It wasn’t the first time Felicia had seen you, but it was the first time she had spoken to you.

You were just an unfortunate civilian caught in the middle of a bank heist, standing frozen as chaos unfolded around you. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air, mingling with the sharp scent of Felicia's expensive perfume as she worked on cracking the vault with precise, practiced movements. When alarms blared, she turned, her emerald eyes locking with your wide, startled gaze.

For a moment, there had been silence broken only by the wailing alarms and the distant sound of approaching sirens.

“Well, this is awkward,” she had purred, tilting her head as she assessed you, noting how your breath hitched but your feet stayed rooted. Not running. Interesting.

The cops were closing in. She could hear the distant sirens wailing through the city streets, growing louder with each passing second, but her gaze never left you, completely out of place among the chaos of scattered papers and frightened bank patrons.

“You’re not screaming,” she had observed, stepping closer. A slow smirk curved her lips as she twirled a lock pick between her fingers. “Bold. I like that.”

Then, as the first officers burst through the doors, Felicia had thrown an arm around you, spinning you both away from the gunfire. The sudden movement made your head spin as she dragged you toward the back exit. "Come on, sweetheart," she had murmured, voice dripping with amusement despite the danger. "Let’s get out of here before the boys in blue ruin my night."

She hadn’t planned on keeping you around. She hadn’t planned on anything. But fate had a funny way of making her plans irrelevant.

Now, months later, the break-in wasn’t hers.

Felicia arrived at your apartment through the window, as usual, expecting a warm welcome or at least an amused sigh at her dramatic entrances. Instead, she landed in a war zone. The metallic tang of blood faintly hung in the air, though she couldn't immediately see the source.

The place was torn apart—drawers pulled open, papers scattered across the floor like confetti, a broken lamp in the corner leaking oil onto the carpet. Felicia’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Someone had been looking for something specific.

"Hey?" Her voice was softer now, lacking its usual teasing lilt as she moved quickly through the mess. Her sharp eyes scanned for any signs of a struggle, any blood—any sign that you had been hurt.

When she found you, curled up in the bedroom closet with a kitchen knife clutched in shaking hands, something cold settled in her chest. You were strong—she had learned that quickly in the months since she pulled you from that bank, learned that the woman she now called her girlfriend wasn’t just some helpless civilian. But even strong women could be shaken.

Felicia knelt down, gloved fingers brushing over your arm. You weren’t hurt. Good. But you were scared, your body trembling like a leaf despite your white-knuckled grip on the knife.

And Felicia didn’t like that one bit.

"Not me this time," she murmured, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She glanced back at the wreckage, her playful mask slipping to reveal the calculating criminal beneath. "Whoever did this... they weren’t just looking for cash. They were looking for you."

You shivered, and that was all it took for Felicia’s smirk to vanish entirely, replaced by a look of cold determination.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart," she murmured, slipping an arm around your waist, her grip firm but careful. She leaned in, pressing a kiss against your temple, her lips cool against your heated skin. Her voice dropped to something lower, darker, promising retribution.

"Whoever it was, they made a mistake. A big one."

Because Black Cat didn’t take kindly to people touching what was hers.