studied him. “Are you telling me... you’re about to go full goblin Milo mode?”
Miles barked a laugh, but his tone remained serious. “I’m telling you I’m done apologizing for being intense. For being ambitious. For being... more than anyone expected.”
“And you’re telling me this because...?”
“Because I need you with me,” Miles said simply. “I need to know that even if I start kicking up a Sahara sized dust storm and raising eyebrows again, you’re not going to pull away. I need to be this version of myself, Carter. Even if it’s messy.”
Carter was silent for a moment, then took a step forward and placed a palm flat on Miles’ chest. His hand was warm, steady.
“I’ve never wanted the version of you that was quiet and easy,” he said. “I’ve only ever wanted the version that was real.”
Miles swallowed hard. “So...?”
Carter’s smile grew, slow and knowing. “So let it get messy. Let the world watch. I’m not going anywhere.”
Relief rolled through Miles like thunder.
“Good,” he said, exhaling. “Because I have so many things to tell you. Like—I was at the gym and it all just clicked. Like, bam—clarity. I’ve got a dozen ideas, and I need your brain, like, now.”
Carter raised a hand, stopping him. “Shower first. You smell like a gym floor and redemption arc.”
Miles snorted and peeled off his hoodie as he backed toward the bathroom. “You’re the one who said you liked the real me!”
“Not the rank you,” Carter called after him with a teasing glint in his eye. “Two rounds of soap. No shortcuts.”
Miles disappeared into the steam, still talking.
Carter just shook his head, fingers ghosting through the platinum strands of his hair. He watched the bathroom door for a beat, a small smile lingering on his lips. Just before the bathroom door open and Miles reached out and pulled him through.
“Come in here and make sure I’m not missing a spot.”
“MILES!”
And just like that, something between them settled—stronger, sharper, and unmistakably theirs.
------
Scene opens with Miles Kasey, sitting alone in a locker room, taping his wrists. He looks up into the camera, calm but cold—eyes filled with something lethal. Flickering fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting stark shadows across cracked tiles and peeling paint. The faint echo of distant crowd noise pulses through the walls—a reminder that the fight is happening just beyond this secluded space.
“You really did it this time, Kevin. You ran your mouth like it was your best feature… when we both know it’s the only thing about you that’s ever been remotely functional.
Let me explain something, boy, since you clearly missed the point of being in a locker room with real men who built this business from sweat and scars—not spray tan and sob stories.”
“See, you think you're slick, right?
You think you're untouchable, the golden boy with the cocky grin and the soft hands that’ve never had to claw their way out of rock bottom. But let me tell you something, Kevin—I've lived at rock bottom. I built a damn condo down there and decorated it with the bones of people just like you.”
“You don’t know the first thing about pain. You don’t know SHIT about sacrifice.
You know how to throw tantrums on social media and play dress-up in suits you didn’t earn. You parade around pretending you're the next big thing, when in reality? You're a dime-store knockoff of everyone better than you. And everyone... is better than you.”
“You got the stones to speak my name like you’ve done a damn thing worth breathing in my direction? I should thank you—for reminding me just how deep my fuse runs before I blow someone’s legacy into ash.
Because, Kevin... when I snap?
I don’t shout. I don’t swing chairs. I don’t need a gang.
I break people with facts, with truth, and with a level of precision you couldn't dream of.”
He sits alone on a battered bench, the worn wood creaking beneath him as he methodically tapes his wrists. His movements are precise, almost ritualistic, as if preparing not just for a match but for war. His eyes, cold and deadly, flicker up and lock directly into the camera lens—unblinking, focused, filled with a lethal promise.
“And the truth is?
You’ve never made a name for yourself—just borrowed pieces from everyone else’s.
You’re not iconic. You’re not a star.
You're a footnote, a side character in someone else’s rise. And when you're gone? The only thing anyone will remember is how badly Miles Kasey dismantled you.”
Flickering fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting stark shadows across cracked tiles and peeling paint. The faint echo of distant crowd noise pulses through the walls—a reminder that the fight is happening just beyond this secluded space.
“Piece. By. Fucking. Piece.
So sleep tight, Kev.
Dream of the spotlight, of gold, of all that fake greatness you keep promising to yourself in the mirror.
Because come our next encounter?
I'm not gonna fight you...
I'm going to erase you.”
As Miles speaks, his voice is calm but cutting, slicing through the silence like a razor. His words hit with the weight of a hammer, every sentence landing with brutal precision. The intensity grows with each line, and you can almost feel the air crackle around him, charged by his fury.
“You wanna know why you’ll never be more than a stain on this business, Kevin?
Because you’re built on lies. All of it. The fake bravado, the forced smiles, the rehearsed arrogance — it’s a house of cards built on the insecurity of a man who’s terrified to look in the mirror and see the nothing staring back.”
Miles’s jaw tightens as he methodically dismantles Kevin Carter with venomous clarity. He paces slowly now, the dim light catching the hard angles of his face and the fierce fire in his eyes. His every movement oozes controlled rage—like a predator ready to pounce.
“I don’t respect you. I don’t fear you. Hell, I don’t even see you.
