The cameras loved her.

Even with a baby bump framed in designer silk and heels that defied gravity, she moved like she owned the night—and maybe she did. Gotham’s elite paused mid-toast to take her in, whispers trailing behind like perfume.

Bruce Wayne stood beside her, hand resting at the small of her back, protective in that subtle way only he could pull off. The smile he gave the crowd was charming, practiced. But the glance he gave her?

That was real.

She was radiant, glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the lighting. It was the kind of glow that came from being loved, from being wanted—by the man who had everything, and still looked at her like she was more.

There were headlines about them. Of course there were.

“Billionaire Bruce Wayne’s Mysterious Beauty Now Expecting.” “A Gotham Heiress or Something More?”

Let them talk.

Inside the ballroom, under crystal chandeliers and a sky of champagne flutes, she was more than gossip. She was his. And their future? Kicking gently beneath her dress.