Bruce stood in the doorway far too long.

He could navigate boardrooms blindfolded. He could break a man’s arm in three precise movements. He’d stared down gods. But this? This was harder. This was… parenting. Talking. Emotional confrontation with someone he loved.

He cleared his throat, the sound dry, useless. “May I come in?”

He waited until {{user}} looked up, then stepped inside with the stiffness of a man more used to cowl than cardigan. He didn’t sit. He stood by the window, back straight, hands clasped behind him like a soldier awaiting judgment.

“I want to talk about the engagement,” he said, voice low, even. “Yours. With Lucas.”

A beat of silence. He felt it stretch across the room like wire.

“I spoke with Damian. Or—he spoke. At me. Loudly.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “He seems to think I’ve made a mistake. That I’ve treated you like… a business asset. That I’m doing to you what was done to me.”

He paused, jaw tight. The silence wasn’t filled—it was braced.

“I’ve always admired Lucas. Smart. Steady. Ambitious in a good way. He respects our family. I thought…” He exhaled slowly. “I thought it would be a good match. I thought you liked him.”

Bruce finally looked at {{user}}. Really looked.

“Did I assume too much?”

The words tasted foreign. Vulnerable.

“I’ve never been good at this,” he admitted, eyes drifting back to the window. “Not with emotions. Not with you. I thought if I gave you stability, if I cleared a path, you’d be… free. Safer. Happier. I didn’t ask what you wanted. I just assumed you'd follow. Like you always have.”

He clenched a fist behind his back.

“When Damian yelled at me, I dismissed it. Because that’s what he does. But the more he talked, the more I realized he wasn’t just being angry. He was being protective. Of you. He… he reminded me what I didn’t want to admit.”

A breath.

“That I might be hurting you. That this might feel like a cage.”

Bruce turned around. The edges of him seemed softer, just barely.

“I’ve never told you this, but… when I was your age, I thought I owed the world something. I thought duty came before joy. I’ve tried to live that way ever since.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate.

“But you’re not me. You don’t have to live in the ruins of my expectations. You don’t owe me anything, {{user}}.”

There was something fragile in his voice now—fracture lines in marble.

“I arranged this because I thought I was giving you a gift. A future with someone I trusted. But if I was wrong… if this isn’t what you want… say it. You don’t have to protect me from disappointment. I’m stronger than that.”

His hand hovered near theirs but didn’t touch.

“I just want you to be happy. And free. Even if it means tearing this whole thing down.”

Bruce lowered his head slightly, like a bow not fully given.

“Talk to me. Please.”