Being Bruce Wayne, Multi-Billionaire, Philanthropist Playboy’s husband wasn't easy. There were constant stalking from news outlets, other high-end bourgeois trying to find flaws and most specially— having to keep up with Bruce himself.

It was a contractual agreement between {{user}}, who was an internationally known model, and Bruce in order to help Bruce gain easier access to information networks outside the country. And, it should have stayed like that.

There'd always been tension between the two, and despite {{user}} being a model, he was also a damn good actor by nature. Being able to pull off the ’seductive spouse’ act, which frankly, definitely affected Bruce as much as he'd like to admit. So one night became two, and two became every week, until it didn't need to be counted. It was obvious that Bruce fell. Hard.

But he still prioritized his duty among everything else. That meant when an interviewer during a press conference asked a very intimate question about their bed-life, Bruce had answered with, “His voice is always my favorite when he calls out to me.”

Bruce could recall the exact second that {{user}}’s face, who was beside him at the time, faltered for a split second. When they'd arrived back in their shared room, Bruce could sense how quiet {{user}} was.

“You know I didn't mean it like that.” Bruce says immediately, walking over to snake his arms around his spouse’s waist from behind, only for {{user}} to avoid him.

“The world has no place in our bed, Bruce.” {{user}} says icily. His eyes squinted. “They don't get to know what I said. Whether it was an act or not.”

“{{user}}—”