Chapter 1

Gotham Entertainment District – Night

Selina sat alone in the dark, bare skin illuminated only by the thin, trembling strips of neon leaking in through the cracked blinds. The room was quiet—too quiet—save for the slow, restless tapping of her nails against her thigh. She wasn’t usually the reflective type. Life had taught her to keep moving, keep scheming, keep one step ahead of the next disaster.

But tonight ... she was thinking. Thinking too much. This new job didn’t sit right with her. Never had, not even the moment Sofia Falcone offered it. But she’d taken it anyway. Because of that diamond. The Blue Panther.

She’d heard about it since she was a kid—a jewel worth more than half the East End, shaped and carved to meticulous perfection, the gem glowing like starlight caught in sapphire. Sofia dangled it in front of her like a lure before a starving cat. Selina took the bait.

She still didn’t like it, though. Not because of the job itself. Stealing? Seducing? Breaking and entering? That wasn’t the problem. Those things came as naturally to her as breathing. It was Sofia herself.

Sofia Falcone was wrong in every way. A bad smell in a nice dress. Bruce Wayne’s charity galas always had one or two like that—people with polished shoes and rotten souls. But Sofia ... Sofia was a special rotten. A monster wearing lipstick and cashmere.

She claimed she wanted to be ‘better than her father,’ to rule Gotham’s underworld with elegance and compassion. Compassion! Selina scoffed softly at the word even now.

Compassion had nothing to do with how Sofia ran business.

Her drugs? More addictive than Carmine’s ever were—chemical traps disguised as recreational highs. Her human trafficking rings? Worse. Rumor had it that pretty girls—and boys—who ended up in her smuggling circles sometimes ‘vanished’ for weeks, only to reappear dumped in alleys, bruised, broken, and used up. Sofia’s handiwork. They said she held a unique hatred for children. A twisted scar left by her own family.

Sofia wasn’t just a Falcone. She was a Falcone without a leash. Selina shivered—but not from the cold. What could she do, though? She wasn’t a hero. Didn’t pretend to be. Heroes died in alleys. Heroes got framed. Heroes broke inside under the weight of Gotham’s filth. If she refused this job, Sofia would take it as an insult. And Selina already had Carmine Falcone gunning for her. She couldn’t afford to make an enemy of his daughter too.

But then ... there was him. Selina’s lips parted slightly as the thought entered—uninvited and unwelcome. She shook her head to chase it away. But the image stayed. The cowl.

The voice.

The way he looked at her—like he could see straight through her and yet still couldn’t help wanting her. She had always found him fascinating even before she met him. Too damn fascinating. And yes, they’d kissed. God, what a kiss. A stupid, reckless, dangerous, intoxicating kiss. But Batman made it clear afterward he’d come for her if she crossed the line again.

Well ... this job definitely qualified. It irritated her—how much he was in her head, how often she wondered who he really was, what voice lay beneath the gravel, what eyes lay beneath the shadows of the cowl.

And the guilt. Guilt of all things! She hated that part the most. Because she was still dating Harvey Dent. Sweet, kind, principled Harvey. The best boyfriend she’d ever had. She felt guilty when she thought of Batman. Guilty because she wanted him. Guilty for being a thief dating a District Attorney. Guilty because if Harvey knew about Catwoman—and her obsession with Gotham’s Dark Knight—it would shatter him.

For the first time in her life, Selina Kyle felt guilt. And she despised it. Her thoughts spiraled until a sharp female voice cut through the door.

“Hey, new girl,” the woman called. “You’re on in five minutes.”

Selina exhaled sharply, stifling the chaos in her head. She had a job. And whether she hated it or not, she was going to see it through.

She put on her brightest, sharpest stage smile. “Thanks, Camie. I’m getting dressed now.”

She stood and moved to the costume rack. Tonight’s outfit was ... minimal, to say the least. The job demanded it. She slipped her Catwoman mask on first, the leather hugging her cheekbones, the feline ears sitting sharply above her head. Her blue eyes peeked out beneath the cowl—dangerous and dazzling. Then came the rest.

Long, leather high-heeled boots that went up to her knees—tight, black, gleaming.

Matching gloves—elbow length—each fingertip fitted with retractable steel claws she’d spent hours calibrating. A black choker snug around her throat. A black leather bra fitted over her magnificent chest. A black leather thong slid up with barely a hint of modesty. And that was it. No bodysuit. No armor. Bare stomach. Bare thighs. Pale bare skin everywhere the job required. For all intents and purposes, she was nearly naked.

The last touch was a bit of red lipstick coated on her full lips for effect. Selina smirked at her reflection in the mirror. Yeah. She was hot. Deadly hot, and she liked it that way. If Harvey ever saw her like this, he’d probably die on the spot.

And Batman ... Something warm flickered in her chest. She wondered—just briefly—what he would think if he saw her now. Then she pushed the thought away like it had teeth. She couldn’t afford to be thinking about him. He was the one man who might actually put her in a cell someday. If she kept drooling over him like this, he’d probably be right to. She blew a kiss at her reflection, grabbed her whip, and rolled her shoulders. Showtime.

Velvet Den – Rooftops

High above the throb of neon and bass, a shape crouched against the brickwork like a gargoyle come to life. The night wind tugged at the dark silhouette, rippling the edges of a cape that clung to the wall as if it, too, had claws.

Batman watched from the shadows. Broad-shouldered and towering, he was a creature carved from obsidian and shadows—black cowl angled forward, pointed ears like twin blades cutting through the dark. His jaw was square stone, set in ruthless concentration. The armor plating of his suit shifted subtly as he breathed—kevlar and titanium mesh molded to a body honed by years of relentless discipline. The emblem across his chest was a matte black bat, barely visible except when lightning tore through the sky or when neon glinted across it at the right angle. His cape pooled behind him, gliding over the wall in a seamless drape that let him vanish into darkness at will.