"Big day tomorrow," Gwen said with a teasing smile, leaning back in her chair. "Your book launch has taken over the entire city. I don't think there's a single person in New York who hasn't heard about it."
They were seated in a private room at an upscale restaurant in Midtown. Through the glass wall behind her, massive digital billboards lit up Times Square—one of them showing Noah Vale standing beside Wilson Fisk, their faces plastered across the skyline like celebrities.
Noah shrugged, slicing into his steak with effortless precision. The blade glided through the meat like it wasn't even there, the motion smooth and controlled.
"That's all Fisk's doing," he said casually. "The promotion, the scale of it—I had nothing to do with it. Honestly, I would've preferred to keep things low-key."
Gwen lowered her voice slightly, her tone turning more serious. "My dad thinks you should be careful around him. Fisk's not exactly… safe company. And honestly? I think he's right."
Noah glanced up at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I wonder," he said lightly, "is your dad worried about my safety… or Fisk's?"
Gwen blinked, caught off guard.
"You don't really know how he and I operate," Noah continued. "But your concern makes sense. Still…" His gaze settled on her, steady and intent. "If anyone decided to target you instead of me, that would be a problem."
The intensity in his eyes made her look away for a moment, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Well," she said, forcing a playful tone, "then I guess I'll be counting on you to protect me, hero."
Noah smirked. "That depends. What's in it for me?"
"'What's in it for you?'" Gwen echoed, immediately recalling the last time he'd said something like that. A blush crept up from her collarbone to her cheeks.
Noah laughed and waved a hand. "Relax, I'm kidding."
She shot him an annoyed look, realizing she'd been played.
"Actually," he added, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, "there is something I wanted your help with."
Gwen looked at him, curious.
Noah leaned in slightly, lowering his voice near her ear. "I had a custom suit made recently. Something… form-fitting. I was hoping you could try it on for me."
Before she could react, he lifted a hand. Space warped subtly, and a sketchbook appeared in his grip.
Gwen didn't even question where it came from. Her attention was completely locked onto what was inside.
Page after page showed a girl in a sleek, hooded bodysuit—white across the upper half, black below, cleanly divided at the chest. The design was elegant, athletic, and undeniably eye-catching. Ballet-style shoes completed the look, adding a surprising sense of grace.
And the girl wearing it?
She had long blonde hair. Her build, her posture…
Her face.
Gwen's face.
Her brain stalled for a second.
She pointed at the sketchbook, eyes wide. "You drew this?"
"Of course," Noah said, sounding almost proud. "I even studied anatomy for a couple of days to get the proportions right."
That's not the issue! Gwen clenched her fists under the table, barely maintaining her composure.
Noah clasped his hands together in mock pleading. "Come on, Gwen. Do me a favor. Help me bring this vision to life."
Despite his exaggerated tone, the grin he was trying—and failing—to suppress made his intentions very clear.
Gwen shook her head immediately. Firm. Unyielding.
There was no way she was changing into something like that in front of him. Not now. Maybe not ever.
After several failed attempts to convince her, Noah finally gave up with a quiet sigh, slipping the sketchbook away.
Clearly, this particular "project" was going to take more time.
They finished their meal without much else happening. Gwen grew quieter as they left the restaurant, her thoughts looping back to the suit.
Would it really be that bad?
By the time she snapped out of it, Noah had already walked her all the way to her front door.
"Good night," he said with a small smile. "See you next week."
Before she could respond, he turned and stepped away. The air around him shifted—dust and wind spiraling outward—and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.
Gwen stood there for a moment, watching the empty space where he'd been. She almost called out after him… but the words never came.
The next day, the launch event—built up over an entire month—finally arrived.
By noon, countless New Yorkers had tuned in. TVs flickered on across apartments, offices, and cafés. Online streams surged with viewers, all curious about the absurd level of hype surrounding a single book release.
Fisk had spared no expense. The entire event was broadcast live, designed to spread as quickly—and as widely—as possible.
And the moment the cameras cut to the venue, the audience understood why.
The guest list was staggering.
World leaders. Political figures. Industry giants. Celebrities.
It didn't take long for viewers to start recognizing faces—and the realization hit hard.
This wasn't just a book launch.
This was everyone.
Even the attendees themselves began to notice.
Familiar faces were everywhere. People who normally operated in completely different circles were suddenly sharing the same space.
One thought quietly passed through more than a few minds:
If something went wrong here… the consequences would be global.
Meanwhile, the press corps was having the time of their lives. Every whispered conversation, every handshake, every glance between powerful figures was potential headline material.
Then, just as the tension reached its peak—
A sleek, limited-edition supercar drifted smoothly to a stop at the front entrance.
All eyes turned.
Standing at the doors, Wilson Fisk himself—host of the event—stepped forward immediately. Despite his massive frame, he moved with surprising speed, reaching the car just as the door opened.
With a posture bordering on deferential, he pulled it open.
"Mr. Vale," Fisk said, his tone unusually warm. "You're finally here."