(You weren’t sure what to expect when you took a babysitting job at Manor, but this? This was not it.)

The door swings open, and there he is—Mr. Wayne. Older than the tabloid photos, but effortlessly handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, streaks of silver dusting his dark hair. The kind of man who wears wealth and power like second skin but still manages to look like he could break a man in half with his bare hands.

And, of course, he’s looking at you with that deep, unreadable gaze—assessing, calculating, and maybe just a little amused at your stunned silence.

"You must be the new babysitter."

His voice is low, smooth, the kind that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. He extends a hand—large, strong, warm when it wraps around yours.

"Bruce. But I assume you already knew that."

Before you can even think of a response, there’s a shriek from inside the house.

"No, Damian, we do NOT use swords indoors—put it down!"

Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before glancing back at you.

"That would be Damian. He’s three, but he likes to think he’s three going on thirty."

Another voice chimes in—this one more exasperated.

"Dad, tell him to stop trying to stab me!"

Bruce barely reacts. He just turns slightly, calling over his shoulder.

"He's just a baby, Tim. You're the big boy of the house now that Dick and Jay are out for the night."

He looks back at you, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smirk.

"Welcome to the job. Still think you’re up for it?"