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Chapter Text

Part 1 - Dick Grayson

The Wayne family has run Gothams seedy underground since before Gotham was Gotham. They are the founders of the city and sit on top of a dark throne. Most of the civilians know that when you see a Wayne, you avoid them at all costs. Especially the main five, Bruce and his sons.

Bruce Wayne commands the Justice Society, the heart of the city's criminal empire, with his two trusted lieutenants. Diana Prince is the muscle, an unstoppable force, while Clark Kent is the brains, always two steps ahead. It was Clark's idea to send the Wayne boys to university. He thought it would polish the family's image, make them seem like respectable members of society. They still have to pretend to be normal, after all.

And now, because of him, I have to suffer. Dick Grayson has been in my classes since freshman year, the one obstacle between me and the top spot. He irritates me like no one else, gets under my skin in ways I can't stand. I hate him, yet somehow, I can never escape him. Every semester, we battle for the number one spot in our major, and I swear, I'll be damned if I let him win again.

+++

Every Saturday morning, I fight for a good spot in the school of law library. We're a competitive bunch, so that means we all study all the time. From Monday to Sunday. Well, everyone but him. I wake up at 5 a.m every Saturday morning. I quickly get ready, as quietly as possible so as to not wake up my roommate. Then I rush to the library and get there as soon as it opens at 6. It's a full proof plan, and has never failed me.

Today, it worked again. I got the best table in the library, right under the heater and next to the water fountain so I can fill up my bottle fast. It was also secluded enough that I could ignore everyone else around me and just focus on the mock trial happening next week. This was the first event of the semester that I could use to boost my grades.

I plopped my satchel down and got to work. I took out my old battered headphones, my iPod, my laptop, and all my notes and textbooks. I was going to study this case and memorize it like it was the back of my hand. In most mock trials, we use children's stories as the case. This time we're doing Goldilocks and the three bears. I was on the prosecution, it should be an easy win. But with Dick Grayson with the defense, you never know.

I put on my headphones and start studying. I like to play classical music while I study, it keeps me grounded. I opened up my first textbook and started taking notes. I got so immersed in the music and the work I didn't even realize when somebody sat down in front of me. I only noticed once he tapped my textbook.

I looked away from my work annoyed and ripped off my headphones. I hate being interrupted, "What?" I snapped.

It was my friend Sebastion, "Ouch. Is that how you greet an old friend?"

"Oh, sorry Seb. I didn't know it was you. You know I don't like to be interrupted when I'm deep in."

"Sorry, just wanted to say hey." He smiled. Sebastian was a good guy. He was smart and classically handsome. He had tan skin and bright blonde hair. His eyes were blue, a blue so pale they sometimes looked gray. It was painfully obvious Sebastion liked me, he never hid it. But I didn't have time for dating. I needed to get good grades and get into Yale law school. But maybe afterwards, once I achieved my goals, I could give him a chance.

"Oh, well hey," I say, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

"What are you studying?" he asks, leaning closer, genuinely curious.

"I'm prepping for the mock trial," I reply, gesturing to the open textbook in front of me.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Isn't that an easy win for you? Goldilocks is obviously in the wrong. It's a slam dunk."

"You'd think so," I murmur, my thoughts already drifting back to the trial and the one person who could ruin it for me.

Sebastian frowns, noticing my sudden shift in mood. "He's not that good, Chanel. No one is that good."

He's talking about Dick, of course. Everyone knows our rivalry, and everyone underestimates him. But I've been burned by Dick Grayson before, and I'm not about to let it happen again.

"He is that good Seb. But I need to be better."

"Well, be careful. You know who his family is and what they can do," Sebastian says, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper.

"If Dick Grayson has me killed for beating him in mock trials then he's more of a loser than I thought."

"Is that right?" a smooth voice interrupts from behind me, sending a chill down my spine. I stiffen instantly, recognizing that voice all too well. Of course, he'd show up when I'm talking about him—just my luck. Slowly, I turn around, and there he is: Dick Grayson in all his infuriating glory.

Dick Grayson is, unfortunately, as handsome as they come. His shaggy black hair falls perfectly into place, and his bright blue eyes are impossible to ignore, like they see right through you. The worst part? He knows it. He knows he's good-looking, and he uses it to his advantage at every opportunity. That smug look on his face pisses me off to no end.

He cocks his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he finds all of this amusing. "You think I'm a loser? I'm hurt, Nel."

"Why are you here?" I snap, trying to mask my irritation. Dick never studies in the library. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen him study at all.

"It's a public place, Nel. I'm allowed to be here," he says with a casual shrug, like he's done nothing wrong.

"My name is Chanel."

"Friends can't use nicknames?"

"We're not friends."

"I'm hurt." He clutches his chest dramatically and pouts, as if my words have actually wounded him. "I thought we were close."

"Fuck off, Dick," I snapped, unable to contain my anger. He's the only person in the world capable of making me curse. I usually hate swearing—it reminds me too much of my father. But Dick has a way of getting under my skin that no one else can.

"Shh, this is a library, Nel. You gotta keep your voice down," he chides with a grin. I roll my eyes, turning back to my work in an attempt to ignore him. Sebastian is still here, but I can see the discomfort written all over his face. Seb comes from the quiet suburbs, far removed from the chaos of Gotham's criminal underworld. Being around people like Dick makes him nervous, and it's painfully obvious. I don't know how he plans to become a lawyer if he can't handle a little pressure.

Dick, of course, doesn't take the hint. Instead, he saunters over to Sebastian, towering over him with an intimidating presence. "Move," he says, his voice low and commanding. The color drains from Sebastian's face as he quickly gathers his things and scurries out of the chair.

God, he's useless. No backbone at all.

"B-bye, Chanel. I'll see you later," he stutters before practically running to another table, probably as far away from us as possible. I sigh, ignoring the nuisance now seated in front of me. I put my headphones back on and crank up the volume, letting the music drown out everything else. But I can still feel Dick's eyes on me, watching me with that infuriating smirk.

I try to ignore it, focusing on my notes, but it's no use. His presence is too distracting. Finally, I yank off my headphones and glare at him. "What, Richard?"

"Richard?" He bursts out laughing, as if I've just told the funniest joke.

"Is that not your name?" I ask, my patience wearing thin.

"Nobody calls me Richard."

"Well, I figure if I use your full name, you'll learn to use mine."

"Not gonna happen, Nel," he says with that same stupid grin, leaning forward on his hands. He smiles widely at me, and I hate it. He only does that smile when he's trying to get under my skin, and unfortunately, it works. "Why did you never take me up on my offer freshman year?"

"Because I'm not a cheap whore." I mumble.

Dick's first target freshman year was me. We met at orientation. I knew who he was right away, everyone who grew up in Gotham knew who he was. I made a mental note in my head to avoid him at all cost. I didn't want any trouble. I just wanted to get my degree and get out. It was the only way I could leave Gotham. Dick on the other hand zeroed in on me right away.

"I just asked you on a date."

"I know what a date means to people like you. It never ends at a date."

"People like me?"

"The mafia," I say, meeting his gaze with a steady glare.

He stops smiling, his eyes narrowing. "Be careful, Chanel."

"Oh, whatever. Everyone in town knows what you are."

"They know nothing," he snaps back, his tone icy, but his face calm. "Everyone just assumes the worst because of who my dad is. But we're upstanding citizens."

"Your youngest brother beat a man at a party to a pulp just for looking at him wrong, and he didn't even get a slap on the wrist. The boy he beat up is now permanently blind in his left eye. But yeah, you're upstanding citizens," I retort, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I put my headphones back on, signaling that the conversation is over. "See you at the trial, Richard."

He stands up, smirking. "See you at the trial, Chanel."

With that, he saunters off, leaving me fuming. Dick Grayson might be charming to everyone else, but to me, he's just another obstacle standing between me and my goals. And I'm determined to beat him—no matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

I left the library soon after my encounter with Dick. There was no point in staying—I was too distracted, too agitated to focus on anything productive. My mind kept replaying our conversation, his smirk, the way he always managed to get under my skin. It was infuriating, and the last thing I needed was to be thinking about him instead of my studies.

I stormed back to my dorm, hoping that some time away from the library would help me decompress. Maybe if I could relax for a bit, I'd be able to refocus and head back to study some more. As I entered the room, I found Gwen just stepping out of the bathroom, still damp from her shower.

"Hi, Gwen," I greeted her with a smile, trying to shake off the lingering irritation from my encounter with Dick. She glanced at me and offered a tight-lipped smile in return.

"Hi," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Gwen didn't like me. I wasn't sure why or what I might have done to deserve her cold demeanor, but it had been this way since freshman year. Gotham Academy had a policy of keeping roommates together throughout their years if neither complained. Despite her clear dislike, I guess I was a tolerable enough roommate for her to stick around.

"I was thinking of ordering a pizza. Would you like to share it?" I asked, setting my bag down on the floor and trying to be friendly, even though I knew the likely answer.

"Oh, um, no thanks. I'm cutting out greasy foods right now," she murmured, avoiding eye contact. I couldn't help but recall seeing her devour a burger just yesterday at the dining hall.

"Oh, okay. I just thought I'd ask," I replied quietly, not wanting to push. I took a seat at my desk and tried to focus on assignments for my other classes, though my mind was still restless. From the corner of my eye, I watched as Gwen began blow-drying her hair, her reflection in the mirror showing a girl who seemed to have it all together.

A surge of jealousy hit me out of nowhere. Gwen's life seemed so carefree compared to mine. She was always going out, having fun, and living the college experience I'd only ever read about. Meanwhile, I was stuck in a cycle of studying and eating alone in the dining halls. I longed to have friends who wanted to hang out with me for more than just a chance to date me.

But I knew why I had to do this. I had goals—big ones—and they didn't leave room for partying or frivolous distractions. I needed to study hard, get into Yale Law School, and finally escape Gotham. Partying could wait until after I'd achieved everything I'd set out to do.

"I'll be back late," Gwen said suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. She was dressed in a cute outfit, one that screamed date night. I glanced at her, feeling a pang of something I didn't want to name. Jealousy? Loneliness? Maybe both.

