She laughed, a harsh, broken sound that rang out over the rooftop. It felt like the world should have stopped to hear her, but the city kept moving, indifferent, like it always had. With a half-smirk, she started to sing—an old song about being left behind, her voice shaky, each note dripping with sarcasm.

"Left me behind, didn't you?" she crooned mockingly, waving her arms toward the sky as if it owed her an answer. "Isn't that just like you?"

The words felt hollow on her tongue, each one a knife twisting in her chest. The memories hit her hard—loved ones who had vanished from her life like ghosts, slipping away without so much as a goodbye. Faces once familiar now felt distant, unreachable. She could still hear their voices in her mind, still feel the weight of their absence.

"Why?" she yelled at the sky, her voice hoarse and cracking. "Why did you leave me? What am I supposed to do now, huh? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

She waited for an answer that would never come, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not for them. Not anymore.

"Figures," she muttered, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Not even a whisper from the universe. Must be too busy with someone else's life—someone who matters, I guess."

She turned her gaze back to the city, her expression darkening. Below her, the streets buzzed with life—people going on with their night, laughing, living, not even aware that she existed. It made her sick. She could see them down there, tiny like ants, scurrying to their friends, their families, their homes.

"Look at them," she spat, her voice thick with disdain. "All so happy. I bet none of them even know what it's like to be forgotten. To be left behind like you're nothing. Well, good for them, right? Good for them."

Her eyes scanned the skyline, cold and unforgiving. "You can have it," she sneered, shaking her head. "Take it all. I'm done with this place. Done pretending like any of it matters."

She tossed the whiskey bottle in her hand, weighing it for a moment before throwing it with a vicious force off the edge. She watched it spin, disappearing into the neon blur below. "There. Take that too," she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Guess that's all I've got left to give."

She let out a dry laugh, bitter and humorless. "Hell, at least the bottle's got a place to go. At least someone's waiting for it."

For a moment, she just stood there, the wind tugging at her hair, her clothes. She could feel the city breathing beneath her feet, could hear its hum in her bones. But it felt so far away, like it was on the other side of a thick glass wall—one she could never break through.

"What now?" she asked the empty air, her voice barely a whisper. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

The answer was silence, as always. She laughed again, the sound hollow. "Of course. Should've known. Guess I always did."

Her feet moved before she could think, carrying her to the edge.

"No one left to miss me," she said softly, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. "No one left to care."

She glanced back at the rooftop one last time, her eyes dull, resigned. "Not like there's anyone to go bak to, anyway."

With a deep breath, she took a final step, her body tipping forward into the void. The wind whipped her hair and clothes as she fell, the world rushing past in a blur of lights and sounds. But she felt nothing—just a strange, bitterness towards the world.

"Goodbye," she whispered to no one in particular, the wind stealing her voice. "See you never."

She stepped on the edge, looked down at the streets below, the tiny cars moving, so far away they didn't seem real. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. The world below her seemed to hold its breath as if it, too, was watching her final wind tugged at her, urging her forward. Then, she stepped off the edge without a second thought. she plunged into the void, the wind rushing up to meet her like a cold, invisible hand.

The world rushed past me in a blur of lights and colors. The wind screamed in my ears, but all she fells is numb, not feeling anything other than cold. Then, everything went black.

The darkness was warm and enveloping, nothing like the emptiness I had anticipated. I felt small, almost insignificant, cradled in a cocoon of safety, yet my mind couldn't comprehend what was happening.

But the warmth around me started to twist into something darker, more menacing. It began as a faint discomfort deep inside, but it grew—fast—into something unbearable. A sharp, searing pain exploded through my body. It felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak, pitiful cry. 'What the hell is happening?' My mind was spinning, scrambling to understand, but all I could feel was the blinding pain.

The burning intensified. My whole body was on fire, each nerve alight with agony. It was like I was being split open, every muscle tearing, every bone breaking. 'F—!' I wanted to scream, but my body was too small, too fragile. All I could do was endure it, trapped inside this weak shell, powerless.

Then, through the haze of pain, I heard another sound—someone else crying out. It wasn't just me. Someone else was in agony too, their voice desperate and raw. The air around me felt heavy, thick with something that pressed down on me, suffocating. Before I could make sense of it, a wave of energy slammed into me. It was like being hit by a force I couldn't see, couldn't stop. My body sucked it in, absorbing it, and I couldn't control it.

My muscles seized, my limbs jerking as the energy flooded through me, overwhelming everything. It was too much. Too fast. 'Stop! Just f—ing stop!' I wanted to scream, but no sound came. I couldn't fight it. My body wasn't mine anymore—it was being torn apart, consumed by something far beyond my understanding.

