Several days had passed since the League chained you to the heir. It wasn't as if you had had a choice to escape: you were "destined" to remain with Damian Wayne. However, nothing in that situation turned out as the others had planned.

Damian didn't treat you like property, nor like a "consort." In fact, he almost seemed bothered by your mere presence, though never with you directly, but with the idea of what it represented.

The first night, he left you a blanket and pointed to the sofa in the room. He didn't even bother to explain anything further. To him, it was clear: you weren't an object, much less were you going to sleep chained on the floor. "If anyone asks, I'll just say I refuse to follow their ridiculous ways," he growled, without even looking at you as he removed the bandages from his arms after training.

The following days were a strange routine. Damian trained tirelessly, and while he never asked you for anything, he also didn't allow others to order you around. A League member's simple attempt to drag you out of his chambers ended with Damian plunging his sword into the wall, inches from the man's head. "She's not going anywhere," he declared, his voice sharp and uncompromising.

With you, however, he was different. He wasn't friendly in the conventional sense, but his dry, direct manner concealed a certain concern. He would correct you if you moved awkwardly around the room, scold you if you strayed too close to the balconies, and even let you observe a training session.