The Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign glowed like a crown in the night, the Strip's neon stretching behind it in a kaleidoscope of color. But right now, that crown came with flashing blue-and-red jewels — three police cruisers and a motorcycle unit boxing in two very expensive cars.
Jean sat in the Zonda with her hands still on the wheel, her heartbeat steady despite the sirens. She leaned her head against the seat, calm, collected — almost smug.
Tony's Bugatti Veyron idled just ahead. He glanced in his side mirror, saw Jean still wearing that faint smile, and shook his head with a smirk of his own.
The lead officer, a big man with a sunburned face and a voice that had probably yelled through a thousand Vegas nights, approached Tony first.
"License. Registration. Step out of the car."
Tony rolled down his window just enough to slide his ID out. "Evening, Sergeant. How's the wife? Still making that peach cobbler?"
The cop's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Stark… we've got traffic cam footage of you and… your friend here… doing two hundred down the Strip. We also have five separate calls to 911 about 'two maniacs in supercars playing chicken with tour buses.' Care to explain?"
Tony gave a charming, disarming smile — the kind that sold missiles to governments and, right now, was working overtime.
"Explain? Sure. This was a… charity demonstration."
The sergeant blinked. "…A what?"
"Fundraiser," Tony said smoothly. "High-speed exhibition, all proceeds go to… uh… children's hospitals. We even had photographers lined up at the finish line. If anything, you've just given these kids a few more headlines and donations."
The officer glanced toward Jean. "And her? Who is she?"
Tony's smirk widened. "A sponsor. You know how it is — the mysterious benefactor type. Prefers to stay anonymous."
Jean leaned out her window, her voice honey-sweet but just sharp enough to command attention.
"Officer, would it make this easier if I just covered whatever fines you're about to write? Full amount, right now. Plus… a little extra for the department's… morale fund?"
There was a pause. The sergeant's gaze darted between them — two untouchable titans of money and charm. He exhaled through his nose, pulled out his notepad, and scribbled.
"Street exhibition. Reduced fine. Watch yourselves, because next time… I don't care if you're Howard Stark's kid or the Queen of England's driver."
Tony accepted the ticket like it was a party invite. "Always a pleasure, Sergeant."
Jean gave the man a wink before pulling away slow, deliberate, the Zonda purring like a satisfied predator.
NEXT DAY
The noon sun bled through sheer curtains, painting the penthouse in lazy gold. Jean sat on the couch in a loose tank top, one knee bent under her, hair still a little messy from sleep. Maki lay curled against her hip under a soft throw blanket, her face half-buried in Jean's lap, arms wrapped tight around her waist as if she might vanish if let go.
The television replayed last night's chase, but now it was dressed up in slick graphics and breathless commentary.
Female Anchor:
"Last night, Las Vegas was home to one of the most expensive — and bizarre — street chases in recent memory. Involved: billionaire Tony Stark, and a yet-unidentified woman in a rare red Pagani Zonda F — estimated at over $1.5 million. Social media is already calling her 'The Scarlet Phantom.'"
Male Anchor:
"Stark claims it was part of a charity exhibition, but the city hasn't confirmed any permits. What we do know is that both cars were clocked at nearly 200 miles per hour… and ended the run with what can only be described as a Hollywood-level stunt drift."
Cut to celebrity reactions:
Jay-Z, on a radio show: "Whoever she is, she's got ice in her veins. You don't pull that move unless you know you're gonna nail it."
50 Cent, laughing: "She didn't just win — she humiliated Stark. I respect that."
Kobe Bryant, in a post-game interview: "She had the killer instinct. Respect."
Shaq, chuckling: "I'm big, but I'd get out of her way too."
Donald Trump: "Some people are calling her mysterious, dangerous, maybe even the best driver out there. We'll see, but she's making headlines. Big ones."
Tom Cruise, on a press tour: "She could do her own stunts, no question."
The anchors returned, the female one leaning in with intrigue.
"Some sources say Stark has never looked more rattled after a race… but also more amused. Who is the Scarlet Phantom?"
Master… they're all talking about you." Her voice is soft, proud, like she's speaking of a goddess. "I told you. No one can stand above you."
Jean sipped her coffee with a slow smirk. "They make me sound like a supervillain."
Maki tilted her head up, eyes shining in adoration. "You are one. A perfect, untouchable one. Everyone saw it — the way you moved, the way you made them all chase you. They couldn't touch you, Jean. No one can."
Jean brushed her fingers through Maki's hair, amused at her intensity. "Careful, you sound like you're recruiting me for a cult."
Maki's voice dropped to a low, almost possessive murmur. "If it's a cult, it's only got one member… me."
Jean chuckled softly. "You're ridiculous."
Maki's grip tightened subtly. "No, I'm yours. And they can all talk on TV and guess your name and try to figure you out… but I'm the only one who really knows you. That's never changing."
Jean tilted Maki's chin up "Good. Because I like my Scarlet Phantom fan club small."
Maki smiled, almost dreamily. "I'd burn down the world before I let anyone else in."
Jean smirked, the dangerous kind. "Careful ."
Jean's phone buzzes on the coffee table. She picks it up, brows raising slightly.
Notification:600 million has been transferred to your account.
Under it, another message: The Bugatti will be delivered tomorrow – Tony.
Jean stares at it for a moment, lips twitching in disbelief. How the hell does he even know where I live? she thinks. Then she laughs, a warm, victorious sound.
"You know what… it doesn't matter. I just got paid."
Before she can put the phone down—
Ping!
Gacha system ready. Please draw.
Jean's eyes light up. A grin spreads across her face. "Double happiness. Today is really my day."
She swipes to draw, and the system chimes.
You got: Howard Stark's Super Soldier Serum.
A silver case materializes right on the coffee table. Maki's eyes widen slightly but she doesn't move from Jean's lap, simply watching her master with curiosity.
Jean flips the case open. Inside are five I.V. bags filled with a glowing, deep blue serum.
"Master… where did—" Maki starts, but Jean interrupts her, grabbing both of her hands.
"Maki," Jean says softly, her voice unusually tender, "I have a gift for you."
The touch alone makes Maki's cheeks flush deep red. She forgets her question entirely. Her lips tremble into a smile. "A gift… from you?" She squeezes Jean's hands back like she's afraid to let go. "Then… I'll treasure it forever."
Scene – Bathroom
The scent of warm steam fills the air. Maki is lying back in the bathtub, her pale skin glistening under the light. Jean kneels beside her, connecting an I.V. line to Maki's arm with steady, precise movements.
"It might sting," Jean murmurs, inserting the needle gently into her vein. "But when this is over… you'll be just like Captain America."
Maki just smiles faintly, eyes never leaving Jean's face. "As long as it means I can protect you better… and serve you better… I'd endure anything."
The first drops of the glowing blue serum slide into her bloodstream. Her body tenses, pain flashing across her expression. Jean immediately takes her hand, holding it firmly.
In her mind, Jean recalls every detail from the movies—Howard Stark's greatest creation, the very thing that led to his death. Not inferior to Steve Rogers' version. Enough to create monsters like the Winter Soldiers… but also enough to make Maki unstoppable.
Jean leans in close, brushing her lips against Maki's temple, whispering into her ear. "Maki… somehow, you've become the first person in this new life that I've truly felt connected to. You've given me everything—your loyalty, your heart… your first time. So I'll make sure you're strong enough to stand by me in this insane universe."
Maki's breathing slows. The pain fades under Jean's soothing touch and gentle kisses along her cheek.
"You're mine, Maki," Jean whispers, her voice almost a vow. "And I take care of what's mine."