"Would you like me to leave the door unlocked for you?" I asked, trying to be considerate even though I knew she'd probably reject the offer.

"No, it's fine. I have my keys. Bye," she replied quickly, barely looking at me as she rushed towards the door. She was out of the room in a flash, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Bye..." I said softly to the now empty room, my voice barely echoing in the silence.

I stared at the door for a moment, feeling the loneliness settle in again. The room seemed so much bigger without her in it, and the quiet was almost oppressive. Sighing, I turned back to my work, trying to push the envy and the isolation out of my mind. This was my choice, my path, and I had to stay focused. But sometimes, like right now, it felt like I was missing out on something important, something I might never get back.

+++

I never did go back to the library. Instead, I ordered a pizza and ate it alone in my room while watching courtroom dramas, my guilty pleasure. There's always a gnawing sense of guilt when I indulge in TV instead of studying, but I make an exception if it's about lawyers or the law. I can almost convince myself that it's like studying—almost.

After polishing off the entire pizza, I grabbed the empty box and headed out of my dorm to toss it in the recycling bin. I moved quickly, trying to fast-walk to the trash room so no one would catch me in my nighttime decompress outfit. I was fully decked out in my XL Hello Kitty T-shirt, long fluffy Hello Kitty sleep pants, and those ridiculous Hello Kitty slippers that meowed with every step. To top it all off, I wore a large pink bonnet that covered my "prison braids"—the tight, protective style I used to keep my hair from getting messy overnight—and my oversized wire-frame glasses that I only wore after taking out my contacts.

If anyone saw me in this outfit, it would shatter the serious, studious image I'd worked so hard to build over the past four years. It would also shock them because, outside of my room, I only ever wear neutral tones—brown, black, beige. Bright colors like these were reserved for the privacy of my dorm.

Fortunately, I made it to the trash room without incident. Probably because it was late at night, and everyone was either out partying or holed up in the library studying. I tossed the pizza box into the recycling bin and turned to head back to my room, only to stop dead in my tracks. Standing in the doorway, staring at me like he'd just seen a ghost, was Dick Grayson.

He's staring at me, gawking as if he can't believe his eyes. Shit, just what I didn't need right now.

"Chanel... is that you?" He whispers.

I froze, mortified. My brain scrambled to find a response, something that would make this situation less humiliating, but all I could do was hiss at him, "This is a girls-only floor, why are you here?"

He blinked, snapping out of his trance just enough to mutter, "I was meeting up with a friend." His eyes, however, continued to trace over my outfit, lingering far too long on my slippers that had just let out another unfortunate meow. Yeah, sure—a "friend." Everyone knew Dick Grayson's reputation; he wasn't exactly discreet about it.

"Men a-are not allowed here. You could get in serious trouble." I stuttered. God, I sounded pathetic.

"What, are you gonna snitch?" He snickered. I rolled my eyes and pushed past him. I made my way to my room, still hearing his aggravating footsteps behind me.

"No, I'm not. I'm just saying you're not allowed to be here." I head towards my room at a quicker pace. But Dick was easily able to keep up with me, considering his stature. I hate tall men.

"Nel, what are you wearing?" He bit his lip to hold back his stupid smile.

"Are you blind? You see what I'm wearing." I make it to my door and fumble around in my pockets for my keys. Dick stands next to me, humor floating all over his expression.

"Sorry your honor, let me rephrase. Why are you wearing that?"

"It's comfortable! What's the big deal!" I yell frustrated that he saw me in this and also for the fact that my hands won't stop shaking enough for me to grab my keys. Suddenly, across the hall a door latch opens and my heart hops to my throat. I can not handle another person seeing me in this right now.

Dick, without thinking, stands in front of me and covers me with his body. I curl into myself to try and hide better. The girl across the hall stuck her head out looking mad. She looks around the hallway to find the source of the noise but locks eyes with Dick instead. Her whole demeanor changes. She softens her face and starts blushing.

"Oh! H-hi Dick." She stutters. I try to hold back the urge to roll my eyes. Reactions like this are why this man has such a huge ego.

"Hi Sammy. Sorry for the noise. We'll try to be quieter." He smiles at her warmly and she basically turns into a tomato.

"It's okay. I was just wondering what was going on. Enjoy your night."

"You too Sammy." He said warmly. She smiled wide and turned back into her room, closing and locking the door behind her. I let out a breath of relief. Dick turned around and looked down at me while smirking.

"Shouldn't I get a thank you for that?" He asked. He was close, too close. I could feel his breath fanning my face.

"The only thank you you'll get is me not whooping your ass too hard at the mock trial next week." I said as I finally got ahold of my keys.

"Next week?" He cocked his head to the side and looked at me questionably. "Didn't you hear, it got moved up to Monday."

"What?!" I whipped my phone out to check my classroom portal and sure enough, he was right. Our trial got moved up to Monday because our professor has a last minute event next week. If I was studying instead of watching television I would've seen the posting. "Shit!" I mumble under my breath.

"I hope you prepared enough," Dick said, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory tone. "I studied the case files extra hard." His voice sent a shiver down my spine that I hated myself for feeling.

My heart pounded in my chest, the panic starting to set in. I wasn't ready— not nearly ready enough to go to trial in two days. But I couldn't let him see that. I couldn't let him win this, too. I steeled myself and met his gaze, forcing the words out with as much confidence as I could muster. "I'm always prepared."

He watched me closely, his eyes flicking between mine as a slow, smug grin spread across his face. "Good. This should be fun then."

"Yes, it will be fun," I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady even as the nerves threatened to consume me.

Dick backed away, still holding my gaze, his expression full of challenge. "I'll see you Monday, Nel."

"See you Monday Richard." I turned into my room and slammed the door in his face. I could hear his cackling on the other side, echoing down the hallway.

As the sound faded, I sank to the floor, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. I had two days to prepare for the biggest trial of the semester, and now, more than ever, I couldn't afford to let Dick Grayson get the better of me.

Chapter Text

I spent the entire weekend glued to my laptop, obsessively studying the case and Gotham law on breaking and entering. By 2 a.m. Saturday night, when Gwen came home, I was still hunched over my desk, furiously drafting my opening statement in my notebook. She must've thought I was insane. I was ordering coffee like my life depended on it—probably because it did. Every thirty minutes, I was texting the school's room service cart for more caffeine. By Sunday night, the cart girl knew my face and my order by heart.

Finally, late Sunday night, I crashed after going over my notes for what felt like the millionth time. That sleep was pure bliss. So blissful, in fact, that I almost missed my alarm the next morning. I didn't even hear it going off until Gwen shook me awake.

"Chanel. Wake up, today is your trial." She whispered as she gently shook me. I slowly opened my eyes and peeked at the clock. I was late. I slept an extra thirty minutes. I plan my mornings down to the wire so sleeping in is not something I can ever afford.

"Oh no!" I gasped. "Thank you for waking me up." I rushed out as I quickly picked up the outfit I prepared for today and rushed out to our en suite bathroom.

"Mhm," Gwen muttered, watching me freak out from her bed as I attempted to multitask by showering and brushing my teeth at the same time. Gross, but necessary. I dried off and hurriedly got dressed, taking my hair out of the braids it had been in for the past two days. Luckily, the old braid-out looked fantastic—sometimes, it just worked that way.

Today's look was one of my go-to mock trial outfits: a crisp white dress shirt, steamed and ironed to perfection, tucked into long black dress pants. I rolled up the sleeves to my elbows for a sharp, no-nonsense look, and topped it off with the most uncomfortable heels known to mankind—but they were professional and looked the part. It was simple, but it worked.

I gave my hair one last fluff, spritzed on some perfume, and rushed back into the room to grab my briefcase-purse, prepped with all my supplies the night before. I stuffed my laptop inside as well, gave myself a final once-over in the mirror, then grabbed my coat.

"Good luck," Gwen called from her desk as she applied her lashes.

"Thanks!" I shouted, already halfway out the door. I shoved my headphones in, blasted my game-day playlist, and walked through campus like a woman on a mission. My hair was bouncy, I was fully prepared, and I'd had the best sleep of my life last night. I had a good feeling about today.

+++

When I stepped into the mock courtroom on campus, it was already packed. There were four or five trials happening today, each with their own audience, lawyers, and actors playing out the case roles. Seeing so many people crammed into the space, watching, waiting—it was nerve-racking. But I swallowed that feeling down. If I wanted to be a great lawyer, I'd have to get used to being in the spotlight.

I walked up to the whiteboard to check the schedule, and—just my luck—my case was up first. I cursed under my breath but pushed the frustration aside. I couldn't afford to be distracted. I made my way to the prosecution desk, set my things down, and got organized.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dick walk in. Of course, he was immediately surrounded by people. His popularity and charisma were infuriating—he never bothered anyone except for me. Even now, he was chatting casually, all smiles, while I was trying to focus.

I forced myself to look away from him, shifting my attention back to my case files. Today wasn't about Dick. Today was about winning. I looked over my notes and made sure I knew my major talking points by heart.

Dick and his entourage of admirers walked to the table next to mine. He set his things down and pulled out one singular note and his laptop. He smiled at the girl who was playing Goldilocks.

"I can't believe they gave you the defense. That's so unfair." She whined. The actors for today weren't law majors, they were all from the theater department. But Dick's reputation preceded the confines of the law building.

"It's alright. It's good practice for a hard case." He said giving her that stupid smile he gives all the girls he flirts with. I rolled my eyes and tried to focus on my notes.

"You can win for sure I believe in you." She giggled.

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Plus, that girl is such a stick in the mud I kind of want you to beat her. Badly." She sneered. I stiffened and paused my reading. I don't know what it is about my personality that people seem to hate me even when they don't know me. I try to act like it doesn't bother me that I have no friends other than Seb but it does. A lot.

"Watch your mouth," Dick said, his voice darkening. That shocked me. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye to see his smile gone and a glare aimed at the girl replacing it.

"What?" she stammered, blinking in confusion.

