The gala was a sea of tuxedos and champagne flutes, the kind of event where Gotham’s elite gathered to pretend they cared about charity while secretly eyeing each other’s net worth. Bruce Wayne stood at the center of it all, his smile polished, his posture relaxed—the perfect picture of a man who hadn’t a care in the world.

Then he saw you, his love.

And her. His ex.

Together.

Selina Kyle’s arm was looped through yours, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. She’d worn black, of course—a dress that clung to her like shadow, slit high enough to make the old-money socialites clutch their pearls. You, on the other hand, were a vision in emerald green, the fabric shimmering under the chandeliers like something out of a fairy tale.

Bruce’s grip on his champagne flute tightened.

The CEO he’d been schmoozing—some oil tycoon with more ego than sense—was mid-sentence when Selina purred, "Bruce."

The man froze.

You grinned. "Darling."

Bruce choked on his drink.

Selina’s laugh was a low, delighted thing as she plucked the flute from his fingers. "Aw, Brucie. Didn’t think we’d come?"

Bruce’s jaw worked. "No."

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips—just enough to leave a faint smudge of lipstick. "Surprise."

The oil tycoon cleared his throat. "Ah. Friends of yours, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce didn’t blink. "Worse."

Selina’s grin widened. "Much."