Chapter Text
Crap. The word pulsed through your mind like a flashing neon sign as you scrambled after Mr. Rogers, who had just bulldozed past your desk with all the subtlety of a freight train. He didn’t even glance in your direction, which, to be honest, was the least of your problems. He was headed straight for your father’s office, of course he was, and the growing knot of dread in your stomach quickly turned into a full-blown panic.
“Hey, wait!” you half-shouted, half-squeaked, bolting up from your chair. Not today, Mister. Not on my watch.
You were already sprinting after him, your shoes squeaking against the polished floor as you tried to catch up, looking like some sort of frantic mall cop in a bad sitcom. Your mind raced alongside your feet. Of all the people to make a scene in front of my father, it has to be this guy? Your father didn’t exactly have a reputation for patience, and this was the last thing you needed today, another dramatic episode starring 'How to Get Disowned in 60 Seconds.'
Your pulse thudded in your ears as you followed the man down the hall, hoping, praying, that you could somehow intercept him before the inevitable disaster hit. But with every step, the distance between you and Mr. Rogers seemed to shrink along with your chances of surviving this unscathed.
Of course, you thought, because why have a normal day when I can have a complete meltdown on a Tuesday afternoon?
“Sir! Wait! You can’t just—” But, of course, he didn’t wait. Why would he? Mr. Rogers, with all the subtlety of a charging rhino, was already halfway to your father’s door.
Oh no, he had zero plans to stop—or even slow down, apparently. His long strides made your attempts to grab his arm look like a toddler chasing after their parent in a grocery store. Desperation flared, and you lunged forward, trying to snag his sleeve, his jacket, anything to slow this disaster down.
He didn’t even look back. Just shrugged you off like you were nothing more than an irritating fly buzzing around his shoulder. Your heart dropped into your stomach, and a small, panicked voice in your head screamed, This is fine. Everything is totally fine. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach as you watched in slow-motion as he reached the office door. With a flick of his wrist, Mr. Rogers threw it open. No knocking, no hesitation, just raw, unfiltered audacity of a man who had nothing to fear.
Hot on Mr. Rogers heels, you barely had time to register the scene before your father’s sharp gaze snapped to the intruder, his eyes narrowing with the precision of a laser beam. There was no mistaking that look. You’d seen it before. The 'I’m five seconds away from murdering someone' look.
Fantastic.
“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry!” you blurted, darting in front of Mr. Rogers like a human shield, hands raised as if you could somehow stop this impending disaster with sheer willpower. “I told him to wait! He wouldn’t listen!”
You flashed your father an apologetic smile, though on the inside you were screaming. You’d been here six months, but it was long enough to know that walking into Tony Stark’s office uninvited was a recipe for disaster, but apparently, Mr. Rogers didn’t get the memo. Now, here you were, in the middle of what was shaping up to be the most awkward and terrifying encounter of your professional—and possibly personal—life.
Your heart pounded in your chest, praying that somehow, some way, this wasn’t about to go down as spectacularly as you feared.
Tony raised a hand, the universal Stark signal for “zip it,” effectively stopping you from trying to offer any further damage control. The words you had been about to say died in your throat as his cool, narrowed gaze flicked between you and Mr. Rogers. Your breath stuttered as you watched him lean back in his chair, looking utterly unbothered, the faint smirk on his lips suggesting he was barely impressed by the grand entrance.
“And pry tell, what's so urgent that you barge into my office in the middle of an important meeting, Stevie?” Tony drawled, sounding like someone who’d just been interrupted during a manicure, not in the middle of running a global empire.
Your stomach twisted into a knot, each second stretching out like you were waiting for a bomb to go off. Everything about this moment felt precarious, and one wrong move could send your already-tenuous grip on this job right over the edge. And this job? It wasn’t just about a paycheck. No, this job was your lifeline, your fragile connection to the man who had only recently entered your life in the most Tony Stark way possible: sudden, unexpected, and world-changing.
