Cracks in the Armor

They might even target his late family or his close friends.

Tony wasn't going to let that happen.

He had to be strong, brilliant, and proud, commanding the world's attention.

He was destined to be the genius who led Stark Industries to glory, not a troubled orphan who was suffering from anxiety.

Tony's grip tightened around Soren's wrist, as if warning him that if he dared to call for help, Tony would stop him immediately.

Soren was so anxious he wanted to stomp his foot.

Just as he thought, he mused.

As proud as Tony Stark was—Tony, who would become the famous Iron Man—there was no way he'd let anyone discover his anxiety in a place like this.

Soren raised his head, his gaze meeting Tony's.

He spoke with sincerity, not a trace of deceit in his voice, "But you look like you need some rest, Mr. Stark. How about I take you to my room? No one will find out. No one ever goes in there. You can have some tea and then call someone you trust to pick you up."

This was the best plan Soren could come up with.

Tony stared at Soren for a long moment, making sure there was no hidden motive in the boy's expression.

Then, finally, he nodded his head.

Soren gently helped Tony Stark, carefully avoiding the crowd as they quietly made their way upstairs.

Once they reached Soren's room, he led Tony inside.

Soren's room was a suite.

The outer room was a small living area with a couch and bookshelves, and the inner room was his bedroom.

He guided Tony to the bedroom, where Tony lay down on the small bed to rest.

Tony lay stiffly and awkwardly on Soren's soft little bed.

The buzzing noise in his head made it impossible to think clearly, and a strong sense of agitation made him feel unbearable.

He curled up painfully and pressed his trembling hand to his forehead, letting out a low, animalistic growl.

The sweat dampened part of his hair, sticking it to his pale skin, and making him look especially disheveled.

A crushing sense of suffocation overwhelmed him.

The world spun and swayed, as if underwater, rippling before his eyes.

It felt like he was sinking to the bottom of a pool, and there, a snake wrapped itself around his heart.

Lex Luthor—a snake hissing through sharp teeth.

He walked toward Tony with a cold, twisted smile while holding a glass filled with dark red wine.

Those thin, blade-like lips parted, and he spoke in a haunting, foreign language, the words floating by Tony's ear, "Tony Stark, you know, I've discovered something very interesting..."

The snake opened its mouth and hissed out a string of foreign words.

A cold wind from Siberia blew through, carrying ice and snow.

It was Russian.

"You'll definitely find this intriguing," Lex Luthor's eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and icy malice, "An untraceable ghost... snap—crack... poor Howard was taken by this ghost, oh, he didn't even know… and neither did his most beloved son… that ghost… that unknown ghost…"

Lex Luthor watched Tony's expression change with satisfaction, the muscles around his mouth pulling into a cruel smile.

He even began to hum a little Russian tune, his eyes flicking upward as he stared at Tony.

He sipped the red wine, and the leftover drops clung to his lips like the warm blood of the living.

Tony Stark had never experienced his anxiety this severely in public before.

Just a few cryptic words from Lex Luthor had triggered a severe anxiety attack.

What was Lex implying?

Was he suggesting that Howard Stark had been murdered, not killed in an accident?

Who was this "ghost" he mentioned?

And what did the Russian words mean?

The suffocating feeling of oxygen deprivation made Tony feel like he was about to pass out.

For a moment, it felt as if his soul had drifted out of his body.

He stood there, lost and dazed, while all he could hear was the thunderous pounding of his heart, as if it were about to burst through his chest.

Until a pair of cool hands rested on his shoulders, until a pair of baby-blue eyes appeared in his line of sight.

"Mr. Stark," Soren said, steadying Tony by the shoulder.

He handed Tony a cordless phone and said, "Here's a phone. Do you need to call someone for help? Want some cold water?"

Tony shook his head and closing his eyes as he forced out a shaky reply through his clenched teeth, "No, you've done enough."

He fished out the latest tech product from Stark Industries from his pocket—a colorful, dual-screen phone.

He pressed a shortcut button and, using the unreleased phone, called his assistant, instructing her to pick him up from Hargreaves Estate.

"My assistant will be here soon. You don't need to stay and take care of me," Tony said.

His head still felt heavy, but the crushing feeling of suffocation had started to fade.

Realizing he was at the boy's birthday party, he frowned, "Go back to your party."

Soren acted like he didn't hear that.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he leaned in and poured Tony a glass of water.l, "I need to make sure you're really okay. You still look…"

"I'm fine," Tony interrupted him and opening his eyes.

Propping himself up with one hand, he let out a self-deprecating chuckle, "I don't need a kid to take care of me."

Soren looked at him doubtfully, his expression clearly saying, "Are you sure? You're literally letting me take care of you right now."

Tony awkwardly coughed, "Ahem…"

Soren only left the room after making sure Tony was much better.

He splashed some water on his face, and when he returned to the party, he saw Charlie looking for him.

As soon as Charlie saw Soren coming out of the hallway, he grabbed his hand.

"Sweetheart, where did you go?"

Soren blinked, "I went to the bathroom, Dad. What's wrong??"