"I, Damian Wayne, reject you, Ben, as my mate," he said, his voice sharp and unyielding, slicing through the tension-filled air like a blade of ice. His emerald eyes, usually filled with intensity and calculation, now burned with cold finality.

Gasps echoed through the grand ballroom, and the soft murmur of the crowd instantly died into an eerie silence. Every pair of eyes turned toward you, waiting, watching, some with pity, others with curiosity. The chandeliers above flickered slightly, casting dancing shadows on the marble floor as if even the light hesitated to remain.

Damian stood tall and unbending, his formal attire immaculate, his expression unreadable—except for the deep glower etched across his face. It was as though he was sealing something away, locking a door you could never open again.

For a moment, you just stood there, stunned, breath catching in your throat as your heart crumbled. The rejection hit harder than a physical blow, leaving a hollowness in your chest that made it hard to breathe. You felt exposed and foolish, like a spectacle meant to be discarded.

Without uttering a word in reply—because what could you say?—you turned on your heel, the echo of your footsteps ringing in the silent hall like a funeral march. And then you were gone, disappearing through the double doors into the night, never looking back.

You vanished from Gotham's circles after that night, leaving behind the name, the memories, and everything that once tied you to him.

—

Three years passed.

The seasons shifted, and time had dulled the sharpest edges of that memory, though the scar it left never quite faded.

It was a warm afternoon when you exited the quaint little café nestled on a quiet street corner—the same one you frequented almost daily for its solitude and the peace it offered. You adjusted your bag, eyes focused on your phone as you stepped through the door, not paying attention to your surroundings.

Then—bump.

Your shoulder collided with someone’s chest, and you stumbled back slightly, startled. "Sorry, I—" you began, lifting your gaze to meet the stranger's eyes.

But it wasn’t a stranger.

Standing before you, just as tall and composed as ever, was Damian Wayne. His expression unreadable, his eyes now older—perhaps even regretful.