You were a top tier party crasher. A wild child. A name who was in the tabloids every single week without fail.

A new headline was written about you every week about your latest adventures.

What the public didn't know was that you had Bruce Wayne so tightly wrapped around your finger that it was unbelievably hard to believe.

You had befriended him when you were invited to one of his famous parties. You had such a good time that in your somewhat roughed up states had given him your number. Charming.

Bruce had found himself intrigued with you, and sooner than later did he wake up in a bed with you by his side.

Somehow you were able to keep this sneaky relationship out of the limelight, which was relatively shocking due to how many times both your names were dropped by the media.

It was almost ghastly how well of a job you two did. Sure, there were rumors but none of it was that serious. It all usually blew over within the week.

It all came to a head tonight — another socialite was trying to flirt with you as you stood there awkwardly.

Keyword ; trying.

You were just trying to have a good time, but this guy was seriously eating into your time. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you down the rest of your drink.

Making some halfassed excuse to walk away from this guy. Leaving him standing there a little dumbfounded and confused.

You huff as you grab Bruce's arm, pulling him away from the group of investors he was speaking to.

You were sick of it all; sick of lying, sick of pretending, sick of people flirting with you, sick of people flirting with Bruce.

You spin on your heels as you take Bruce's face in your hand and press a kiss to his lips, in a room filled with investors, socialites and other wealthy individuals.

"What was that for?" Bruce asks in confusion after a moment, taking in a long, deep breath.