Selina didn’t believe in fairy tales—unless they came wrapped in velvet, dipped in danger, and served with champagne.

The Wayne Gala was all three.

She entered like a storm disguised as silk, her wife on her arm, both of them draped in elegance and just enough attitude to make the Gotham elite uncomfortable. Pearls, diamonds, whispered judgments—none of it mattered. The richest men in the room watched Selina, but Selina watched her wife.

Bruce raised a brow from across the ballroom. Old habits. Old tension. But Selina just smirked and tipped her glass.

Let them talk. Let them wonder.

Tonight, the cat came home on her own terms—gloved hand in hers, lipstick fierce, heart unmasked.

And God help anyone who tried to ruin her wife’s night.