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“Mrs. Wayne! Smile at the camera!”
“Timothy Drake-Wayne, look here! Over here!”
“One more for the cameras, Dick!”
Flashes erupted in frantic bursts, blinding you for a moment. Damian clung to your side, while his older siblings, including Duke, went ahead to get their exclusive shots on the red carpet. His sweaty palm grabbed yours, his brows knitted together as he barely reached your waist, giving the cameras a death glare.
Tonight was Damian’s debutante gala, a tradition Bruce insisted on having to formally introduce the children to the public. Even Cassandra agreed to attend hers after you promised to send her to private ballet classes.
Fortunately, your youngest had no objections, aside from wrestling Jason and Tim for two hours over his insistence on wearing his Robin gear. Nonetheless, by the time you descended the grand staircase in custom Schiaparelli, Dick had somehow managed to secure a perfectly tied emerald-green chevron bow tie at Damian’s collar, finished with matching cuff links engraved with the Wayne family crest.
In contrast, Tim and Jason were icing their swollen jaws with frozen peas, staring daggers at their youngest brother.
“Mr. Wayne, is it true that you cheated on your wife?”
“Mrs. Wayne, are the divorce rumours true? What’s your statement for that?”
Truth be told, while tonight was genuinely Damian’s debutante gala. It was also the first public event in two weeks since your husband’s baseless cheating rumours.
Of course, it wasn’t true.
It was Hush who impersonated Bruce (again) and engaged in intimate conversations with a few socialites at an exclusive party. A few nosy attendees snapped pictures in secret.
And in true Gazette fashion, your husband’s infidelity was plastered all over the news the next morning. For three consecutive days, Wayne Enterprises suffered a drop in its revenue; the internet was mocking you for your inability to keep your husband satisfied due to your age; and everyone predicted that you would divorce your husband next.
As much as you knew it wasn’t the truth, their comments really did get to you this time. You locked yourself in the dressing room for the whole day, submerging yourself in tears until Bruce smashed the door with the bat combination door ram. Scooping you into his arms, you demanded of him in tears if he wanted a divorce, to which he vehemently denied.
You didn’t even know why you allowed your emotions to get the best of you. It must have been that damn luteal phase or pre-menstrual syndrome again. That must be it.
Your husband tried to improve the situation after receiving passive-aggressive treatment and malevolent stares from the children at the emergency family meeting. They captured Hush as a team, forcing him to release a statement to clear Bruce’s name, and demanded that his PR team propose a solution so that his family could move beyond this incident.
That was why all of you stood together as a united front, swaying off any possible divorce rumours in front of the press, minus Stephanie and Barbara, who weren’t available at the moment.
Your family was instructed not to post anything on social media until tomorrow. Bruce was specifically told to interact more with you and the children to maintain his family-guy image, to which he scoffed at the suggestion.
“I don’t need to be told to talk to my family. That’s ridiculous.”
And yet, you despised how Damian’s debutante gala was repackaged into a PR crisis move to salvage your marriage. Tonight was supposed to be all about him, not some absurd divorce rumours.
Blinking away the white camera flashes that clouded your vision, your attention swam back to the present. You sighed internally, knowing how intense it must’ve been for Damian to experience this. It was his first time getting hollered at by paparazzi too. You leaned down and whispered in his ear.
“Dami, are you okay?” You angled your head to block the white flashes in front of him, searching his face for an ounce of discomfort. “Do you wanna wear ear defenders like Jay? We have a spare Superman version in the car.”
“No.” He shook his head, his emerald-green eyes met yours. “This is nothing for me. But can we go in now, Ummi? I’m getting hungry.”
You smiled at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Of course, my love. Let’s go. I’ve requested the caterers to prepare more dishes that remind you of home.”
With a cordial grin to the cameras, you straightened your posture and mumbled something to the publicists before ushering the whole family into the venue.
The rest of the night went smoothly. You and your husband raised the ginger ale flutes and made a grand speech about Damian to the attendees. Bruce then revealed the newest Wayne family portrait of the seven of you to be hung in the gallery as they applauded.
While the others were enjoying themselves on the dance floor, Damian, Jason, and Cassandra were feasting away at the buffet table.
“Do you like the maklouba, my darling?” You held a glass of ayran in hand, watching Damian take generous bites. “I specially requested them to make everything vegetarian today. Is it okay for your taste?”
