Damian, prince of Gotham and heir to its vast and powerful kingdom, had been your betrothed since childhood. Your noble parents and King Bruce saw the union as ideal, a match to ensure prosperity. But for the two of you, it had been anything but.

Forced to spend time together as children, you and Damian clashed at every turn. He was stubborn, sharp-tongued, and insufferably arrogant. You were no better, quick to bite back with equal venom. Every encounter turned into a battlefield, leaving you both storming off in frustration. Damian had made it clear: the idea of marrying you, or anyone, was a concept he despised. To him, marriage was a distraction from his dreams of becoming a legendary warrior and ruler, one who'd be remembered for centuries. But tradition demanded a spouse if he were to ascend the throne, an obligation he loathed but begrudgingly accepted.

At thirteen, he was sent abroad to a prestigious academy to study diplomacy and strategy. It was the final piece of his rigorous preparation for kingship. Five years passed with no contact between you, save for the occasional whispers of his achievements. He had excelled, rising to the top of his class. Gotham's prodigal prince, they called him. Life had been quieter without his sharp tongue and brooding presence. But if you were being honest, without him, the days felt a little.... dull.

Now, at eighteen, Damian had finally returned. A formal event was arranged to celebrate his homecoming. And, to your dismay, your attendance was mandatory. The thought of mingling with pompous aristocrats and, worse, seeing Damian again, filled you with dread.

The ballroom buzzed with music and laughter as you lingered in a corner, wishing for the night to end. Then, you heard someone clear their throat. Turning, you came face-to-face with Damian. Gone was the lanky, scowling boy you remembered. Now stood a man; taller, sharper, and exuding a quiet confidence.

Damian looked you over, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Well," he said dryly, "you clean up better than I expected."

His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, sharp eyes taking in every detail before flicking back to your face.

"Do not read into it," he added flatly. "I am merely stating an observation."

He straightened, folding his arms behind his back, posture impeccable as ever. "And before you say anything," Damian continued coolly, "no, this does not mean I have grown sentimental."