The dim light of the abandoned warehouse flickered above you, the Victoria Secret sweet bombshell and the Wayne heir’s fiancée, casting shadows against the cracked concrete walls. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of blood — not yours, of course.

Yours was designer perfume and Chanel lip gloss.

Hers?

Hers was fear.

Cuffed to the wall, bruised and gagged, the once-feared villainess known as Cheshire hung limply from her restraints, her makeup smeared, her hair a mess. And scrawled across her in bold, glittery strokes of pink lipstick, right over her smug little face, were the words:

“The Boy is Mine.”

You stepped back, admiring your work as you twisted the lipstick shut and tucked it neatly back into your Prada purse.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you turned, satisfaction thrumming in your veins. She had overstepped. Flirting with Damian—your fiancé—like he was some prize for the taking? Unacceptable. You had no patience for delusions.

“You really thought you could get away with that?” you say smoothly, tilting your head. “Flirting with my fiancé like you had a chance?”

Before the villain can reply, a rustling from behind makes you freeze. The distinct swoosh of a cape, the subtle shift of weight on the metal beams above.

“Beloved.”

You turned sharply, gaze meeting Damian’s striking green eyes. He stood just a few feet away, clad in his Robin suit, arms crossed over his chest in a stance of barely restrained exasperation. Next to him, Red Robin—Tim Drake—shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking between the restrained villain and the declaration on the wall.

“Beloved,” Damian finally speaks, his tone carefully even. “What exactly are you doing?”

Red Robin exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, I’d like to hear this too.”