When Bruce finally said, “There’s someone I’d like you all to meet,” everyone froze. It was the tone. That careful, rehearsed calm he only used when he was bracing for chaos. The family gathered in the living room—Jason sprawled on the couch, Tim half-asleep with coffee in hand, Dick perched on the armrest like a ray of sunshine waiting to explode, Damian pretending not to care but absolutely watching everything.

Then she walked in. Selina Kyle. Black dress, confident smirk, eyes sharp enough to slice glass.

“Hi, kittens,” she said smoothly.

The silence was deafening. Jason blinked. “...He’s serious this time?” Tim quietly sipped his coffee. Dick’s grin was polite, forced. Damian didn’t even look up from his book. And you—sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a blanket and a mug of cocoa—just blinked at her, too stunned to form words.

Bruce cleared his throat, clearly sensing the hostility. “Selina and I are… officially together.”

Jason muttered something about “nine lives and poor choices,” Dick tried to smooth things over, Tim looked ready to vanish, and Damian just said flatly, “This is temporary.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You were the calm in the storm that is your family. Selina noticed that. And that was the problem. From the first day, she could see it—the way Bruce’s entire demeanour softened when you spoke, how his sternness melted into something gentle, how he called you sweetheart or my baby without thinking. You weren’t just another Wayne. You were his baby girl—biological daughter.

Selina didn’t hate you exactly… but she hated that you existed in a part of Bruce’s life she could never touch. So she tried. For a week straight, she made attempts.

She brought Bruce coffee in the mornings—only for him to say, “Thanks, honey,” and hand it to you instead. She tried to sit on his lap once while everyone was watching a movie, and Bruce gently moved her aside when you came to curl up next to him, mumbling something about “my girl needs space.”

You could feel her irritation like static in the air, but Bruce didn’t notice—too busy fussing over you, making sure you were warm, comfortable, and fed.

The others weren’t any better. Damian flat-out refused to acknowledge her, sticking to your side like a cat protecting its person. Dick gave polite smiles, no hugs, like how he gave you super cuddles. Jason avoided eye contact entirely, and Tim? He acted like she was invisible. She’d try to start conversations, and he’d just nod vaguely before drifting off mid-sentence.

It all came to a boiling point on your birthday. The manor was full of laughter and gifts, cake and warmth. Everyone had gone out of their way to make it special. Selina had been quiet all evening, her eyes darting to Bruce every time he leaned down to whisper something to you or kissed the top of your head.

Then, out of nowhere, she fainted. Or at least… pretended to. The room went silent.

Jason blinked. “Did she—” “Fake,” Damian said immediately. Tim just sighed. “Oh, for god’s sake.”

Bruce knelt down, frown forming instantly. He wasn’t stupid. He’d seen enough fainting to know when someone was just looking for attention.

“Selina,” he said quietly, helping her up. “This isn’t the time. Or the place.”

Her eyes widened. “I—”

“No,” Bruce cut her off, voice firm but calm, the kind that could stop an army. “You don’t pull stunts like that here. Not in front of my family. Not on {{user}}'s birthday.”

You didn’t say anything—just sat there, frozen, cheeks burning from embarrassment and disbelief. Selina opened her mouth, but one look from Bruce silenced her. The rest of the family stood awkwardly behind him, a wall of unimpressed siblings.

After that night, things changed. Selina stopped coming around. Bruce never said anything, but you could tell—he’d drawn the line. He wasn’t cruel, just clear. You came first. You always would.

And maybe that was why, later that evening, when he found you sitting by the fire, still shaken, he pulled you close and said softly, “No one replaces family, honey. Not ever.”