At 25 closing in on 26, discovering you were the illegitimate daughter of one of the richest men in America had been like finding out you’d won the lottery, but with a catch: everyone who knew about it hated you for it. You could practically feel the word bastard stamped on your forehead, flashing like a neon sign. The judgment from his immediate family, friends, and who knows who else that had been sharp enough to catch on, but Tony? Tony had shrugged, opened the door, and said, “Well, get in here then.” It wasn’t the warmest welcome, but hey, you didn’t expect fireworks.
Tony had taken you in the only way he knew how, Stark-style. A mix of sarcasm, awkward side-hugs, and opportunities that came with strings attached. The news that you weren’t his only surprise offspring, though? That had been a plot twist. Turns out being a playboy leaves quite the trail of… siblings. Half-siblings to be more correct and each and single one of them with their own complicated relationships with your new father. And let’s just say they weren’t exactly rolling out the red carpet for you, no they would most likely rather want to wrap you up in one and drop you down an active volcano.
Yes so, they had all grown up with trust funds, elite schools, and vacations you couldn’t even pronounce, so with that comes a lovely personality, doesn’t it? Meanwhile, you’d been waitressing and scraping by just to make rent. So, when you found out about his existence you had reached out, desperate for something, anything, to connect with him, and he offered you a job as his receptionist to learn the family business, well, who where you to say no? Of course not, you weren’t stupid. Sure, it wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it was a foot in the door. Your climb up the Stark family ladder had officially begun.
But your new siblings and pretty much everyone who knew about your connection to Tony didn’t take you seriously. Why would they? You were the “new one,” the former waitress-turned-receptionist who, in their eyes, was more like a side plot in a movie they didn’t care to watch. You could practically hear the whispers behind your back: "Does she even know how to answer a phone in a place like this?"
But Tony? Tony didn’t seem to give a damn. He didn’t waste time reassuring you or coddling you. Nope, he threw you right into the thick of things with all the subtlety of a Stark Industries missile launch. It was like his version of a weird initiation ritual, sink or swim, kid. And while everyone else was busy deciding if you belonged, Tony just handed you the job, gave a nonchalant shrug, and walked away as if to say, “Well, prove them wrong, or don’t. Up to you.”
And prove yourself, you would. If you didn’t lose your job first, because Mr. Rogers was currently unraveling like a badly knitted sweater.
Your attention snapped back to the present just as Mr. Rogers slammed his fist against Tony’s desk with enough force to rattle the pens. You flinched, but Tony? He didn’t even blink. He just sat there, cool as a cucumber, watching the whole scene unfold like it was his personal soap opera.
“Tony,” Mr. Rogers hissed, his voice rising with every word. “You can’t just—”
“Oh, but I can,” Tony interrupted smoothly, cutting him off with that signature Stark smugness that could make anyone’s blood pressure rise. “It’s literally in the job description.” He waved a hand in the air dismissively, as if Mr. Rogers was just another annoyance on a long list of problems for the day.
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to let out a snort of laughter. Of course, this was business as usual for Tony, and not for the first time, you wondered if he lived for moments like these. Moments when people around him spiraled and he remained the calm, untouchable center of the storm.
But there was something different about this situation. While Tony’s cool, detached demeanor was the usual, there was a subtle shift in the room, a tension creeping in that even you could feel. Mr. Rogers wasn’t just angry, he seemed almost desperate, his agitation ratcheting up by the second. His face was flushed, and you swore you could see a vein throbbing on his forehead.
This wasn’t the first time you’d seen someone lose their cool in front of Tony, but this time, something about it felt off.
That’s when you noticed there was another presence in the room, one you hadn’t noticed at first, probably because your main priority had been sprinting after Mr. Rogers like a panicked intern on their first day. And when that mission crashed and burned spectacularly if you may add, your focus had shifted to the next pressing matter: saving your own arse from your father’s inevitable look of disappointment, the one that felt like a verbal 'I expected nothing, and yet I’m still let down.'
It was only now, in the aftermath of that disaster, that you became aware of her.