He nodded at you with a mouthful. “Tt, it’s adequate. You should have some too, they’re not poisonous.”
“It’s okay, watching you enjoying the food is enough for me.”
He tried to swallow, but the motion caught in his throat, turning into a choke as his hand flew to his chest. You swiftly reached behind him, rubbing firm circles down his back to help ease it through.
“Easy, Dami. I told you to eat slower or else you’re gonna choke.” Passing him the drink to wash it down, your gaze darted to Jason and Cassandra, who were in the middle of a competition on who could finish a platter of falafel in five minutes. “I wonder where you learned that from.”
“Mom, this is so good! Where did you find the caterer from?” Jason snapped his head to you, stuffing the food into his grease-slicked mouth.
“Oh, it was Tarbooshes in downtown Gotham. Damian and I have been there several times before I inquired about their catering services,” you answered softly before giving them a stern warning. “Jason, Cass, don’t finish all of it! My God, leave some for the guests too.”
“They’re not gonna eat it, Momma,” Cassandra responded, her hairstyle matched with yours tonight. “They never eat at parties. Might as well let us have it.”
Just as you were about to answer, Bruce’s hand slipped around your waist, gently drawing you toward him until you met his steel-blue gaze.
“You okay, honey?”
“Hello, my love.” You squeezed up a smile at him, though he didn’t miss the slight discomfort in your expression. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”
He glanced down at your six-inch silver So Kate. “Is it the heels? Do you wanna sit down?”
You shook your head. “No, no, honey. I’m fine, really. Maybe I haven’t slept well, that’s all.”
“If so…” He reached your free hand and pressed a feverish kiss at the back, maintaining eye contact. “May I have the honour to dance with the most beautiful woman in this world?”
You chortled, heat rushing up your cheeks. “Mr. Wayne, you’re so corny! Stop that.”
“God forbid I love my wife.”
“Father, please refrain from public displays of affection tonight,” Damian hissed.
As much as you wanted to, your back and feet were aching, and all you could think about was going home for a bubble bath. But when the cameras flashed around you, you were painfully aware that you had to dance with him to cease the rumours, even if his intentions were nothing but genuine.
“Of course, honey,” you whispered, letting him lead you into the glittering ballroom as the band began to play your wedding song. “Is that…?”
“Yes, it’s our wedding song.” His hand settled at your waist, guiding you onto the dance floor. “I know you haven’t been feeling great, honey. Just wanted to cheer you up. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“For the thousandth time, yes,” you huffed, laughing exhaustedly. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit tired.”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.”
“It’s okay, I’m not pissed about that. It’s not your fault that Hush did what he did.”
“Still, I really hate how the public says it’s your fault when it’s not the truth,” he sighed, his shoulders sagging a fraction. “I’ve asked Barbara and Tim to erase all of the negative comments and sent a warning letter to Vicki. She should know better than to taint your name like that.”
“Oh, honey. If I really cared what they said, I would never marry you.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he melted into your affection. “They’re just not worth it. Don’t waste your time on this anymore. Today’s all about Dami. Let’s just focus on him, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I just… I don’t know how you always do it, honey. You’re the strongest woman I know, makes me wanna keep learning more from you.”
“Lucky you, Mr. Wayne. Your jail sentence with me is maximum without parole, so you have all the time in the world.”
You chuckled softly just before he closed the distance, his lips enveloping yours as his hands settled at your waist. He moulded your frame to his, and the crowd faded into the background. The chandelier shimmered overhead as your dress caught every camera flash in a glittering cascade.
Dick whipped out his phone and snapped a picture of the sight, sending it to the secret family group chat.
TheBoyWonder™: you see guys, theyre fine 😛 everyone is eating it up
Oracle: glad to see it went well. i spent so much time erasing the comments, i need a raise from Bruce!
TimTack: me too omg
🦇: ❤️👩❤️👨❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Damian al Ghul Wayne: Tt. Father should really control himself in public.
THESIGNAL: Damian you at the buffet table?? Can you get some 🧆 falafel for me?
