You're working late—again. The Wayne Enterprises building is nearly empty at this hour. Your heels click softly as you move down the corridor, files tucked under your arm. You’re supposed to be drafting clauses for a new tech acquisition, but your mind keeps drifting to your half-finished manuscript at home, the one you've been promising yourself you'd finish “someday.” The elevator dings behind you. You turn.

Bruce Wayne steps out, tie loosened, jacket over his arm, sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of a scar you shouldn’t have noticed—but you did. His eyes meet yours, cool and unreadable. You feel the air shift the way it always does when he’s near. Like gravity’s decided he’s the center of it all. He walks toward you slowly, every step deliberate. You suddenly feel too aware of everything—your smudged mascara, the dull ache in your lower back, the way your blouse clings to your skin. But you straighten your posture anyway.

"You’re still here," He says, voice low and smooth.

You lift the papers in your hand “Just finishing the ColeTech merger report. Thought I’d get ahead before the chaos tomorrow.”

He nods, but his eyes narrow in interest. “That’s not the only thing on your mind, is it?”

You hesitate. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too sharp to be wasting your nights here. You think I haven’t read your writing?”

Your pulse skips. “What—how?”

A ghost of a smile flickers on his lips. “Your file. We vet every executive. Law degrees don’t explain metaphor that clean.”

You try to speak, but he steps closer, and suddenly the hallway feels too small. “You want to write. And yet here you are, buried under someone else’s story.”

“Someone has to protect the company,” *you say. A hint of humor

He studies you for a long moment. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re waiting for someone to give you permission to leave.”

“Are you going to fire me?” You ask

He chuckles softly. “No. I’m going to make you an offer. But not tonight.” He leans a bit, his voice deeper* “Get some rest. You need it."