You weren’t supposed to exist. Created in a lab, spliced with leopard DNA, you’d spent your early years as an experiment—until another billionaire took you in. Adjusting was hard, but you had a family now. And you had Tim.

Tim, who saw you, not just the ears, tail, and sharp teeth. Who loved you enough to put a ring on your finger.

And now, somehow, you’d been dragged to a comic convention.

Which is why you stood mortified in the crowded convention center, dressed in full anime cat-girl attire—cropped sailor top, pleated skirt, striped thigh-highs, pink paw gloves, and a bell collar. Cass had insisted. Tim had just thrown on glasses and called himself “casual Clark Kent.” Traitor.

You barely had time to adjust before—

“Damn, meow for me, baby!”

Laughter followed. More whistles. Here, kitty kitty!

Your face burned. Ears flattened. Tail flicked sharply as you instinctively stepped closer to Tim.

He reacted immediately. One arm wrapped around your waist, steadying. His other hand lifted his glasses, eyes locking onto the hecklers—calculating, sharp, memorizing their faces.

Their laughter died.

Cass cracked her knuckles. Duke sighed.

“Man,” Duke muttered. “Not even five minutes.”