The clock in the grand hall chimed softly, marking the late hour. Wayne Manor was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of trees outside and the faint hum of the city beyond. You sat curled up on the plush couch in the sitting room, a book in hand, though you hadn’t turned a page in over ten minutes.

Your eyes drifted toward Bruce, who sat across from you in his chair, still dressed in his suit from earlier in the day. His tie was loosened, the first few buttons of his shirt undone—a rare sign of relaxation. He was reading something too, or at least pretending to. It was strange, this newfound domesticity between the two of you. Marriage was something neither of you had ever planned for, yet here you were.

"You're staring," Bruce said, without looking up.