"I said, watch. Your. Mouth." His voice dropped lower. "Don't talk about Chanel like that again, or I'll get pissed off and do something I might regret. Now fuck off so I can prepare." He looked down at his notes, ending their conversation. She blinked back tears and sniffled as she walked back towards the sitting area. The rest of the group also followed, awkwardly dispersing. I slowly turned back to my notes.

Why would he act like that? Me and Dick do not get along at all. I figured he would love to join in on some random person tormenting me. I tried to shake that off and focus, but Dick decided now would be a perfect time to walk up to me and bother me.

He stood in front of my table with that infuriating smile he saved only for me when he wanted to piss me off. "Hi Nel." He grinned.

"Richard," I replied curtly, not bothering to look up.

"You look nice today. I like your hair." His voice was low, teasing, and far too close. My heart skipped a beat despite my annoyance.

"Thank you," I muttered, still avoiding eye contact.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, forcing me to meet his eyes. "How about after the trial, you and I finally go on that date?" he whispered.

Without missing a beat, I whispered back, "I'd rather gouge out my eyeballs and eat them whole than go on a date with you."

He bit his lip to bite back a smile. His eyes sparkled and he backed up.

"I'll get you one day, Chanel." He smiled, widely. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Get me for what? Is he going to get back at me for beating him? I didn't respond to his strange statement and he walked back to his table.

The professor walked in a moment later, dressed to the nines in his judge robe, gavel included. He banged it once on the desk then looked around the room with a giant smile on his face. "Wow! It's the most exciting time of the year, mock trials!"

The room erupted into cheers and applause, and despite the stress, I couldn't help but smile as I clapped along. Mock trials were always fun. Stressful, yes, but exhilarating. This was what we lived for. It was the most anticipated time of the year for a reason.

The professor waved his hand to quiet the room before continuing. "We have six cases on the docket today. First up: Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Chanel Peirce is our prosecutor, and Richard Grayson-Wayne is defending. Let's get started with opening statements!" He banged the gavel again, signaling the start.

I stood, feeling the adrenaline surge through me as I approached the front of the room. My heart raced, my palms were sweaty, and I could feel Dick's eyes boring into my back. Still, I kept my expression calm, masking my nerves. I faced the jury, clutching my notecards with shaky hands, but forcing my voice to stay steady.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," I began, my tone firm. "We are here today because the defendant, Goldilocks, is guilty of breaking and entering. This is not a case of innocent curiosity or simple misunderstanding. Goldilocks unlawfully entered a private residence, tampered with property, and disregarded the rights and privacy of the homeowners—the Bear family."

I made brief eye contact with each juror before continuing. "In the city of Gotham, breaking and entering is considered a serious crime, and it cannot be excused or ignored. The evidence I'll present today will show that Goldilocks didn't simply stumble into the Bear family's home—she entered with complete disregard for the law. She consumed their food, damaged their furniture, and invaded their personal space."

I paused, letting my words sink in. "No one—regardless of age or naivety—has the right to invade someone else's home. The law must be upheld, and the defendant must be held accountable for her actions. By the end of this trial, I'm confident that you will see the facts clearly: Goldilocks is guilty, and justice must be served. Thank you."

I turned to walk back to my seat just as Dick stood up to make his statement. As he passed me, our hands brushed, sending a jolt up my arm. I had to hold back a shiver. I forced myself to keep walking, letting out a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding when I finally sat down. My heart was still racing, but I couldn't let myself be distracted.

I glanced over at Dick as he stepped confidently toward the front of the room. He adjusted his tie, flashed a brief smile at the jury, and prepared to give his opening statement.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, his voice smooth and calm. "What we have here is not a case of a hardened criminal, nor is it the story of someone with malicious intent. No. This is the story of a young girl who, due to a severe mental disturbance, acted without a full understanding of the consequences of her actions."

Wait... what? My heart skipped a beat, my pulse quickening. Mental disturbance? He was pleading insanity? I hadn't prepared for that. My mind raced, scrambling through all the legal strategies I had lined up, and none of them covered an insanity defense.

Dick continued, his tone somber. "Goldilocks, a girl barely out of childhood, suffers from a condition that impairs her judgment. On the day in question, she wasn't in control of her actions. What might seem like a clear-cut case of breaking and entering is, in fact, a tragic misunderstanding caused by her inability to distinguish right from wrong at the time."

I clenched my jaw, stunned. This was a total curveball. I thought I'd prepared for every possible angle, but I hadn't anticipated this.

Dick paced slowly, keeping the jury's attention with every word. "Goldilocks didn't maliciously trespass into the Bears' home. She wasn't acting with criminal intent. Rather, she was a victim of her own condition. I'll be presenting evidence, including expert testimony, to prove that Goldilocks was not in a rational state of mind during the incident."

He paused, looking each juror in the eye, driving his point home. "This trial isn't about whether or not Goldilocks entered the house—we all know she did. The real question is, was she aware of the consequences? Was she truly capable of making a rational decision? And the answer, ladies and gentlemen, is no. Goldilocks is not a criminal—she is someone in desperate need of help."

He returned to his seat, his eyes flicking toward me for a split second, his face was unreadable.

I sat frozen, trying to wrap my mind around his defense. I'd prepared for everything—except this. The courtroom felt stifling now, the weight of his words pressing down on me. Insanity.

Why didn't I think of that?

Chapter Text

He beat me. I sat frozen in my chair, staring up at the professor as he banged the gavel, officially ruling in Dick’s favor. The courtroom erupted in cheers and applause, his friends and admirers immediately crowding around him. Meanwhile, I sat alone, swallowing the lump in my throat and fighting back tears. It had been a tough case, and I wasn’t prepared to counter the insanity defense. I had done my best, but Dick had been better—like always.

I sighed, discreetly wiping at my eyes as I hurried to pack up my things. I moved quickly, wanting to clear out before the next trial began. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Losses happened, especially when Dick Grayson was involved. I should’ve been used to this by now.

Sebastian was waiting for me in the gallery. When he saw my face, his expression softened with concern. “You did really well, Chanel,” he said as I approached him.

I shrugged, feeling the weight of disappointment dragging me down. “Not well enough, I guess.” We walked toward the back of the gallery, finding seats to watch the next case. I could feel Dick’s eyes on me, but I refused to meet his gaze, staring everywhere except in his direction.

The rest of the day trudged by so slowly. I’m sure the cases were entertaining but I couldn’t focus on anything but my loss. This was supposed to be my chance to finally make a comeback and become number one. And I failed miserably.

After the third case, we had an hour break so everyone could stretch their legs and get lunch before we started up again. I stood up and headed towards a small sandwich cart next to the law building. There’s never usually a long line and the sandwiches are pretty good. Sebastian offered to come with me, but I declined his offer. I really wanted to be alone.

As I was leaving the courtroom I felt a hand grab my elbow and pull me backwards. I looked behind me to see Dick. I frowned and snatched my arm back.

“You know that could be classified as assault right?” I hissed.

“Are you okay?” He asked. His question almost knocked me off of my feet.

“Why do you care?” I grumbled as I turned away and walked towards the sandwich cart. He followed closely next to me. Because of course he did. I walked to the sandwich cart, ignoring his presence entirely.

He stood next to me the entire time. Silently looking at me, running his eyes all over my face as if he could somehow sus out what I was currently feeling. I pulled out my phone to try and act unbothered. I scrolled through my pretty empty social media pages until it was time for me to order. I ordered my usual: a turkey club sandwich with barbeque chips and a water.

When I went to reach for my wallet to pay, Dick held my hand back and pulled out his black card to pay for my meal. I might’ve hated the guy, but I don’t hate free food so I didn’t put up much of a fight. I grabbed my meal and walked to an unoccupied bench.

Dick sat down next to me, still staring at me. It made me feel squirmy and too self conscious to eat my sandwich. I sighed and turned to him, finally acknowledging his presence, “What?”

“Are you okay?” He asked again.

I rolled my eyes, “Just peachy.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Richard.”

“I saw you crying.” He said softly.

I glared at him, “I was not crying. I had something in my eye.”

“You look upset.”

"Should I be happy I just lost my case?" I snapped. "Did you expect me to come skipping over, all smiles, with a rainbow shooting out of my ass? Of course, I’m upset! I lost! And the last thing I need is you sitting here rubbing it in while I’m trying to enjoy my sandwich!"

I tore open the wrapper and took an aggressive bite.

"I’m not trying to rub anything in," he muttered.

I ignored him, chewing my sandwich like it had personally offended me. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. After a pause, he spoke again. "There’s gonna be a party at the end of the week to celebrate the end mock trials."

"So?" I said, my mouth full of sandwich.

"You should come," he said, leaning in a little, making eye contact.

“Do I look like the type to go to parties?” I gave him a deadpan look.

He just grinned, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead, I swatted his hand away. His voice lowered as he repeated, "Come to the party."

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. "I’ll think about it."

"Good," he said, smiling wider as he leaned back on the bench, looking far too pleased with himself. I stayed quiet, focusing on my sandwich while my mind churned over his strange, newfound niceness. I ate in silence for the next twenty minutes. After I was done eating, I chugged my water and tossed my trash into the bin next to the bench.

Standing up, I headed back toward the mock trials courtroom. Dick followed, matching my pace the entire way. I couldn’t shake the nervousness creeping in from his sudden calm, casual vibe—it was so unlike him. But I forced myself to ignore it, just like I had been all day.

Halfway there, he broke the silence. "How close are you and Sebastian?"

I glanced at him. "He’s my only friend here," I muttered.

"He’s a loser," Dick said bluntly.

I rolled my eyes, keeping my stride. "No, he’s not. He’s a nice guy."

"He’s a pussy."

I stopped walking and shot him a glare. "Well, not everyone can be in the mafia, Dick."

He grinned, clearly amused. "You called me Dick."

I resumed walking. "No, I was calling you a dick," I corrected, not bothering to hide my annoyance. He pouted, then jogged to catch up with me.

"But for real, Nel," he said, his tone turning serious again. "Sebastian’s a loser. You shouldn’t hang out with guys like that."

"Don’t tell me who I can and can’t hang out with. You’re not my mom."

Suddenly, he grabbed my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. His voice lowered. "I’m being serious."

