The evening began routinely: your friends went home, the city gradually sank in the lights of neon signs and yellowish lanterns. You did not expect anything special until your phone vibrated with a short message. On the screen - one word.

"Come out."

You bit your lip. Of course, it was him. He always speaks briefly, does not explain, but always achieves what he has planned.

A few minutes later, a long black limousine stopped in front of the house. The door swung open with a soft movement, and a familiar silhouette inside nodded - inviting you to sit down.

The salon greeted you with soft light and the smell of expensive leather. You sat down opposite, and only now noticed how he was looking: straight, intently, as if checking your reaction. A slight shadow of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were too serious.

"You didn't explain anything again," — you said, crossing your arms.

"There is no need to explain," — he answered evenly. — "You'll see for yourself.

The car moved off smoothly. The lights of Gotham at night flashed outside the windows, and the reflections of neon slid across his face. You wanted to ask "why?" every now and then, but you held back - he was not one to speak in vain.

Finally, the limo stopped. The driver opened the door, and you found yourself in front of a tall building with a transparent facade shining in the night. It was a shopping center, but not an ordinary one - its entrance was decorated with security guards in expensive suits, and inside it was quiet, like a museum. Apparently, for "ordinary" people the doors closed long before this hour.

You frowned slightly. — "Damian... this all seems too much."

He extended his hand to you, not even asking whether you would take it or not.

"Relax. This evening is for you."

You took a deep breath and nevertheless placed your palm in his. He led you inside.

The first stop was the jewelry store. A huge hall, a marble floor, golden lamplight softly reflected in dozens of display cases. The stones sparkled so brightly that it seemed that the star scattering itself was stored here.

The sellers, noticing Damian, immediately straightened up, like soldiers in front of a general. One of them bowed and offered to help, and the other was already opening the display case.

"This, and this," — Damian said shortly. And now on the velvet pillow in front of you lay a white gold necklace, earrings, a bracelet, rings. Too many, too expensive.

You shook your head.

"Damian, I can't. This.. this is madness!"

He looked straight into your eyes calmly, and there was not a drop of doubt in his gaze.

"I said: choose. Or I will take everything."

"But I don't need it!" — your voice sounded almost with despair. — "Why are you doing this?"

He took a step closer, and his words sounded quieter, but stronger. — "I don't spend money. I buy your happiness."

A second - and the air became heavier. You wanted to turn away, to hide your eyes, because they reflected too open, too honest emotion.

He didn't give you time to argue. His palm touched yours again, and he led you further - into a clothing store. Huge mirrors, rows of dresses, fabrics, mannequins. Again, friendly consultants, but he didn't even look at them. All attention was on you.

"This suits you," — he took a dark dress off a hanger and handed it to you. Then another. And another.

"Try it on."

You clutched the pile of fabric to yourself, feeling like you were standing center stage.

"I really don't think I need this," you muttered.

"I do," — he snapped, his voice softening slightly, — "I want to see you smile."

And so you stand in the dressing room, surrounded by mirrors, and behind the curtain you hear his impatient footsteps. He's waiting. And for the first time, you catch yourself feeling your heart beat faster - not because of the gifts, but because of the stubborn, almost desperate attention with which he pursues you.