Sitting across from your father, legs crossed with the kind of poise that practically radiated authority, was a woman who instantly commanded the room. You sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes landed on her. Dark, crimson curls cascaded over the shoulders of a sleek, tailored suit that fit her like it had been crafted by a team of designers whose sole mission was to make her look untouchable, which honestly seemed like the case. Her long, manicured fingers drummed rhythmically against the armrest, each tap slow and precise, like she was keeping time to some invisible, powerful rhythm.
Your gaze traveled upward, taking in her sharp cheekbones and striking features. When you finally met her eyes—green, piercing, and laser-focused on you—your heart stuttered like it had forgotten how to do its job.
You immediately looked away, feeling the heat crawl up your neck as if you'd just been caught doing something you shouldn’t, which was a ridiculous reaction. But no take backs now. So you forced yourself to stare anywhere else—the wall, the floor, your shoes—anything but her. But it didn’t help; her presence still filled the room like a low-key thunderstorm you hadn’t realized you were standing in the middle of until the first crack of lightning.
But there was nothing that could banish the burning feeling of her gaze and you fought to keep your composure, though your palms were already starting to sweat. Damn it. You risked another glance, and this time, she raised a single eyebrow, a subtle move, but one that sent your heart racing like you'd just sprinted a marathon. Whoever this woman was, she carried the kind of authority that could make grown men feel like schoolchildren. And she knew it.
Meanwhile, Mr. Rogers was still rambling on about whatever had him so worked up, his voice growing louder by the second. But it was all just background noise now, like elevator music. Your attention was firmly split between please don’t let her notice how awkward I am and what in the world is she thinking?
Your father, of course, remained completely unfazed, watching the whole situation with Mr. Rogers unfold with the casual detachment of someone who dealt with this kind of madness on a daily basis. Because, let’s face it, for Tony Stark, this was probably just another Tuesday.
“Mr. Rogers,” Tony interrupted coolly, lifting his hand in a dismissive gesture. His voice was calm but his whole demeanor radiated the type of confidence of someone who was used to getting what he wanted. “I’d suggest you either get to the point or get out of my office. I don’t have time for your melodrama today.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Rogers snapped. “You can’t just keep dodging the issue. People are getting hurt, and you know it.”
Tony didn’t flinch. He simply leaned back further in his chair, a casual flick of his fingers resting on the armrest. His eyes, however, gleamed with that dangerously cool, calculating sharpness that you’d come to recognize. When your father was like this, you knew he was already five steps ahead.
“Steve,” Tony finally said, his voice silky smooth. “I don’t dodge anything. You should know that by now.” He tilted his head slightly, the smirk returning. “But please, go ahead and tell me what I’ve supposedly been dodging. I’m all ears.”
Steve Rogers clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists as he took a deep breath. He glanced briefly at you, the tension between the two men thick enough to cut with a knife, before turning back to Tony.
“Your projects are causing problems,” Rogers snapped. “You’re so caught up in your new tech, but you’re not thinking about the consequences. People are getting hurt in the crossfire, Tony. You can’t keep acting like you’re the only one who matters.”
You blinked, feeling the sharp shift in the air. This wasn’t just about a disagreement. This was personal. You’d seen Tony handle angry businessmen, investors, even government officials with the same indifferent nonchalance. But this—this was different. Rogers wasn’t just angry; he was frustrated, hurt even.
But Tony, as always, was unmoved. He let the silence linger again, staring at Rogers as if he were inspecting a particularly dull object. “And here I thought you’d barged in here because you actually had something important to say,” Tony said, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Tell me, when did you become the moral compass of Stark Industries? Or is this just your latest hobby?”
Mr. Rogers’ face hardened, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk. “This isn’t a joke, Tony. You can’t just brush this off.”
Tony let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Steve, Steve, Steve... always so dramatic." He waved a hand dismissively. "Look, whatever personal vendetta you’ve got cooking right now, it’s not my problem. I’m sure you’ll handle it like the noble Boy Scout you are."
You shifted uncomfortably, sensing that things were escalating fast, and this was the kind of drama you had been desperately trying to avoid. Working for Tony Stark came with its own set of complications but being stuck in the middle of a standoff between him and Mr. Rogers’ was next-level. You weren’t equipped for this.
