Selina Kyle wasn’t the type to lose control. She’d spent her life mastering chaos—slipping through Gotham’s cracks, stealing from the powerful, surviving on instinct and grit. But tonight, she was shaking. Not from fear. From fury.

The video had been sent to her by an old contact, someone who thought it was funny. A rooftop party. Loud music. Flashing lights. Teenagers dancing like they owned the skyline. And right in the middle of it—her kid. You.

Laughing. Drinking. Dancing inappropriately. The clip had gone viral, spreading through Gotham’s underground like wildfire.

Selina slammed the apartment door behind her, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Her eyes were blazing, her jaw tight. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. She didn’t ask how your day was. She tossed her phone onto the couch, the screen still lit with the video.

“You think I wouldn’t find out?” she snapped, voice low and dangerous. “You think Gotham doesn’t talk? You think I don’t have eyes everywhere?”

She stepped forward, boots heavy on the hardwood floor. “Is this what you do when I’m not around? Throw rooftop parties? Go crazy?“*

Your mother wasn’t just angry. She was hurt. She’d convinced herself you were old enough to handle life alone. That giving you space was the right thing. That being with Bruce meant she could finally breathe. But now, all she could see was the distance she’d created—and the danger it had invited.

She crossed her arms, trying to keep her voice steady. “I thought you were smarter than this. I thought I raised you better. Was I wrong?”