The morning light was a soft wash against the mahogany, behaving as if it were afraid to disturb the fragile peace I had constructed.
I found Wanda already anchored at the dining table, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea as if drawing heat from a dying fire. Pietro was a restless shadow by the counter, his posture loose, but his eyes were wide-awake, tracking my every movement with the precision of a hawk.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked, my voice cutting through the morning stillness as I poured my coffee. I inhaled the steam—black, no sugar—the bitter scent grounding me.
Wanda nodded. "Better than I have in a long time."
Pietro snorted, "Beds are comfortable when they're not vibrating from nearby explosions."
I glanced at him over the rim of my cup. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"So," he said, "What exactly are we doing today? Sitting around and waiting for the furniture to talk to us?"
"You're coming with me to the office," I replied.
Wanda blinked, "Office?"
"Yes," I said. "You can't stay locked inside a mansion forever. That only makes people suspicious. In this city, if you aren't visible, you're a target."
Pietro's brow furrowed. "And going outside doesn't make us targets?"
"Only if you act like fugitives," I met his gaze evenly, "If you act like you belong, the world stops looking."
———-
The Umbrella headquarters hummed with the sound of the future—glass walls, the hushed click of keyboards, and the muted conversations of people who thought they were just selling software.
Wanda stayed close to my side, her eyes darting like a trapped bird's, absorbing the clinical soul of the building. Pietro walked half a step behind her, his shoulders tense, looking like he expected the water cooler to pull a weapon.
I led them straight to the inner sanctum. "Wait here," I said. "There's someone you need to meet."
I pressed the intercom. "Sharon, could you come in for a moment?"
"On my way," came the professional reply.
Pietro tilted his head, his silver hair catching the fluorescent light. "Who's Sharon?"
"My secretary," I replied. "And the woman who will make sure you don't accidentally trigger a security lockdown."
The door slid open. Sharon Carter stepped inside, tablet in hand. She stopped dead. Her gaze lingered on Wanda for half a heartbeat too long—the look of a professional recognizing a variable she hadn't calculated.
"You didn't mention guests," Sharon said, her voice neutral, but her eyes were already scanning for threats.
"They're joining the company," I said smoothly. "Wanda and Pietro Maximoff."
"Hello," Wanda said, straightening her back.
Sharon's eyes flicked over her, taking in the Sokovian thrift-store clothes and the raw, unpolished power that seemed to vibrate in the air around her. "Sharon Carter," she said, extending a hand.
Wanda shook it carefully.
Something subtle shifted in the room. It was certainly a spark. Pietro felt it instantly. He squinted at them. "Why does it feel like you two are about to start throwing knives at each other?"
Sharon smiled politely—the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You must be Pietro."
"That obvious?"
"Protective brothers usually are," Sharon replied.
Wanda frowned. "We're not—"
"It's fine," Sharon interrupted lightly, her gaze still locked on Wanda. "Aryan didn't tell me much about you."
"I didn't think it was necessary," I interjected.
That earned me two distinct looks: one curious from Wanda, and one deeply annoyed from Sharon.
"Sharon will help you both get oriented," I said, "Wanda, you'll be assisting with internal coordination. Pietro—security."
Pietro's posture eased slightly. "Security. Good. Finally, something honest."
Sharon nodded, "I'll have access cards prepared."
Wanda hesitated, her voice soft. "You... work very closely with him?"
Sharon turned to her, her smile sharpening. "Every day."
"Oh," Wanda said.
I could practically hear Pietro's mental gears grinding. Sharon added, with a hint of playful malice, "Professionally, of course."
Wanda nodded quickly. "Of course."
I cleared my throat, ending the unnecessary tension. "That's enough. Sharon, please take them."
As they stepped aside, Sharon leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. "How do you know them? Really?"
"Online gaming," I said. "We've known each other for a while. They're from Sokovia. They needed a way out, and I had the means."
Sharon studied my face for a long second, her 'Agent 13' instincts screaming. "Sokovia. That explains the lack of digital footprint. I'll verify that later."
"I expect nothing less," I replied.
——-
The training session in the glass-walled conference room was ostensibly about "Internal Permitting," but the air in the room felt like it was being charged by a Tesla coil.
Sharon clicked through a slide on her tablet, her movements fluid and practiced. Wanda sat across from her, seemingly focused, but her eyes were tracing every detail of Sharon's workspace.
"And this," Sharon said, her voice dripping with professional honey, "is the executive override. Only Aryan and I have the biometric clearance for this level. It requires a lot of... mutual trust."
Wanda's head tilted. "Trust is a rare thing for a man like him. You must have worked very hard to earn it."
Sharon smiled. "It wasn't work, really. We just... clicked. Some people are just on the same frequency. I've been by his side through the darkest months. I know how he takes his coffee, how he looks when he's actually thinking, and the exact moment he needs to be left alone."
"Coffee is just a habit," Wanda replied softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her own cup. "Knowing someone's soul is different. I've known him since before I even stepped foot in this country. There is a... connection. Something older than a job description."
Sharon's eyes narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter. "Connections are lovely, Wanda. But in this city, reliability is what keeps a man like Aryan grounded. I handle his life so he can handle the world. I'm the first person he sees in the morning and the last one he speaks to before he leaves. It's a very... intimate rhythm."
