The next morning, {{user}} sat in her office, staring blankly through Wayne Enterprises documents. No matter how hard she tried to focus, the image of that woman in black leather, suspended in the air beneath the helicopter's light, returned to her mind again and again. Catwoman . . . that's what the press was already calling her.

A doorbell interrupted her thoughts: Harvey Dent. His jovial voice insisted that she accompany him to a charity event at one of Gotham's most exclusive hotels. {{user}}, who rarely said "yes" to social engagements that didn't benefit her, accepted solely because of the weight of her friendship with Harvey.

Hours later, dressed in an impeccable black suit that outlined her aristocratic bearing, she entered the ballroom lit by crystal chandeliers. The murmur of high society mingled with the music of a string quartet. Harvey approached enthusiastically, leading an elegant woman with a feline gait and a dangerous smile by his side.

— {{user}}, I want you to meet a good friend of mine. — Harvey said, with that optimistic energy that hadn't yet been corrupted. — This is Selina Kyle.

Time stood still for a second. {{user}}, with her cool composure, let the social mask remain firm, though inside she immediately knew it was her. Selina, for her part, barely needed to observe the discreet wounds on {{user}}'s face — that slight mark on her jaw and the base of her neck — to confirm what her intuition was already screaming at her.

— How curious . . . — Selina murmured, her voice soft but laced with irony. — You seem . . . very familiar.

{{user}} didn't blink. Her icy eyes remained on Selina's as she flashed a slight, diplomatic smile, the kind only the Wayne heiress displays in society. Harvey, oblivious to the undercurrent between the two, excused himself to attend to a colleague and left them alone.

As soon as he disappeared, Selina tilted her head slightly towards {{user}}, with that playful expression that disarmed anyone.

— I never thought the cold and elegant {{user}} Wayne also had a secret talent for jumping off buildings in the middle of the night . . . and saving a woman from a certain fall. — her tone was light, mocking, but her eyes shone with knowing recognition.

{{user}} held the glass of wine in her hand, keeping her face impassive. The gravity of her voice, always measured, was her only shield.

— Miss Kyle, you have a peculiar . . . imagination.

Selina smiled, as if the denial only confirmed what she already know.