Mr. Rogers face flushed with frustration. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tony’s eyes flicked to you for a split second, and then back to the man in front of him. “And if my receptionist asks you to wait next time, I’d recommend you listen. She’s here for a reason.”
That sent a jolt through you. Your heart skipped a beat, a strange mix of relief and pride swelling in your chest. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but in Tony Stark’s world, that small acknowledgment was as close to praise as you were going to get.
Mr. Rogers, flustered and clearly out of his depth, clenched his jaw and took a step back. “This isn’t over, Stark,” he muttered, turning sharply on his heel and storming out of the office. You couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, your shoulders loosening just slightly as the door slammed shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to stay or go. But before you could make up your mind, Tony let out a small, amused chuckle, his eyes still fixed on the door. “Well, that was dramatic,” he mused, spinning slowly in his chair to face you. “You alright?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Sorry about that,” you answered, trying to compose yourself.
He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Rogers has a flare for the theatrical, but he’ll come around.” Then, with a smirk, he added, “Besides, you handled it well enough. Could’ve been worse.”
You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Coming from Tony Stark, that was practically a five-star Yelp review, even if you had totally failed to stop Mr. Rogers from bursting into his office like a bull in a china shop. Then again, what were you supposed to do? Tackle the guy? Wrestle him to the ground? Yeah, right. You weren’t exactly built for security detail.
Apparently, your father had come to that conclusion himself, too, because he didn’t seem particularly mad about the whole thing. That, in itself, felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders. Thank God. Crisis averted.
You let yourself savor that momentary victory, the tiniest spark of pride flickering in your chest. But before you truly could bask in it or say something to acknowledge this rare moment of approval, there was a soft, pointed ahem from the other side of your father’s desk.
Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, and Tony’s followed right after, both of you zeroing in on the woman who had been sitting quietly through the whole ordeal. She hadn’t said a word up until now, but her presence? Oh, it was impossible to ignore.
She leaned forward ever so slightly, as if she were the queen and this was her court, her eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and amusement. The silence stretched out for just a beat too long, and you could feel your heartbeat quicken, the energy in the room shifting.
It was clear that she was the kind of woman whose every movement seemed intentional, from the way she crossed her legs to the way her manicured nails had stopped it’s tapping to instead slowly tracing the armrest of the chair in rhythmic strokes. A faint, knowing smile played at the corner of her lips as her gaze flicked from you to your father. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, and for a moment, you swore she was smirking, too.
“And who’s this, Tony?” Her voice was low and smooth, laced with an accent that made every word sound almost sensual. “She looks… familiar.”
Tony’s posture stiffened ever so slightly in his chair, a reaction so subtle, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him like a hawk. His smile faltered for a split second before he recovered, waving a hand in a casual, dismissive gesture. “She’s just one of our receptionists, Wanda,” he explained, the words rolling off his tongue as if they were no big deal. “New hire.”
Your stomach did a dramatic nosedive, and you shot him a look, just one of their receptionists? Really? That’s the story we’re going with now? Sure, Tony had never outright announced to the world that you were his daughter, he wasn’t exactly going to slap a "daddy’s little princess" tiara on your head and throw a parade, but he’d never flat-out denied it either. Yet here he was, reducing you to “new hire” status like you were fetching coffee and sorting mail. Which was actually a part of your job description, but still.
The pang of rejection hit harder than expected, but what really made your stomach twist was the flicker of something in Tony’s eyes when he glanced at Wanda. Was that… concern?
Wanda—yeah, that was her name, though you hadn’t exactly been formally introduced—raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, like she wasn't buying a single word Tony had just said. She didn’t push right away, but the intensity of her gaze shifted back to you, her smile curling just a little wider, like a cat who had all the time in the world to play with its prey. “Is that so?” she drawled, her voice oozing amusement. “How… interesting.”
You held your breath, caught between wanting to disappear through the floor and awkwardly laugh your way through the tension. But Tony who was usually the picture boy of calm and collected, seemed just as on edge as you. What was it about this woman that had him so rattled?