"Rhythms can be broken," Wanda countered, her voice gaining a vibrant edge. "He went all the way to Sokovia for me. He sent a private team. He brought me into his home—his actual home. Not just his office."
Sharon leaned forward, "He's a very generous man. He likes to rescue things. But don't mistake a sanctuary for a pedestal, honey. I'm the one who sits in the office with him when the doors are closed and the rest of the world is locked out."
Wanda met her gaze, "The doors might be closed, but I am the one he speaks to when the world is quiet. We share things that don't fit on a tablet, Sharon. I don't need a biometric clearance to know what he's feeling."
Sharon let out a dry laugh. "You're very intense. It's charming. But Aryan is a man of logic. He values stability. He needs someone who can stand beside him, not someone he has to constantly worry about."
"I am not a burden," Wanda said, her voice dropping to a danger. "I am his anchor. He told me so himself."
The word 'anchor' hung in the air like a physical weight. Sharon's smile faltered for a heartbeat.
"An anchor," Sharon repeated, her tone skeptical but her eyes searching. "Well. Anchors are meant to stay at the bottom, aren't they? I prefer being the wind in the sails."
Wanda stood up slowly, smoothing her skirt. "We shall see which one he needs more to reach his destination."
Sharon stood as well, tapping her tablet. "Indeed we shall. Now, if we're done marking our territory, let's move on to the payroll software. It's much less dramatic, but just as important."
As they walked out, they were perfectly synchronized, neither willing to let the other be a single inch ahead.
———
Pietro leaned against the mahogany wall near my desk, his arms crossed so tightly I feared he might accidentally crush his own ribcage. He looked less like a Head of Security and more like a man who had been told the floor was made of very judgmental lava.
"This place," he muttered, his eyes darting across the transparent glass walls and the bustling employees outside with the intensity of a man spotting a sniper in a florist shop. "It is weird. Too clean. People are smiling. Why are they smiling? It is suspicious."
I offered a faint smile. "Give it a week, Pietro. The novelty wears off."
He snorted, a cynical sound. "That is what they said in the research labs. 'Give it a week, Pietro. The glowing will stop.' Usually, right before the ceiling decides to become the floor."
"Relax," I said, "My insurance doesn't cover explosions on Mondays. No one is trying to kill you today."
His gaze flicked toward the conference room where Wanda and Sharon were currently engaged in a silent, high-stakes battle of "Who Can Be More Helpful." Then he looked back at me, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.
"I am not worried about the killers, Aryan," he whispered darkly. "I am worried about... them."
Before I could ask him to elaborate on his theory of Secretary Warfare, the internal manager stepped inside. She was a pleasant woman, entirely unprepared for a Sokovian speedster with trust issues.
"Mr. Maximoff?" she asked with a polite, corporate tilt of her head. "If you are ready, I shall escort you through the security layout of the executive floor."
Pietro straightened instantly, looking like a drowning man who had just been offered a very sturdy life raft. Practical work. Things he could punch or hide behind. This, he understood.
"Yes," he said, his voice dropping an octave into his 'serious soldier' tone. "Lead the way. Show me where the blind spots are. The places where a man can disappear. The dark corners for... interrogation." the manager blinked, her professional smile faltering. "I... beg your pardon?"
"I mean—the emergency exits," Pietro corrected with a cough, shooting me a frantic look that screamed "Help me." "Force of habit. In my country, 'blind spot' is just another word for 'convenient storage.'"
He turned to Wanda, who was still matching Sharon's stare-for-stare across the hall. "Wanda! Don't wander off. Stay where I can see your aura. Or whatever it is you're doing with your eyes."
Wanda gave him a faint, patronizing smile. "I am sitting in a chair, Pietro. I think I can handle the gravity."
With one last, deeply suspicious glance at me—as if I were personally responsible for the invention of office politics—Pietro followed the manager out.
The door slid shut with a expensive hiss.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. My empire was growing, my digital gods were rising, and yet my primary concern was currently ensuring my Head of Security didn't waterboard the HR department.
———
Later that afternoon, after the internal manager had taken Pietro to hunt for "blind spots" in the security layout, Sharon returned to my office. She closed the door with a click that sounded like a hammer falling.
"You didn't tell me you hired another security asset," she said.
"I didn't," I replied, not looking up from my monitor.
"Then why is Pietro walking around like he's preparing for a siege?"
"He's learning," I said. "And besides, he provides a different kind of... coverage."
Sharon leaned over my desk. "I'm still here, Aryan."
I leaned back, my gaze meeting hers. "Are you? Are you sure you've left your previous job behind, Sharon?"
She stiffened. Her jaw tightened, the mask of the secretary fracturing. "You knew."
"I suspected," I said calmly. "And I confirmed it the moment you looked at the twins. You didn't see two kids; you saw two high-level anomalies."
She was silent for a moment. Then, "Is this permanent? Bringing them here?"
"That depends," I said. "Are you here as my employee, or as someone else's eyes? Because I can't have both."
Sharon exhaled slowly, "I chose this job. I'm here."
"Then act like it," I said.
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door, glancing toward the hallway where Wanda was being trained. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"She trusts you," Sharon said quietly. "Truly trusts you."
"I know."
"That can be dangerous," Sharon said, her voice carrying the weight of her own secrets. "For both of you."
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