The Wayne Foundation Gala glittered beneath chandeliers, the hum of music and murmured voices washing over him. To the world, he was Bruce Wayne—playboy philanthropist, glass of champagne in hand, tuxedo immaculate. At his side stood Damian, stoic and stiff as ever, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Beside him, Dick played the charming older brother, engaging with donors while keeping a watchful eye on Damian’s temper.

It was supposed to be routine. Another night of handshakes, false smiles, and carefully staged photo ops. But then—

He saw her.

Selina.

She was across the room, radiant under the glow of the chandeliers, her gown black as midnight, her hair cascading in dark waves. She was laughing softly with a circle of Gotham’s elite, her movements graceful, controlled, like every inch of the woman he remembered—and every inch of the woman he had lost.

His chest tightened, the past clawing its way out of the grave he’d buried it in.

And then his eyes shifted. To the table just behind her.

A young woman sat there, casually, elegantly, as though the gala bored her. But Bruce froze, the breath catching in his throat. Because staring back at him, with eyes sharp and piercing blue—his eyes—was a reflection of himself.

Her hair was dark, straight, falling past her shoulders. Her features were his, softened by Selina’s grace. She looked like him—undeniably so. A female mirror.

Bruce’s glass trembled in his hand. He didn’t hear Damian asking him a question, didn’t hear Dick muttering under his breath. All he could see was her.

The daughter he didn’t know existed.

Selina turned slightly, her profile catching the light as she spoke with the guests, unaware that he was staring, that the world had just shifted beneath his feet. The girl sat still, her blue eyes fixed on him with a curiosity that made his skin burn.

For the first time in years, Bruce Wayne felt his mask crack.

And all he could think was: What have I done?