And then, in an instant, it all stopped. The pain vanished. The world went silent.

Darkness closed in around me, cold and absolute. No more pain, no more sound. I knew nothing. There was only emptiness

The delivery room was quiet, except for the soft beeping of the heart monitor and the low murmurs of the doctors. Everything was going smoothly. The mother lay back, exhausted but relieved, gripping the sides of the bed as the doctor gently guided her through the final moments of labor.

"Almost there," the doctor said calmly. "Just one more push."

The mother breathed heavily, following his instructions, her face flushed with effort. The room was warm, sterile, and filled with the anticipation of a new life entering the world. Then, just as the baby's head crowned, a sudden gust of wind rushed through the room—an unnatural, cold gust that made everyone pause.

"What the hell?" a nurse muttered, glancing toward the closed windows.

The lights overhead began to flicker, casting long, erratic shadows on the walls. The heart monitor, which had been beeping rhythmically, suddenly spiked. The beeps became erratic, loud, and insistent, filling the room with a harsh, alarming sound. The mother's heart rate was skyrocketing.

"Doctor, her vitals—" one of the nurses called out, eyes wide with concern as she checked the monitor.

The mother's face twisted in pain, her calm replaced by sudden terror. She let out a piercing scream, clutching her stomach, her body convulsing as the doctor finally pulled the infant free.

"Got her!" the doctor said, his voice unsteady now as he held the baby girl.

But something was wrong. The moment the infant left her mother's body, the air felt charged with something electric, something wrong. The baby let out a sharp, agonizing cry—high-pitched and unnatural, like nothing any of them had ever heard before. The sound sent a shiver through the room, freezing everyone in place for a moment.

The doctor's hands shook as he stared down at the newborn, his eyes wide with shock. The baby's small body trembled violently, her tiny face scrunched in pain. The wind in the room intensified, whipping through the sterile space, knocking over trays and rattling the instruments on the table.

The mother's scream grew louder, her body writhing on the bed, as though something was still tearing at her from within, even though the baby was out. The monitor beside her continued its frantic beeping, filling the air with a deafening alarm.

"Get her stabilized!" one of the nurses yelled, rushing to the mother's side as her heart rate spiraled out of control.

The doctor, still holding the crying infant, stood frozen, his mind trying to process what had just happened, the lights flickering ominously above them all.

Tony Stark stumbled through the front door of his penthouse, his clothes wrinkled, hair a mess from the night out. The party had been wild, but now the adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by exhaustion. He tossed his keys onto the table and collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his temples. His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him out of his haze. He groaned and reached for it, squinting at the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen.

"Yeah, this is Tony Stark. Who's this?" His voice was hoarse, still heavy from the alcohol.

A calm but firm voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Stark, this is Dr. Emily Richards from St. Peter's Hospital. We need to speak to you about a serious matter. According to our records, you are listed as the father of a newborn baby girl. The mother passed away shortly after giving birth, and we need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

Tony froze, blinking hard as if he could blink the words away. "I'm sorry, what? A daughter? No, no, I think you've got the wrong guy. I... I don't even remember the mother's name. Are you sure you're talking to the right person?"

Dr. Richards's tone didn't falter. "Yes, Mr. Stark, the records list you as the father. We understand this is unexpected, but we need you to come in immediately. There are legal matters to address, and we need to discuss the baby's care."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, his pulse spiking. "Wait—wait a second. I was out partying. This doesn't make any sense. How the hell am I supposed to deal with a baby? I don't even know where to start."

Just then, Howard Stark entered the room, his face stern as he overheard part of the conversation. "Tony, who's on the phone? What's going on?"

Tony turned, still in shock, his voice rising. "Apparently, I've got a kid! They're saying I'm the father of a baby girl and the mother... she's gone. I don't even know her! I don't remember any of this!"

Howard's face darkened, his frustration immediately bubbling to the surface. "A kid? You've got a kid? Damn it, Tony! How many times did I tell you? All those nights out, messing around, and now it's caught up with you! This is just like you, never thinking about the consequences."

Before Tony could respond, Maria Stark entered the room, looking concerned. "Howard, what's going on? Tony, what's this about a baby?"

Howard shot back, his voice sharp. "Your son here has a daughter. He didn't even know, and now it's a mess. He's been too busy living it up, and now reality's hitting him in the face."

Maria's face softened, concern replacing her confusion. "Tony, how could you not know? What's going on, really?"

