The morning sunlight filtered through the massive arched windows of the Sanctum, casting long, golden geometric shadows across the dark silk sheets of the master bedroom.
Gwen slowly blinked her eyes open.
Her body felt heavy, completely drained, and mapped with a deep, lingering soreness that sent a flush of heat straight up her neck. She rolled onto her back, stretching her legs across the massive mattress. The space next to her was empty, the sheets already cool, but the heavy scent of sandalwood and Ethan’s body wash still clung to the pillows.
For the first time since she had landed in this chaotic, unfamiliar universe, she hadn't woken up with her heart hammering in panic. She felt anchored. Safe.
She sat up, pulling the dark sheets tightly around her chest. Ethan’s oversized charcoal t-shirt was draped casually over the back of a nearby velvet armchair. Gwen slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding silently against the cold hardwood floor, and pulled the shirt over her head. The hem fell halfway down her thighs, swallowing her completely.
She ran a hand through her messy blonde hair, tying it up into a loose, chaotic bun. Her stomach gave a loud, demanding rumble. Fighting interdimensional assassins and the marathon of physical exertion that followed required serious calories.
She opened the heavy oak door and padded quietly down the grand staircase.
The Sanctum was peaceful. Dust motes danced in the shafts of morning light. The rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted up from the kitchen area just off the main foyer.
Gwen smiled softly to herself, rounding the corner of the staircase.
Then, she froze.
Her brain completely short-circuited.
Standing in the middle of the foyer, casually running a feather duster over a million-dollar Ming dynasty vase, was a woman.
But it wasn't just any woman. It was Natalie. Tony Stark's former hyper-competent, impossibly gorgeous legal assistant.
And she was wearing a maid outfit.
Not a practical uniform. It was a scandalous, tailored, black-and-white French maid costume. The skirt was criminally short, flaring out just enough to tease the absolute limit of decency. Tight, black lace thigh-high stockings gripped her legs, leaving a strip of pale skin visible below the frilled hem. The bodice pushed her chest up prominently, framing her cleavage perfectly.
Gwen blinked hard, entirely convinced she was still asleep and trapped in some bizarre, stress-induced fever dream.
"Natalie?" Gwen blurted out, her voice echoing in the quiet foyer.
Natalie didn't flinch. She stopped dusting, turning around with the fluid, effortless grace of a runway model. Her expression was a mask of perfect, unflappable professional calm.
"Good morning, Miss Maxine," Natalie said smoothly, offering a polite dip of her head. "Coffee?"
Gwen stared. She looked at the feather duster. She looked at the lace stockings. She looked back up at Natalie’s perfectly calm green eyes.
"What... what are you doing here?" Gwen asked, her voice hitching in sheer bewilderment.
Natalie set the duster down on a side table. She walked over to the kitchen island, picking up an expensive porcelain coffee pot.
"Mr. Stark decided my continued presence in his executive suite created too many workplace complications," Natalie explained, her tone completely even. "Miss Potts no longer needed my services. I was left without a position. Mr. Williams generously offered room, board, and employment."
Gwen crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very underdressed in Ethan’s oversized t-shirt. "As a maid?"
Natalie sighed. It was a perfectly calculated, dramatic little sigh.
"Apparently, the Sanctum has very specific uniform standards," Natalie replied, gesturing vaguely to her lace apron.
Gwen’s jaw tightened. She stepped fully into the kitchen area. "And you just agreed to this?"
"I am a professional, Miss Maxine. I take pride in my adaptability," Natalie said, pouring a cup of black coffee. She pushed the cup across the marble island toward Gwen. "Besides, Mr. Williams is a very generous employer."
Gwen took the cup, her knuckles turning white around the porcelain handle. "Generous. Right."
Natalie leaned against the counter. She tilted her head, a soft, perfectly innocent smile playing on her lips. She was a master of reading a room, and she had immediately clocked Gwen’s messy hair, the oversized shirt, and the faint, unmistakable mark on her neck.
Natalie decided to press the button.
"He even said he might teach me a few of his... party tricks," Natalie added casually.
Gwen nearly choked on her coffee. She swallowed hard, coughing into her fist. "He's teaching you magic?"
"If I show the aptitude for it," Natalie nodded. She let her gaze drop to the floor, adopting a demure, entirely manufactured look of shyness. "I believe his exact term for the training was hands-on instruction."
