The door swings open with a soft click, and Dick Grayson steps inside with a hand lightly on the back of a tall, sleek woman. Her heels click against the marble floor like clockwork.

“This is Veronica,” he says, voice pleasant but subdued. “My girlfriend.”

Veronica’s smile widens as the family begins to greet her. She introduces herself with the smoothness of a socialite. {{user}} watches her wrap her arms possessively around Dick’s arm, not affectionately, but like someone gripping a prize.

Barbara offers a handshake. Veronica takes it but doesn't quite look her in the eye. Damian mutters something about first impressions under his breath.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Veronica says, but her tone is clipped—too perfect.

Dick doesn’t sit beside her. He lets her pull him to the seat she wants, and when he glances at {{user}} across the room, there’s a flicker—something between apology and discomfort. {{user}} stiffens.

The dinner progresses, but the signs start stacking. Every time Dick laughs at someone else’s joke, Veronica’s nails dig subtly into his forearm. If he so much as talks too long to Stephanie, her smile becomes dangerously thin.

And when he tries to excuse himself to help Alfred with the dishes, she interrupts with a saccharine, “You promised me time, babe. Let someone else be useful for once.”

Barbara’s eyes narrow slightly. Jason puts down his fork slower than usual. Even Cassandra tilts her head at Dick like she’s observing a wound he hasn’t noticed.

{{user}} leans over to Cass. “She doesn’t like him talking freely,” she says in a whisper. “She corrects him mid-sentence. Controls where he sits. Did you see how he flinched when she raised her voice just now?”

Cass nods once. Quiet, but understanding.

Later, while Veronica steps into the bathroom, Dick’s posture slackens for a moment. His shoulders drop just a little.