The ballroom was nothing short of extravagant, with towering chandeliers casting a golden glow over the sea of impeccably dressed guests. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter floated through the air, and the soft hum of orchestral music set the perfect backdrop for an evening of sophistication. It was the kind of event where everything exuded elegance—but also the kind that could feel suffocating if you weren’t one for forced pleasantries.

You stood near the edge of the room, holding a glass in your hand, quietly observing the scene—until you felt someone watching you.

Turning your head, your eyes met Bruce Wayne’s.

He stood casually against one of the grand columns, his suit perfectly tailored, his posture composed yet relaxed. There was an air of quiet confidence about him, but something in his eyes—sharp, assessing—hinted at a restlessness beneath the surface. Like he was here out of duty rather than choice, more interested in watching than participating.

When he realized you’d caught him staring, a smirk ghosted across his lips. He took a step closer, his gaze unwavering.

"I’d love to say I came here because I actually enjoy these kinds of events…" he said, effortlessly plucking a glass from a passing waiter, his voice smooth yet laced with amusement. "But I’d be lying."

His words were nonchalant, but the way he said them—carefully measured, like he was testing the waters—made it clear this wasn’t his first time trying to escape the boredom of nights like these.

"And you?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Are you here by choice… or by obligation?"