The time returned to the present, still in that operating room. Tony lay handcuffed to the operating table, covered by his own coat, curled up listlessly like a wilted flower. With his head tilted to one side, he seemed to be silently shedding tears?
Cassandra stood beside him with a cigarette between her lips, fastening her belt with a crooked smile. Then she casually pinched Tony's cheek and said:
"This time, you almost made it to four minutes. Looks like you've improved a little."
This was Tony's deepest nightmare. Whenever she brought up the timing, the Mustache felt so ashamed he wanted to die.
He had performed perfectly well with other women. Even taking on several at once had never been a problem. But whenever he encountered Cassandra, it was as if nothing had changed. He was still the same quick-shot guy from back then.
Three minutes and one second became nearly four minutes when Cassandra said it, but that only angered Tony more. Proud and confident as he had always been, all he felt was profound humiliation.
He did not want anyone's pity, especially not pity from the enemy who had killed his parents.
What was more, the strange circumstances whenever he was with her seemed to suggest one possibility—that his heart still loved her. Tony could not accept that possibility.
"Kill me! You Hydra witch! Kill me the way you killed my parents!" Tony struggled on the operating table, immediately exposing himself and revealing his beer belly and a palm-sized patch of chest hair.
"How many times do I have to tell you? My family didn't kill your parents, because my parents died back then too. And I'm not Hydra. My Shadow Industries merely followed the path Stark Industries took to get rich—selling weapons to people who need