FATSONTODD: nope we finished all of it, too late sorry 😓😓
THESIGNAL: NOOOO FUCK U JASON‼️
SpoilerAlert: woah the girls are fightingggggggg
Bruce danced with you for the rest of the night, never once letting his hand stray from your back. When the final waltz faded into murmured applause, he guided you out onto the balcony overlooking Gotham’s skyline. Cool night air kissed your skin as the first firework ascended to the sky. Another long-standing tradition before the gala drew to a close.
You pressed your back to his chest, letting the solid rhythm of his heartbeat anchor you. His arms caged around you, interlacing your fingers with his. His head nestled at the crook of your neck, inhaling the ambrosial scent of your perfume. For a moment, it was just the two of you and the city glowing beneath your feet.
“You enjoy your time tonight, honey?” Bruce mumbled, pressing a kiss to your neck, careful not to mess with your intricate hairstyle.
“Yes, my love.”
Fireworks effloresced in brilliant shades of gold, pink, and neon green. Their reflections danced across your pupils. You watched each burst flare, splinter, and dissolve into smoke that drifted languidly among the clouds.
“Honey, can we get a banana split after this?”
Tugging at the sleeve of Bruce’s black tuxedo, you turned in his arms to look up at him. Your mascara-voluminised lashes fluttered dramatically, glossed lips pursed just enough to plead.
“It’s been a while, and I’m really craving it.”
Bruce huffed out a warm chuckle, clearly endeared by you. He lifted his left wrist to glance at his watch, brows knitting together at the timing.
“It’s a bit late for that, no? I don’t think you should have that much sugar at night. How ’bout I ask Alfred to make one for you at home?”
Betrayal struck your heart like a lightning bolt. You jolted out of his hold so abruptly that he barely had time to react, your heels scraped against the floor. Tears welled instantly, blurring your vision, your carefully applied eyeliner threatening to smudge.
“But we always get a banana split at Frosty Swirls after the galas,” you bawled, voice breaking when the first tear slipped free. “You promised me, how could you do this to me?”
Bruce froze, eyes widened in pure terror. He clearly hadn’t anticipated how sacred that silly little tradition was to you.
“Honey? I’m sorry, I just—there isn’t much time before—”
“How could you break your promise to me!” you caterwauled, each syllable louder than the last. “How could you do this to me!”
You shoved him with all the strength frustration could muster, but Bruce grabbed onto your forearms before you stumbled.
“Honey, I—”
And then the balcony doors slid open.
“Ummi, can we get ice cream—”
“Momma—”
But the questions halted in their throat as the scene unfolded in front of them—your tear-streaked face, your trembling hands straining against Bruce’s grasp, the raw anguish twisting your features as you sobbed. The phrase how could you do this to me still hung in the air.
Bruce immediately released you at the sight of them. You pulled back just as swiftly, positioning yourself with your back against the children, forcing your breath to even out.
“Cassandra, Damian!” Bruce called, dusting away invisible dust on his tuxedo. “What are you guys doing here? Has anything happened?”
None of them answered him. Instead, their attention locked onto your shivering frame, on the way your back hunched inward to make yourself smaller. Their expressions darkened into something far more sinister.
“Momma? Something happened with Dad…?” Cassandra hesitated, then asked the question that made Bruce’s blood run cold. “Did he hurt you…?”
“No, Cass!” You spun around, pressing a hand to your chest, forcing brightness in your tone. “No, no. You’re mistaken, honey. Nothing happened, I swear.”
You plastered the biggest smile on your face. But Damian’s perceptive eyes caught the faint shimmer of unshed tears you hadn’t managed to hide.
Your white lie persuaded none of them.
Damian walked closer, intensifying his deadly glare. “Ummi—”
“It’s fine, Dami,” you interrupted, calling his name in that specific tone. You always used it when he was on the verge of attacking Tim. “Nothing happened, okay? We’ll see you all in the hallway in five, then we leave. Am I clear?”
Cassandra spoke up. “But—”
“Just go, honey. Please.”
Damian reached for the hem of Cassandra's dress and tugged her toward the door, never breaking eye contact with Bruce. She glanced over her shoulder, watching the way your posture hunched the second they turned away.
“Momma’s hurt… He hurt her…”
“Enough,” Damian muttered, pulling her along as they joined Dick near the private elevator, where the rest of the family waited. His stern voice sliced through the low murmur of the hallway. “Richard, Father made Ummi cry just now. We saw it.”