Tony's frustration finally boiled over. "I don't know, okay? I don't know! I was just told about this, and now I'm supposed to go deal with it, but I don't even know where to start! I wasn't ready for this—I'm not ready for this!"

Dr. Richards's voice cut back through the chaos, steady but firm. "Mr. Stark, I understand this is overwhelming, but we need you to come to the hospital now. There are immediate decisions that need to be made regarding your daughter's care."

Overwhelmed by the pressure from all sides, Tony abruptly ended the call. His hands trembled as he stood up, his mind racing. Without another word, he grabbed his keys and stormed out of the room, heading straight for his car. The engine roared to life, and he sped away from the penthouse, the city lights blurring past him as he tried to escape the crushing reality.

Tony stumbled into his usual bar, a small, dimly lit place far from the glitz and glamour he was used to. The bartender glanced up, recognizing him immediately. "Rough night?" he asked.

Tony slid onto the barstool, his mind buzzing. "Whiskey. Neat."

The bartender poured the drink without a word, sliding the glass over. Tony took a long gulp, feeling the burn of the alcohol dull the panic swelling inside him. He stared at his phone, now lighting up with missed calls from his parents and the hospital. His fingers hovered over the screen, but instead, he poured another shot and downed it.

His hands shaking, he finally dialed Rhodey's number. After a few rings, Rhodey picked up.

"Tony? It's late. What's up?" Rhodey's voice was groggy but concerned.

Tony took a deep breath, his voice thick with alcohol and fear. "Rhodey, man... I've got a kid. They're saying I'm a father. I don't even know who the mother is. She's dead, and now I'm supposed to take care of this baby. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."

There was a long pause on the other end, then Rhodey's voice softened. "Tony, just stay where you are. I'm coming to get you. Don't do anything stupid. Just... stay put, okay?"

Tony nodded, even though Rhodey couldn't see him. "Yeah... yeah, okay. I'm at the usual spot."

Within the hour, Rhodey arrived at the bar, finding Tony hunched over the counter, staring blankly into his empty glass. He gently helped him up, supporting him as they made their way out of the bar.

When they got back to Rhodey's apartment, he eased Tony onto the couch. Tony sat there, staring at his hands. His voice was small, uncertain—nothing like the Tony Stark everyone knew.

"I've got a daughter, Rhodey. I didn't even know about her. I don't know what to do... I can't do this."

Rhodey sat beside him, his voice calm but firm. "You don't have to do it alone. You'll figure it out, Tony, but you can't run from this. You need to step up."

"I've got a kid," Tony mumbled, his voice slurred and incoherent. "I don't know who the mother was. They just told me I'm the father. She's dead, and now I'm... I'm supposed to take care of this kid. I don't even know what the fuck to do. I can't do this. You know what why don't you be the godfather... will you be the godfather? I need someone to help with this mess."

I don't know where I am, or what happened to me, but I'm a newborn. It's the only thing I'm sure of—the way my body feels weak, small, unable to do anything for myself. My vision is blurry, and the sounds around me are muted, distant. Sometimes, I feel hands lifting me, soft voices speaking in soothing tones, but none of it makes sense. I can't speak, can't scream, can't curse the universe for this ridiculous situation I've found myself in.

All I know is that I'm here, trapped in this tiny body, unable to move. Everything is so... frustratingly slow. And it's not like I can ask questions or demand answers. I'm just stuck, day after day, in this helpless state, while a nanny—yes, a nanny—does most of the work of caring for me. Sometimes I catch glimpses of the woman named Maria and the man named Howard, but they're not always around. They come in and out of my foggy existence, but I've yet to piece together what any of it means.

The worst part is the waiting. It's as if I'm biding time until something makes sense, until I understand why I've been thrown into this situation. I curse the universe—or whatever sick entity decided this was my fate—for dropping me into this body, in this world, without a clue as to why.

As time passes, things become clearer, but not any easier. Howard's attempts to interact with me, him genuinely trying. Maria feeds me, rocks me to sleep sometimes. They seem... kind. Caring, even. But it doesn't reach me. I'm barely aware of my surroundings most of the time. I feel like a shell. I exist, but I don't live. My mind, my thoughts—they feel too big for this tiny body, too disconnected from what's happening around me.

And the days bleed into each other, nothing changes, until one day—a conversation breaks through the fog.

I hear my nanny talking to someone, her voice soft but clear. "Yeah, she's Tony Stark's baby, daughter of the Tony Stark. Can you imagine? It's a shame he's already got a kid..."