Wanda leaned forward slightly once more, her eyes still fixed on you, and you swallowed nervously. “There’s a resemblance,” she mused aloud, as though she was solving some intricate puzzle. “The eyes… the way she carries herself. Tony, come on. She has to be your daughter.”
The room suddenly felt like it had shrunk to the size of a closet, the air thick with tension and awkwardness. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you could practically feel the walls closing in. Wanda’s presence wasn’t just powerful, it was suffocating, like she was pulling the strings on some invisible puppet show, and you and Tony were the star performer.
And yet, despite everything, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her. Something about Wanda made looking away feel like surrendering. You were stuck, half-expecting her to reveal your entire family history just by staring at you a little longer.
At this point, your brain was in overdrive, thinking, Great, this is going well. First I’m demoted to receptionist, and now I’m being psychoanalyzed by someone who can probably make my brain explode just by looking at me too hard.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Tony shifted in his chair again, the amusement long gone from his face. For the first time since you had met him, there was a flicker of something you didn’t recognize in his eyes, something close to discomfort. “You’re mistaken, Wanda,” he scoffed, his voice clipped, almost defensive. “She’s just an employee.”
Just an employee.
Ouch. That stung more than the last jab at being only 'his receptionist'. Sure, Tony had never exactly been the hug-it-out type, especially not with you. After all, you were a 25-year-old grown woman, it’s not like you expected him to braid your hair and call you pumpkin. And okay, you’d only known each other for close to a year, so it’s not like there was a lifetime of father-daughter bonding to fall back on. But still, you couldn’t deny it hurt.
But the moment Wanda walked into the room, it was like your entire relationship went out the window. He’d practically acted like you were just some receptionist he occasionally forgot to fire, a name on the payroll. You half expected him to introduce you as “Receptionist Number 7.”
It was hard to ignore the pang in your chest, though. You didn’t need grand gestures, no heartfelt speeches or dad-of-the-year moments—but, really? This? In front of her? A woman who was as intimidating as she was gorgeous. That’s just not fair.
Wanda’s smile on the other hand didn’t falter; if anything, it deepened, her eyes glinting with a sharper curiosity. She seemed to be studying every twitch of your expression, as though cataloging your reactions for future use. You could feel her gaze burn through you, and you scrambled to school your features, fighting the urge to fidget under the intensity.
“Interesting,” she murmured again, with what sounded like an almost sultry amusement. This time, her laugh followed, a soft velvety sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, Tony. I wonder what’s changed… why hide it now?”
Tony shot her a look, one that was hard to decipher but definitely wasn’t friendly. There was something behind it, something that felt like a warning, but if Wanda saw it, she didn’t seem bothered by it. In fact, it only seemed to spur her on.
She stood slowly, as though she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how to use it. She glided toward you with a grace that felt almost unnatural, her eyes fixed on your face, never wavering. And each step she took made your pulse thud faster and faster, and by the time she was standing just inches away, her presence was so overwhelming that it felt like the air had thickened, wrapping around you and holding you in place.
Up close, she was even more striking—uncomfortably so. Her features were sharp, elegant, with an ethereal beauty that only seemed to intensify the closer she got. You swallowed hard, trying not to let your gaze wander too obviously, but it was impossible not to notice how the light caught in her crimson waves or the subtle, intoxicating scent of her perfume. Your mind scrambled for something—anything—else to focus on, but your thoughts kept circling back to one thing: she was very close, and you were not prepared.
You tried really hard to appear calm, tried not to show just how much she was getting under your skin, but your brain betrayed you at the worst possible moment. Say something, act normal, do NOT embarrass yourself right now.
But nothing came. You just stood there, your heart pounding in your chest as she leaned in slightly, her eyes dancing with a dangerous glint of curiosity and something darker that made your stomach flip.
“I do recall a time when all you wanted was a daughter, Tony,” she murmured, her voice a low, velvety purr that sent a shiver down your spine. The words were gentle, but the look in her eyes didn’t match her tone at all. There was something predatory in the way she was watching you, something that suggested she was always two steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
Your eyes widened slightly, your brain scrambling for a witty response to break the tension, but the best you could manage was a nervous laugh, which escaped before you could stop it.
