Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart

Chapter

'I need to go hunt,' I thought, but the voice in my mind wasn't truly mine. My soul, trapped within the confines of my mind-scape, couldn't stop the thoughts from unfolding, couldn't steer my actions, only watch in helpless horror as they happened.

I entered my room and moved toward the closet, my hands acting of their own accord, pulling out an outfit I knew would lure my prey, a trap for those too weak to resist. I could feel the disgust of my soul struggling against this false facade of control. The clothes, the tight black leather pants, and the green dress shirt were all too perfect. A perfect match for the eyes I was forced to glamorize—green, the color I once had, long ago. The color of my eyes wasn't my choice; nothing was.

I slipped into the clothes, and a dark, twisted satisfaction filled me as I admired the way my body shifted, the leather hugging my form, the green shirt accentuating the falseness of what was once me. I didn't want to look at my reflection, but it was inevitable. I had to see the creature I was becoming.

'This is who I am now,' I thought, but the thought felt distant, foreign.

The soul trapped within me didn't want this. It fought against the persona being forced upon it, but there was no escape, no means to wrest control back.

I could almost feel a laugh bubbling up, but it wasn't mine. The laugh echoed in the corners of my mind, mocking me. "You're still in here," I thought to myself bitterly. "But you can't stop any of this."

A quick glance at the door—Markus was still in his office, so I could leave. But a deeper, darker fear churned in my gut. The possibility of him noticing, of him forcing me into his grasp again, made me shiver. The fear, the arousal—none of it was under my control. I hated him, and yet, I feared him, and my body betrayed me.

I pushed those thoughts away, focusing on my task, trying to tell myself that I was still in charge. The truth, however, was that my soul was trapped, powerless, as I walked toward the garage, the roar of the Ferrari's engine deafening in my ears. The wind in my hair did nothing to soothe the turmoil in my chest, where my soul screamed for release.

The city lights blurred past, and I tried not to think about Markus, about the centuries of power he held over me. I drove to Pandemonium, a nightclub that promised freedom, at least for a night. But that freedom was fleeting.

Inside the club, the air thick with blood and alcohol, I knew that I was a predator in this place. Strigoi like me ruled here, but as my eyes scanned the room, a hollow feeling inside me reminded me that, even in a room full of predators, I was a captive.

The security guard's gaze swept over me, and for a brief moment, I wondered if he could sense the internal war I was battling. He didn't know how much I wanted to tear off the disguise, to reject the role of the seductress, to not be this person who lured in prey just to feed on their terror. But I couldn't.

When he allowed me through, I smirked—not me, not me, the voice echoed again, but I couldn't stop the smirk from forming. The act of control was all mine, yet it wasn't mine at all.

I entered the club, knowing that the moment I walked through that door, I would be hunted. I felt the eyes of other strigoi on me, their silent judgments, their curiosity. My soul shuddered at the thought of what I would have to endure tonight.

But there was nothing I could do. It wasn't me moving anymore; it was a shell, a puppet playing a part that was never mine. I thought I could hear a whisper, a distant voice, saying, "One day, I'll break free."

But as I approached the bar, I knew that voice was nothing more than a fading hope.

The bartender handed me my drink. "You'll never get out," I thought bitterly as I downed the blood-infused alcohol, and as my body responded to the pleasure, the pain of being trapped only deepened.