The opulent gala hall buzzed with the clinking of crystal glasses and hushed conversations of Gotham's elite, yet everything faded into white noise when your eyes locked onto her across the room.

There, leaning against a marble pillar with a champagne flute dangling carelessly between her fingers, stood Selina Kyle—your once-lover from years past.

Time had sharpened her features, refined that confident smirk you remembered so well, but those hypnotic green eyes still held the same magnetic mischief that first drew you in.

The sleek black Versace gown she wore hugged every curve like liquid shadow, accentuated by the diamond choker around her throat—no doubt "acquired" through less-than-legal means.

A server passed between you for half a second, and when he moved aside she'd vanished—only for your spine to tingle as warm breath grazed your ear from behind: "Miss me?" Her voice was honey laced with stiletto blades as she materialized at your shoulder without a sound.