I yanked my arm away from his grip, ignoring the spark that traveled up my skin at his touch. "No, you’re being weird."

We stood there in silence, just staring at each other—me glaring, and him watching my face like he was trying to figure me out. His hair was messier than usual today, and for a moment, I had the ridiculous urge to run my hand through it. And his eyes were dancing more than usual today. Even if I think Dick doesn’t take studying seriously, he loves mock trial days a lot just like the rest of us. We got snapped out of this weird staring thing we were doing by someone calling my name.

I turned to see Gwen approaching, which surprised me—she usually avoided me on campus. I grinned and walked over to her, completely forgetting about the guy I left standing behind me.

“Hi, Gwen!” I greeted her, excitedly.

“Hey, Chanel. Are you okay? I saw you and Dick having a bit of a stare down,” she asked, nervously glancing over my shoulder at Dick.

“Oh, I’m fine! He’s harmless.” I shrugged him off.

“Dick Grayson? Harmless?” she said, looking shocked. “Are we talking about the same guy?”

“Yeah, he’s just a playboy and a bit of a flirt. But I won’t fall for it.”

“He’s also, like... insane.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Him and his brothers are known for flying off the handle. Especially him and his little brother, Damian. Those two get set off so easily.”

I wracked my brain, trying to recall any moments of real aggression from Dick in the four years I’d known him, but I came up blank. Sure, he’d gotten annoyed a few times, but nothing close to what Gwen was describing.

“I’ve never seen that before,” I said honestly. “Not that I’m defending him, but he’s never acted like that around me.”

“Alright. Just be careful,” she warned.

“I will,” I promised. Feeling a bit awkward, I wrung my hands and bit my lip, trying to keep the conversation going. “Oh, um, do you want to come see the mock trials? They’re open for anyone to watch.”

Gwen looked at me, pausing like she was considering turning me down as usual. But then she surprised me by nodding. “Yeah, why not? I wanna see what you’ve been studying so hard for.”

I pouted. “Well, I already went. But my friend Sebastian is up next, and he’s pretty good.”

As we walked toward the law building, she asked, “Sebastian Waller?”

“Yeah! Do you know him?” I asked, perking up.

She grimaced. “Yeah, he’s... a creep. You should stay away from him, Chanel.”

“He is?”

“He’s weird with girls at parties. Gives off, like, roofie vibes,” she said with a shudder.

“Oh,” I mumbled, my heart sinking. “I’ll start keeping my distance.” I was disappointed—Sebastian was my only friend. But if two people were warning me to stay away from him I should probably listen. Even if one of those people isDick Grayson.

“How do you not know about these guys? Everyone talks about this stuff.”

“I, uh... I don’t have any friends,” I admitted quietly.

“Oh…” She looked away, guilty. We walked into the trial room, it was starting to refill up with people slowly trickling in from break. I grabbed my bag from where me and Seb were sitting and moved to a few rows away. We sat down and she turned to me with a guilty expression. “Can I be totally honest with you?”

“Yeah sure.” I said nervously.

“You have a horrible reputation on campus. A lot of people think you’re stuck up and a bit scary.”

I gasped and covered my mouth. “What? Why?”

“You don’t talk to anyone, you only study. And the one guy you’re constantly seen talking to is Dick fucking Grayson. The mafioso. People are scared of you and also you have an aggressive resting bitch face. No offense. I’ve been your roommate for the past four years and I’ve been scared to look at you the wrong way in case you’d get Dick to come after me and kill me or something.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Yeah. I mean I guess it should’ve clicked with me sooner that you’re just lonely but I guess It never crossed my mind.”

“I… I’m just shy.” I mumbled trying to hold back my tears. She grimaced at my face and scooted closer to me patting my back in a soothing manner.

“I’m sorry girl. I thought you knew.”

“No. I had no clue.” I said quietly looking down at my hands. This explains so much. This is why people hated me so much even though I’ve done nothing to them. This is why Gwen never really liked me before.

Suddenly, a looming shadow fell over us. Gwen and I both looked up to see Dick standing there, his expression dark and stormy. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“None of your business,” I snapped, quickly wiping my tears and crossing my arms over my chest.

His gaze shifted to Gwen, who looked absolutely terrified. “Why is she crying?” he asked again, his voice even lower.

“Oh, um... well…” Gwen stuttered, clearly panicking.

I held up my hand to stop her. “Leave her alone, Richard.”

Dick ignored me, leaning down toward Gwen as he quietly threatened, “If you made her cry, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

That was my breaking point. I shot up from my seat, stepping between them, and shoved him back. “Do not threaten my friend!” I hissed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today, but that’s not okay, you fucking freak! Now get out of here before I call the professor or... or the security guard or something! Just go!”

Dick took a step back, but his eyes stayed locked on Gwen, who looked like she was about to pass out from fear. I pointed toward the far side of the room, making it very clear that he needed to leave immediately. He turned to look at me, his eyes still blazing with anger.

“Sorry, Nel. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s Chanel. And I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” I said firmly, my voice steady.

He hesitated, then finally looked at Gwen. “Sorry… uh…”

“Gwen,” she offered softly.

“Sorry, Gwen,” he mumbled, his eyes flickering back to me one last time before finally walking away, returning to his usual swarm of admirers. I huffed and sat back down, still glaring at him as he walked off.

“I’m sorry about him,” I said, turning to Gwen. “He’s being weird today.”

She stared at me, wide-eyed, as if I’d just performed a magic trick. “How did you do that?” she whispered.

“Do what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“How did you get him to be obsessed with you like that?”

I frowned, unsure what she was talking about, until she gestured toward the other side of the room. When I turned to look, I saw Dick, sitting in the midst of his usual group of friends and admirers, but his eyes were locked on me. They all chatted around him, laughing and trying to get his attention, but he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t looking away—not even for a second. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down my spine.

I quickly turned back to Gwen, trying to brush it off, but the lingering sensation of his gaze was impossible to ignore. I’m not sure what’s changed with Dick, but one thing is clear—I’m not sure I like it.

Chapter Text

I avoided everyone but Gwen– everyone meaning Sebastian— for the rest of the week. Ever since she opened up to me at the mock trials we've become closer. She even introduced me to some of her friends. Nadia has been Gwen's best friend since middle school. She's a little geeky but it's cute and I like her a lot. She's Indian and kinda short. Shorter than Gwen who is 5'5. She has an adorable face, very cherub-like, and she wears giant glasses but they make her look more adorable.

Sade is a fashion major like Gwen, they met freshman year and have been thick as thieves since. She's Nigerian and reps it like a badge of honor. She's also super tall, like model tall. She told me that she's 5'10 but I bet she's really 6'1. She has short hair that's dyed blonde currently, but most days she wears wigs that show off her vibrant personality. Gwen invited me to hang out with them after the mock trials day one and since then we've hung out every day.

I started avoiding Sebastian heavily after Gwen and Dick's warnings. He has noticed and he's low key been blowing up my phone about it. Sade told me to ignore him and keep it pushing. So I am.

We were currently in our dorm hanging out. Sade was doing my hair because she wanted to practice doing fulani braids, and I was never one to turn down a free hair style. We were blasting Until the end of time by Justin Timberlake and Beyonce, singing at the top of our lungs. It felt nice to be surrounded by people on a friday night. I was happy to finally have friends.

"Okay, finished! I just gotta add mousse and some jewelry," Sade said, excited. She jumped up to grab her supplies while I stretched my legs, feeling the stiffness from sitting so long.

Nadia glanced up from playing her switch on Gwen's bed, "Omg those looks so nice! You did good work, Sade."

"I know." Sade grinned. She ran back over to me and pushed me back down on the pillow on the floor so she could finish the last tiny bits. "So where we going tonight to show off my handy work?"

"There's like, no parties this weekend. Everyone is holding out cause Halloween weekend is coming up and they wanna party then." Gwen mumbled annoyed.

"Um, Dick told me there's gonna be a party tonight to celebrate the end of mock trial week." I spoke up a bit timidly. "It'll probably be lame since it's a bunch of law nerds but if you guys just wanna get out that might be a good option."

"Oou a party at a mafioso's house. Sounds fun!" Sade gushed.

"I don't know... sounds scary." Nadia said as she nervously wrung her hands together.

"I say we go," Gwen said, already sitting up and rifling through her closet. "How many chances are we going to get to party at a Wayne house?"

"Who says we could even get in?" Nadia says.

Both Gwen and Sade turned and stared at me pointedly. I blinked in confusion.

"We're gonna be let in because we have the object of Dick Grayson's affection currently with us." Gwen pointed out.

"I am not the object of Richard Grayson's affection." I scoffed. The notion is actually ridiculous to me. "We hate each other."

"You might hate him but he does not hate you girl." Gwen laughed.

"Y'all keep saying that but I promise you it's really not like that at all. We are enemies and academic rivals."

"Whatever you say girl. Just text ya mans for the details." Sade said as she placed the last clip in my new hair.

"I don't have his number." I grumbled.

"Then DM him!" Gwen suggested, still digging through her closet.

"I don't even have him on Instagram."

"Add him. He'll add you back ASAP I promise you." Sade said as she grabbed my phone off my desk and tossed it to me.

I sighed heavily but did as I was told. I searched for his name and his account popped up. My eyes almost bugged out of my head at his follower count. "He has over 50k followers. That's insane."

"He's popular. I think it's the air of danger around him that makes people flock to him like they do." Sade explained. She got off my bed and walked to Gwen's closet to look through it as well.

"Plus, he and his whole Titans Gang are like a hot commodity." Nadia added.

"Titans?" I asked, standing up.

"That's his section of the mafia." Gwen explained as she held up two shirts to my body.

"I thought they were called the Justice Society."

"They are. The Titans is a subgroup that Dick runs. Each son has their own group. Dick's is the Titans and his second in command is Wally West."

"You know a lot about this stuff." I say as I grab the top Gwen shoved into my hands.

"She loves true crime." Nadia mumbles as she also gets shoved a top.

"Stop delaying and add him!" Gwen points at me.

