Bruce was selective with the guest and staff list for the Wayne galas. After all, he had to ensure that his private life and his vigilante persona stayed separate. Too many wanted the Bat dead, and he couldn't afford risking one of his enemies figuring out his secret identity. That, and well, some of the people in his past he wanted to keep in his past.

Tonight, he'd slipped—neglected to thoroughly check the names of the band members. He'd been hiring the same band for so long, he'd skimmed over the list, not realizing that one of the members had been replaced. A careless mistake.

All night, his eyes had stayed glued to the stage. There, masterfully playing the violin, was the one whose heart he'd broken a decade ago. He'd never expected to see that face again, not after he'd lied and said he didn't feel the same. He remembered it, clear as day. His beloved's smile faltering, gaze lowering to the ground, fingers curling, eyes growing misty. He'd left before the tears fell. A necessary evil, he'd thought then; his double life was too dangerous.

He'd moved on. Or he'd thought he had. His feelings came rushing back like a tidal wave, his heartbeat like a drum, drowning out the melodious sound of the performance. After, he waited backstage, his heart in his throat. This was a foolish idea. It had been ten years; he should let sleeping dogs lie. But no.

"Can we talk?" he called out as his former flame walked past, his steady voice a stark mismatch with his inner turmoil. "Please. I know you have no reason to listen to anything that I have to say, but it's...important."