Orion’s lips twitched in a faint smile, the kind that said he knew something Tony didn’t. “Appreciate the concern,” he said lightly. “But I’m not worried. And as a thank-you for keeping this little chat between us, I’ll offer you some advice.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Advice? From you? This ought to be good.”

Orion’s smile faded, his tone dropping to something far more serious. “Trust your instincts. Someone out there’s trying to pull your strings. The real question is, can you see them before they tighten the knot?”

A chill ran down Tony’s spine. His brain, ever the overachiever, was already spinning through possibilities. “What are you talking about?”

Orion didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced up at the stars, as if they might weigh in on the conversation. “That little incident with your kidnapping... think about it. Sometimes the smallest trash can cause the biggest mess.”

Tony stared at him, his irritation mounting alongside his curiosity. “How the hell do you know about that?”

Orion shrugged. “It’s not hard to figure out. But, like I said—trust your instincts.”

Before Tony could press further, Orion turned and headed back toward the ballroom. Tony watched him go, every instinct screaming that there was more to this guy than he let on. But for now, the mystery would have to wait. Back inside, Orion made a beeline for the buffet, his movements unhurried, as if dropping cryptic advice and throwing shade at billionaires was just another Tuesday.

Tony, meanwhile, found himself gravitating toward the bar, his mind still buzzing. He ordered a drink, more to buy himself a moment of quiet than anything else. Of course, peace was short-lived. Coulson appeared at his side, his polite smile back in place. “Mr. Stark, about that question earlier—”

“Strategic Homeland, uh… what was it again?” Tony interrupted, feigning forgetfulness.

“Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support,” Coulson recited with the patience of a kindergarten teacher. “Yes, that’s us.”

“Yeah, you guys need to work on that name,” Tony muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

“We get that a lot,” Coulson said with a small chuckle. “But about those shares—”

Tony held up a hand. “Let me guess—you want to talk in private too? Is this a trend tonight? Should I book a conference room?”

Coulson’s smile stayed intact, though it gained a slightly strained edge. “Just trying to get some clarity on a few things.”

Tony sighed dramatically, already walking away. “Let’s talk later. Let me track down my secretary first. She’s the one who keeps my life from falling apart.”

At the Stark Industries charity gala, Tony Stark, clad in his signature tuxedo that screamed “rich and knows it,” casually sidestepped another boring conversation with a hedge fund manager who had opinions on jet fuel efficiency. With a quick excuse about needing a refill, Tony meandered through the glittering crowd, heading toward the buffet—and more importantly, toward Pepper Potts. His ever-efficient and ever-stunning secretary was already handling a dozen things at once, but Tony's sharp gaze flicked past her to the real show of the evening.

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Orion Voss. The man of the hour—or maybe just the man of the buffet. Orion, a newcomer to the upper crust with a bank account as mysterious as his backstory, was in the middle of what could only be described as a feeding frenzy. The guy was devouring the gourmet spread like it was his last meal, with a level of enthusiasm that bordered on cinematic. Tony stopped in his tracks, momentarily dumbfounded.

Sure, charity events were Tony’s bread and butter. Schmooze, donate a chunk of change, and enjoy the free drinks. It was all routine. But for Orion? This seemed like his Super Bowl, and instead of networking with the elite crowd, he was going full throttle at the food. Plate after plate vanished as Tony watched with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Is there something particularly fascinating about Mr. Voss, or are you just hungry?” Pepper asked, sliding up beside him with her trademark raised eyebrow of skepticism.

“Not hungry, just... observing,” Tony replied, though his gaze lingered on Orion’s frankly Herculean effort to demolish what had to be four tables’ worth of haute cuisine. “Is he carbo-loading for a triathlon or something?”

Pepper smirked. “Maybe he’s just efficient. Or... eccentric.”

“Eccentric? That’s my shtick,” Tony muttered. But then his tone shifted, just slightly. “Didn’t Coulson seem... unusually interested in him?”

Pepper nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. “He did mention Orion earlier, but you know Coulson—cryptic as ever. Think there’s more to the guy?”

Tony didn’t answer immediately, his mind spinning. Coulson’s casual inquiries about Voss during their last chat suddenly felt less casual. The man was good at hiding his cards, but prioritizing Orion over Tony Stark? That stung a little.

“I’m probably just overthinking it,” Tony said finally, trying to sound breezy but failing spectacularly. “By the way Pep can you confirm something for me?”

Pepper replied “Sure, but how about some fresh air? Balcony’s empty.”

Tony agreed, it’s better to talk about it outside. But as he and Pepper moved toward the glass doors, he stole one last glance at Orion. The guy hadn’t even noticed them leave. He was too busy polishing off what looked like an entire roast duck. If gluttony was a faux pas, Orion didn’t seem to care.

Meanwhile, Orion was in his element—or at least, an element that involved consuming as many energy as humanly possible. Every bite added to his tally, and his focus was laser-sharp. The murmurs around him didn’t faze him. He didn’t care about the judgmental glances or whispered remarks from the assembled one-percenters. His goal wasn’t blending in; it was optimizing.

The whispers grew louder. Women, initially intrigued by Orion’s mysterious aura and good looks, now looked more baffled than impressed. “Where is he putting it all?” one of them muttered as Orion systematically demolished an entire seafood tower. The men weren’t much kinder, though their disapproval was tinged with envy. Orion was the classic “new money” archetype—rich, unpolished, and completely unapologetic about it.

A few of the more insecure ones huddled together, their egos bruised and their drinks untouched.

“How do we take him down a notch?” one murmured.

“Everyone has a weakness,” another muttered, though his tone suggested he was trying to convince himself.

But Orion was annoyingly bulletproof. No embarrassing scandals, no shady deals, no skeletons in his closet—at least none they could find. His investments? Rock solid. Most of his fortune was tied up in Stark Industries, which was about as attack-proof as you could get. After all, who in their right mind would go after Tony Stark?

As if on cue, Orion spotted Tony himself standing on the steps outside, looking uncharacteristically somber. Tony Stark, the man who made billion-dollar deals before breakfast, was staring into the middle distance like someone who’d just realized their coffee order was wrong.

“Trust your instincts,” Orion said casually as he strolled past.

Tony looked up, his expression a mix of frustration and grudging acknowledgment. “You were right,” he admitted, his voice tinged with bitterness. “But Obadiah… he’s been like a father to me. I didn’t want to believe it.”

Orion stopped, his gaze steady. “Betrayal hurts the most when it comes from someone you trust. But if you already know the truth, what’s the point of second-guessing yourself?”