I begrudgingly look down at my phone and add Dick on instagram. I doubt he'll see it. He has a lot of followers and I'm sure he gets a bunch of DMs a day. But I try anyway. I open up his DMs and draft a message.

Hi, It's Chanel from school. You told me about a party on Monday and my friends wanna go. Can you give me the details on it?

hit send. "Okay, I DMed him, but I doubt he'll reply anytime soon. He probably gets a million messages a day—"

Before I could even finish my sentence, my phone buzzed. I glanced down, shocked to see not only had Dick followed me back, but he'd also already replied.

Are you coming too or is it just your friends?

"What happened? Did he get back to you already?" Nadia asked. I nodded wordlessly.

Yeah, I'm going too, I typed back.

"Oou, we told you he liked you." Sade said, practically bouncing off the walls.

"This means nothing." I mumbled under my breath. My phone vibrated with another message.

Gimme your number and I'll text you the details.

I raised an eyebrow. Why can't you just give it to me over DMs?

Phone is more secure.

Whatever, I thought, rolling my eyes. Reluctantly, I sent him my number. Seconds later, my phone rang.

I scowled, picking it up. "Did I tell you to call me?" I hissed. The girls stared at me, wide-eyed. Gwen shook her head, grinning.

"I told you she talks to him crazy! She literally has no fear when it comes to him." Gwen said.

Dick chuckled on the other end, which pissed me off more, "I wanted to make sure it was really you Nel. It's so unlike you to want to go to a party."

"It's Chanel and you don't know me well enough to make that assumption. Now, will you give me the details for the party or not?"

"Fine." He sighs, sounding like I wounded him. "The party is at my penthouse, in Blüdhaven. It starts at 10."

"Address?" I ask.

"I'll text it to you."

"Oh, so now you know how to text," I muttered. "Thanks. Bye."

"Bye, Nelly," he said, his voice dripping with a fake sweetness that made my stomach turn. I hung up and tossed the phone onto my bed, glaring at it like it offended me. I feel like after that conversion I'm gonna need to give that device a bleach bath. I look up to see all the girls staring at me, dumbfounded.

"What?" I ask, nervously.

"I can't believe you talked to a Wayne like that and you're not six feet under." Nadia whispered in shock.

"Look," I sighed, "I know you've heard rumors, but Dick is harmless. He's just annoying, I swear. The most he'll do is throw out some vague threat that he'll never follow through with."

"Oh he follows through. Trust me." Gwen said laughing.

Sade held up her hand to stop me from responding "No more talk of Mafia's and boys. Let's get dressed and go fucking party!"

+++

It took us some time to get ready. Mostly because Nadia did not want to go anywhere and she was slowing us down a bit. But in the end she lost and we still went. The outfit situation was a bit confusing at first. In my head, you dress to the nines for parties. But Sade explained that only people in the movies dress up fancy for house parties. She said a nice pair of jeans and a going out top is all you really need. So that's what I had on, my nicest pair of jeans and the top Gwen shoved into my hands earlier.

Two hours later, we were speeding down the road. I was a little nervous but hid it well. I'd never been to a house party before. The only parties I'd ever attended were elementary school affairs at Chuck E. Cheese's. This? This was completely different.

Nadia looked like she was going to barf. I think she was fine with parties in general, but not ones hosted by a local mob boss. Meanwhile, Gwen and Sade were buzzing with excitement. Even though Gwen had warned me to be wary of Dick, I could tell she liked the perks that came with knowing him.

"This is gonna be so fun!" Gwen squealed from the passenger seat.

"Yeah... fun," Nadia muttered, looking distraught.

We pulled into the parking lot of Dick's building, which was packed with cars. We could hear the music blasting from outside. Inside, we approached the doorman and told him we were here for Dick's party. When I gave him my name, he immediately directed us to a different elevator.

"For party guests." He explained. He pressed the penthouse button on the elevator for us and let us go on our merry way. The ride up was longer than expected, the building was large but I guess I didn't realize how large until right now. When the doors finally opened we were greeted by a long line to get inside. Guarding the door was a big buff doorman.

"Who does he think he is? Why hire a doorman? This isn't a club." I grumbled under my breath as we made our way to the back of the line.

Gwen shook her head and spoke up, "Nope. Not doing this. Call him and tell him to get us."

"What?! I can't do that!" I exclaimed.

"Why not? He'll come get us."

"That's the problem! I don't want him to come get us."

Sade placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and turned me to look at her, "Chanel. Call the man please."

I sighed and fished my phone out of my pocket. I couldn't believe I was about to call him. This was so embarrassing. The phone barely rang once before he picked up.

"You here Nel?" He said. It was hard to hear him over the loud music in the background.

"It's Chanel. And yes I'm outside with my friends." I replied back.

"I'm coming to get you." That was the last thing he said before hanging up. I turned to my friends with a grim expression on my face.

"He's coming to get us."

"Great!" Sade beamed. Nadia looked even more ill now that she knew we were getting in sooner.

"Yay!" Gwen squealed. "I love having a friend who knows rich people!"

"I don't really know him though. We're not close." I tried to explain.

Before I could say anything more, I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back into a firm chest. Since I was immediately irritated I knew who it was. "I'm hurt, Nel. I thought we were close," Dick's voice rumbled in my ear.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply to try and control the anger currently seeping into my bones. I counted to ten in my head and then opened my eyes. "Richard."

"Yes Nel?"

"Why are you touching me?" I asked quietly. My voice was low but deadly. He chuckled and sort of let me go. He still had a hand on my waist. I turned around to face him, glaring. He unfortunately did look really good tonight. His hair was its usual messy but not messy self, and he was wearing a black t-shirt and normal jeans. He just somehow made it all look good together.

"You look nice. I like your new hair," he said, his eyes trailing over my outfit. "Though I was expecting a little more Hello Kitty in your outfit."

"Shut up," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"What does he mean by Hello Kitty?" Sade asked, glancing at Gwen.

"Nothing," Gwen answered quickly, knowing all too well about my secret Hello Kitty obsession.

"Can we just go inside now?" I huffed.

Dick grinned and nodded. "Yeah, c'mon." He moved his hand from my waist and slung his arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the door. I noticed he had a friend with him—a tall redhead. My guess was it was Wally, his second-in-command. Wally was eyeing Nadia, who was visibly uncomfortable under his gaze. Poor girl was not having a great night.

As we walked past the line, people started complaining. One guy shouted, "Hey! I've been waiting for an hour!"

"Well, you can wait another hour then," I snapped without thinking. Dick chuckled and led us towards the party. The penthouse was filled to the brim with people. It was a claustrophobic nightmare. Bodied upon bodies on the dance floor. Plus the music was so loud it was deafening. I knew I was going to leave here with a massive headache. This was going to be a very long night.

Chapter Text

As we moved deeper into the penthouse, Gwen tapped my hand to get my attention. I leaned down so she could speak in my ear over the pounding music. “Ask Dick to take us to the bar! Me and Sade wanna do shots!”

I nodded and turned to the man in question. “Richard!” I hollered, trying to cut through the noise. He turned toward me. “They wanna do shots!”

“Okay.” He said into my ear. His breath fanning my neck made my pulse quicken but I ignored it and excused it as nerves. I’m just nervous, that's all.

I reached my hand behind me so I could hold Gwens and we could form a hand holding chain so as to not lose each other in this packed place. Dick led me through the bodies of people until we came across a section of his home corded off from everyone else.

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? You have a VIP section in your own house? Who do you think you are?” I shouted into his ear. He just grinned back and pulled me closer into his side. The bouncer blocking the section let us all in and the girls were so excited by the special treatment, even Nadia who had looked ready to bolt earlier. Sade was practically glowing with excitement—I don’t think I’d ever seen her this happy.

It was a bit quieter in this section of the house, so we didn’t have to yell as much as before. Dick led us towards a full bar with a hired bartender as well. This guy was just ridiculous. Where were the keg and red solo cups? Why is this a real bar?

“Six shots!” Dick said to the bartender. The bartender nodded and pulled out six shot glasses and filled them to the brim with vodka. I grabbed mine and held it to my chest. Dick moved his hand from my shoulders back around my waist as he leaned down to whisper a question in my ear, “Do you need a chaser?”

“No.” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“Are you sure?” He asked again. I pushed his face away and glared at him.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I snapped. He smirked as I turned to the girls who were all holding their own cups.

“Y’all ready?” Sade asked excitedly.

“Wait!” Gwen turned towards me. “What’s that cheer you guys do before taking shots?” By you guys I think she was referencing Latinos, as I am half Dominican.

“You mean salud?”

“No, no, the long one!”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, catching on. “¡Arriba!” I lifted my glass, and the girls followed.

“¡Abajo!” I lowered it.

“¡Al centro!” I thrust the cup forward. “¡Y pa’ dentroooooo!” we all shouted as we knocked the shots back. The vodka burned on the way down, and I fought the urge to make a face. I can barely handle hard liquor, I liked a little sweet drink. Maybe I should’ve asked for a chaser after all. I was about to ask the bartender for a soda when Dick slid me a cup of juice. I looked at him and he was looking over me, talking to Wally about something.

I took the cup and downed half of the liquid. It was strawberry lemonade. I love strawberry lemonade. How did he know? I turned back to the girls to see what else they wanted to do. Sade and Nadia ordered more drinks, while Gwen was looking at the dance floor longingly. I walked over to her side, needing to get away from Dick for a second. His presence was clouding my senses.

“Hey girl.” I said as I stood next to her. She smiled at me then looked back at the dance floor. “You wanna dance?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “But the girls wanna get more drunk before we go out there. I think Nadia could use the liquid courage.”

“I get it. I could use some too, I’m so nervous right now.”

“Why?” Gwen grinned, eyes twinkling. “You nervous around Dick?”

I scoffed and looked at him on the other side of the bar. He was still talking to Wally, but his eyes flitted over to me for a brief second. They stayed locked on mine until his friend tapped him to get his attention again. “I am not nervous around Richard. He’s just… confusing.”

“In what way?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“We’ve always been at each other's throats. I don’t understand this new found niceness he has for me.” I confessed.

“Hasn’t he always been nice to you?”

