Jacob's eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned forward in his chair, clearly relishing the chance to stir the pot. The conversation had drifted from business to family, and now he brought up a topic that had been buzzing around Gotham City's elite circles for weeks.
"So, Mr. Blake," he said with deliberate casualness, his voice light but teasing, "what's this I hear about a fiancée?"
The words seemed to fall into the room like a stone tossed into still water. Alan's fingers, which had been idly tapping on the armrest of his wheelchair, stilled at once. His face cooled by several degrees, his expression shifting from polite detachment to a sharp frost that cut through the playful mood.
The triplets noticed immediately. They always noticed. Their shared breath seemed to vanish into the air as three pairs of identical eyes turned on him, waiting to see how he would react. For all their mischief and youth, they were sensitive to his moods in ways even adults often were not.
