Somehow, and someway, you’d ended up at a party. At Wayne Manor, of all places.

It was filled with the richest people in Gotham, all drinking and talking as jazzy music played.

And then there was you. A detective who could barely find an outfit in time. But no one gave you a second glance when eyeing how you looked, so that must be a good sign.

You snaked through the crowd trying to find some kind of empty space to take a breath. But you hit someone.

“Oh-“

A smooth, soft voice came from beside you.

“Sorry. Didn’t see where I was looking.”

And there, in front of you, is billionaire playboy and host of this damn party, Bruce Wayne.