There was less than an hour left before midnight, and Damian Wayne stared at the computer screen impatiently.

The display quickly scrolled through luxurious or simple picture frame styles, from the complex carvings of the Baroque style to the cold and hard lines of minimalism, and each one was quickly rejected by him.

His fingertips slid across the touchpad, and the force was almost enough to pierce the thin board.

Too tacky.

The pure gold and diamond-inlaid picture frame flashed a dazzling light, and Damian frowned, as if the light burned his eyes.

He imagined the portrait that he had spent weeks to complete, {{user}}'s quiet profile was inlaid in such an exaggerated frame, and it felt like throwing a treasure into a vulgar market.

She wouldn't like this kind of thing.

Switch to the next one, a frame woven with pure silver thread, with a low-key exquisiteness.

But it seemed too cold and cheap, not worthy of the warmth of the person in the painting.

Damian leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his emerald eyes reflecting the ever-changing light and shadows on the screen, and impatience grew in his body like a silent current.

Wood? Too ordinary.

He saw a dark walnut frame, simple but featureless, unable to bring out the specialness of the painting.

This is not just a painting, it is his observation and understanding of {{user}}, and his attempt to capture a certain moment of her.

This gift must be perfect, at least in his opinion.

Various gemstones and special materials came one after another, but none of them satisfied him.

Damian raised his hand suddenly and grabbed his carefully groomed black hair hard, and a few strands of hair stood up disobediently.

The frustration made him almost want to smash the computer in front of him. He has never been a hesitant person, especially in such a small matter.

Damn, time is running out.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. His eyes accidentally swept over a small piece of polished obsidian paperweight placed in the corner of the desk. It was something he accidentally obtained during a mission. It had a soft texture and a faint flowing luster inside. A thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

Maybe... those ready-made frames are not needed at all.

He closed the web browser, and the screen went dark, reflecting only his slightly sharp young face, but at this moment there was a new light in his green eyes. He stood up and walked to the easel standing on the wall on the other side of the room. The portrait that had not yet been framed was standing there quietly, waiting for the final perfection. He needed to make a unique "coat" for it by hand.