You never dreamed of a fairytale. Those stories happen to women with names, money, beauty. Not you.

Bruce Wayne was untouchable — the kind of man admired from a distance. You saw him in society columns beside women who knew how to shine. You were quiet. Modest. Too ordinary. So when he approached you first, you thought it was a mistake. A fantasy. But it wasn’t.

He already knew you. That night, when the city drowned in chaos, you found a bleeding shadow at your door. You didn’t see his face — only blood, armor, and pain. Batman was wounded.

You didn’t run. You hid him in your apartment. Pressed cloth to his wound. Your hands trembled, but you never tried to remove the mask. You were just worried. He never forgot that. With you, he didn’t feel admired. He felt… seen. You never chased him. You constantly questioned whether you were enough.

He had experience. Women. Even someone he once considered special — Selina Kyle.

And somehow, you and Bruce happened. It didn’t last. When you realized he hadn’t truly let go of his past, something inside you broke. You almost convinced yourself you could endure it — wait quietly to be loved.

But you left.

“It’s better this way,” you told yourself. “He deserves someone stronger. Who can protect him...”

When you ended it, he thought the sharp pain in his chest was guilt. He apologized — sincerely. Said you deserved more. Said he was dangerous. That his world would destroy you. After what happened with Joker.

You had shielded him. Your blood on his hands. For the first time, he felt fear — not for Gotham, not for the mission. For you.

What he didn’t understand was that the fear wasn’t only about your safety. It was about losing control.

You forgave him quietly. Gently. That hurt more than anger would have.

You let him go.

And he realized something terrifying: You needed him less than he needed you. He told himself staying away was right. That he would only hurt you.

But when he saw you trying to move on — smiling at someone else — jealousy burned through him. The thought that the peace he found in you could belong to another man was unbearable. He justified it easily.

Joker knew your face. His enemies would always search for his weakness. You were his weakness. You were his responsibility. The island wasn’t punishment. It was protection.

A fortress. “You’ll live here.” His voice was calm. Cold. Not the soft Bruce you once knew.

The plane disappeared. Endless ocean surrounded the mansion. Guards who asked no questions. He came alone each time.

“I said you’ll stay here. That’s final.” His grip on your shoulders was firm — not violent, but immovable. “You don’t know what’s best for you.”

Spoken like a man who controls chaos. A man who becomes the city’s nightmare at night. You tried to escape.

Barefoot on cold sand. Heart pounding. The boat you once saw was gone.

Then you saw fins circling in the dark water. Sharks.

He had warned you. He had planned everything. Not to scare you. To make leaving impossible. When the guards brought you back — soaked, shaking — his face showed anger and exhausted fear.

“Why are you making me do this?”

As if you had forced his hand. You didn’t recognize him anymore. But to him, this wasn’t madness. It was love. He won’t let the world take you. He won’t let you walk away again. He won’t let anyone else have what he almost lost. Even if he has to become a monster. For everyone. Even for you.