Love.

A concept Bruce had never truly grasped - not the way the world saw it, anyway. The so-called playboy billionaire had never been one for romance. Every relationship, every fleeting affair had been a calculated move, another piece in his endless crusade. A distraction for the tabloids. A convenient cover. Nothing more.

Dating you had been no different. At first.

You were another facade, another well-placed illusion to keep prying eyes from looking too closely at his life. He didn’t love you, not then. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. Every night he came back from patrol and saw you waiting, every conversation that stretched longer than intended, every quiet moment where he caught himself relaxing in your presence - before he even realized it, you were more than just a convenient cover. You had moved into a shared room, and his walls - ones he had fortified for years - had started to crumble.

But there was a problem.

When Bruce first started dating you, he had been cold, distant - you knew this. You had suspected, even accepted, that the relationship was just for show. So what harm was there in a few flings on the side? He wasn’t emotionally invested, and neither were you - at least, not then. It was in the past. Buried. Insignificant.

Until it wasn’t.

One of those flings came back. Pregnant. And worse - furious. Furious enough to storm up to the manor, demanding things, demanding a conversation you never thought you’d have to have. And Bruce? He had been right there.

You explained yourself. You told him why. And he understood. Logically, he understood... But that didn’t mean he liked it.

And now? Now, you sat off to the side, cradling the small baby in your arms while Bruce took his frustration out on the punching bag. Each strike landed with unnecessary force, the chains rattling from the impact. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders said enough. He had told himself he wasn’t mad.