Chapter Forty-Five: The Banquet

Michael opened the car door for Gwen, then climbed into the driver’s seat himself and greeted George. George waved his hand, signaling that they could go. Watching the car drive away, he couldn’t help but sigh, thinking how wonderful it was to be young.

The two of them soon arrived at Stark Industries, which was already surrounded by crowds. But their goal wasn’t to stand outside with everyone else. Producing their invitations, the security guards quickly led them inside the company.

They wandered through the halls, but didn’t catch sight of the star of the evening.

“Tony Stark doesn’t seem to be here,” Gwen remarked.

Michael nodded in agreement. “How do you think he’ll make his entrance?”

Gwen considered for a moment. “I’m not sure. How do you think he’ll show up?”

Michael smirked. “I bet he’ll come crashing down from the sky, land right in the middle of the event, deliver a passionate speech, then push through a mob of fans backstage, and finally roar into the main hall in a sports car.”

“That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Gwen was a little surprised. Did the wealthy really enjoy flaunting their whims like this?

“Care to make a bet on it?”

Seeing Michael’s mischievous grin, Gwen shook her head without hesitation. “No bet.”

As the two chatted, Iron Man descended from the sky. Mechanical arms assisted Tony out of his suit, and then he launched into his speech.

Afterward, Tony played a video of his father’s vision for the future and announced that the upcoming “Stark Expo” would last an entire year, with free admission for elites from every industry.

Tony pulled out a small device, his expression troubled as he studied the display. “Blood toxicity level: nineteen percent.”

Having announced the year-long Expo and encouraged everyone to celebrate, Tony Stark slipped out the back.

“It’s chaos out there. Careful, Tony.”

Happy did his best to shield Tony from the frenzied fans, but Tony complicated things by stopping to sign autographs for children as they walked.

Finally, they made it out from backstage. Happy breathed a sigh of relief and excitedly introduced something to Tony.

“Look at this—brand new car!”

Tony gestured toward the beautiful woman standing next to the vehicle. “Is she part of the package?”

“Let’s hope so,” Happy joked.

“And you are?” Tony asked, out of courtesy. He knew he’d forget her name almost instantly; even if they met again, he’d probably fail to recall.

The woman smiled. “Marshal, Ireland.”

“Nice to meet you.” Tony turned to Happy. “Can I drive?”

“Of course.”

Once seated in the passenger seat, Tony looked back at Ireland. “Is there something you need?”

“Serving a summons.” Ireland produced a court summons and handed it to Tony, who didn’t accept it. Happy, sensing the moment, took it instead. “He doesn’t like taking things from others. I’ll hold on to it.”

“Yes, it’s a quirk of mine,” Tony admitted, resigned. The thing he’d been dreading had arrived. Here he was, fighting for world peace, yet there was always a parade of fools trying to trip him up or take advantage.

“You’re required to appear before the Senate Armed Services Committee by nine o’clock tomorrow.”

Tony frowned, then as if remembering something, asked, “May I see your credentials?”

“You like checking IDs that much?” Ireland teased.

Tony thought to himself: No, I really don’t. I’m starting to develop a phobia about these things.

Ireland displayed her identification for him. It appeared legitimate, but Tony was thoroughly annoyed.

The two then drove to the main hall, where Pepper was already eagerly awaiting them.

“Hey, Tony.”

“I’m not late, am I, Potts?”

“Not at all.”

Tony linked arms with Pepper, and together they walked inside.

“By the way, has that genius biochemist arrived?”

Because Tony had taken note of him, Pepper had too. “He’s here. I saw him come in with a girl.”

“Let’s go find him.”

Gwen glanced at Michael. “I see Tony just came in.”

With her extraordinary eyesight and hearing, Gwen easily spotted Tony entering through the main doors.

“So he’s here. Big deal,” Michael replied, unconcerned.

Gwen looked at him, puzzled. “Why are we here, anyway?”

“To attend the banquet and fill our stomachs,” Michael replied.

Michael then shooed the chef away, sliced up some foie gras and steak, and began cooking. The guests were all wealthy and influential—no chef dared offend them, so the kitchen staff could only stand by and watch.

A few young women, drawn by Michael’s handsome face, sauntered over.

“Hi there, chef. Are you free tonight?”

Michael looked up. Low-cut dresses, heavy makeup, and a faintly aggressive perfume. Likely debutantes new to high society, or socialites trailing after rich men.

“I think I already have plans. And I’m not the chef,” he replied.

They clearly had an eye for detail. Michael’s tailored suit, every inch bespoke, screamed wealth—how could he possibly be a chef? Yet his features were still boyish. Boys like this weren’t just attractive; they were easily lured by the allure of older, bolder women, and more likely to be swept up in the pleasures of the flesh.

As for Gwen, standing nearby, her modest dress and shy demeanor meant the women didn’t spare her a glance.

Gwen shot them a look and rolled her eyes at Michael. I’m not happy about this—you’d better do something.

“Want to change your plans? I’m up for anything,” one of them purred, leaning in to show off her cleavage.

Michael smiled. “Sorry, I’m not in the habit of paying for that kind of company.”

The women understood his meaning and, cursing under their breath, walked away in annoyance.

“You’re terrible,” Gwen laughed. “You could dislike them, but you didn’t have to call them prostitutes.”

Michael shrugged. “How do you know they’re not?”

Gwen pondered. “Well, people here are all someone of status, at least.”

“You’re still too naïve, Gwen. High-end escorts are still escorts. We just call them something else—socialites.”

He finished searing the steak and foie gras, arranged them into a heart shape, added some sauce, and handed the plate to Gwen. “A new style: French pan-seared foie gras with filet mignon.”

“You make it look like a set meal from a little bistro.”

Michael returned to his seat and signaled to the chef to prepare a plate for him. “It’s not the same. This is the work of the top biochemistry genius, Michael, himself. That reputation alone would have top restaurants sold out in seconds.”

Gwen couldn’t help but laugh at his self-confidence. Michael had thoughtfully cut everything for her, so she didn’t even need a knife—just a fork.

“How is it?”

“Delicious,” Gwen replied, a bit surprised. Michael’s culinary skills were on par with the best chefs.

Michael saw how much Gwen enjoyed it. “Of course. I’m practically a chef. Western cuisine is so much easier than Chinese cooking.”

Gwen was even more surprised. “You can cook Chinese food?”

“Of course—I’m a huge fan of Chinese cuisine.” Taking his own plate, Michael added, “I’ll cook for you sometime.”

“Great!” Gwen’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Is that how you lure girls home with you?”

Michael hesitated. “Uh…”

Heaven knows, I really don’t have any hidden motives.

Seeing Michael’s awkward expression, Gwen couldn’t help but burst out laughing.