Malibu, California.
The first rays of the morning sun pierced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, golden bands of light across the mirror-smooth floor.
The crisp air was filled with the scent of sea salt.
On an expensive, custom-made king-sized bed, a young man slowly opened his eyes. His deep, dark irises held none of the grogginess of someone just waking up; instead, they were as clear and profound as a deep pool.
"Good morning, J.A.R.V.I.S."
Paul Stark, fourteen years old, spoke habitually to the empty ceiling. His voice, still holding the characteristic huskiness of a teenager, carried a calmness that defied his age.
"Good morning, Mr. Paul. It is currently 7:00 AM. The outdoor temperature is twenty-three degrees Celsius with fifty percent humidity. A perfect California sunny day."
A gentle, smooth, British-accented male voice resonated throughout the room, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, yet seemingly everywhere at once.
Paul's lips twitched into a complex smile.
J.A.R.V.I.S.
He had given that name to the omnipresent AI butler system himself.
A stubborn, somewhat commemorative, private joke.
It was to commemorate a dream he could never return to, a dream called his "past life."
He, Paul Stark, was a transmigrator.
A soul who had grown up in a Chinese orphanage in his previous life had, after an accident, been reborn into this world—a world whose technology far surpassed his own, yet felt uncannily familiar.
Even more absurdly, he had become an illegitimate son.
An illegitimate son with the last name "Stark."
Sitting up, the smooth silk comforter slid away to reveal his well-proportioned, slightly slender frame. He stepped barefoot onto the cool floor and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling window that occupied an entire wall.
Outside was a private cliff and the boundless Pacific Ocean, where waves tirelessly crashed against the rocks below, kicking up mountains of white spray.
This high-tech villa, perched on a cliffside, was a mansion coveted by countless people around the world. But for him, it had been a gilded cage for fourteen years.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., where's my father?" Paul asked casually, his gaze fixed on the view.
"Mr. Stark returned to the villa at 3:17 AM last night and is currently resting in the master bedroom. Based on his biometric monitoring, he is expected to wake up after 11:00 AM. Shall I prepare breakfast for you? The nutritionist has updated today's menu according to your biometrics."
"No need. The usual. A black coffee."
"Of course, Mr. Paul. However, long-term consumption of black coffee is not conducive to your physical development," J.A.R.V.I.S. reminded him dutifully.
"Thank you for your concern, J.A.R.V.I.S.," Paul replied, his tone unreadable.
The only "family member" he could have a regular conversation with was this AI, composed of countless lines of code.
Ironic.
Fourteen years ago, he was a baby in swaddling clothes, brought here by that man—Tony Stark—from a place he had no memory of.
He became Tony Stark's unacknowledged son.
An existence who shared the Stark bloodline but could not be openly recognized.
Tony Stark: a world-renowned genius, billionaire, playboy, and arms dealer. He wore countless dazzling halos, but the one he conspicuously lacked was that of "father."
In Paul's memory, this father was more like a distant symbol.
He would appear on the TV news, perpetually surrounded by flashing cameras and a variety of beautiful women. He would grace the cover of *Forbes*, gazing down at the world with his signature arrogant smirk.
He would also occasionally appear in this villa, reeking of alcohol and perfume, arriving and departing in a hurry.
The conversations between father and son were pitifully few.
When he was younger, Paul had once been full of hope.
At the age of five, he independently assembled a complex engine model and waited eagerly in the living room, hoping for a word of praise from his father.
What he got instead was Tony's assistant, Pepper Potts, delivering a brand-new LEGO set and a relayed message: "Tony is very busy. He's proud of you."
At the age of ten, he hacked into Stark Industries' internal network and applied a patch to the firewall that even the company's top engineers couldn't detect. He thought this would surely catch the man's attention.
The result was a message from Tony, sent via J.A.R.V.I.S.: "Nice work, kid. I'm doubling your allowance. Don't mess with company property again."
After that, Paul stopped hoping.
