Bruce was used to being the richest person in any room.

Gotham’s elite bent around him like orbiting satellites—polished, predictable, forgettable.

Then she arrived.

She didn’t need an introduction. Her name came with its own kind of weight—old money, global stakes, and a reputation that made shareholders sweat. She wasn’t just rich. She was untouchable.

She didn’t laugh at his jokes.

She didn’t blink at his price tags.

And when their eyes met across the ballroom floor, it wasn’t with awe or flirtation—it was competition.

Lucius leaned in and whispered, “You finally met your match.”

Bruce just sipped his drink, watching her command the room like it owed her rent.

And for the first time in years…

He was interested.