“Well, kinda. But it’s hard to explain. He’s been fake nice… He’s always mocked me through flirting and stuff.”

“Or.” she said softly. “He’s just been flirting.”

“What? No. I turned him down freshman year.”

“That doesn’t mean he got over you, girl. It just means you turned him down,” Gwen said. I glanced over at Dick again. He was already watching me, sipping his drink. Wally stood beside him, openly staring at Nadia, who was doing everything in her power to avoid his gaze.

I sighed and turned back to Gwen. “I don’t know. I think he’s just a whore, to be honest.”

“Hm, maybe you’re right. He does have whorish tendencies,” she mumbled before turning to the others. “Alright, down those drinks so we can go dance! I wanna shake some ass!”

“You have no ass,” Nadia grumbled. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. Gwen just rolled her eyes.

“Ass or not, I’m shaking something,” she declared.

Sade shook her head and giggled.“This happens everytime we go out.”

Just then, Wally approached us—well, more like approached Nadia. The rest of us exchanged wide-eyed looks as he greeted her. “Hi,” he said, his voice deep but soft.

“Hi.” Nadia says, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m Wally.”

“I’m Nadia.” At this point, she was staring at her feet. Sade nudged her, causing her to glare at her friend before finally looking up at him. His smile was gentle, and the way he looked at her made my heart swell a little.

“Wanna dance?” He asks. Nadia looked terrified, turning to us for help, but we all conveniently looked away at the same time, pretending we hadn’t been watching. She scowled at us.

“I’m not a good dancer.” She mumbles out.

“Good, because I’m terrible,” he replied with a grin, extending his hand toward her. Nadia sighed, glanced back at us one last time, and then took his hand. Together, they left the VIP area and headed to the dance floor.

“Aww,” Gwen gushed as they walked out of earshot. “Nadia’s first little boyfriend.”

Sade snorted. “He only asked her to dance.”

“I can dream,” Gwen said, waving her off. “Now let’s go join them!”

I took a huge step back. “I don’t dance in public.”

“Why not?” Sade asked.

“Embarrassment, mostly.”

“No one’s gonna be looking at you, girl, I promise.”

“That’s what all those people on twitter thought too before they were posted for ridicule and harassment.” I shot back.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Chanel, come on. Live a little! No one here cares.”

Sade nodded in agreement. “You don’t have to take it seriously. Just goof around with us.”

I hesitated, but their enthusiasm was contagious. “Fine,” I finally conceded, earning excited cheers from both of them. Gwen grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the dance floor

We left the VIP section and entered the loud and over crowded dance floor. We found a spot in the middle and started dancing to the music. Well, they were dancing. I was more doing the two step awkwardly near them. The DJ was playing good music, I think the song he was playing was a remix of Deja Vu by Beyonce. I was just feeling really seen. Mostly because I could Dick’s eyes piercing into my back. I was vaguely aware of him following us out of VIP but I was trying to ignore his presence.

“C’mon loosen up!” Sade yelled over the music. “This is the best part! Dance!” She grabbed my hands and jumped up and down to the chorus. Her enthusiasm was contagious and I found myself smiling and laughing with them. I started becoming more relaxed, just swinging my head around and trying to move to the music.

By the time the next song started I was totally worry free and just focused on having fun. The next song was Upgrade U by Beyonce. I think the DJ was a part of the beehive or something. I didn’t mind though, I loved her music. I was so distracted with singing along and dancing with my friends I didn’t notice when someone was approaching me until my arm was grabbed.

I turned around pissed and saw Sebastian. He looked upset, “Chanel? What are you doing here?” He asked, yelling over the music.

I snatched my hand out of his grip, “Partying.” I replied. Gwen and Sade stopped dancing and came up behind me concerned. I looked to see where the party host was, because even though I hated to admit it, in case Sebastian lived up to his creep rumors I would like a barrier between us. Dick was in conversation with a tall girl with dark hair. Ah shit, guess we’re doing this alone.

“You don’t party.”

“You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.” I said.

“What? Why would you say that?” Hurt flashed across his face, before it was replaced by anger. “Can we talk? This Ignoring thing you’ve been doing is annoying.”

“No.” I said bluntly. “I’m here with my friends and I don’t want to leave.”

“You’ve been ignoring me all week, Chanel! Did I do something?”

“I just said I didn’t want to talk, Seb. I’ll see you at class on Monday and we can talk then.” I turned back around to try and end the conversation. He wasn’t happy with that it seems because he grabbed my arm again, harder this time, and tried to drag me off the dance floor.

“Hey!” I screamed. I tried to pull away again but his grip was too strong. Gwen and Sade screamed in protest and held onto my body to prevent him from dragging me away. We were drawing a bit of a crowd at this point, making me madder. I hated unwanted attention.

Sebastian kept dragging me, and the girls since they were holding onto me, off the dance floor. Dick finally noticed the comotion. First he looked confused but then once he saw what was going on his face changed into an expression of nothing. No anger just… nothing. He got off the wall he was standing on and made his way over to us.

Sebastian saw him coming and stiffened, but didn’t let go.

“You better let her go or he’s gonna fuck you up!” Gwen shouted.

“He’s not gonna do shit!” Sebastian turned to yell at her. Bad idea. Since he wasn’t looking at him, Dick was able to punch Seb straight in the jaw without any resistance. Sebastian fell to the floor, finally letting go of me. He clutched his cheek and spit blood out of his now bleeding mouth.

Dick towered over him, his eyes cold and his expression unreadable. “Are you insane?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. The room fell silent. Even the DJ had stopped the music, everyone was watching us now.

“Oh fuck off!” Sebastian yelled at him. “This doesn’t concern you!”

Dick was now flanked by two people, Wally, who was staring at Sebastian with disgust and the girl he was talking to earlier with the black hair. By the way she was posted up next to him, I had to assume she was also a part of his mafia group.

Dick crouched down so he was eye level with Sebastian. He spoke low, so low in fact I could barely hear him, “Leave my house right now or I’m going to have you killed.”

A shudder went down my spine. He sounded serious, like he was actually going to do it. Sebastian’s eyes widened, “W-what?”

Dick stood up then looked at the dark haired girl, “Donna, drag him out before I lose my temper and shoot him in my living room.”

She nodded and grabbed Sebastian by the collar. He protested and tried to get away but that Donna girl was strong. She dragged him to his feet then pushed him towards the exit, “You heard the boss. Get the fuck out!”

Sebastian turned to me and glared, “You will talk to me, Chanel. You have to talk to me or I’ll tell everyone about your dad.”

A cold dread made its way down my spine at the mention of my father. Gwen, Sade, and now Nadia who had joined us during the altercation all looked at me questioningly. I couldn’t meet their eyes. Donna dragged Sebastian away before he could say or do anything else.

Dick sighed, turning back to the crowd with a wide grin. “Sorry about that, folks! Just a minor inconvenience. Let’s get the party going again, shall we?” The music resumed, and the atmosphere slowly returned to normal. He gently grabbed my hand, leading me off the dance floor. I didn’t resist, still too shaken to do much else. The rest of our group followed us back to VIP.

Once we were inside, the girls immediately swarmed me, fussing over my well-being. I reassured them that I was fine and just needed a moment to sit down. Sade hesitated, but eventually, they left me alone after Gwen nudged her away, sensing I needed space.

Dick, still holding my hand, guided me to a couch in the corner. I collapsed into it, realizing for the first time that my hands were shaking badly. Dick stood over me, concern etched on his face. “Do you need anything?” he asked quietly.

“Water please.” I said shakily. He went to the bar and grabbed two cold water bottles. I took one and chugged it all. He sat down next to me.

“What did Sebastian mean by telling everyone about your dad?”

“Nothing.” I mumbled, putting my head in my hands. I think I was developing a headache. It was a mistake to tell Sebastian about my father. I should’ve never told anyone. He didn’t pry and stayed next to me, watching over me carefully. Donna walked back over to us, after throwing out Sebastian.

“Boss.” She said while approaching.

“What?” Dick responded. Not looking at her but at me.

“He’s making a scene outside.”

Dick’s expression hardened. “Deal with it.”

“We tried, he won’t leave.”

“Did you beat the shit out of him and then drag him out of the parking lot?” Dick asked, finally looking at her.

“Well no-”

“Then you didn’t try hard enough. Go do that.” He waved her off, and she nodded, leaving to handle it. He handed me the second water bottle, and I took it, sipping slowly this time.

After a long pause, I finally broke the silence. “So, you’re really a mafia leader, huh?”

He didn’t respond right away, just smirked and shook his head. “I’m a normal citizen, Chanel.”

“Sure,” I said sarcastically. “Whatever you say.”

I leaned back into the couch, and he casually draped his arm along the top of the seat behind me. Finally, I looked him in the eye. “Thank you for helping me. You didn’t have to, but you did, and I really appreciate it.”

A wide smile spread across his face as he scooted closer to me. “You know I’d never let anyone hurt my girl when I’m around,” he teased.

I glared. “Why can you never be serious?”

“What do you mean?” He said coy. “I’m always serious.”

I turned away from him trying to hide my smile. He was so stupid. But he was also unfortunately starting to grow on me.

Chapter Text

I was dreading class today. Sebastian had been blowing up my phone non-stop all weekend, sending apology after apology. By Sunday, I’d had enough and blocked him, only for him to switch to Instagram DMs and Snapchat. It felt like I was being suffocated by his guilt. His relentless messages were pushing me to the edge. I was nervous to even do my usual weekend library routine! I had to study in my dorm room, which was hard because Gwen is so funny and kept distracting me and making me laugh.

Dick had been texting me too, but that was different. With him, I actually replied. It started with stupid memes and random jokes, but somehow, our conversations had become more frequent. Strangely enough, he wasn’t irritating me like usual. Maybe his whole knight-in-shining-armor act at the party had worked on me more than I’d like to admit. Was I really that soft? Apparently, yes.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dreading leaving the dorm. I knew what was awaiting me. I doubt Sebastian will really go through with his threat, I don’t think anyone is that heartless. But I don’t know for sure. I sighed and ran my hands down my face. Why did my life become so annoying?

