At a private airport in New York, Tony’s iconic Boeing 747 “Sky Palace” gleamed silver under the sun.
When Shaun Vance stepped out of the car, Karla stepped out from the other side with her arm wrapped around his.
She wore a burgundy backless gown, her blonde hair styled in deep waves, her red lips striking and alluring.
Jessica followed behind in a light blue cocktail dress that reached her knees, nervously clutching its hem.
“Well, well, you finally made it!”
Tony stood beneath the air stairs in a flashy white suit, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head.
He opened his arms wide.
“Five minutes later, buddy, and I would’ve told Happy to close the hatch and take off.”
Shaun walked over.
Skipping the hug, he looked Tony up and down.
“You look good—finally look like a living person instead of someone who just took a day pass from the morgue.”
“Ha!” Tony dismissed it easily, lifting his arm to sniff his sleeve.
“All Pepper’s doing!
Thanks to her, I don’t have to play ‘Frozen Superhero’ twenty-four hours a day anymore.”
Just then, Pepper walked over, accompanied by Natasha.
Pepper wore a champagne-colored business suit today, walking steadily in her heels.
Natasha followed half a step behind her in a fitted black skirt suit, her hair styled in an elegant updo and her makeup sharp and refined.
“Shaun, welcome,” Pepper said with a smile, then looked at Karla and Jessica.
“You two look gorgeous today.”
“Thank you, Ms.
Potts,” Karla replied with charming grace.
Jessica blushed and nodded.
“Let’s get on board,” Tony clapped his hands.
“The Monaco sunshine is waiting!”
The interior of the plane was outrageously luxurious.
Leather sofas, a marble bar, and even a small theater screen.
Tony popped open a bottle of champagne and poured a glass for everyone.
“Six hours total,” he said, raising his glass.
“We can have two rounds of drinks, catch a nap, and then—bam!
Touch down in Monte Carlo!”
Jessica held her glass, her eyes wide as she looked around the cabin.
Karla leaned against Shaun’s shoulder, lazily sipping her drink.
Natasha sat next to Pepper with a tablet in hand, occasionally swiping the screen while unobtrusively taking in everyone in the room.
Unburdened by palladium poisoning like he had been in the original timeline, Tony launched into a non-stop brag fest about his “exploits” in Monaco the previous year as soon as the plane took off.
Yacht parties, casino triumphs, and a certain princess.
Shaun chimed in occasionally, mostly content to listen.
Six hours later, the plane landed at Nice Airport.
After transferring to a helicopter, they arrived in Monaco ten minutes later.
Monte Carlo.
The small Mediterranean city was buzzing with wild energy over the F1 Grand Prix.
Team flags hung along both sides of the streets, superyachts crammed the harbor, and the air smelled of gasoline and champagne.
Inside the VIP banquet hall next to the main venue, crystal chandeliers dazzled the eyes.
Tony became the center of attention the moment he walked in.
Flashes popped, and socialites surrounded him with raised glasses.
He handled them with effortless grace, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
“Natalie,” Tony said to Natasha, “show Karla and Jessica around, get them settled in.”
Natasha nodded with a smile.
“Of course, Mr.
Stark.”
Once the three women walked away, Pepper answered a call, her brows furrowing.
“Company files, urgent.
I need to take care of this.”
She found a quiet sofa in the corner and opened her tablet.
That left Shaun and Tony as the only two idle people.
The two leaned against the bar.
Tony swirled his drink, scanning the room.
“See the one over there in the purple sequin dress?” Tony lowered his voice.
“Paris Fashion Week, Hungarian model.
Tiny waist, long legs, and best of all…
incredible flexibility.”
Shaun took a sip of whiskey.
“Tried her out?”
“Two nights,” Tony raised his brows proudly.
“Nearly wrecked the hotel suite.”
Both men chuckled.
Tony pointed toward another spot.
“See that bald guy in the white suit?
Big Silicon Valley VC.
The Asian girl next to him says she’s his assistant, but actually…”
He gave an understanding gesture.
“Word is she’s incredible in bed, especially when it comes to head…”
Shaun raised an eyebrow.
“You tried her too?”
“No,” Tony put on a straight face.
“But a friend did.
He said…”
“Alright, alright,” Shaun cut him off.