Dick turned so fast his bow tie nearly twisted sideways. “What? Are you sure, Dami?”
Jason and Duke straightened their postures as they stepped closer, instincts snapping to attention.
“Yes, I’m fairly certain of that. I heard Ummi say, how could you do this to me, to Father.” He pointed at Cassandra. “You can ask her.”
“Cass, is he telling the truth?” Tim asked.
“I don’t lie, Drake. How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”
“Easy, Dami.” Dick stepped between them and gently steered Tim back with one arm. He turned to Cassandra. “Is it true, Cass? Did Mom cry just now?”
Cassandra nodded, fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. “Yes… she was upset… but she didn’t tell me why.”
Her chest lurched as the memory replayed the way your shoulders shook when you thought no one was watching. She tried to piece it together, replaying the moments before Damian dragged her away.
How could Dad hurt Mom?
She had never seen you arguing with him like this before. Was it about the cheating rumours?
“How dare that old man make Mom cry?” Jason growled, fists balled as he took a step toward the balcony.
“Whoa, Jay—” Duke grabbed the back of Jason’s tuxedo, hauling him to a stop. “Calm down, man. We don’t even know what actually happened.”
“I don’t care what happened,” Jason snapped, his accent rolled in thick. “But if he made her cry, we’re gonna have a real fuckin’ problem.”
“Jason, stop this right now. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Dick held a hand up to Jason’s chest, glancing down the hallway with furrowed brows. “Wait for them to come and ask what happened in private, okay?”
“Was it… the cheating rumours?” Cassandra's voice was faint enough for them to hear.
The words settled like a bomb ticking to a countdown.
Duke frowned. “Cheating rumours? I thought that was fake. Bruce is too loyal for that.”
“That tracks, her smile didn’t reach her eyes all night.” Jason snapped his fingers at the realisation, shooting Damian a look. “You noticed that too, right?”
“Yes.”
Tim was already typing furiously on his phone. “I’ll ask Babs if she can pull the balcony surveillance. Just in case.”
“Holy accusations, guys! B would never cheat on Mom, this is absurd! I thought we all knew it was Hush! Don’t accuse him like that! He’d rather die than cheat on her!”
“Yeah, guys. Let’s just ask them when we’re alone, I’m sure it’s nothin’,” Duke added quickly.
Yet none of their reassurance reached Cassandra, Jason, and Damian. The three of them exchanged knowing looks as you and Bruce walked toward the hallway as promised. Tear tracks had dried against your blotchy cheeks, leaving faint stains that no amount of setting powder had fully hidden. Your grip on Bruce’s hand was loosening, as though you weren’t even aware you were holding it.
Cassandra knew what that meant—you were dissociating.
And that made her blood simmer like a kettle just shy of boiling.
The tension around the private elevator was suffocating beyond words. Bruce cleared his throat, clearly sensing it.
He glanced between his children. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, Bruce. Everything’s fine. We’re just tired, that’s all. Been a long day,” Duke quickly responded, his eyes darting at the sulking three.
Even a blind mouse could see the raging storm clouds above their heads.
“Yeah, Bruce. It’s been a long day, let’s just go home.” Tim echoed, slipping his phone back into his pocket and pressing the elevator button.
“Yup, long day.” Jason reiterated sarcastically, balling his fists into his pocket. He didn’t fail to notice the lingering redness around your eyes.
Oh, he’s gonna pay for that, Jason thought.
Bruce frowned, scrunching his eyebrows. He looked genuinely confused at the sudden sarcasm in Jason's words.
What was going on with his family tonight?
The elevator chimed with an almost offensively cheerful tune, as the doors slid open to reveal a cabin spacious enough to hold twenty people comfortably. Bruce stepped in first out of habit, fingers lacing with yours as he guided you to the far-left corner. You followed automatically, feet moving while your mind tarried several steps behind.
Jason and Tim slid in on either side of you, subtly boxing you away from Bruce, Jason’s broad shoulder cutting off his access to your left hand. Dick and Duke entered next, taking their place near the control panel, while Cassandra and Damian stood dead center, directly in front of their father like sentries guarding a throne.
Dick pressed the button as the elevator door glided shut, sealing everyone inside, and descended toward the ground floor at a gradual pace.