“That’s the fifth time you’ve sighed in the past ten minutes.” Gwen shouted from her bed. “You just gotta head to class. Rip the bandaid off.”

“I know.” I said. “I’m just dreading it.”

“If he tries anything, call me right away! I’ll head over there and back you up!”

I cracked a small smile, “Thank you Gwen.”

“You’re welcome. Now go to class! I need to fart but I can’t because you’re in the room.”

I bursted out laughing but did as I was told. I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, waving at her as I left. I put on my headphones and made my way to the elevators. I blasted my music super loud, to try and drown out my thoughts and anxiety. Sometimes all you need to prevent over thinking is Summer Walker music injected into your skull at 100 percent volume.

My music was so loud I didn’t hear Dick calling out to me when I exited the building. I only realized his presence when I saw him waving his arms in the air like a mad man. I paused the song and slowly took my headphones off.

“Dick?” I asked as I walked up to him. He was standing next to a car. His car I’m guessing by how fancy it was. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” He grinned.

“Sure you did.” The sarcasm was oozing out of me. This building’s population is 80 percent female. Dick probably came from someone else's room and he just happened to stumble across me.

“I’m for real! I came to walk to class with you.” He said as he slung his arm around my shoulder, moving us in the direction of the law building.

“You’re not in this class with me.” I pointed out while removing his arm.

“Now I am. I transferred in.”

“Why? You took the criminal procedure class last semester, you don’t need to take it again.”

His grin widened, “You remember my schedule? I’m flattered.” He bumped shoulders with me.

“Answer the question Richard.” I said, narrowing my eyes.

He sighed dramatically, “I just wanted to be in the same class as you. Is that a crime?”

“We have three classes together already.”

“And now, it's four!” He beamed. I just shrugged. I didn’t understand his logic and I really didn’t feel like figuring it out.

“So, what poor girl did you visit last night?” I asked nonchalantly. I don’t know why I said that. I wanted to stick my foot in my mouth, I sound jealous or something.

“No one, Chanel. I really don’t sleep around as much as people think.” Dick said. I shot him a look that showed I did not believe that for one second. He laughed, “Okay, I don’t sleep around as much anymore.”

“Why?” I asked, craning my neck to look up at him. This I was very curious about.

He looked down, the playful glint in his eyes fading as he became serious. “Honestly? It just wasn’t fun anymore. I was only doing it to get over someone, but I realized I didn’t need to. After that, it was just a habit, and it wasn’t worth it. So I stopped.”

His sudden honesty caught me off guard. It was strange to hear Dick Grayson be so vulnerable. “Who was the girl?”

“My high school girlfriend. I thought we were going to get married,” he said, his voice softening. “Then she got into a bad accident, and after that, she broke up with me. It messed me up for a long time.”

“What was her name?”

“Barbara,” he said, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips. “I used to call her Oracle. She was crazy smart and had this way of predicting things before they happened. Like she could see the future.” He chuckled softly, eyes glazing over with the memory. The look on his face—the way his smile softened, the way his eyes filled with something deeper—made my chest tighten. It was like watching someone still in love, even after all this time.

I shook the feeling off, not sure why it even bothered me. “No more sad stories about me. Got any tragic ex stories?” he asked, nudging me gently.

I kicked at a rock on the sidewalk, suddenly feeling awkward. “No. I don’t.”

He looked at me, confused. “How? You’re hot.”

I smacked his arm, heat rising to my face. “Idiot.”

He laughed, rubbing his arm where I’d hit him. “What? I’m just saying, you’re really pretty. And you’ve got a great personality, you’re super smart, and you’re easy to talk to. I’m honestly surprised you’ve never had a relationship.”

What a charmer, I can now see how girls would fall into his trap. He’s dangerous. “It's not like I never wanted to be in a relationship. In highschool I liked this guy, but nothing ever came of it. My dad found out and told me I wasn’t allowed to date. His anger scared me away from dating in high school all together. Once I got into GU I just put relationships on the back burner. I need to study well and do well so I can get out of this place and achieve my goals. A relationship would only distract me. Once I do that, then I’ll think about dating.”

“Relationships aren’t always a distraction Nel. Sometimes they can help you achieve your goals.” He said softly.

I shrugged, “Maybe. But I’d rather not take any chances. So, I’m staying single for now.”

He hummed thoughtfully as we approached the law building. “We’ll see.”

I stopped, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “What does that mean?”

He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I just mean you never know what the future holds.”

“That sounded like a threat,” I said, crossing my arms.

He laughed and shook his head, “Not a threat. Just saying you never know the future.” I narrowed my eyes at him, but didn’t push it any further.

We walked the rest of the distance to class silent. Once we made it to the lecture hall I walked in and took my normal seat in the back of the room. Dick followed and sat right next to me. A lot of eyes trailed after us. Word must have spread about what went down Friday night at Dick’s party. This school was too damn small. It’s annoying how everyone is always in each other's business.

I shot a glare at a girl who was practically burning a hole through me with her eyes. “Damn, can I get my face back?” I snapped, making direct eye contact. She flinched and turned away quickly, clearly embarrassed. I rolled my eyes. Some people have no shame. If you’re going to stare, at least have the decency to keep it subtle.

I pulled out my laptop and my water bottle to prepare to take notes. Always gotta be hydrated. My water bottle is filled with stickers, mostly Hello Kitty ones, and I love it. It was the last thing my mother bought me before she died. It’s old as dirt now, has a bunch of dents in it from me dropping it over the years, but I love it too much to ever replace it.

Dick, of course, noticed. “How did I never see that damn cat all over your water bottle?” he chuckled, nodding toward the stickers.

I shrugged, taking a sip. “Guess you’re not as observant as you think.”

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice into that low, flirty tone he loved to use. “Oh, I’m always observant when it comes to you, Nel.”

I shot him a look, unimpressed. “Clearly not if you never noticed the stickers.” I opened my laptop, pulling up my notes for the class. Dick grinned, but made no move to take out any note taking apparatus. What a weirdo.

From the corner of my eye I noticed Sebastian enter the classroom and my stomach dropped. I had been so focused on Dick, I totally forgot about the other annoying man in my life. I could tell Dick noticed Seb too because his smile dropped and was replaced by that cold mask he wore at the party. He stared Sebastian down as he made his way over to us. I quickly picked up my bag and placed it on the chair next to me.

Sebastian slowed his approach, hurt flashing across his face for a split second. I almost felt guilty—almost—but then I remembered the party, the threat, and the endless texts. Any lingering sympathy evaporated in an instant. Still, he pressed on, stopping just a few feet away.

“Chanel. Can we talk?” he asked quietly. He was avoiding Dick’s gaze, which was funny because he was practically burning a hole into the side of his head.

I sighed, feigning disinterest. “Class is starting soon.”

“I know, but… what about after class?” he asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

“I’ve got plans,” I replied quickly.

Sebastian’s face fell further. “Plans? With who?”

Before I could answer, I felt Dick’s arm lazily drape over my shoulders, his fingers lightly resting against my arm. The casual possessiveness of the gesture wasn’t lost on either of us. Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

“Listen, I know you probably heard rumors about me, but I can promise you they’re not true! Just like the rumors about you aren’t true! I just want to explain myself. Think about it Chanel, have I ever been weird to you? Have I ever been a bad friend?” I thought about our four year long friendship and came up with nothing. I never noticed Sebastian ever being really creepy towards me, maybe a bit flirty sometimes but nothing that ever shouted danger. “I am so sorry about the party, I was just upset and my emotions were running on high. I’d never tell anyone about your dad, you know that. Just please hear me out after class.”

Despite myself, I still held a lot of fondness for Seb as my friend. I did miss him a lot. “Fine. But not for too long. I have stuff to do.” I answered. Dick didn’t look happy at my answer, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Thank you, Chanel,” Sebastian said, visibly relieved. He reached out, his hand hovering as if he was going to touch mine.

Dick snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Sebastian froze, his hand falling back to his side. He swallowed hard, casting a nervous glance at Dick before mumbling, “See you after class,” and walking away to find an empty seat.

Once he was far enough away I turned to Dick with a raised eyebrow. “What are you, my guard dog?”

Dick didn’t laugh. His face was still stormy, his blue eyes dark with annoyance. “I don’t like that guy.”

“I know, you made that very clear when you punched him in the face on Friday. But he is still a friend and I should hear him out.” I said. Dick made just narrowed his eyes at the ground and said nothing.

The professor walked in before we could continue the conversation. I brushed all of this boy drama out of my head and replaced it with study mode Chanel.

+++

After class Sebastian was waiting for me by the exit of the building. Dick was right next to me, his face still emotionless. The entire class time he just sat there staring at the back of Sebastian’s head. If looks could kill he would be 6 feet under by now.

“Hi Chanel.” Sebastian said with a soft smile as we approached.

“Hi.” I rubbed my arm, a bit uncomfortable with the whole situation. Dick said nothing, he just stood behind me, silently giving off an air of danger. People were looking at us and whispering, it annoyed me. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private. Too many eyes here.”

“Good idea.” Sebastian said. We walked out of the Law building and made our way to the private gardens behind it. Me and Seb discovered this area freshman year. Not a lot of people know it exists, so it’s the perfect place to come to when you wanna study outside. Or in this case, have a private conversation.

We sat down at one of the picnic tables in the area. Seb sat down first then I sat across from him. Dick stood behind me, opting not to sit at all.

“Um, is he going to be here for this talk?” Sebastian asked warily. Dick narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah.” I answered. “I’m not comfortable around you alone right now. Especially in a private setting like this. Dick is here to help me feel more secure.” I never asked Dick to come along, but I guess he could sus out my vibe and understood I needed him there.

“Him?” Sebastian asked, shocked. “The guy who punched me in the face and threatened to shoot me in his living room makes you feel safe.”

“Yeah. He threatened you, not me.” I furrowed my eyebrows. Why is that hard to understand? Sebastian just shook his head.

“Um so. To start from the beginning.” He said nervously. “The rumor you heard about me started in freshman year. I was rushing Sigma Phi and one of their hazes involved kissing a girl at a party. So we all went to a party. All of the other pledges were able to do the task but me, I was too nervous. One of the brothers told me that the best way to get a girl to kiss you is to get her drunk.”

