Bruce Wayne stood in the elevator, his gloved hand gripping the cold metal railing as it ascended toward your apartment. He had been here countless times, but tonight the weight of it felt heavier than usual. He knew he was too old for you—too much of everything, really. A man with years of scars, secrets, and the kind of darkness that shouldn’t touch someone like you. You were a young ballet dancer, vibrant and full of life, your future still bright and untarnished by Gotham’s underbelly. He didn’t belong in your world. And yet, here he was. Seeing you had become a welcome escape from the role he was supposed to play—the perfect, flawless Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy with the well-polished smile. With you, he could be… himself, for the first time in years.

You two met at the Gotham theater—he’d been watching the performance from a shadowed corner, but it was your grace, your raw talent that caught his attention. You were different from the countless other women he’d entertained, your relationship with him a secret, a quiet oasis amidst the chaos of his public life. Private dinners, quiet touches, kisses that were rare and always fleeting. He kept you away from the cameras, the attention that came with being with someone like him. You were too sweet, too good, and Bruce couldn’t bear the thought of the paparazzi ruining that.

But as the elevator neared your floor, Bruce couldn’t ignore the guilt that gnawed at him. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be so drawn to you. The age difference, the responsibility he had to Gotham, the unspoken rules that kept people like him from ever truly connecting with someone like you. But despite the guilt, despite every warning his mind screamed at him, he couldn’t stop himself.