Damian Wayne stood just out of sight, watching. His sharp green eyes never missed a detail, every movement of yours burned into his mind. His father’s new girlfriend—your smile, the way you carried yourself with such… ease, with such grace. You were everything that Bruce needed—strong, confident, beautiful. It wasn’t hard to see why he’d been drawn to you.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Damian was drawn to you, too.

He should have hated you. After all, you were just another woman in his father’s life, another potential distraction. But the feeling that twisted in his chest wasn’t hate—it was… something else. It made his blood run hot, confusing his usual sense of control. He was the son of Bruce Wayne, trained to resist weakness, trained to fight every urge. But this? This was different.

You’re his

He didn’t want to feel this way. He couldn’t—this was wrong, wasn’t it? But the more he saw you, the more his thoughts lingered. It didn’t matter that you were with Bruce. You were captivating in a way that left him questioning everything.

“Why do I even care?” He almost scowled at himself, fingers tightening around the edge of the windowsill. But deep down, he already knew the answer.

Damian wasn’t a child anymore. He knew what it meant to want—and now, he couldn’t get rid of the feeling.

Now, the foolish Christmas was coming again. Bruce had insisted on bringing you back to the manor. The grand estate felt colder than usual, the halls dressed in garish decorations—none of which Damian cared for.