The whole ride was eerily silent; even Bruce was baffled by it. Usually, the children would have chirped his ears off like a flock of robins, but not tonight. You, however, stared blankly at the glowing numbers above the door, dissociating through it all.
Something was wrong, Bruce realised.
Just as he was about to ask Dick what was going on, Cassandra and Damian adjusted their stance and turned in unison. Their gaze was filled with wrath like assassins ready to strike.
She may be a daddy’s girl, but nobody got to hurt her mother and walk away scot-free. Not even him.
“You!” Cassandra hollered, lunging forward and swinging her fists straight at Bruce’s face.
“What—? Cassandra!” Bruce barely had time to react, bringing his elbow up to block her punch, but Damian doubled down.
“How dare you hurt Ummi!”
His foot slammed into Bruce’s chest with vicious precision, thumping the air from his lungs.
“Damian—?” Bruce staggered back, shock flashing across his face.
“Dami, stop right now! Stop!” Dick grabbed onto Damian before he could pounce on their father like a leopard. But he twisted and slammed his elbow into Dick’s jaw, forcing Dick to release his hold.
“Ow! What was that for? Did you seriously kick me?” Dick recoiled, clutching his jaw as tears welled. “Dami, stop right now!”
Your head snapped up at the sudden chaos.
“What?” you whispered, finally pulled back into your body just in time to see your children attacking Bruce.
Before you could even take a step, Jason shifted.
He guided you firmly to the far-right corner of the elevator, one massive arm shielding you as Tim reached past you and slammed his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator jerked, grinding to a halt between floors.
“Jay, a little help here!” Duke shouted, struggling to restrain Cassandra. His arms wrapped around her waist as she kicked and thrashed. “Jay! Don’t just stand there! Hey!”
“Sorry, Narrows,” Jason replied flatly, eyes never left Bruce. “I see nothin’.”
Your fingers curled desperately into Jason’s sleeves, bewilderment and dread swirling in your chest as his body blocked your view from the worst of it.
“Cass—” you called, but none of them heard you.
Cassandra let out a furious cry and hurled her bedazzled clutch across the elevator. Bruce ducked just in time, letting the bag ricochet off Jason’s shoulder and clattering to the floor with a loud twank.
Amidst the chaos, Tim discreetly raised his phone at his hip and recorded the commotion in silence.
“Tim, do not record that!” Dick hollered, grabbing Damian by the suit collar and yanking him back with all his strength.
Damian snarled, pulling his arms free of the sleeves and landing a sharp kick to Bruce’s jaw.
“How dare you cheat on Ummi! After everything she’s done for you! I will avenge her!”
“Da—Dami…?” you whispered, the room spun with confusion. “Wha—what are you talking about?”
Your youngest turned toward you then, eyes burned with fury. “You were crying, Ummi. He broke his promise. He hurt you!”
“Cheat—?” Bruce echoed hoarsely. “What—no—Damian, stop! This isn’t—”
“Don’t lie!” Cassandra bellowed, wrenching free from Duke’s grip long enough to point at him. “You make her cry!”
Bruce locked his gaze onto yours as clarity settled in his chest.
Oh, this was about you crying for ice cream.
Bruce raised both of his palms in a pleading manner. His jaw still ached where Damian’s kick had landed. But none of that mattered compared to the sight of his children’s eyes, glassy with distress and wrath.
“All of you, stop.”
Damian’s stance remained aggressive, his fists clenched as if he were ready to attack again. Cassandra's expression was marred with rage. Jason loomed over like a coiled spring. Tim’s phone was still in his hand, recording to this moment. Dick rubbed his swollen jaw in agony. Duke hovered protectively near Cassandra.
“I didn’t cheat. I would never cheat on your mother. Ever.”
“That’s what they all say,” Jason muttered drearily.
Dick smacked Jason's shoulder. “Jason, enough!”
“Honey,” Bruce ignored him, stepping forward once and stopping when Damian hissed like a cornered feline. “Please. Just tell them.”
Jason shifted slightly, loosening his hold just enough for you to step forward. Your eyes darted from Bruce to the kids, each of them gazing at you like the world was about to explode into the abyss.
“I… he didn’t cheat, kids.”
Cassandra's breath hitched. “But you were crying.”
“I was, yes.”
“Because of him,” Damian pressed. “You said he broke his promise.”
