- "Must I remind you that you have a gala scheduled tonight, sir?" said Alfred Pennyworth, looking at his master, quite concerned.

- "Am I not dressed properly, Alfred?" asked Bruce Wayne, smoothing the edges of his costume with his fingertips, clearly comfortable with the navy-blue outfit he chose for tonight.

- "Your beard, Mr. Wayne."

Shit. He had not gone out in public for three months now and forgot about it. With a groan, he took out his jacket and went back to the bathroom. Alfred sighed as he picked up the garment to get rid of its wrinkles. The handsome millionaire stared at his facial hair in front of the mirror for some time without moving, his hands resting on each side of the luxurious marble sink, wondering when he got these gray strands of hair. He was not surprised that he was getting white hairs this young, considering his stressful life, the lack of sleep, and all the injuries his body had to recover from. The constant fatigue made it harder for him to realize how fast the months had passed. He also couldn't remember the last night he had five whole hours of sleep. He finally grabbed his electric shaver and shaving foam and started to work on his hirsute beard. Strands of hair fell in the sink, and slowly, his jawline made an appearance for the first time in what felt like forever. His face started to look human again, that was if you could ignore the puffiness under his tired yet piercing eyes. After trimming most of his beard, he switched for a razor blade, and then finished by applying a scented and expensive aftershave.

- "This is more like it", said Alfred, the jacket in one hand, and a tie in the other.

Bruce let Alfred dress him and tighten the tie around his neck, as the butler recapped the night's schedule and the names of the most important guests with whom he had to spend the evening with. He then slid a white flower in the front pocket of the millionaire's jacket, to which was attached a bow and a little blue card–"Gotham's Foundlings", a charity sponsored by Wayne Enterprises.

- "Voila! You are ready", stated Alfred, apparently pleased with himself. "I hope tonight is the night you finally catch a woman's eye, Mister Wayne", he muttered in a weary voice as he put the overpriced cologne away.

Bruce did not take notice of the butler's comment and read through his speech one last time before he went to welcome his guests downstairs.

The reception had already begun when the blonde-haired woman and her mother's future associate arrived. She only had time meeting some of his colleagues before someone tapped his silver spoon on his champagne glass to ask for silence. She watched as Bruce Wayne made his way onto the stage, followed by the distinguished clapping of the assembly. While he spoke, she scanned the room, and established a plan to get to the black and grey-haired man in the smoothest way possible. She guessed the simplest way was to ask the associate to be introduced to him, as she knew for a fact they were close. The young woman with hazelnut eyes put on her nicest smile and walked to the counter to order a strong drink. She needed the rush it gave her to be assertive in a sea of sharks-rich, powerful men, tired of their old wives, who would swallow a young miss like herself in seconds just to ease their appetites. The speech finally ended, and she locked her eyes on her target, never letting him go in any part of the room without her knowing. She chatted with some gentlemen whose suggestive glances she attracted, but she effectively and politely brushed away any advances they tried to make on her. O, to be a lone woman, in an expensive cocktail dress, during a party. What a bore. They really couldn't leave women unaccompanied.

Tired of attracting unwanted attention as she was waiting for the right moment to make a move, she decided to return to her partner for the night. She felt a strong grip strengthen around her arm, and as she turned around, she was welcomed by the beaming face of her mother's associate-to-be, and Bruce Wayne's somber gaze.

- Ah! Here you are! Allow me, Mister Wayne, to present to you this charming flower, Amber Harrison, freshly arrived from France!

Damn. The suck-up was strong.

- Delighted, miss, responded Bruce in a monotonous voice, almost robotic, as he had already repeated this sentence for the hundredth time this evening. Are you French?

- No, I was born in Metropolis, but my mother is. I was only in Europe to study.

The mustached associate spoke about his trips to Paris and his meetings with her parents, for whom he only had warm words; a speech a little too fervent to be truly honest. Bruce observed the annoyed look on her face, quite amused by the fact that she tried her best to contain it, but failed miserably-although he was too tired to actually smile. He knew this feeling all too well, since from a very young age he had been harassed by toady businessmen in search for funds. He also noticed she kept glancing to the left part of the room, behind him, but he couldn't figure out why. After some small talk about her life in Europe, the blonde searched for a way to escape this irritating conversation. Her eyes landed on the old lady on her right side, one of her companion's acquaintances, who was apparently embarrassed with her empty glass as she couldn't find a waiter to get rid of it. Amber kindly offered to find her a new one as she excused herself to the two gentlemen.

Bruce kept an eye on her as she searched for a new glass of champagne for the senior, ready to call one of his stewards to order for new bottles to be opened. He was about to return to his conversation when something caught his eyes. The woman was talking with the old lady and her nephew, Oliver Johnson, one of the biggest trader in Gotham. The old man was stylish for his age, and Bruce couldn't help but notice his salt-and-pepper hair. So that's how he was going to look like when the gray hair would finally take over.

- "That's the man you were searching for then, miss Harrison. Typical", he thought, "another young girl in need of financial security."

Oliver was the perfect target, as he was known for his many love affairs. His wife Amanda, living part time in Asia for business trips, strangely covered for him and denied the rumours–although nobody understood why, even if it was in the name of love. It was a common joke in these upper-scale parties–to guess which girl he would attract tonight, and how long would Amanda be forced to endure the disgrace. She could rightfully ask for an at-fault divorce, but in her 30 years of marriage, she never did. He was about to call it a night, tired of the pompous gossip, but the blonde caught his attention once again. She was vigilant, but apparently not enough for the dark knight. He watched, concerned, as she laughed at one of the old man's joke, and put her hand on his hand, swiftly but delicately. He frowned as he was trying to understand what this young woman was up to, was that her approach? No, she didn't touch his hand, she grabbed his wrist, but why? Bruce was perplexed when he saw a glint on the old man's expensive watch, which quickly turned into faint red dot under the strap. Bruce Wayne observed as she took her leave from the two guests to return to the young moustached businessman.

- "Alfred, I will need everything you have on Amber Harisson", ordered Bruce, when he pressed on the device hidden in his right ear.

- "Ah ! Finally, a lady caught your eye! I was about to lose hope", responded a content and perfectly oblivious Alfred.