“What about that one over there?”
Leaning on the bar, they acted like a couple of high schoolers rating the women walking by.
Tony had all the gossip down pat—who was which billionaire’s mistress, who had what strange quirks in bed, and who had just gotten divorced and walked away with billions.
Mid-conversation, Tony suddenly nudged Shaun with his elbow.
“Look over there.
Hammer.”
Shaun looked over.
Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries—Stark Industries’ primary rival—was being interviewed by a blonde female reporter.
The woman was in her early thirties, wearing a white skirt suit.
Her smile was professional, but her eyes held a seductive glint.
“Christine Everhart, *Vanity Fair*.”
Tony lowered his voice, tone laced with bragging,
“In bed…
tsk tsk, absolute top-tier.
Trust me, buddy, one night and you’ll never forget it.”
Shaun smirked.
“If I try her out, wouldn’t that make us Eskimo brothers?”
Tony blinked, then caught on and gave him a wicked grin, bumping Shaun’s shoulder.
“My man!
Great taste!”
Just then, Christine noticed Tony mid-interview.
Her eyes lit up.
She quickly whispered something to Hammer and walked briskly over.
Left hanging, Hammer’s face stiffened, his fingers tightening around his champagne glass.
However, he quickly adjusted his expression and followed her over.
“Tony!” Christine gave a radiant smile.
“What a surprise.
I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
“Christine.” Tony raised his glass to her.
“This is Shaun Vance, my buddy and owner of the most mysterious restaurant in New York.”
Christine immediately turned to Shaun, a touch more seriousness in her eyes.
“Mr.
Vance, a pleasure.
Any friend of Tony’s is a friend of mine.”
The two exchanged business cards.
“Dragon Pavilion?” Christine tucked the card away.
“If I get the chance, I’ll definitely visit in New York.”
Hammer elbowed his way in.
“Tony!
And…
Mr.
Vance, was it?
Justin Hammer, Hammer Industries.”
Tony gave a perfunctory nod.
“Yeah, yeah, hi.”
Hammer opened his mouth to say more, but Pepper walked over.
Having just finished reviewing her documents, her face still carried a tinge of work-weariness.
Seeing Christine standing beside Tony, her smile didn’t waver, but her eyes cooled by a degree.
“Christine, long time no see.” Pepper shook her hand with a measured grip.
“Ms.
Potts, congratulations on your promotion to CEO.”
“Thank you.” Pepper turned to Tony, her tone smooth and natural.
“The president of the racing association is looking for you about the team’s introduction.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Without taking no for an answer, Pepper took Tony’s arm and led him away in another direction.
Tony looked back and winked at Shaun.
Shaun chuckled and nodded to Christine and Hammer.
“Excuse me, I need to go find my dates.”
He turned and left, leaving Hammer trying to flatter Christine while her eyes remained fixed on Tony’s departing figure.
Shaun located Karla and Jessica in a corner of the banquet hall.
Jessica was taking photos of an ice sculpture, while Karla leaned lazily against a pillar with a glass in hand.
“Having fun?” Shaun walked up to them.
“Boss!” Jessica said excitedly.
“I just saw Schumacher!
He was pretty far away, but it was definitely him!”
Karla chuckled softly.
“The little girl is thrilled out of her mind.”
Shaun was about to reply when Tony suddenly popped up beside him.
Throwing an arm over Shaun’s shoulder, he lowered his voice secretively.
“Hey, buddy, wanna be a real F1 driver for a day?”
“What?”
“Right now!” Tony’s eyes sparkled.
“I’ve set it up—we’re replacing two of the drivers.”
“You can pull that off?”
Tony wriggled his fingers with a smirk.
“The superpower of extreme wealth—it makes anything possible.”
Shaun gave it a brief thought.
According to the original plot, Whiplash would attack Tony on the race track.
If he was on the track too…
“Sure,” he nodded.
“Count me in.”
Twenty minutes later, in the pit garages.
Two teams—the Tony-sponsored “Stark Industries Racing Team” and another British team—simultaneously announced last-minute driver substitutions.
The official reason given: “Sudden illness of the drivers.”
In reality, Tony had cut eight-figure checks to both team principals and the two displaced drivers.