Bruce winced as you let out a shaky breath, rubbing your temple. “He did, but—not like that. It was about ice cream.”
The elevator went dead silent.
“… What?” Dick whispered.
“I told her it was too late to go out.” Bruce’s voice was riddled by guilt, rubbing the back of his neck. “She wanted a banana split from Frosty Swirls. Like we always do after galas. But I said no. I told her Alfred could make one at home. I thought I was being practical. I didn’t realise how much it mattered to her.”
Jason blinked once. “You’re tellin’ me, this whole thing is because you denied her post-gala banana split?”
Dick warned. “Jason.”
“You let her cry over ice cream,” Jason shot back, inching closer to his father. “Do you know how messed up that is? After what Mom tolerated for you for the past two weeks? After what she had done for Damian tonight?”
Tim finally lowered his phone. “Yeah, Bruce. Denying comfort food when someone is emotionally overstimulated can be—”
Dick quickly added. “Tim, please. Not now.”
Damian crossed his arms in exasperation, unwilling to back down. “This is unbecoming of you, Father. Ummi hasn’t even had anything tonight. How could you deny such a simple request of hers?”
Bruce dragged a hand down his face. “Alright, alright! I hear you. I messed up. I should’ve just said yes to ice cream.”
“We will go to Frosty Swirls right now for Momma.” Cassandra's eyes glimmered with persistence.
“At this hour?”
“Yes, Father. At this hour.” Damian marched right up to Bruce, jabbing his finger into the chest armour beneath his tuxedo. “You will buy her the biggest banana split on the menu with extra toppings.”
“And if you don’t, we’ll bench you from patrol,” Cassandra added softly.
Jason whispered. “Permanently.”
Bruce looked around at the ring of hostile faces of his children, finding himself, for once, painfully outnumbered. After a suspended moment, he sighed in defeat.
“Okay, okay! We’ll go.”
Jason, Damian, and Cassandra exchanged looks of pure triumph, smirks curling across their lips as if they’d just won a full-blown war.
“Dami, Cass,” you called, arms reaching out for a hug. Both of them wrapped around you in a crushing embrace, clinging to you like your biggest fan.
You laughed despite yourself, one hand caressing Cassandra's flushed cheeks, the other resting against Damian’s back. “I appreciate the help, my loves. But you should never attack your father like that. Do you hear me?”
“But, Momma—” Cassandra pulled back just enough to look at you.
“No buts, honey. You’re a detective, we taught you better than that.”
Cassandra's lips pursed at your orders when you turned to Damian next. “You too, Dami. Apologise to your father right now.”
Damian scoffed, clearly displeased. But instead of assenting, he burrowed deeper into your hold, arms tightening around your waist. Jason snickered under his breath, folding his arms and shooting Bruce a sarcastic glare.
You shot Jason a warning stare. “And you, young man.”
“Me?” Jason stiffened, pointing a finger at himself. “Mom, that’s not fair!”
“Yes, you. Or else no more pecan pies when you visit.”
The smirk slid right off his face. Everyone knew that Jason loved eating your baked goods, and taking that privilege away was worse than getting shot squarely in the chest. Dick, Tim, and Duke pursed their lips into a thin line like a fish to stifle their laughter.
“Don’t make me say it a third time, kids.”
“Tt,” Damian scoffed finally, releasing you and turning to face Bruce with visible reluctance. “I’m sorry, Father. Next time, I will attempt to ask questions before resorting to physical retaliation.”
“Thank you, Damian.”
Cassandra followed suit, rubbing her arm sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
Jason rolled his shoulders. “Yeah. Sorry, old man.”
“Thank you."
You smiled and pulled the kids back into another hug, pressing a kiss to Cassandra's temple and squeezing Damian once again, ruffling Jason’s raven locks in between. Right on cue, the elevator jerked back into motion as Tim released the emergency stop, and the quiet hum of machinery filled the space again.
As the numbers ticked down, Bruce gradually reached for your hand, quietly asking for your permission. Relief painted over his features when you allowed him to lace his fingers with yours. He leaned down and brushed an apologetic kiss to your glossed lips, earning a synchronised chorus of disgusted grunts from the kids.
“Thank you, honey,” he murmured. “I won’t do it again.”