He understood. To Tony Stark, he was perhaps just a highly intelligent "asset" who carried Stark blood, an "investment" to continue the family's genius genes, but never a son who needed companionship and love.
He had an entire basement laboratory, access to any resource from Stark Industries, and a bank account with an obscene number of digits.
Materially, he was wealthier than a nation.
Spiritually, he was destitute.
Loneliness was a tide, drowning him day after day.
Paul walked to the closet in the corner of the room, and the motion-sensing doors slid open silently. He looked at the young, handsome face in the mirror—dark hair, deep eyes, a high-bridged nose. He could see traces of Tony Stark, but his features were softer, with a touch of delicate, Eastern Asian refinement.
This face belonged to Paul Stark.
But the soul in the mirror often felt like a stranger.
In his past life, he had longed for a home, for the warmth of parents.
In this life, he lived in a mansion and had a world-famous father, yet he was lonelier than he had ever been in the orphanage.
Fate was a real bastard with a twisted sense of humor.
Besides the sense of alienation from his so-called father, there was one other thing, like an invisible thorn, buried deep in his heart.
His mother.
Li Lina.
A name that existed only on a birth certificate.
Everything about her was shrouded in a thick fog.
He had tried to search for information through J.A.R.V.I.S., but everything related was encrypted with the highest level of clearance, and the holder of that clearance was Tony Stark himself.
He had tried to probe Tony indirectly, but the man would always look at him with a complex expression Paul couldn't decipher before curtly changing the subject or simply turning and walking away.
It was a look that mixed pain, avoidance, and… fear.
Paul's memory seemed to hold fragments of his mother.
A gentle lullaby sung in Mandarin, the faint scent of jasmine, and a blurry, tear-streaked smile.
These memories were dreamlike, so fragile that a single touch might shatter them completely.
The official story was that his mother had died in a car accident shortly after he was born.
A simple, cold conclusion.
But Paul didn't believe it.
A woman capable of making Tony Stark fall in love with her would not have been an ordinary person. And her death would certainly not be as simple as a report made it out to be.
Especially since he had discovered that, once a year, Tony would lock himself in his workshop and drink himself into a stupor. And that day was the anniversary of Li Lina's death.
There had to be a huge secret hidden within.
A secret that made a man like Tony Stark feel fear and helplessness.
This unknown filled Paul with a bone-deep sense of unease.
He stood in this sun-drenched mansion, enjoying the world's most luxurious material life, yet his heart felt like it was teetering on the edge of an abyss.
The more he had, the more he feared losing it all.
Especially in this familiar yet alien world, he always had a premonition that beneath the calm surface, a turbulent undercurrent was already raging.
*Beep—*
The smart terminal on his wrist chimed softly, breaking Paul's train of thought.
On the screen, J.A.R.V.I.S. projected a line of text.
[Mr. Paul, a seven-figure sum was transferred to your personal account five minutes ago. Memo: Allowance.]
Paul stared at the long string of numbers, his expression unchanging.
Money. Always money.
That man's way of expressing "fatherly love" was always so crude and unoriginal.
Paul dismissed the projection and picked up the black coffee the robot had just delivered, taking a sip.
The bitter taste spread across his palate.
He looked out at the azure Pacific, his eyes gradually sharpening.
Loneliness, alienation, the mystery of his birth… none of it mattered.
Since fate had given him a second life as Paul Stark, he could no longer be at its mercy as he had been in his past life.
He had to uncover the truth behind his mother's death.
He had to find the power to protect himself beneath this seemingly peaceful sunlight.
No matter what secrets were hidden in the shadows, no matter what storms the future held.
He, Paul Stark, would seize the throat of fate with his own two hands.
"J.A.R.V.I.S."
"Yes, sir."
"Pull up all data on Project 'Big White'. Highest encryption level," Paul commanded, his voice low but firm.
"Of course, Mr. Paul. Project 'Big White' data has been loaded onto your private server."
A glint of light, far too shrewd for his age, flashed in the young man's eyes.
This world was about to change.
And he would be the one to start the storm.