Outside the Disney Music Auditorium, a yellow Lamborghini slowly rolled to a stop in front of the red carpet.
"This is it." Harry looked out at the lights glittering across the entrance and the elegantly dressed crowd. He opened his door first, then moved around to open the passenger side for Felicia, offering his hand like a gentleman.
"Miss Hardy, we're here." He bowed slightly, extending his right hand toward her.
Felicia looked at his hand, her eyes soft with warmth. She smiled. "Yes, Mr. Osborn," she said, placing her hand in his.
Harry's lips curved in satisfaction. He clasped her hand gently and led her down the red carpet together.
"It's Harry Osborn!"
The shout came suddenly, drawing the attention of every reporter nearby. Heads turned, cameras whirred, and flashes lit the night as all eyes locked onto Harry, who had just stepped onto the carpet.
Harry Osborn—his name had been one of the hottest topics in recent months. The young heir who'd returned from abroad, taken over his family's empire, and become one of the world's youngest billionaires. A headline like that naturally sold papers. And when rumors of his superhero identity surfaced, it sent the media into a frenzy. Reporters had been trying for months to get a photo or a quote from him, but he was rarely seen outside the Osborn Building. Even when he traveled around the country, he stayed out of reach. But now—here he was, appearing on his own at a Stark Industries charity gala.
"Mr. Osborn!" one reporter shouted, snapping a photo.
Harry smiled politely and walked on, calm and unhurried.
"Mr. Osborn, over here!" another called.
He turned his head slightly, smiled again, and kept walking.
"Mr. Osborn, how does it feel to be a billionaire?" came another voice.
"Well," Harry paused thoughtfully, "I'm very happy," he said honestly, before continuing down the carpet.
"Mr. Osborn, did you fly here all the way from New York just for this event?" another reporter tried.
Harry ignored the question and walked past without slowing.
"Mr. Osborn! Is this lady your girlfriend?" one reporter asked with a grin.
"Of course," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow playfully.
The answer left the reporter unsatisfied—this billionaire didn't seem like a Playboy. But Felicia, holding onto Harry's arm, looked delighted, her eyes sparkling as she smiled sweetly.
For a moment, the flashes of cameras and the calls of reporters filled the air. Most questions were directed at Harry, but most camera lenses were drawn to Felicia—her beauty and poise under the lights made for perfect headlines.
Harry kept his faint, composed smile the entire time, unconcerned with the crowd's noise. His gaze swept across the red carpet and caught on a tall, bald man with a gray beard speaking to the press. He recognized him immediately, and the corners of his mouth lifted further, thinking of what that man had yet to create.
But Harry had no interest in introductions. Even if the man knew him, he didn't plan to engage.
...
Inside the music auditorium, the atmosphere was entirely different. Golden light rippled softly along the walls to the rhythm of gentle background music.
On the dance floor, guests spoke quietly with acquaintances or swayed gracefully to the melody, while waiters wove through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The whole scene painted a picture of refined luxury.
Once inside, Harry released Felicia's hand, letting her mingle with familiar faces. As the president's special assistant at Oscorp, Felicia knew plenty of people here.
Harry, too, spotted an acquaintance. He made his way to the bar and sat down.
"Whiskey, lots of ice," he told the bartender, drawing glances from those nearby.
"Mr. Osborn?" a man beside him turned and asked.
"Mm," Harry replied, taking a sip of his drink.
"I didn't expect to run into you here," said the man—Phil Coulson. "I thought you didn't go out much." He'd sent people to wait at Oscorp for days, but Harry had never agreed to meet.
"I need some fresh air now and then," Harry said casually, unfazed, and took another sip.
"I'm Agent Coulson," the man said.
"I remember. You're from that department with the long name," Harry replied, setting his glass down and looking at him.
"It's the Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support Agency," Coulson said, sighing. "Everyone says that."
"You should really change it. Although I admit—it sounds impressive," Harry said with a small laugh.
"Well, I'll report that to my boss," Coulson answered with mock seriousness.
"Any suggestions for a new name?" he asked curiously.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," Harry said without hesitation. "Yeah… S.H.I.E.L.D. sounds good."
"Good name," Coulson said, genuinely impressed.
Harry smiled faintly and glanced toward the auditorium entrance. Just like when he and Felicia had arrived, the reporters outside were suddenly in an uproar again, flashes popping like fireworks. With his sharp hearing, he could make out the reporters' excited shouts.
The camera lights all focused on the doorway. Under the glittering flashes, a handsome, middle-aged man with a goatee stepped through—the man everyone had been waiting for.
Tony Stark.
Harry's smile deepened as he watched him stride forward.
"By the way, Mr. Osborn," Coulson said, lowering his voice, "our director wanted to discuss a possible business arrangement with you."
"Business?" Harry swirled his drink lazily. "I don't mind listening."
Just then, Tony Stark reached the bar and sat beside him.
"Whiskey. More ice," Tony said to the bartender.
The waiter gave him a strange look—then passed him a glass identical to Harry's.
Tony noticed and blinked, realization dawning when he glanced at Harry's drink. "Ah," he said simply.
"Tony Stark," Harry greeted, standing.
"Yeah," Tony replied in his casual tone, studying Harry.
"I'm Harry. Harry Osborn," he said, pulling a business card from his pocket. "Here—my card. If you ever need something, give me a call. I don't usually hand these out."
He placed the card on the counter, then turned to Coulson. "Looks like we'll have to continue that conversation another time."
Without waiting for a reply, Harry slipped away onto the dance floor.
"Who was that?" Tony asked Coulson, holding up the card.
Coulson chuckled. "Looks like you've got some catching up to do, Mr. Stark."
Tony smirked and slipped the card into his jacket pocket.
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