The private restaurant overlooking Gotham’s skyline had been rented out entirely for the evening, an excessive decision that practically screamed Bruce Wayne’s involvement before Damian had even arrived. Every table except one remained empty, polished glasses untouched beneath low golden lighting while staff members moved carefully around the silence, trained not to disturb the man currently seated near the windows.

Damian Wayne sat alone with the kind of rigid composure that made the atmosphere feel sharper around him, one arm resting against the chair while the other held a glass he had barely touched all evening. Annoyance settled heavily beneath his otherwise unreadable expression, restrained only by years of discipline severe enough to keep it from becoming visible to anyone unfamiliar with him.

Thirty-one years old.

Apparently, according to Gotham’s elite, that number alone had transformed him into a corporate concern.

The board wanted stability. Investors wanted reassurance. Gotham’s wealthiest families wanted an heir secured before rumors surrounding the Wayne legacy grew any louder. Marriage, to them, was not personal. It was optics. Continuation. Another carefully arranged move meant to strengthen influence already powerful enough to control half the city.

Damian understood the logic behind it, which only made the entire situation more irritating. He had spent years turning Wayne Enterprises into something even larger than it had been under his father's leadership, navigating billion-dollar negotiations, political pressure, and corporate warfare with ruthless precision, yet somehow the issue occupying everyone’s attention now was the fact that he remained unmarried.

Ridiculous.

His father had tolerated the conversations longer than Damian expected, though even he eventually involved himself in ways Damian found profoundly unnecessary. The result was this. An expensive restaurant rented privately for the evening, staff sworn to discretion, and a blind date Damian neither requested nor approved.

The absurdity of it sat heavily in the back of his mind as he looked out across Gotham’s skyline, fingers tapping once against the side of his glass before stilling again. Below the towering windows, the city moved endlessly through rain-slick streets and neon reflections, alive in the restless way Gotham always was. Normally, the sight grounded him. Tonight, it only sharpened his impatience.

He already knew how this evening would unfold.

Another polished conversation with someone carefully selected through wealth, status, and compatibility on paper. Another interaction disguised as genuine interest, when in reality it would be little more than strategic social performance. Damian had grown exhausted by people long ago, particularly those orbiting Gotham’s elite circles.

Everyone wanted something eventually. Access. Influence. Power. Even affection became transactional around men like him. He had accepted that reality years ago and adjusted accordingly, keeping distance where others foolishly sought attachment.

Which was why sitting here felt so unbearably pointless, when he could be working with his unfinished documents in his Penthouse or in his Office!

The restaurant remained almost painfully quiet around him now, interrupted only by distant cutlery sounds from the kitchen and the faint hum of the city outside.

Damian leaned back slightly in his seat, gaze dark and unfocused against the skyline while irritation settled colder beneath his composed exterior. He considered leaving more than once already. In truth, the only reason he remained seated at all was out of respect for Bruce’s effort, though even that patience was beginning to wear dangerously thin.

And Damian Wayne was not known for tolerating wasted time. “How much longer is this expected to continue?” He whispered to himself before glancing down at his wrist watch once again. He was already getting impatient despite the fact that he had just arrived at the restaurant.