Awakening Kryptonian Bloodline In Marvel.

Natasha was flustered, clearly disoriented.

After all, Malrick had just saved her—and she had repaid him with violence. The realization left her momentarily ashamed.

"Don't worry about it," Malrick said casually, waving it off. "It was a reflex. You didn't hurt me."

Natasha blinked. The memory hit her—how completely she'd been subdued. She hadn't stood a chance. That kind of overwhelming power... she'd never forget it.

"Thank you," she said, glancing discreetly at him. Her eyes lingered for a fraction too long, but her tone remained sincere. "Thank you for saving me. And for not holding what happened against me."

Malrick opened his mouth to respond, but she pressed on.

"It may not mean much to you, but it means a great deal to me..."

Her voice was steady, but her gratitude was unmistakable. She stepped down from the workbench and faced him directly.

"You gave me a second chance, Mr. Stark. Not just for myself—" her expression grew solemn, "—but for the others too. The other Widows. We all owe you our lives."

The "Widows"—agents trained by the Red Room. The best among them, the Black Widows, were lethal, efficient, and feared. Natasha had been one of the best.

"A life debt isn't easily repaid," she continued. "But if you ever need help, anything at all—just say the word. I'll do everything I can."

Her fingers brushed his cheek, her breath warm against his jawline.

"But... I have to leave."

Her expression tightened, a visible war between gratitude and responsibility.

"If the Red Room loses contact with one of their assets for too long, they'll come looking. I can't let them trace me back to you. And... I have others to save."

Without hesitation, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek—a gentle goodbye, full of warmth and silent emotion.

"Thank you, Malrick," she said softly. Her voice was like a breeze—barely above a whisper, yet filled with unspoken depth.

Then she backed away, step by step, her amber eyes fixed on him. She looked like a fairytale heroine who had awakened from a cursed slumber—only to march alone toward the coming fire.

At five meters, she turned away, her back straight, her stride firm and solitary.

Malrick stared after her and touched his cheek. His reflection in the lab's polished glass made him look dazed—like a teenager struck by his first real crush.

"Wait, Natasha!" he suddenly called.

She paused. Without turning fully, she glanced over her shoulder, revealing only half of her face.

"Sorry, Malrick. I have to go."

"No, I mean... we're not that close yet. So... calling me Mr. Stark is totally appropriate."

Malrick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And for the record," he muttered under his breath, "you still smell like sewer rot..."

Natasha froze mid-step.

Several seconds passed before she turned back, eyebrows raised slightly. "Call you... Mr. Stark?"

Apparently, she hadn't heard his last comment.

"Exactly," Malrick replied, leaning against the workbench. "Natasha Romanoff. Born 1984. Elite Red Room operative. Numerous aliases worldwide. Combat specialist. Master manipulator."

"Being recognized—and kissed—by someone like you? I'm honored."

He smirked. "Honestly, I almost ran after you and offered to storm the Red Room together. That's how convincing you were."

Natasha's gaze shifted. Her wariness faded as her eyes grew sharper.

"Well... looks like the forgotten Stark brother isn't so forgettable after all," she said. "Are you CIA?"

Malrick chuckled. "It's the internet age. I've got an AI. Most information isn't that hard to dig up."

He tilted his head. "And for the record—what do you mean 'most mediocre'? I graduated from Columbia."

He crossed his arms. "Look, Natasha. I know who you are."

"And I'm not some delusional heir playing superhero."

"So drop the misdirection. The seduction. The little games."

"Let's just talk like normal people, yeah?" He gestured to Dum-E, who rolled over with two steaming mugs of coffee.

He handed her one. "When was the last time you had a proper cup of coffee? Don't tell me it was a decade ago."

Natasha chuckled softly. "A year and a half."

Malrick raised a brow. "So the Red Room took full control about then?"

"You really do your homework," she said, stepping closer and leaning casually beside him.

Her posture was relaxed, even inviting.

But Malrick had seen too much. Her blood. Her organs. The after-smell of sewer water. Any temptation was dead for now.

"Is this your default interrogation method?" he asked. "Use charm to fish for intel?"

He pointed at her coffee. "You want answers? Just ask. It'll save both of us the trouble."

Natasha, twenty-five and stunning, gave a half-smile. Even her smallest gestures had a kind of magnetism.

But Malrick remained unaffected.

"I didn't expect Tony Stark's brother to be the restrained one," she said, more seriously now.

"As a profiler, I should've known better. You're focused. Calculated."

"Not always," Malrick replied. "Just not in the mood today. Try again later and I'll probably fall for it."

He sipped his coffee. "Also, drop the whole 'tragic goodbye' routine. That stuff only works on rich kids who live in soap operas."

"If you want to seduce me next time, just wear black stockings. It'll be more effective."

Natasha gave a small nod. "Good tip. I'll consider it."

Then her expression sharpened. "But really—how do you know so much about me?"

"Don't tell me your AI scraped it off the internet. A lot of that is top-secret."

Malrick raised his hands, crossing them into an "X."

"Sorry. That's classified."

Natasha tilted her head. "Didn't you just say to ask direct questions?"

"Sure," Malrick replied. "But that doesn't mean I have to answer."

He grinned. "Before we get to that—let's talk about your reaction to your 'lifesaver.'"

"One: you woke up and tried to choke me. Okay, fine, reflex."

"Two: you apologized. Genuinely. Great."

"But three: you started playing the seduction game. Probably hoping I'd volunteer to help you take on the Red Room."

He held up a finger. "And don't think I didn't notice you watching my reaction through the glass reflection."

"You said you owed me—and then immediately tried to drag me into your hell."

He tapped his thigh. "That kind of pivot? Makes me feel like a chump."

"I apologize," Natasha said quickly, raising both hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry for treating you like some naive rich kid. And I'm sorry for trying to manipulate you."

"I panicked. I just woke up—and I was looking for someone I could trust."

Her expression softened, almost vulnerable.

"You're strong, brilliant, and you clearly care."

"If you had agreed to help me, I would've told you everything—really."

"Even if you don't need the information."

"And I meant what I said. If you ever need anything—anything—I'll be there, if I'm still breathing."

Malrick rubbed his chin.

"Anything?"

Natasha's gaze didn't waver. "Anything."

---

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