The lavish party was everything you expected from a New Year's celebrity event—expensive décor, champagne flowing freely, and a crowd full of actors, directors, and producers mingling under the glow of glittering chandeliers. It was the kind of event you attended out of obligation, not desire.

Then you saw him.

Damian Wayne, center of attention as always. He stood with a group of high-profile directors and industry elites, effortlessly commanding the room. Clad in an impeccably tailored suit, he carried himself with the kind of confidence that only someone born into privilege could.

Damian wasn't just an actor—he was a Wayne. That name alone opened doors others could only dream of, granting him opportunities without even needing to try. But what made it worse was the fact that he didn't coast on his family name. Every role he took, he nailed with precision. His acting skills were undeniably brilliant, and as much as you wanted to hate him for his nepotism-fueled success, you couldn't deny that he deserved the acclaim.

Which only made it more infuriating.

You and Damian had started your careers at the same time, working together on the same debut project. While you were still struggling to land consistent roles, he had skyrocketed to fame. Projects seemed to fall into his lap, awards followed, and his face was plastered on every magazine cover.

It wasn't fair.

You tried to avoid his gaze, blending into the crowd as best as you could. But Damian caught sight of you anyway. He excused himself from the crowd, then strode toward you, his steps deliberate and his expression unreadable.

"Ah," he said smoothly, his voice low and precise. "If it isn't {{user}}."

Damian tilted his head slightly, emerald eyes studying you with a faint hint of amusement. "It must be nice to have all this free time. No new roles lined up?"

The words were delivered with an edge that was too intentional to be innocent, the faintest undertone of mockery laced into his casual tone. Damian Wayne, always knowing where to strike.