Inside the secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base, Nick Fury stared at the stack of intelligence files about Loren on his desk, his expression grim.
He turned to the group of agents in the briefing room, his voice sharp with frustration.
"Is this really the best you could gather on Loren before?
A playboy? A family troublemaker? A hopeless case?
If he's mud, then what does that make us—maggots in a sewer?
It was precisely because of your earlier intelligence failures that this whole mess spiraled out of control.
Damn it—I was wearing a bulletproof vest, or you'd be holding my funeral right now."
Fury had only just returned to duty. After the incident at Morgan Manor, he'd suffered severe internal injuries and slipped into a coma. He'd spent a week in intensive care and had awakened just two days ago. After barely a day of rest, he was already back at headquarters—launching into a debriefing that felt more like a dressing-down.
Coulson stepped forward cautiously. "Sir, please—try not to get worked up. The doctors were clear: stress and anger could seriously hinder your recovery."
Fury exhaled sharply, reining in his temper. He turned his gaze to Natasha Romanoff.
"Natasha, did that kid do anything unusual while I was out?"
She shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, Morgan Manor's been unusually quiet. According to our field agents, Loren hasn't left the estate in over a week."
"Hasn't left the house for a week? That doesn't sound like him.
Given his track record, he's probably cooking up something dangerous.
Keep surveillance on the manor—discreetly. Report any anomalies to me immediately."
Natasha hesitated. "Are you sure? If Loren realizes we're watching him, the fallout could be severe."
"We're observing from a distance. He won't detect us.
But mark my words—that kid is a major threat. Left unchecked, there's no telling what he might do.
Effective immediately, add him to the S-level watchlist."
Natasha's eyes widened slightly. "S-level? Sir, that might be excessive. He's influential, yes—but not on the same tier as known global threats."
"It's a precaution," Fury said firmly. "We're not taking action—just raising his threat classification. Follow the order."
Natasha gave a curt nod. Though she privately disagreed, she wouldn't challenge him openly.
Fury shifted gears. "One more thing. Stark Industries sent invitations to tonight's technology showcase. They included one for me, but given my condition, I can't attend. Natasha—you'll go in my place."
She accepted the invitation he handed her. "Understood."
"Oh, and Loren's expected to be there too," Fury added, his tone turning strategic. "Use the opportunity wisely.
Despite his recklessness, his resources—and his family's influence—could be invaluable to the Avengers Initiative I'm assembling.
If we can bring him onto our side, it would be a significant win."
He paused, then added with a knowing look, "And let's be honest—he's got a reputation for being… easily charmed. Your presence might just tip the scales.
If you can gain his trust, it'll be a major asset. And I'll make sure your efforts are recognized."
Natasha's expression grew troubled when she heard Nick Fury's words.
She hadn't expected her direct superior—of all people—to suggest she use her looks to get close to Loren.
Though she'd employed such tactics before, this was the first time she'd been ordered to do so by someone at the highest level.
"Sir," she said carefully, "if it were anyone else, I'd still have some confidence. But Loren? Honestly, I'm not sure I can pull it off. He's surrounded by women—gorgeous ones at that. Those two with him are far more striking than I am. I doubt I'd even catch his eye."
Fury took a slow sip of coffee. "Do your best. You might not be as flashy as them, but maybe he's got… unconventional taste. Men get bored easily, you know. Sometimes a wildflower stands out more than a rose in a greenhouse. Even a morning glory can catch someone's attention—if it blooms at the right moment."
"…" Natasha frowned. "Sir… are you insulting me or encouraging me?"
"Neither," Fury said, deadpan. "Just stating facts. Now go. The party's starting soon."
"Understood," Natasha replied, though she still felt uneasy. Still, she turned and headed off to prepare.
---
Time flew. By seven that evening, the grand banquet hall of Stark Tower in New York was teeming with guests.
Ever since Tony Stark had publicly revealed himself as Iron Man, Stark Industries' stock had soared. Already known as New York's most infamous playboy, Tony had become a global celebrity overnight—and he relished every second of it.
Craving the spotlight and eager to promote Stark Industries' new clean-energy initiative, he'd thrown this gala to showcase the company's latest innovations.
In truth, though, the "technological showcase" was mostly an excuse to unveil his newest Iron Man armor. After all, he'd shut down the weapons division a month earlier—a move that had sent the company's stock plummeting once again. Now, he needed a win—badly.
On the top floor of Stark Tower, Tony stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, swirling a glass of red wine as he gazed out at the glittering Manhattan skyline, his expression unreadable.
"Tony," Pepper Potts said from behind him, arms crossed. "The guests are arriving. Don't you think it's time you made an appearance?"
He sighed. "Yeah… I guess. But my right eyelid won't stop twitching. Feels like trouble's coming."
"You've been pulling all-nighters in the lab again," Pepper said, exasperated. "If I were you, I wouldn't just have a twitch—I'd be in cardiac arrest. Get some rest. You're imagining things."
"Maybe," Tony conceded. "By the way—has the Morgan delegation arrived?"
"They're here. Young Master Morgan himself. As the company's second-largest shareholder, you really should go greet him."
"Right. Can't keep the money waiting." Tony set down his glass. "Let's go."
---
At the entrance of the opulent banquet hall, Loren stepped out of his sleek black Lincoln, dressed in a tailored suit. Behind him, Tifa followed closely—elegant, poised, and tonight, his sole companion.
But before they'd taken more than a few steps, a cheerful voice called out:
"Hey, Loren!"
He turned.
A young woman with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes jogged toward him, smiling warmly.
It was Gwen Stacy—his old high school classmate.