I freeze—or I would if I could. My brain, already dulled by the monotony of infancy, tries to process what she just said. Tony Stark. Howard and Maria Stark. A slow realization begins to settle over me, a cold, distant shock. I am in the Marvel Universe. That's... that's the only explanation that makes sense.

I don't react the way I thought I would, though. There's no gasp of disbelief, no racing heart, no panic. Just... nothing. Numbness. The same numbness that's filled the past year of my life, where I've floated through each day without meaning or purpose.

So, I'm Tony Stark's daughter. Born into a world I used to know as fiction. A world of superheroes, tragedies, and all-too-familiar doom. But instead of fear or excitement, all I feel is a distant, detached acceptance. What difference does it make? Whether in my old life or this new one, the feeling is the same—like I'm just existing, waiting for something to make it all matter.

I never really spoke. When I didn't say a word past the age of one, they started to worry. I overheard them discussing doctors, as if I was some broken toy that needed fixing. One night, after Maria tucked me in, I quietly said, "Thank you." The look on her face was one of pure shock, and for a moment, I almost felt guilty. She left the room, and I could hear her crying softly down the hall. That was when I realized how much she- they really cared.

After that, I started talking more, mostly to avoid another round of concerned whispers. Maria smiled more, Howard started paying extra attention, and suddenly, I wasn't just their quiet little granddaughter. Howard took me to his lab all the time, showing me engines, machinery, all kinds of things I shouldn't have understood at three. He'd ramble on about mechanics and engineering, and I'd nod, pretending to keep up. The truth was, I already knew all of it.

The funny thing was, despite all the sarcasm in my head, I was beginning to actually... enjoy it. Just a little. Howard was so enthusiastic, explaining every bolt and gear like it was the most important thing in the world. I didn't have it in me to burst his bubble, so I played along. Sometimes, I'd even ask a question or two, and the way his face lit up made it hard to stay cold.

But there was always this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. I knew where this story went. I knew what happened to Howard and Maria. They were going to die. And because of that, I couldn't let myself really care about them. I wouldn't allow it. Growing attached meant opening myself up to the inevitable pain. So, I kept my distance emotionally, or at least I tried to. The more time I spent with them, the harder it got.

Howard, especially. He had this way of explaining things with such excitement, like showing me how an engine worked was the greatest gift he could give. One of these days, I was fiddling with the engine of one of his cars in the lab—just trying to get back into it, not for any real reason. He walked in, eyes wide, and I swear, I thought he was going to throw a parade right there in the lab.

"You're a natural!" he beamed, rushing over. "It's in your blood, you know—being a Stark."

Right. "In my blood." I didn't have the heart to tell him I was just messing around, trying to pass the time. Still, I could see the pride in his eyes. It was so genuine, it almost made me feel something. Almost.

Howard went on for days, telling Maria about my "achievement" like I'd just built the damn engine from scratch. It should've annoyed me, but honestly, it didn't. Not really. There was a small part of me—very small—that liked seeing him happy. But that was dangerous, and I knew it. So I kept it in check. No point in letting myself care too much.

Then there were the headaches and nosebleeds. Constant, nagging reminders that this body wasn't exactly a gift. I'd be in the middle of tinkering with something when suddenly, blood would start dripping down my face, or a sharp pain would pierce through my skull. It happened enough times that Maria started taking me to doctors regularly. They ran test after test, poked and prodded, but never found anything useful. The best they could do was prescribe medication, which I took, cursing the universe every time I swallowed a pill.

Maria tried to comfort me through it all, telling me everything would be okay. I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't worried. Not about that. The headaches were just another reminder of this life—fragile and full of complications. But I took the pills, let Maria soothe me, and pretended it made a difference.

Howard didn't know about most of it. When I was in his lab, I made sure the nosebleeds didn't show. The last thing I wanted was for him to look at me with worry in his eyes. I didn't need that. What I did need, though, was to keep my distance. He was trying too hard to bond, and a part of me—just a small part—was letting it happen. I couldn't afford that. Not when I knew what was coming.

So, I let Howard teach me, let him be proud, but I never let it go too far. I couldn't feel too much, couldn't allow myself to get caught up in whatever grandfather-daughter thing he was trying to create. Because one day, he wouldn't be there anymore. And I couldn't afford to care. Not again.

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[end of chapter one.]

A/N: to any one who's reading this , thank you giving this a chance. If you got questions you can ask them. Tony will apear in the next chapter, and there will be a small his point of view too. And yes tony didn't took her, he gave her to maria to take care. Thank you again for reading.