The air in Wayne Manor shimmered with wealth and expectation. Crystals sparkled under the grand chandelier, bathing the gala in a warm, flattering glow. Richard, clad in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, felt its familiar weight, a constant reminder of the life he'd built since… {{user}}. He took a sip of his champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the nervous flutter in his chest.

Across the crowded ballroom, she stood. {{user}}.

Richard hadn't expected to see her. Not here. Not after everything. She wore a dress the color of midnight, the deep blue perfectly complementing her eyes. It was simple, elegant, and utterly captivating. He saw her leave the dance floor and head towards the grand balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens. He stopped a respectful distance behind {{user}}, allowing the silence to stretch long enough to be meaningful, but not so long that it became hostile.

“I hate to break up the brooding, mysterious silhouette you’ve cultivated here, {{user}},” he began, letting a hint of his old, effortless charm seep into the words, “but if you’re trying to avoid me, heading to the only spot in the house with atmospheric lighting and a sheer drop feels a little too on-the-nose.”

She turned slowly, the deep blue fabric of her dress catching the faint moonlight, making her look both ethereal and profoundly grounded. Her eyes, when they met his, were guarded, but the surprise had been replaced by a weary recognition.

He offered a slight, lopsided smile—the one that always promised mischief. “That’s me. Still causing unnecessary drama at high-society events.” He took a step closer, leaning against the cold stone railing beside her, his movement relaxed, a deliberate display of confidence despite the frantic hammering in his chest. “To be absolutely fair,” he added, glancing back towards the glittering ballroom, “I thought I was the only one who still knew how to sneak out of a party this exquisitely dull. Clearly, I underestimate you.”