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After dinner, unlike other soirées filled with afterparties or late-night activities, this gathering ended quietly.

Alex and Mrs. Hart were the first to leave. Before going, Mr. Hart handed Henry a private business card and also took down Henry's number. The look in his eyes was hard to read.

Katharine, meanwhile, was staying in the Stark family's Beverly Hills villa—this was her temporary home while in Los Angeles. She wasn't going anywhere.

But she still exchanged contact information with Henry and said warmly,

"I'll reach out to Audrey about the job. Neither of us lives in LA, so if you want to meet the other Hepburn lady you admire so much, you'll have to wait for us to arrange something."

"The decision's hers, of course. I hope you understand that, child."

"I do, Katharine," Henry replied politely without saying more.

After all, saying too much might just provoke the green-eyed monster in this Hepburn lady. And an 80-something-year-old vintage jealousy? Even a Kryptonian might not survive that.

As Henry stepped out the front door, he was surprised to see that flashy red Ferrari still parked out front.

Tony was leaning against it, puffing on a cigarette. When he saw Henry emerge, he stubbed it out and said,

"Get in. I'll take you home."

"Well well," Henry teased. "And here I thought I'd be walking back tonight."

Tony scowled. "I brought you here, didn't I? Sending you back is only fair. Besides, I'd rather not have you wandering through rich-people neighborhoods all night.

"You probably won't run into a mugging, but nosy cops? That's a given.

"So get in. Unless you want me to kick your ass—then you'll be riding in the front trunk."

This Ferrari had a mid-engine layout, so its storage compartment was up front.

Henry's X-ray vision confirmed: to fit inside, he'd have to fold his arms or legs like a pretzel. No thanks.

So he obediently got in.

Tony slammed on the gas, and the car surged forward. Henry was plastered against the seat as the engine roared up to redline, as if the car itself was venting Tony's frustration.

Despite being a grip-heavy sports car, Tony managed to pull off a drift on the narrow drive. The iron gate had opened just enough to let them through as they sped out—clearly timed to perfection.

Henry had to admit, Tony Stark was a gifted driver. No wonder he could compete in actual races, like the Monaco Grand Prix in the films.

Okay, maybe it wasn't F1-level, probably F2, but even getting that far was no joke. Racing licenses weren't easy to get, and not just anyone could race competitively.

But once they hit public roads, Tony calmed down. He stayed within the speed limit, and the engine settled into a low hum—neither sluggish nor revving high.

That's when Henry knew: Tony had something to say. Otherwise, he would've just dumped him off at the curb.

Still stewing over being rejected, Tony finally said,

"Why didn't you take the job I offered?"

Henry chuckled. "Bringing this up again, huh? Well then, what do you think I can do—besides take a bullet?"

Tony was momentarily speechless. After a pause, he tried,

"Actually, someone like you—a mutant—should be using your gifts to blend in better with regular society, shouldn't you?"

So he thinks I'm a mutant.

Henry didn't bother correcting him.

Instead, he asked,

"Tell me, Tony, who hires the top lawyers in America? Who can afford the best legal minds in the country?"

Tony had no answer.

Henry went on,

"If someone needs to hire me to take a bullet, they must've done something to make people want to shoot them.

"And let's be real—nine out of ten people like that? They're probably scumbags.

"The one decent guy? Probably couldn't even afford my rate.

"So if I make money by turning a blind eye to morality... is that really something to be proud of?

"Now let's say I go full vigilante. Run around playing hero, saving people for free.

"But by the time I show up, they might already be dead. And just my luck, I'll get tackled by police and arrested as the suspect.

"What kind of idiot signs up for a job like that?"

Tony didn't respond.

Henry shrugged. "So working for Miss Hepburn as a driver and bodyguard? That's the best deal I can think of. She's a good person. I'll be useful in a place like Africa. And she'll at least pay me a proper wage—unlike broke people who expect me to work for free."

Tony realized then—Henry wasn't refusing to help people. He just had standards. And honestly? They were hard to argue with.

Henry added, "If turning you down upset you, I'm sorry. But I want to be clear—I wasn't really rejecting you, per se. Surely that much is obvious, right, genius Tony Stark?"

"Just call me Tony," he muttered. "Enough with the 'Mr. Stark' crap."

Then he asked, "You were really trying to reject Alex?"

"Of course. Didn't you see how his eyes lit up when he saw me take a bullet?

"But I couldn't exactly be blunt to someone I just met.

"You and I have met a few times. Plus, with Katharine around cracking jokes, I figured I could turn down your offer without offending anyone.

"That was the best outcome I could hope for. Honestly, I don't want to know what someone like him would use me for."

Tony thought back to what Alex had told him earlier—those dark secrets. Could someone like that really be as uninvolved as he claimed?

"If you were worried about him," Tony said, "you could've kept your abilities hidden. Made a more 'normal' offer."

Henry scoffed.

"If I acted like a regular guy, someone with your resources could find a hundred more qualified candidates. People better trained, more trustworthy.

"What do I have to offer? Charm?

"Oh, wait—I forgot. Stark family heir. Your life's been on 'easy mode' since birth.

"You have no idea how hard it is for nobodies like me to even step foot in your world.

"And if I don't flash something truly extraordinary, how would you even remember me?

"You think having a few chats—most of them unpleasant—makes us friends?

"If we were really friends, when Katharine asked you about me, your answer would've been a hell of a lot more confident.

"And you wouldn't have dangled the other Hepburn lady in front of me like bait, just to see if I'd make a fool of myself.

"But I'm not mad. Whether tonight's performance satisfied you or not, I gave it my all.

"This was my way of repaying you for giving me the opportunity. Truly. I'm grateful. No sarcasm."

He smiled thinly.

"Besides, let's be honest—our paths probably won't cross much going forward. I'm not the son of a billionaire. I don't belong to your circle."

The car pulled up at Henry's place.

He stepped out without being asked, then turned and gave a deep, theatrical bow, the kind you'd see at an opera.

"Farewell, Mr. Tony Stark," he said with a charming, professional smile.

"Goodbye. Goodbye forever. I hope we never meet again."

Tony Stark remained silent. And that silence said everything.

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