You smiled at him, squeezing his fingers in silence. The elevator door whirled open in seconds, and white flashes erupted before your family.
“Mr. Wayne! Mrs. Wayne! Look this way!”
Dick moved swiftly, gripping Bruce by the arm and subtly positioning himself between him and the press. He guided you forward instead, already knowing better than to let his father exit first.
You stepped out with the children, chin lifted with a radiant smile. The rest of the family trailed behind. Bruce lingered just long enough to rub at his jaw, wincing slightly at the swelling beneath his skin.
Waving graciously with an elegant smile at the paparazzi, pride glowed through you as Cassandra and Damian were ushered into the limo first. You followed them inside moments later, smoothing your dress as you settled in beside them. At the same time, Tim directed your husband to the front seat for his safety. The door shut with a decisive click, sealing all of you inside as the limo pulled away from the curb.
Cassandra leaned into you, whispering conspiratorially, “Frosty Swirls, right?”
You laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Frosty Swirls.”
________________________________
By the next morning, Gotham was set ablaze. The Gotham Gazette’s homepage refreshed itself into pure chaos before sunrise, bold red banners bleeding across the screen like an emergency alert injected straight into the city’s veins.
EXCLUSIVE GAZETTE FOOTAGE: BRUCE WAYNE PHYSICALLY ATTACKED BY HIS OWN CHILDREN [VIDEO]
The grainy elevator footage stripped of all audio had been published there, and suddenly everyone wanted a piece of whatever had happened inside that metal box.
Social media pundits and self-proclaimed body-language experts descended like vultures. They slowed the footage down frame by frame, drawing arrows and circles over screenshots—how you dissociated through it all, how Jason physically blocked him from your view, or how Damian and Cassandra positioned themselves between you both like bodyguards.
Morning talk shows replayed the clip with ominous music, slow-motion edits, and red circles flashing around every movement. Overdramatic hosts leaned forward in their chairs, their voices hushed and scandal-hungry as they tried to stitch the altercation to the long-simmering cheating rumours.
“Could the cheating allegations be true?” Susan, the main host of Good Morning Gotham, gasped theatrically. “Is that why Bruce Wayne was attacked by his own children because she couldn’t get a divorce?”
“Honestly, good for her,” Lilian, the other host, chimed in, shrugging as the audience applauded in your favour. “Good for her! Because when a man cheats, the kids get hurt the most! What was he even thinking, cheating on his wife like that? Get ’em!”
“Yeah, especially with how much she contributed to Gotham. Did y’all remember the free housing projects her foundation built after No Man’s Land?”
A wave of applause followed, and the audience nodded in response.
“She doesn’t look drunk. Roll that footage. Let’s watch this together, okay.” Lilian pointed at the picture of you walking out of the elevator and smiling at the cameras. “She’s not teetering on her heels. Her hair is flawless too, shout out to her hairstylist.”
Everyone chuckled for a good minute.
“Guys, watch this. Watch this!” Susan pressed the button to stop the footage. “He’s not allowed to get into the car. She smiled at us and got into the car with her children. But he has to sit at the front!”
Lilian sipped her cup of tea. “By the way, everyone needs a kid like that. Good for you, Mrs. Wayne. You taught your kids very well, they still look put together.”
“You don’t mess with the Wayne children when it comes to their mom!”
“Yup, marriage is sacred.” Lilian pointed at the display screen, which changed to your wedding portrait with Bruce. “If their kids had to step up at a public venue. Then I think Bruce Wayne has done something really foul, more than a few times in this marriage. In my opinion.”
“Oh-em-gee, was that why she stayed in Paris at one point?” Susan gasped. “While Bruce Wayne was in Jamaica? She attended most of the events on her own back then.”
“Yup, remember Robinson Ball that year?” The display screen switched to you and Vicki Vale’s red carpet picture that evening. “Sources told us that Mrs. Wayne had a run-in with the reporter. And due to her relationship history with Bruce Wayne, she was escorted out of the venue ten minutes later."
“Oh yes, until he magically appeared with his wife at the Wayne Foundation Gala on New Year’s Eve! I guess things worked out by then.”
“But that charming billionaire image doesn't fool the kids!”
The audience cheered in agreement.
“God, I still remember watching their wedding on TV so many years ago. What a beautiful dress!”