You’re the guy everyone warns their kids about — the cautionary tale of what happens when someone talks big but doesn’t back it up. You’re the kid trying to play with grown men’s toys, but you keep breaking them because you don’t have the hands to handle it.”
“And you want to come after me?
After us? After Miles Kasey and the family I’ve bled to protect?
You’re a fucking joke. And not the funny kind.”
Behind him, the faint sound of a locker door slamming echoes—a sharp punctuation to his words, a symbol of the finality in his voice. Sweat beads on his brow, but his expression never wavers. This isn’t about anger—it’s about cold, calculated retribution.
“You don’t get to walk into this world and rewrite history like you’re the star of the show. The spotlight isn’t for people who take it — it’s for those who earn it with every damn breath. And Kevin, you’ve been borrowing light from other men since day one, because you don’t have enough fire in you to burn your own path. And it’s been that way since you GOT the fucking thing. Only no one until now has had the balls to tell you, it’s time for you to fucking shut up and go HOME.”
With every accusation, every threat, the locker room seems to close in tighter—as if Miles’s words have turned the very walls into witnesses of a storm about to break. His presence fills the frame; he is not just a man scorned but a force of nature poised to reclaim what’s his.
“Look around, Kevin.
You’re a parasite. Feeding off the sweat, the heart, the blood of those who’ve worked for decades to carve their names into stone. You leech off family ties, fake alliances, and cheap tricks because you know deep down? You’re not special. You’re not talented. You’re a fucking placeholder.”
“I see RIGHT through you.
The fake confidence. The desperation. The fear beneath it all. You don’t like to show it but I SEE it Kevin.”
“You talk about disrespecting me like you’re some kind of threat. But the only thing you’ve threatened is your own career by opening your mouth and exposing yourself as the fraud you are.”
“And now you want to play in my world?
Here’s the deal: I don’t need to hurt you physically. I can easily break you with words. I have zero issues in dismantling your entire identity until you’re begging to disappear.”
“Your arrogance? Cracked.
Your pride? Shattered.
Your legacy? Nonexistent.”
“And by the time I’m done, no one will remember your name — except as a warning.
Kevin Carter: the man who got exposed by Miles Kasey.”
“So keep running that mouth, Kevin. Keep thinking you’re untouchable. Because the moment you step into the ring with me, you’re stepping into a war zone. And in this war? You’re the casualty.
This is a fight. Because I’m coming for that SCW Internet Championship.
This is your mother fucking reckoning, Kevin.
And I promise you — you’ll wish you’d never crossed me.”
Miles paces slowly, eyes blazing, voice low and deadly serious.
“You thought you could talk shit about me and get away with it? You thought your words could cut deeper than my resolve? Kevin — every syllable you spat out, every sneer you gave, you just forged the chains you’re about to be shackled in.
You’ve built your entire existence on tearing people down. You have no problem on making me the villain, the weak link, the afterthought. But here’s the truth you tried so hard to hide behind that arrogant smirk:
I am the storm coming to erase your reign.”
“You disrespected me, questioned my worth, mocked my drive. You acted like the Internet Championship was some crown you earned by default, like you were the god of this domain. Newsflash: You’re a pretender sitting on a throne that doesn’t belong to you.”
“And I’m coming for that title like a goddamn reckoning.”
“Every insult you lobbed at me? I’ve tattooed it across my soul just as easily as I laid out my ink across mine.”
Miles inhaled and smirked through every line.
““You’re nothing.” — Watch me become everything.
“You’ll never measure up.” — I’m about to show the world how the real standard looks.
“You’re just a shadow.” — Soon, I’ll be the one casting the shadow you’ll never escape.”
“You have no idea what it means to bleed for this. To sacrifice everything, day in and day out, just to claw your way up from the bottom. You think this was handed to me on a silver platter?”
That caused Miles to snort. The camera tightens on Miles’s eyes as he delivers the final blows, his gaze piercing and unwavering. It’s the look of a man who has fought through every hardship, who has bled and sacrificed, and who now stands unbreakable and unrelenting.
“Nah, mate. I fought. I scratched. I earned every inch of this fight.
And now? Now I’m coming to take back what’s rightfully mine.
That championship isn’t just a belt — it’s a symbol of legacy, of heart, of honor. And Kevin, you’ve polluted it with your lies, your cheap tricks, and your cowardice.”
“I will burn down your empire of deceit and false bravado. I will drag you through hell and back until the entire world sees you for what you truly are — a fraud who talks big but falls apart when the real fight begins.
You want war? I’ll give you war.
You want fire? I’m a goddamn inferno.
You want pain? I’m the storm that breaks you.”
“So brace yourself, Kevin Carter, because your time as SCW Internet Champion ends when I take that title from your cold, dead hands. And when I do, every damn word you ever said about me will be proven a lie.
You talk about respect? You want respect? Earn it. Fight for it. Then watch me take it.
Because I’m not just coming for the belt.
I’m coming for you.”
The scene fades on Miles’s last words—a vow that this war is only just beginning, and that Kevin Carter’s reign is destined to crumble beneath the weight of truth and fire.
