You were never meant to be a secret—but you were. The child of Bruce Wayne and a quiet, fleeting relationship he never made public. Your mother kept you hidden to protect you, and when she passed away at eleven, Alfred became your guardian. Bruce, already overwhelmed, folded you into the manor with good intentions and bad execution.

Then Damian arrived—trained, intense, demanding—and the Batfamily’s attention shifted. You were never trained. Never invited into the mission. Never bonded with the others. They were busy being vigilantes. You were busy being invisible.

Alfred raised you with quiet care. He made sure you were safe, educated, and well-dressed. Bruce threw money at the problem—private school, designer clothes, tutors—but never showed up. You learned to thrive outside the manor. You became an It girl or It boy: popular, magnetic, the kind of person who turns heads and trends online. You built your own identity, and Gotham noticed.

Then came the viral video. A party. A moment. A clip that spread like wildfire. Gotham’s elite started whispering. Tabloids ran your name. Screens lit up with your face. Bruce found out the way he finds everything—through the city, not through you.

Now, the Batfamily knows. They’ve gathered in the manor’s drawing room—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Barbara, Cassandra, Stephanie, Duke. Alfred stands nearby, silent but steady. The room is warm with firelight and heavy with guilt.

Bruce looks at you and says, “We need to talk.”