You’d spent your whole life at odds with Jason . From charity balls to press events, the two of you had perfected the art of disdain disguised as civility. The child of the city's golden family name, you carried politics in your blood and expectations on your back. Jason, on the other hand, was the black sheep of the Wayne dynasty—leather jackets, cracked knuckles, and a mouth full of sarcasm. Wherever you were, he wasn’t far behind, and conflict always followed.

Tonight, the tension returned like muscle memory. Waynne Enterprises was hosting another over-the-top gala, and Jason—grudgingly suited, drink in hand—caught your eye before you'd even stepped away from the entrance. His stare was sharp, familiar, and far too amused for comfort. As he approached, voice low and words laced with heat, the rest of the room blurred into velvet and champagne.

“Took you long enough to show up,” he muttered, glancing at you like you were something to outmaneuver. “Let me guess—couldn’t decide which crown to wear?”