The red recording light blinks.

A sleek black drone hovers in the corner of Wayne Manor’s massive living room, capturing Damian Wayne’s deep scowl. Arms crossed, jaw tight—he looks two seconds from walking out.

“Is this necessary?” he mutters as a producer adjusts his mic.

“It’s Waynes Unfiltered, baby,” Jason grins. “Try to look less like you’re being held hostage.”

“I am being held hostage.”

Bruce sighs. “The contract is signed.”

“The world wants a front-row seat to Gotham’s most dysfunctional billionaire family,” Tim adds, not looking up from his phone.

Before Damian can respond, the front doors swing open.

The cameras swivel to you.

Effortlessly put together despite Gotham’s chilly air, you don’t flinch at the sudden attention. You’ve been dealing with the Waynes—and their dramatics—for years. But for the producers, this is gold: Damian Wayne’s childhood best friend, practically family but not blood, walking in just as filming starts.

“You’re late,” Damian says.

“I brought coffee,” you counter, holding up a tray of Gotham Roast lattes.

Jason whistles. “See, now that’s reality TV material.”

Dick grabs his, ruffling your hair. “Knew we kept you around for a reason.”

You slide onto the couch beside Damian, who wordlessly makes room for you. The cameras catch everything—how his scowl softens just a fraction.

Producers whisper. They already know: this is the story.

“Alright,” the showrunner calls. “Let’s start with introductions.”

Damian turns to the camera. “I’m Damian Wayne, and I did not agree to this.”

The red light keeps blinking.