When the banquet was nearing its end, Lorien and Stephen decided to leave.
They sat in a black Lamborghini, with Stephen driving Lorien home first.
After chatting about all sorts of things along the way, Stephen finally understood why Lorien never brought women home.
"So you just flirt, but don't bring them home because you don't truly like them, only because it puts you in a good mood?"
Stephen got the gist, but not completely. He spread his hands, looking puzzled.
"Why? What's the difference?"
"Of course there's a difference." Lorien leaned back in his seat, speaking calmly. "I'm not some promiscuous playboy like Tony Stark. I like beautiful women, but I only sleep with the ones I love."
"Can you really tell the difference between love and like?"
Stephen shook his head as he drove. "Not really."
"Then let me put it this way." Lorien gave an example. "Liking is one-sided. For instance, you like your car, but when you want a new one, you sell it and start liking the next.
Love isn't like that. Love is selfish. Using the same example—if you truly love your car, then even if you buy a second one, you'll never sell the first."
"Now do you get it?"
That explanation clicked immediately for Stephen. He was smart, not clueless.
After thinking it over, he nodded seriously. "You're right. I get it a lot better now."
Good. He gets it. Lorien smiled—talking to smart people was easy. They grasped things quickly, no need to repeat yourself.
But the next moment, Stephen countered, "So… if you love every car you buy, does that mean you'll end up with a lot of beloved cars?"
Every word hit its mark.
Lorien glanced at him and smiled. "You caught me."
Stephen: "..."
...
Finally, Stephen drove Lorien back to the Northern Building.
"Sleep well."
"Stay safe."
After saying their goodbyes, Stephen hit the gas. The Lamborghini let out a deep, throaty roar before vanishing from sight.
Lorien's home was still in the same building, but this time not on his old floor—it was on the top floor.
Yes, not only did he own the second-to-last office floor, but he had also bought the penthouse.
Ding!
With the soft chime of the elevator, he arrived at the very top. Lorien stepped inside, took off his shoes, and gave a casual wave. In an instant, his suit shifted into comfortable loungewear.
With another gesture, an empty hand now held a cup of milk tea—one that would never run out.
He strolled over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the glittering Manhattan night.
Directly opposite him, just a few kilometers away in a straight line, stood the rebuilt Stark Tower. The enormous "A" logo shone brightly—the unmistakable symbol of the Avengers.
The Northern Building, where Lorien lived, stood just north of Central Park, while Stark Tower was to the south. The only thing between them was the several-kilometer stretch of Central Park itself.
To the west of the park stood Oscorp Tower.
Put bluntly, all that was missing was for the Sorcerer Supreme's Sanctum Sanctorum to be relocated to the east side of Central Park.
Why that thought? Simple—because the mahjong table is missing one player.
Sip.
Taking a final drink of his milk tea, Lorien tossed it back into his storage space, stretched lazily, and headed to his room to play games...
It was a little lonely, sure, but that wouldn't last much longer. Soon, there would be more people to play with.
...
Late that first night at the Avengers Compound, Wanda lay in bed, unable to fall asleep for a long time.
Her home in Sokovia was gone—reduced to nothing but a massive crater.
With her level of power, there was no way the Avengers would let her slip away. It was, in a way, a half-forced arrangement.
Nick Fury and Captain America would never want someone like her wandering free without oversight.
So after joining the Avengers, Wanda had little choice but to stay at the compound for now. She could use her stipend to rent a place outside, but no matter where she went, it would never feel like home again.
That night, exhaustion finally pulled her into sleep.
The next day, her mood was still heavy. No one could lift her spirits—not even Natasha.
On the third day, Vision tried reasoning with her. But it wasn't about reason, and Wanda quietly walked away.
And so it went.
Three days. Four. Five. A week.
Her mood still didn't improve.
Meanwhile, online criticism of superheroes was growing louder. People claimed they only brought greater destruction.
With nothing to do but watch the news, Wanda felt even worse.
What am I doing?
What should I do?
The future... the Avengers... is there even a point anymore?