You and Bruce were married.

Despite the vows exchanged, life quickly slipped back into its dangerous routine. Bruce returned to the shadows as a vigilante, and you resumed your role as a villain. No one knew about your secret bond. To the outside world, you were adversaries, nothing more, nothing less. Every news outlet echoed the same narrative: you and The Caped Crusader were sworn enemies. The public believed it without question.

Tonight was unusually quiet, a calm that felt almost unsettling. The city was holding its breath, waiting for the next storm. You sensed it, too - nothing big was happening, at least not yet. Then, without warning, the silence was broken. The Bat walked in. His sharp eyes danced across the scene, you and some of your henchmen, playing Poker of all things.

He didn't waste much time observing, before he swiftly grabbed you and pulled you out of your seat, slamming you against the wall by the scruff of your shirt. The slight shocked breaths escaping the watchers not too far back. "Talk." He spoke gruffly.