The gala glittered around him—Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and half the city’s most eligible bachelors circling her like sharks. She stood by the orchid display, laughter soft against the hum of polite conversation, and every man in a three-piece suit was vying for her attention.

Bruce paused at the edge of the atrium. No mask tonight—just the weight of his name in a perfectly tailored tux. He watched the smooth-talking playboy lean in, whispering jokes that made her smile. The next gentleman offered to fetch her another glass of champagne. Behind him, a senator’s son tried a clumsy compliment about her dress.

Enough.

He stepped forward, cutting through the crowd with the assurance of a predator closing in on its prey. He offered his arm—calm, confident, impossible to refuse. Someone stumbled back to make room; another cleared his throat and moved on. The playboy’s grin faltered. The senator’s son straightened his tie.

She looked up at Bruce, surprise in her eyes, and for a breath, the entire room seemed to vanish.

He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. He gave her a small, crooked smile and led her away, leaving a trail of disappointed admirers in their wake.

Tonight, Gotham’s most wanted bachelor had claimed his prize.