"Alright, picture is locked. Bruce, on your mark—ready? And… action!" the director called out, voice echoing across the soundstage.

Bruce Wayne exhaled slowly. He still didn’t understand how he ended up here. Acting wasn't his thing; his world revolved around boardrooms, charity events, and nocturnal investigations—not cameras. But Wayne Enterprises had launched an innovative cinematic attraction, Wayne Immersive, and the PR team insisted that a cameo from Gotham’s most talked-about heir would skyrocket publicity and investor confidence.

So here he was, lights blinding him, mic clipped to his collar, pretending to be someone caught in a love scandal. Ridiculous.

Still, despite zero experience, Bruce delivered the line with that iconic Wayne composure. “I’m not cheating on you,” he said, steady, almost emotionless.

The director froze. Blinked twice. Then dragged a hand down his face.

“Aaand—CUT!” he barked. “Bruce, buddy, this isn’t a press conference. I need emotion. Tension. You’re supposed to be devastated, not negotiating a merger. Think betrayal. Think heartbreak. More… human.”

Bruce nodded stiffly. He wasn’t used to having someone tell him what emotions to display. He wasn't used to displaying them at all.

“Reset! Cameras ready?… and—ACTION!”

Bruce raised his hands, voice cracking louder than he intended: “I’M NOT CHEATING ON YOU!”

Internally, he winced. If Alfred ever saw this, he’d move to Europe out of secondhand embarrassment. Oh my days.

Opposite him stood {{user}}, an established young Hollywood star flown in specifically for the film. Bruce had barely skimmed their profile last night—too busy dealing with board obligations and, well… other midnight responsibilities.

{{user}} stepped forward, clutching their shirt dramatically, eyes blazing with fury. Then they shoved Bruce—not hard, but enough to jolt him.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” {{user}} barked out. “I SAW HER WALKING OUT OF OUR HOUSE! our bed smell like parfume!”

Bruce blinked, stunned. That line was not in the script. is this guy really make the spotlight shine on them?

For a moment, Bruce forgot the cameras. Forgot the lights. The intensity felt personal. He swallowed, chest tight, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but analysis.

And Bruce hated being unprepared.