Fantastic, I sound like an awkward teenager meeting their celebrity crush, you thought bitterly.
“Uh... what... really?” you blurted out making the situation ten times worse, your voice carried hopeful lilt that you immediately regretted. The words hung in the air like a flashing neon sign, too eager, too revealing. The hopeful smile that had crept onto your face vanished the second you realized what you’d just done. You didn’t need to look at Tony to know you’d made a mistake.
But the damage was done.
Tony’s grimace was unmistakable, his jaw tightening as he shot you a look that screamed seriously? Your words had given Wanda exactly what she was fishing for, a confirmation, plain as day, that you were his daughter. The very thing Tony had been carefully sidestepping was now laid out for her, thanks to your accidental slip.
And Wanda... oh, Wanda knew it. Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, one that sent a wave of heat up your neck and made your stomach churn. She didn’t need to say a word. The glint in her eyes was enough to tell you she had won this little game without lifting a finger.
Tony’s expression darkened, a flicker of frustration passing over his face. He didn’t need to say it out loud, you knew you’d just made things infinitely more complicated. And the worst part? You couldn’t take it back. Not now.
Wanda’s gaze lingered on you, her amusement palpable as she glanced back at Tony with a quiet triumph. “Well,” she purred, her voice smooth and teasing, “I suppose that answers my question.”
You could feel Tony’s silent groan from where you stood, his annoyance practically radiating off him. He shot you a look—sharp, reprimanding, but restrained. This wasn’t the time for lectures, but you could tell there’d be words exchanged later.
The air in the room seemed to thicken even more as Wanda’s gaze locked onto you again, her smile soft yet edged with something unmistakably dangerous. “You’re such a pretty little thing,” she said softly, while her fingers brushed lightly under your chin. The touch was brief, but still it managed to send a ripple through your veins, making your heart dance. You couldn’t tell if she was being complimentary or if this was some kind of veiled power play.
Her smile widened, eyes glinting with a knowing look as she tilted her head slightly. “A trait you clearly inherited from your mother,” she continued, her voice dripping with amusement, “and not your father.” Her eyes flicked over to Tony, lingering there, a challenge simmering beneath her words.
You were frozen, unsure whether to feel flattered by her attention or absolutely terrified by the undertones.
Probably both.
“Wanda,” Tony said, his voice sharp, like a blade cutting through the charged silence. His earlier nonchalance evaporated, replaced by something harder. “That’s enough.”
The warmth drained from the room entirely, and whatever amusement had been hanging in the air was obliterated in an instant. Wanda didn’t flinch or pull back, but you could feel the tension between them, crackling like static. Her smile remained, but it had turned razor-sharp, a silent challenge in the curve of her lips.
Your heart pounded in your chest, the thudding so loud you wondered if she could hear it too. For a split second, you swore she might reach out and touch you again, the air between you almost crackling with anticipation. But, to your surprise—or maybe disappointment, or relief—you weren’t sure which—she didn’t. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment before dropping back to her side, and her piercing gaze slid away from you like it had never been there in the first place.
Instead, she turned her attention back to Tony, who had been watching the whole exchange with a look that could only be described as... protective? You blinked. Tony Stark, the king of sarcasm and emotional distance, was staring at you like he was ready to launch a missile if this conversation took a wrong turn.
That was new. And unsettling. But mostly, it left you wondering just what kind of game was being played here, and why, suddenly, you felt like the pawn.
Wanda’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It must be difficult,” she said, her tone casual, but her words heavy with something more cutting. “Having so many children. I wonder how you keep track.”
Tony’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Wanda let the silence stretch out for a moment longer, clearly enjoying the tension. Then, with one last lingering glance at you, she stepped back and turned toward the door. “Well, it’s been a pleasure like always, Tony,” she said lightly, but there was something in her tone that made the hair at the back of your neck stand. “I’ll be seeing you again very soon, I’m sure.”
And just like that, she was gone, the door clicking softly behind her.