Shaun changed into a red-and-white racing suit and settled into the narrow cockpit.
Tony’s voice came through the helmet comms: “Ready, buddy?”
“Anytime.”
“Remember, we’re not here to win,” Tony laughed.
“We’re here to look cool.”
On the starting grid, twenty F1 cars roared to life.
Shaun lined up in eighth position, while Tony was fifth.
The other drivers darted strange glances at them—two billionaires coming out to play driver for a lark?
The green lights flashed on!
Engines roared as the race cars shot forward.
Shaun’s driving skills obviously couldn’t compare to professional drivers, but he possessed superhuman reaction speed and body control.
For the first few laps, he held a steady pace in the middle of the pack.
On lap three, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
No, not truly closing his eyes, but sensing.
Threads of gravity.
Invisible lines of gravity were wrapped around every single race car.
Shaun’s consciousness extended outward like tentacles, locking onto the drive systems of all eighteen other race cars.
Half-shafts, connecting rods, gears…
With a subtle flick of his mind:
Gravitational overload, structural embrittlement.
Extremely subtle, extremely stealthy.
Like tossing a tiny pinch of sand into precision machinery.
On lap five, the first car suddenly slowed down, blue smoke billowing from its right rear tire.
Cursing, the driver limped back to the pit lane.
On lap six, two cars suffered failures simultaneously—one had a jammed gearbox, while the other snapped a driveshaft.
On lap seven, three more went down.
The TV commentator was bewildered: “Unbelievable!
This is a mass mechanical failure unprecedented in F1 history!
Is there debris on the track?
Or is it a supplier quality control issue?”
By lap ten, only two cars were left on the track.
Tony and Shaun.
Tony laughed over the team radio.
“Buddy, what kind of luck do you have?
They all retired on their own!”
Shaun looked in his rearview mirror at the empty track and smiled.
It wasn’t luck.
It was clearing the field.
There was no need to let these innocent drivers suffer collateral damage in the upcoming disaster.
Monte Carlo circuit, the hairpin turn.
The two cars swept through one after the other, their engines echoing through the canyon-like streets.
In the grandstands, spectators stood up.
The race had turned into an exhibition show between two billionaires.
In the banquet hall, Pepper frowned.
“What is Tony up to…”
Natasha stood behind her, her sharp gaze fixed on the race track.
In another private box, Justin Hammer held his wine glass, his eyes unblinking behind his spectacles.
Just then.
A tall figure dressed in a mechanic’s uniform pushed through the barrier and stepped into the middle of the track.
With his back to the stands, he ripped open his jacket.
A crude metal harness wrapped around his torso, featuring a white-glowing circular ring in the center.
A knockoff Arc Reactor.
He turned around, pulling two long metal whips from behind his back.
Blinding blue-white electrical arcs hissed and crackled along the whips, illuminating his stubble-covered face and crazed eyes.
Ivan Vanko.
Whiplash.
“Tony Stark!” he roared in Russian.
“Everything your father stole…
today you pay it back!”
Tony’s car was hurtling toward him at two hundred kilometers per hour.
Whiplash sneered, swinging both whips.
*Zzzzt—BOOM!!!*
A horizontal lash laced with high-voltage electrical arcs tore through the air, striking the red race car’s body viciously!
The sound of rending metal was deafening.
The side of Tony’s car was slashed wide open, sparks erupting as the tires locked up.
Losing control, the car spun into the barrier with a loud *BANG*, tumbling and coming to a halt as heavy smoke poured out.
A hush fell over the entire crowd for a brief second.
And then—
Screams erupted!
The live broadcast cameras zoomed in frantically, capturing the terrifying scene.
The commentator babbled incoherently: “My God…
what happened…
is that a weapon?!”
In the banquet hall, Pepper jumped up, her face pale as a sheet.
“Tony!”
Natasha was already pulling out her phone.
On the other side, Hammer’s breathing grew rapid.
He stared intently at the reactor on Whiplash’s chest and at those two wildly arc-flashing whips.
Behind his glasses, his eyes glowed with intense excitement and greed.
“Reactor technology…” he muttered to himself.
“It’s not exclusive to Stark anymore…
A talent!
This is the kind of talent Hammer Industries needs!”