Anthony Stark was forty when his heart gave out—though, if we're being honest, it had been breaking for years.
To the world, he was a legend. The genius who built a tech empire from his dorm room, turning code into cash. His name echoed in boardrooms and blazed across financial headlines. But those glossy profiles never mentioned the silence in his penthouse or the fact that the only voice that ever greeted him with warmth had been gone for six years.
Tony spent his youth chasing success the way the world said he should—head in books, eyes on the prize. No parties, no distractions, no falling in love. While others stumbled through breakups and hangovers, he was racking up patents and promotions. By 34, he was a billionaire CEO with his face on the cover of Forbes. Then the world got hit by a virus that didn't care about your bank account.
His grandma, Emilia, the only family he had left, the one who raised him after his parents died, passed away alone in a hospital he couldn't even visit. Tony never really bounced back from that. He just got quieter. The work piled up, but the joy was gone.
The night he died, he wasn't working. He was just sitting on his balcony, watching the city lights twinkle like stars that belonged to someone else. The loneliness was so loud it drowned out everything. The heart attack came fast. Sharp. Final. No big scene, just one last breath from a man who gave the world everything—except himself.
No one found him until morning.
Tony jolted awake in his bed, heart pounding. He stumbled to the mirror, and there it was: a young, handsome face staring back. Jet-black hair, sapphire eyes, a chiseled jawline. He looked eighteen again.
"How am I alive? Didn't I just die of a heart attack?" he thought, his mind racing. The room felt familiar, like a memory he hadn't touched in decades. His eyes landed on the calendar: August 1, 1991. No markings, just the date.
He'd traveled back in time.
Shock hit him like a freight train, but as it settled, one thought rose above the rest: his grandmother, Emilia. She was still here.
Emilia was a force of nature. She lost her husband in 1942 to the war, left alone with a house, some property, and a newborn son. Thirty years later, she lost her son and daughter-in-law in a train accident, leaving her to raise Tony. She didn't just scrape by—she built a life. She started a café in 1943, grew it into a second one in Brooklyn, and even dabbled in real estate. Emilia was tough as nails, and Tony owed her everything.
He bolted out of his room, nearly tripping down the stairs. There she was in the living room, sipping coffee, the morning news humming in the background. Without a word, he threw his arms around her and started to cry.
"Grandma, I missed you so much," he sobbed.
"Oh, Tony, what's wrong? Why're you crying?" Emilia said, wrapping him in a hug. "It's okay, maybe you had a bad dream. Don't cry—it's your birthday today!"
Tony couldn't stop the tears. After ten minutes of her soothing words, he finally pulled himself together. "I'm okay now, Grandma," he said, wiping his eyes.
"I'm glad, kiddo. Happy birthday!" Emilia grinned, patting his shoulder. "Guess what I got you?"
Tony smiled, remembering his first eighteenth birthday. "A car? It's my eighteenth, right?"
Emilia chuckled, grabbing an envelope from the table beside her. "Yeah, but there's more. This is the money your parents left behind. It's been sitting in the bank, gathering interest. It's $173,000 now."
Tony's eyes widened as he took the envelope. "Thank you, Grandma," he said, pulling her into another hug.
"There's one more surprise. C'mon, let's check the front yard," she said with a mischievous smile.
They walked outside, and there it was: a sleek black Mustang GT parked next to a Toyota Corolla. Tony's jaw dropped. "Grandma, this is the best gift ever. How about we go on a grandma-grandson date?"
"Alright, get cleaned up and let's hit the road," Emilia said, heading back inside.
Tony stood under the shower, letting the water wash over him as his mind spun with possibilities. He was back in 1991 with a second chance—a chance to outdo his past life, to build something even bigger. But first, high school. He sighed, shaking his head as he rinsed off.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out in a white hoodie, baggy jeans, and bluish-white sneakers, looking every bit the cool eighteen-year-old. He opened the Mustang's passenger door with a grin. "My lady, your chariot awaits."
Emilia laughed as she slid in. "Tony, keep acting like that, and you'll have girls chasing you left and right."
"Nah, I only got love for my grandma," he said, closing the door. If only she knew he'd stayed single his whole life.
Tony hopped into the driver's seat, and the Mustang roared to life. They headed to a local theater for a family comedy, laughing through the whole thing. After, they grabbed lunch at a nice restaurant, chatting and joking like old times.
When they were done, Emilia asked Tony to drop her off at the café. "Oh, and open that bank account today, alright?" she said as she got out.
"You got it, Grandma," Tony called, pulling away and heading to Citibank.
He parked on a bustling street and walked into the towering building. At the counter, he approached a middle-aged account officer. "Hey, I'd like to open a bank account."
"Sure thing," the officer said, sliding a form across the desk. "You'll need ID, proof of address, your Social Security number, and a minimum deposit. Just fill this out."
Tony nodded, grabbing a pen. Time to start building that empire—again.