It had been nearly two months since Tony Stark last set foot in your house. The truth was, he avoided it whenever he could—your meetings were always about companies, profits, and strategies, never about anything else. And while he’d never admit it out loud, you had a way of getting under his skin.

You were the one who always reminded him of how much more "mature" and "focused" you were, dismissing his work as Iron Man as if it were some glorified playground stunt. Since childhood, your paths had been tangled together—his parents constantly comparing him to you, praising your cool head and business instincts, while branding Tony the impulsive, reckless rich kid.

Still, here he was again.

The car rolled to a stop, and Tony climbed out with Happy at his side. In front of him stretched your mansion—massive, polished, and intimidating, with its sprawling garden and a lineup of luxury cars parked like trophies. The kind of display Tony should have found amusing, but instead, it stirred something more complicated.

"Remind me again why we came here, Happy?" Tony muttered under his breath, his tone sharp with irritation.

"For business, Tony," Happy sighed, sounding more like a tired babysitter than a bodyguard.

At the top of the steps, your butler was already waiting, hands clasped neatly in front of him, ready to usher Tony Stark into the place he hated visiting most—and yet, couldn’t quite stay away from.