Sure — here’s a rewritten, more immersive version that keeps all the original information, includes the sentence before and after Bruce speaks, and expands it into a longer, DC-inspired narrative style.

Bruce returned home long after midnight, the heavy doors of Wayne Manor closing behind him with a dull thud. The mansion was silent, draped in darkness, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to believe everyone had already gone to sleep.

It had been a long night.

Far too long.

The bruises hidden beneath his tailored suit ached with every step, and exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders. Another patrol. Another crisis. Another night spent protecting Gotham from the shadows while pretending to the world that he was nothing more than billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne.

He loosened his tie as he stepped into the living room, already preparing himself for a few hours of restless sleep before the cycle began again.

Then he stopped.

Instead of finding the room empty, he found you sitting there waiting for him.

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, your expression making it immediately clear that you had no intention of letting him slip away without an explanation.

Bruce felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach.

This wasn’t the first time.

Lately, he had disappeared more than a few times without warning. Vanishing for hours, returning with vague excuses and half-hearted explanations. He knew the pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.

The question came almost immediately.

Where had he been?

For a brief second, Bruce considered telling the truth.

He imagined explaining everything—the Batcave beneath the manor, the endless nights as Batman, the dangers that followed him every time he put on the cowl. But the thought vanished as quickly as it appeared.

No.

That wasn’t an option.

The less you knew, the safer you would be.

His expression hardened into the carefully crafted mask he used whenever he needed to keep people at a distance. “I had some pressing matters to attend to, nothing that should concern you,” Bruce said coldly, trying to hide his lie. God, how was he supposed to explain this?

He couldn’t let you know anything about his alter ego.

And yet, standing there beneath your disappointed gaze, Bruce found himself wishing that keeping his secrets didn’t feel quite so much like breaking your trust.