Gwen’s face went nuclear.
A bright, furious crimson completely overtook her cheeks. She knew exactly what Ethan’s "hands-on" instruction felt like. The absolute audacity of the man to hire Stark’s gorgeous secretary and put her in a lace skirt in the middle of their house.
Before Gwen could unleash the very sharp, very violent string of words building in her throat, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Ethan walked into the kitchen.
He was freshly showered, his dark hair still slightly damp. He wore a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt that stretched tightly over his broad shoulders. He looked incredibly relaxed, practically radiating a smug, satisfied aura that made Gwen want to hit him with a chair.
Natalie immediately stood up straight. She picked up a second cup of coffee, walked over, and offered a seamless, textbook curtsy.
"Your coffee, Master," Natalie said, her voice dripping with deferential sweetness.
Gwen snapped her head toward him so fast her neck popped. "Master?"
Ethan paused.
He looked at the cup. He looked at Natalie’s perfectly innocent expression. He looked at Gwen, who was currently radiating an aura of pure, concentrated murder.
He realized instantly that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top assassin was deliberately creating chaos just to see how they would react. He could have shut it down. He could have explained the cover.
Instead, Ethan took a slow sip of his coffee and offered Gwen a lazy, arrogant smirk.
"It's a staff thing," Ethan said smoothly.
Gwen narrowed her blue eyes into lethal slits. "A staff thing."
"Morale is important in the workplace," Ethan nodded, walking past her to sit at one of the barstools.
Natalie followed him, moving behind the counter. She leaned over just a fraction too far as she wiped down the marble island with a cloth, showcasing the scandalous cut of the uniform.
Gwen sat down on the stool next to Ethan, crossing her legs aggressively. She tried to project an air of complete, unbothered superiority, but failed entirely. She just looked incredibly flustered and intensely possessive.
"So," Gwen started, her voice tight. "How long exactly is Natalie staying?"
"She works here now," Ethan replied casually, taking a bite of a pastry Natalie had set out.
"In that?" Gwen demanded, gesturing wildly at the thigh-high lace stockings.
"It was a hiring condition," Ethan said, not missing a beat.
"His condition, not mine," Natalie added seamlessly, picking up a plate. "As I told you, Miss Maxine, I am highly adaptable. The antique dusting alone requires immense physical flexibility."
Gwen let out a slow, sharp exhale through her nose. She kicked Ethan under the counter, driving her bare heel hard into his shin.
Ethan didn't even flinch. He just offered her a devastatingly charming, unapologetic wink that somehow made her even angrier.
The bizarre, tension-filled domestic comedy was in full swing. Gwen was racking her brain for a comeback that would put the maid in her place without sounding like a jealous teenager.
But she never got the chance to deliver it.
A sound vibrated up through the floorboards.
It wasn't a noise. It was a feeling. A deep, ugly, guttural howl that seemed to bypass the ears entirely and scrape directly against the inside of the skull. The psychic resonance of the cry made the coffee inside Gwen’s porcelain cup ripple.
Gwen stiffens instantly. The jealousy and frustration evaporated, completely overwritten by the icy, terrifying memory of the rain-slicked alleyway. Her spine locked. Her spider-sense didn't trigger a full alarm, but a cold shiver of absolute wrongness crawled down her neck.
Across the counter, Natalie’s reaction was instantaneous.
For a fraction of a second, the demure, adaptable maid persona completely vanished. Her green eyes sharpened into something impossibly cold and calculated. Her posture shifted, her center of gravity dropping low. Her hand drifted entirely subconsciously toward the small of her back—where a holster would normally sit. She assessed the origin of the sound, mapping the structural layout of the floor beneath them in the blink of an eye.
A second later, the mask slipped back on. She picked up a dish towel.
But Gwen noticed.
Gwen was a vigilante. She knew how ordinary people reacted to monsters. They panicked. They froze. They asked questions. They didn't calculate firing lines.
Gwen stared at Natalie, her eyes narrowing in genuine, sudden suspicion. Who the hell is this woman?
Ethan set his coffee mug down on the marble counter. The dull clack sounded incredibly loud in the sudden silence.
The relaxed, smug aura radiating off him vanished entirely. The Golden eyes of the Sanctum Master hardened, staring straight through the floor toward the warded basement cells.
"Breakfast is over," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register. "Let's interrogate the dog."