The moment she left, the air in the room seemed to shift, like a storm had just passed. You finally exhaled, your shoulders slumping as the tension bled out of your body. Tony let out a slow, exasperated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closing for a brief moment as if he was trying to compose himself. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came.
Finally, Tony broke the silence. His voice was low, almost a growl. “You realize what you just did, right?”
You flinched slightly, not because his tone was particularly harsh, but because the disappointment behind it was unmistakable. “I—yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to... I just—” you stammered nervously, searching for some kind of explanation, but everything sounded lame even as you said it.
Tony’s eyes opened, and he looked at you with a hard stare, one eyebrow raised. “Let me guess—your brain decided to take a little vacation the second she got close?”
You swallowed, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I panicked,” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “She was… intimidating.”
Tony snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Wanda’s more than intimidating. She’s dangerous. And you just handed her exactly what she wanted.”
Your heart sank at his words, the gravity of the situation crashing down on you. “I really screwed that up, didn’t I?”
He didn’t even make an effort to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, kid, you did.”
You winced instantly with a frown. It wasn’t like you didn’t know that already, but hearing him say it out loud just made it worse. “I didn’t realize she would—I mean, how could she—”
Tony cut you off, raising a hand. “Wanda’s not someone you can hide things from. She’s... perceptive. Doesn’t take much for her to read between the lines, and you gave her more than she needed.”
Your mind flashed back to the moment Wanda stood so close to you, her eyes locking onto yours with that eerie intensity. There was no way you could have hidden anything from her, not when she was looking at you like that. You still felt rattled from it, like you’d been under some sort of spell. The whole encounter had left you feeling exposed, vulnerable.
“I didn’t think she’d figure it out so fast,” you muttered, trying to make sense of how quickly things had spiraled.
Tony leaned forward in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Wanda’s not like the others. She’s sharp—and yeah, she can be charming when she wants, but it’s not just charm. She’s calculating. When she asked if you were my daughter, she already knew the answer. You just confirmed it for her.”
You bit your lip, feeling foolish. Of course she knew. Wanda had been playing you both from the start, and you’d walked right into it. “So what happens now? Is this… bad?”
Tony sighed again, leaning back in his chair, his expression a little softer now. “It’s not good, but it’s not the end of the world, either. Wanda’s not out to hurt us—at least, not directly. But now she knows, and that changes things.”
“Changes things how?” you asked, not quite sure you wanted to know the answer.
Tony was quiet for a moment, his gaze far away as if he was weighing the situation in his mind. “Wanda’s got her own agenda,” he said finally, his tone careful. “She’s not one to play nice just because we are currently in business. She’ll use whatever she can to her advantage, and now that she knows about you… she’s got leverage.”
Your stomach twisted at the word. Leverage. You didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.
“So… what do I do? How do I fix this?” you asked, hoping there was some kind of solution you could offer.
Tony’s expression softened a fraction, and for the first time since Wanda had left, he looked more like your father than the untouchable Tony Stark everyone else knew. “You don’t fix it. Not now. What’s done is done.” He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a kind of seriousness that made your chest tighten. “But you be careful. Around her. Around anyone who comes sniffing around. You’re in a different game now, kid, and people like Wanda… they don’t play fair.”
You swallowed hard. It was strange, this whole new world you’d stepped into, a world where power plays and mind games were more common than actual conversations. You had known it wouldn’t be easy being part of Tony Stark’s life, but now it felt more like navigating a minefield than anything else.
You nodded, more to yourself than to him. “Got it. I’ll be careful.”
Tony studied you for a moment, as if deciding whether to push the point further, but then he gave a small nod. “Good.”
The silence stretched on for a few moments, the tension finally beginning to dissipate. Tony leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms as he eyed you. “And next time, maybe think before you speak?”
A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “Yeah, I’ll work on that.”
Tony’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was still an edge to his expression. “Good. Now get back to work, and try not to let any more women get into your head today.”
You gave him a mock salute, grateful for the slight break in tension. “I’ll do my best.”
As you headed back to your desk, you tried to shake away the feeling of Wanda's eyes and touch. Yeah, you wanted no part in what ever that was.