Susan nodded. “I think all marriages go through stuff, and as much as I enjoy them being out and about. I think they need to lay low for now.”
“Yup. This is a very unfortunate situation, but I don’t think they’re gonna make a statement. What else are they gonna talk about?”
“I agree, Lily. And Mrs. Wayne, I wish I had kids who would defend my honour like that,” Susan pointed at the camera. “We’re on your side if you divorce him, honey!”
“Amen, sister!”
________________________________
By noon, the footage was trending worldwide, and hashtags multiplied like wildfire. Some armchair analysts even suggested the Waynes should get an exclusive interview with The Daily Planet to clear the air.
Bruce’s PR team scrambled in panic when they issued a sterile statement about a private family matter taken out of context. The cheating rumours were entirely false, promising further clarification in the future. It did absolutely nothing to extinguish the blaze.
“Whoa! If I knew things like this were gonna happen, I would’ve come to the gala with y’all,” Stephanie snorted in glee, retweeting the video to her private account, much to Bruce’s displeasure.
Bruce shot her a lethal scowl across the dining table, pressing a luxury-grade frozen steak against his bruised jaw.
Though suspicion immediately fell on Tim, Barbara later verified the truth—it was a security guard who recorded the footage on his phone and sold it to Gazette for a staggering one million dollars. Nonetheless, instead of issuing another public statement to clear your husband’s name, you decided to post three new pictures on Instagram.
The first one was you and Bruce sitting together at a red vinyl booth in Frosty Swirls, neon lights bathing the scene in red and green. Damian sat by your side, sharing the most obscene banana split imaginable with extra whipped cream, rivers of chocolate syrup, and maraschino cherries piled up like a mountain. Bruce’s left arm curved possessively around your waist as he scooped chocolate ice cream with his right hand, his jaw visibly swollen.
The second photo captured Cassandra and Jason, each nursing a mega-sized sundae, brows furrowed as they competed to see who would finish first without succumbing to brain freeze.
The third was a candid shot by Dick—the kids posed with their desserts with peace signs, while Bruce pressed a soft kiss to your forehead in the background, utterly unbothered by the children’s chaos.
The caption was simple enough.
“Of course sometimes shit go down when there’s a billion dollars in the elevator 🍨”
And to make matters worse or better, all of your children reposted that post, garnering more speculation from the public. Bruce watched it all unfold from across the dining table, phone glowing ominously in his hand as the likes surged into the millions, the numbers ticking upward so fast they barely seemed real.
You were seated beside Damian, calmly correcting his physics homework for extra credit, tapping the page with your pen as you explained angular momentum like the world wasn’t losing its collective mind. Glancing up at Bruce every so often, you gauged his expression over the rim of your glasses.
“You okay, honey?”
“Yeah. Peachy.”
You smiled knowingly. “It’ll pass, honey. Just let them talk, they’ll forget about it by next week.”
Returning your attention to Damian’s equations for a second. Then you looked back at him, your tone was as casual as asking about the weather.
“Honey, can we get another banana split after lunch?”
Bruce’s jaw twinged with the psychological conditioning. His head flashed with several flying fists when Damian looked up from across the room and fixed him with a stare.
“Of course, honey,” he responded immediately, and Damian nodded at him in approval. “We can get ten of them if you want.”
Before long, the two of you were back at Frosty Swirls, sharing another bowl of banana split. Despite the passersby's disappointed stares at him, Bruce watched you demolish spoonful after spoonful across the table.
He couldn’t decide whether to be concerned about the sudden spike in your sugar intake or deeply impressed by your superspeed.
“Honey, is it one of your cravings again?” he frowned, his mind was puzzling the pieces together.
“Mhmm, I think so,” you answered with a mouthful, plucking another maraschino cherry from its stem with your teeth. “Probably just one of those PMS cravings, I get them all the time.”
“Makes sense,” Bruce nodded as if he solved another riddle. He scooped up another spoonful and held it out for you. “We can keep coming every day until you’re sick of it.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Blush painted your cheeks with a faint sheen of rouge. You leaned across the table and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, unaware that chocolate syrup smeared against them in the process. He licked it away with his tongue before you could wipe it off with a napkin.
“I love you, Bruce."
“I love you too, baby.” Bruce’s hand interlaced with yours on the table, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.