TONY. That Same Hour. The Glass Penthouse. He lay sprawled on his back across the soft cushioned couch in the living-room, one arm hanging loosely off the edge, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. His black hair fell messily across his face, partially covering his closed eyes as a low, quiet snore escaped him, blending into the silence of the house. The vibration of his phone shattered it. A sharp, rattling buzz against the tempered glass stool beside him. His brows twitched. He shifted slightly but didn’t open his eyes. “Who the fuck is that…” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep, refusing to move as the phone continued vibrating insistently. It stopped. Silence returned for barely a second. Then it started again. “Fuck,” he breathed out, irritation snapping through him as his eyes opened abruptly, the last trace of sleep vanishing. He rolled onto his side, arm stretching toward the stool, fingers closing around the phone. Marcus. Tony exhaled sharp
Last Updated : 2026-05-05 Read more