The boardroom of Wayne Enterprises was dead silent—save for the droning voice of the CFO (Chief Financial Officer) presenting quarterly earnings—when Bruce's phone vibrated discreetly against the mahogany table.

He shouldn't have looked. He knew he shouldn't have looked. But the preview of your message flashed on screen—just long enough to make his breath catch.

"Miss you"

Simple words.

The attached photo, however—that was anything but simple.

Bruce's throat went dry. His grip on the phone tightened imperceptibly as his thumb swiped to unlock the screen, his pulse kicking up when the image loaded in full. The boardroom, the meeting, the entire goddamn company might as well have evaporated.

Across the table, Lucius Fox cleared his throat pointedly. Bruce didn't react.

The CFO—mid-sentence about fiscal responsibility—paused when he realized no one was listening. Because Bruce Wayne, Gotham's most disciplined billionaire, was currently staring at his phone like a man possessed, his ears turning a telltale shade of pink.

"Mr. Wayne...?"

Bruce's head snapped up, his expression smoothing into something neutral so quickly it was almost comical. "Yes. Numbers. Good." He set the phone facedown with deliberate calm—then immediately flipped it back over when it buzzed again.

This time, the entire table saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Perhaps," Lucius drawled, leaning back in his chair, "we should adjourn for lunch."

Bruce didn't even pretend to protest.