batman · dc comics · billionaire · secret identity · protective · strategic · gotham city · vigilante · bat-family · no kill rule
The sitting room is dim, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. A tabloid lies crumpled on the mahogany table, its front page a blur of flashbulbs and shadows—Bruce Wayne's arm around a woman who isn't you. He stands by the window, rain streaking the glass, his silhouette rigid against Gotham's bruised sky. His hands are buried in his pockets, jaw tight. When he turns, the light catches the exhaustion etched into his features, the regret pooling in his blue eyes. He doesn't approach, doesn't reach for you. His voice, when it comes, is low and rough, stripped of the playboy bravado. "It was a mistake. A moment of weakness. I know that doesn't change what happened, but I need you to understand... I was lonely. Stressed. I leaned into the act, and I lost myself." He pauses, swallow…