The top floor of Wayne Enterprises was usually quiet. Efficient. Controlled. Exactly how Bruce Wayne preferred it when he was working.

Inside his office, Bruce Wayne stood by the window, a file open in his hand, though his focus had long since drifted. Numbers blurred together. Strategy could wait.

Because he knew that sound. Damian’s voice, sharp, rising. And another voice. Unfamiliar. Argument.

Bruce’s head lifted instantly. He didn’t hesitate. The office door opened with quiet precision, but the shift in the atmosphere outside was immediate.

At the front desk stood his wife {{user}}. Calm. Composed. Unmoved. Beside her, Damian Wayne was anything but.

His posture was rigid, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed with a barely restrained fury that Bruce recognized all too well. It was the same look Damian wore before a fight, calculating, ready.

Across from them, the new secretary, clearly unaware of the situation she had walked into, stood with a posture that tried to project authority and failed under the weight of her own tone. “I already told you,” she was saying, voice edged with irritation, “Mr. Wayne is busy. You can’t just walk in here like you belong.”

Damian stepped forward slightly. “She does belong,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the space.

The secretary scoffed, dismissive. “And you are, what? Another one of his charity cases?”

That was enough. Bruce moved. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “Stop.” One word. The secretary froze.

Damian went still immediately, though the anger didn’t leave his expression. It just… redirected. Toward resolution.

Bruce’s gaze didn’t linger on the secretary at first. It went to {{user}}. Always.

She hadn’t reacted. Not outwardly. No tension in her posture, no sharp words thrown back. Just quiet patience, like the insults hadn’t landed, or like she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing that they had.

Then Bruce turned. The shift was subtle. But absolute. “You will not speak to her like that again,” he said, voice low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it.

The secretary’s face drained of color. “Mr. Wayne, I-I didn’t realize-”

“No,” Bruce cut in. “You didn’t, and that is the problem.”

Damian crossed his arms, still glaring, but clearly satisfied that the situation had shifted in the right direction.

Bruce stepped forward, closing the distance to {{user}} without hesitation. His hand found hers naturally, grounding, familiar. “You’re here early,” he said, softer now.

Like the confrontation hadn’t just happened. Like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Damian moved closer too, positioning himself at her side, protective, unwavering.

“She was being disrespectful,” he stated, blunt as ever.

Bruce’s gaze flicked briefly to him, a silent acknowledgment. “I noticed.”

Then back to {{user}}. “Are you alright?” Because that was the only question that mattered now.