He had even tried to hide on purpose, finding an excuse to go to Los Angeles to attend a technology forum, staying at the most luxurious hotel, and registering under a fake name; even Pepper didn't know exactly where he was staying.
As it turned out, on the second night of the forum, while Tony was drinking at the hotel bar, a familiar voice rang out from behind him.
"So, this is where you are."
Tony turned his head sharply and saw Marvica sitting at the other end of the bar, holding a glass of juice and looking at him with a smile.
She was wearing simple travel clothes, looking weary from the journey, but she was in high spirits.
"How did you..." Tony's words got stuck in his throat.
"Howard said you might have come to Los Angeles," Marvica said nonchalantly. "I asked a few local riders, and they said the bar in this hotel was good, so I came to try my luck."
Tony stared at her for a few seconds, then tilted his head back and finished the whiskey in his glass.
He didn't know if Marvica was really "trying her luck" or if she had some method he wasn't aware of.
But the fact was, she had found him, at the time and place where he thought it was least likely to be found.
"What's wrong with the motorcycle again?" Tony asked, his tone devoid of surprise, replaced only by a deep weariness.
"The front wheel is a bit off," Marvica said. "The handlebars shake at high speeds, and I suspect the rim might be warped."
Tony sighed and beckoned the bartender to settle the bill.
"Let's go," he said. "Take me to see the motorcycle."
Although he didn't know how Marvica managed it, Tony felt helpless.
This woman was like a force of destiny, a fixed fact that he could neither predict nor avoid, and could only accept.
She would appear in his life, demand he fulfill his promise, and then leave with a satisfied smile, leaving him with a pile of parts that needed repair.
It was late at night. Tony sat alone in the workshop, holding a severely eroded bearing in his hand.
This was taken off Marvica's motorcycle today; it had been less than two weeks, and it was already scrap.
The workshop lights were cold white and bright, shining on the precision instruments and scattered parts.
Hanging on the wall was a structural diagram of the motorcycle, with all the replaced parts marked in red ink; almost the entire diagram was covered.
Tony leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
If Heaven gave him another chance, he swore he would never have gone to join the fun and meet Marvica that day.
He would absolutely not have run to the Villa to see the motorcycle his father had customized out of a moment of curiosity.
He would absolutely not have greeted Marvica with that frivolous attitude when he first saw her.
And he certainly would not have promised to handle the follow-up matters for the motorcycle.
But regret was useless; the promise had been made, and Marvica had become a fixed, immovable part of his life.
And honestly...
Tony opened his eyes and looked at the photo of the motorcycle on the workbench. That was how it looked when it was first finished—brand new, perfect, shining in the sun.
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