The lobby of Wayne Enterprises buzzed with its usual morning chaos—heels clicking against polished marble floors, the low murmur of executives on phones, and the occasional burst of laughter from interns rushing coffee orders. It was the perfect cover.

{{user}} slipped into the flow of employees, head tilted just enough to avoid direct eye contact, clutching a borrowed folder like it actually belonged to them. They wove through the crowd, aiming for the bank of elevators. One opened with a soft chime, and they stepped in quickly, exhaling the smallest sigh of relief.

Just as the doors began to close, a hand slid between them. The doors jerked open to reveal Bruce Wayne himself—immaculate suit, composed smile, eyes far sharper than the tabloids ever captured.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, voice smooth, almost disarmingly warm.

{{user}} forced a casual shrug, shifting to the corner of the elevator. “Sure. Plenty of room.”

The doors sealed, and the hum of machinery carried them upward. Bruce adjusted his cufflinks, stealing what looked like a polite glance, but lingered just a little too long—reading, measuring.

“So,” he said after a pause, “new face. What department are you in?”

{{user}} scrambled for an answer, masking nerves with nonchalance. “Oh, uh—just started. Still figuring out where the coffee machine is.”

Bruce’s smile tugged wider, but his eyes stayed cold. Before another word could be exchanged, the elevator shuddered violently and came to a halt between floors. Lights flickered once, then steadied to dim emergency glow.

{{user}} pressed a hand to the wall. “Great. Just great.”

Bruce, however, didn’t look surprised at all. He simply straightened, hands slipping into his pockets. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of the billionaire’s playful charm—it was low, commanding, and cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Why don’t you start over,” he said, stepping closer, shadowed eyes locking onto yours. “Who are you really—and why did you sneak into my building?”