(April 3rd, 7:09am– Bellingham Penthouse)
Tony woke up with sunlight in his eyes and war in his chest.
It was a the 3rd day of the new month, but he couldn't care less
It took him three full seconds to remember where he was.
Five to remember who he had to pretend to be.
(Everything was finally getting to him.)
The ceiling above him was painted in shadows, geometric light slicing through the slatted blinds. He turned his head slowly. The pillow beside him was untouched. A king-sized bed. But always only one occupant.
His chest ached—not physically, not quite. It was the slow-burning type of ache. The one that didn't come from bruises or wounds but from pressure that never lifted.
"You're the heir now."
The words echoed in his skull like a verdict.
"You have to be him. You will be him"
He sat up.
The covers fell from his bare chest, and he ran a hand over his face. Rough against his palm. His fingers trembled slightly. Not from fear. No, never fear. He told himself that lie enough times to almost believe it.
(Was he breaking?)
He stood, dragging a hoodie over his head and ignoring the discarded blazer on the chair—a remnant from two nights ago. Alina's laughter still echoed somewhere in the far corner of his mind. Too soft. Too human. It shouldn't have mattered. It did.
(Harem-master strikes again!!!!)
The penthouse was quiet. But it was never empty. Not really.
As he stepped into the hallway, bare feet cold against the marble, he passed the kitchen. The smell of black tea lingered. Aaron had been awake. Of course he had. Probably before the sun rose.
"Does he ever sleep?"
(Duh???? I'm sure he does! Humans sleep)
Tony didn't ask the question aloud.
He didn't need to. Maybe if he did...
In the living room, the chessboard was reset.
He paused.
A small tick went off in his brain. That was Aaron, again. Always returning the pieces to their starting positions. Always restoring the illusion of order.
(That was his job, but this time...)
The order wasn't real.
Tony moved a single pawn forward, disrupting the symmetry.
Then walked away.
(His inner Monologue Begins:)
He hated mornings like this.
When the world looked too clean. Too fake. As if that night hadn't ever happened.
But it had.
He remembered the way Alina looked at him last night. As if he wasn't a Bellingham. As if he was… Tony. Just Tony.
No one had looked at him that way since—
"Don't."
He shut the door on that thought like slamming a vault. But the memory clawed through the cracks.
His father.
His mother.
That hallway.
That moment
The panic attack.
His knees had buckled under the weight of a ghost. He had seen Aaron's face then, stoic as ever. Not judging. Not pitying. Just… there.
(Aaron could never judge or pity Tony.)
That moment had broken something inside him—and stitched something else in its place.
He walked toward the inner study, his, technically. A room he rarely used.
(The real Tony rarely used it too)
The door was slightly open
He stopped.
Strange. Aaron never leaves doors open
He pushed it more.
The screen on his terminal was dark, but he could see the faint imprint of recent use. A warmth on the keyboard.
His breath caught.
He glanced at the corner drawer.
Closed.
Locked.
But he knew Aaron had been in here. He always knew.
A silent understanding between them—Aaron protected the empire from the outside in.
While Tony?
He was expected to protect it from the inside out.
Even if it was eating him alive.
(Dude is so strong)
He collapsed into the leather chair.
His fingers hovered above the keys.
He didn't type.
He just stared at his reflection in the screen.
Messy silver hair. Shadowed eyes. His red eyes shining brighter than ever. A face the world expected to mold into a weapon.
"They want my father's roar. But I only have whispers and claws."
A soft beep.
His phone lit up on the desk.
Message from Clara:
"Are you free for breakfast today?
Something came up."
He didn't answer immediately.
Clara was smart—too smart. And lately, too curious.
She had that glint in her eye again.
She'd once told him, laughing:
"I can smell a lie the way sharks smell blood."
He wondered what she smelled on him now. She knows the truth after all.
(I still need to figure out how she knew?)
He typed a short reply.
> "Meet me at Café Noir. One hour."
He added a smile emoji. Deleted it. Re-added it. Deleted it again.
Then tossed the phone onto the desk and leaned back, exhaling sharply.
For a moment, he thought of Mia. He hadn't seen her since the Clara cafe incident. He kinda missed her.
(Who wouldn't miss a gem like her.)
Then it happened
Flash Memory: His previous life
He was twelve.
His mother's room. A storm outside.
Books everywhere. Shouts.
The last thing he remembered from that night was the sound of something glass breaking—and his mom's voice, warm and loving:
"You will have to learn to walk like a king or crawl like a disappointment. I believe in you to make the right decision."
Tony had crawled that night.
And learned to walk the next day.
But he never forgot the feel of that cold tile floor beneath his knees.
Now, ten years later, he still sometimes woke up with the phantom feel of it on his skin.
He hadn't seen his mom since this reborn incident happened.
"Mom! I miss you. I promise I'll get you"
Tony's Thoughts Shift – Alina
He thought about Alina again.
About the way she challenged him. Not out of rebellion, but out of instinct.
She didn't flirt to manipulate him like others did.
She questioned.
And she stayed.
That was dangerous.
But it was also…
He stopped himself again.
Alina was a problem. One wrapped in perfume and fire and a stubborn refusal to treat him like royalty.
And maybe—maybe that was what made her feel so human to him.
He stood, stretched, and cracked his neck.
Then walked back into the hallway.
Aaron wasn't in sight.
But Tony knew he was nearby. Always nearby.
Watching. Calculating.
And if he wasn't mistaken, last night had triggered something. Aaron had that look in his eye again—the one that said plans were moving.
Tony paused by the hall mirror.
Looked into his own eyes.
Really looked.
"Who are you today, Tony?"
"The boy who failed?"
"The man who fakes?"
"The heir they're all betting on?"
He ran a thumb over the scar on his collarbone.
A gift from a the different night. A darker chapter. One he wasn't ready to recall again.
Not yet.
Tony Opens The Vault App
He returned to his study and booted up the secure app Aaron had left on the system months ago.
It wasn't flashy.
It didn't even have a name.
Just a blinking black triangle that said"
"GHOSTS ARE READY"
He clicked it.
A login screen appeared.
He entered the code.
Tony froze.
He hadn't started this. Dent did
Tony sat slowly.
His fingers trembled slightly, not with fear—but with anticipation.
The ghosts are ready.
Which means the enemies are, too.
He stood, went to the window, and looked down at the city below.
London shimmered like a crown of daggers.
He pressed a palm to the glass.
"You started this, Dent…"
"…then I guess it's my turn to play."
---
He picked up his phone again.
Typed a second message—this one brief and simple
To: ***
Message: Let's Meet Up, I'll send you the address!
He didn't wait for a response.
He didn't need to.
The war had already started
He had just stopped pretending he wasn't part of it.
(That was part of his plan, and it was working.)