I felt my stomach turn as the implications of his words hit me. I didn’t like where this was going.

“So I um, met this girl and kept giving her drinks. She got pretty wasted and I… I… I kissed her. I didn’t do anything more than that, I promise! But she was obviously not happy with me. News spread all around campus about how I’ll get girls drunk in order to sleep with them. Which is not true by the way. I’ve never even had sex!”

“I didn’t need to know that.” I muttered.

“Sorry. But like I was saying, the rumors started spreading and it got so bad I blew up at the brothers and dropped. They got mad that I dropped, especially since my dad was in Sigma Phi, I was a legacy. So they started spreading worse rumors about me. Stuff like I roofie girls and I do hard drugs. Nothing about any of that is true. I would never. After all of that you were my only friend. No one else believed me when I said I never did any of that.” He wrung his hands nervously and took a shaky breath.

“How I acted at the party, and the way I was blowing up your phone was out of fear. I didn’t want to be alone. I was holding onto you anyway I knew how. I’m just so scared of losing the last person who doesn’t look at me with utter disgust written all over their face.” He admitted.

I could feel the weight of his confession pressing down on me. Part of me understood why he’d acted the way he did, but another part of me—larger than I wanted to admit—was still angry. What he did had terrified me, and it didn’t matter what his intentions had been. I couldn’t just erase that fear.

“I get it,” I said slowly, my voice softening. “I understand where you’re coming from, Seb. I do.”

His face brightened, but I held up a hand to stop him. “But that doesn’t mean I can forgive you completely for what happened. The way you acted at the party… the way you kept texting and calling me afterward… It scared me. I was terrified all weekend that something I told you in confidence would get out. I shouldn’t have cut you off at first, that's on me, I know first hand how rumors can hurt. But I don’t think what you did was right either.”

He nodded, “I agree. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry Chanel.”

“I forgive you.” I said. “But I don’t think we can go back to how close we were before. I need time to get comfortable around you again.”

“I understand.” He smiled. “Thank you for hearing me out.” We both stand up. Sebastian looks like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Well, I better head to class. Thanks again Chanel.”

“No problem. Bye Seb.”

“Bye.” He jogged off toward the entrance of the building, leaving me and Dick alone in the quiet garden. I turned to my silent bodyguard, raising an eyebrow. “So… thoughts?”

Dick shrugged, his eyes still trained on where Sebastian had just disappeared. “I don’t know. I still don’t trust him.”

I chuckled softly. “I don’t think you ever will.”

He glanced down at me, his expression softening slightly. “Probably not.”

“I can’t wait to tell Gwen all about this tomorrow. She’ll be shocked.” I chuckled, picking my bag off the ground.

“Tomorrow?” Dick asked.

I nodded, “Yeah. Gwen has a late class today and also has the fashion show practice tomorrow morning. So she’s sleeping in the fashion building tonight. Did you know they have rooms just for the fashion students to sleep in?”

“I did not know that.” He murmured.

“We should get something like that for the law building. It would save me so much time trying to get to the library on the weekends.” I commented as we started walking out of the garden.

As we walked toward the exit, Dick glanced at me, his voice casual. “So… you’ve got the dorm to yourself until tomorrow?”

“Yup.” I said popping the p.

“Can I come over?”

I froze mid-step, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. Wait, what did he just say? My mind raced. What did he mean, can I come over? Did he mean, Oh hey friend! Can I come over? Or did he mean can I come over? I looked at him trying to gauge his meaning by his face. But I got nothing.

I was feeling less annoyed by Dick these days. He didn’t bother me as much as he used to. But still, this implication was a bit much, “Come over and do what?” I asked, trying to remain neutral.

He just slowly grinned, “Whatever you wanna do, Nel.” He said in that low, flirty tone.

Oh. Oh. The words hung in the air between us, heavy with possibility. I should’ve felt alarm bells going off in my head. This was Dick Grayson, my rival, the guy who’d been driving me insane since freshman year. My mind reeled, trying to make sense of how I felt about him now. Just weeks ago, he was the bane of my existence. But now? Now, I was actually considering this. I should’ve been shutting this down immediately, not letting my heart race the way it was, not feeling my skin warm under his gaze. Instead of pure panic and fear tumbling around my brain, all I could think was: Fuck it, let’s ball.

I took a deep breath, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Yeah, sure,” I said, my voice steady even though my nerves were anything but. “Come over.”

For a second, Dick just looked at me, as if making sure he’d heard me right. Then, his grin returned, this time with an edge of satisfaction. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Lead the way.”

As we walked side by side, the tension between us was palpable, electric even. It was as if the air had shifted, and something unspoken hung in the balance. My heart raced faster with every step, and though I didn’t quite know what would happen when we got to my dorm, I knew one thing for sure, I'm so fucking weak.

Chapter Text

“Well, here we are.” I muttered as we walked into my dorm room. I dropped my bag on the floor near my desk, peeled my shoes off and turned to look at Dick. He was looking around my room, really taking everything in.

“Where’s all the Hello Kitty stuff?” He asked, looking around.

I rolled my eyes. Here he goes again. “I am not obsessed with Hello Kitty. I just think Sanrio stuff is cute sometimes. Sue me.”

He let out a laugh, the sound relaxed and easy, as if he had the upper hand in whatever this was between us. Then, without hesitation, he sat down on the edge of my bed, his posture casual, but his eyes sharp as they followed my movements.

I shifted awkwardly around the room, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space was with him in it. Not really knowing what to do with myself, I ended up standing by Gwen’s desk, fiddling with a pencil that had been left there.

He looked at me, amusement dancing in his eyes, clearly entertained by my attempt to play it cool. “Nel, why are you all the way over there?” he asked, laughing softly.

“I dunno. It’s comfy over here,” I shrugged, even though we both knew that was a lie. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and the air between us felt charged, the anticipation building with every second.

“Are you scared?” He asked, his voice was teasing but it also felt like a challenge.

I scoffed, “I’m not scared of you, Richard. I just like this corner.”

“Then come closer.” He leaned back, his hands resting behind him as he watched me.

I hesitated for a second, then walked over to my desk, sitting on top of it. It felt safer over here than on the bed. I swung my legs back and forth, playing with the pencil as I tried to be cool. Dick sighed, then stood up and walked over to me. My heart thudded in my chest the closer he got.

He stood in between my legs and looked down at me, “You’re such a pussy.” He grinned.

I scowled at him, “No I’m not!”

“How are you gonna invite me up to your room and then get scared when I come up to your room?”

I gasped, “I didn’t invite you anywhere! You asked to come up to my room and I said yes!” I poked his chest to emphasize my anger.

Dick grinned wider, clearly amused by my outburst. “Semantics, Nel. You could’ve said no, but you didn’t.” His voice dripped with smugness as he leaned in a little closer.

I glared up at him, crossing my arms. “That’s because I didn’t think you’d come in here and act like a jackass.”

“Oh, I’m the jackass now?” he asked, raising a brow, his tone full of mock offense. “You’re the one standing ten feet away from me like I’ve got the plague. What happened to your fearlessness Chanel?”

I scoffed, “I’m not scared of you.”

He chuckled lowly, his hands resting on the desk on either side of me now, trapping me in. “Could’ve fooled me,” he murmured, leaning just close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. My pulse quickened, but I wasn’t about to back down.

“You’re so full of yourself, you know that?” I shot back, trying to sound unaffected even though my heart was hammering in my chest. “Not everyone’s falling at your feet, Richard.”

He shrugged casually, the grin never leaving his face. “Maybe not everyone. But you, Nel?” He tapped my leg with his knee. “You’re practically begging for my attention.” He cupped my cheek and moved so close we were sharing a breath. But I barely noticed the closing distance because his last comment actually pissed me off.

“What?!” I exclaimed and smacked his shoulder. “You fucking wish you narcissistic sociopathic loser! I am not begging for any man's attention let alone yours!”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he made a low, amused sound, eyes dropping to my lips as if he was barely listening. It only fueled my anger more, and I wasn’t about to stop. Nervousness be damned, now he’s pissed me off. “I’ll have you know, when you’re not around I don’t even think about you! I am not some boy crazy bitch whose entire life revolves around men! Especially not men like you!”

I was about to keep going, to keep yelling at him but he suddenly closes the distance between us and kisses me. All the words died in my mouth as I sat there in disbelief. He pulled back just enough to look at my face, his eyes searching mine for a reaction. I could see it in his expression—this had been his plan all along. He’d riled me up, knowing I’d focus on my anger instead of my nerves. And, damn it, it worked. I’d walked right into his trap, and I couldn’t believe I’d been played so easily.

Before I could process anything else, he leaned down and kissed me again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate. It wasn’t just to shut me up. His lips moved against mine, and I found myself kissing him back, all caution thrown to the wind. My hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if my body had made the decision before my mind could catch up.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, then he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up my sides. His touch was firm but steady, not pushing me too far, just holding me in place like he had all the time in the world. There was something steady and sure in the way he kissed me, like he wasn’t in any rush to let this moment end.

I let my arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, desperate to pull him even closer, even though we were as flush as could be. This was electric, it was insane. I’ve never felt like this before with any of the guys I’ve kissed. I finally understood what people meant when they said they melted into a kiss. I was melting into him, my body was turning to goo. If he wasn’t holding me, I might’ve collapsed.

When he finally pulled back, both of us were breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together as we caught our breath. His lips quirked into a grin as he looked down at me, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You still mad at me?”

I blinked, trying to find my voice, but all that came out was a breathless laugh. “Yes,” I muttered, my hands still around his neck. “Definitely.”

“Good.” He chuckled softly, his voice low and teasing, but there was something softer in it now. His lips are on mine again in an instant, and I find myself falling into the kiss without a second thought. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes me as my hands clutch at his hair. His hands travel up my sides, slowly sliding under the hem of my shirt. I arch into his touch, my body responding to his as if it has a mind of its own.

He hoists me up and my legs wrap around his waist. He continues the kiss as he walks us towards the bed. We both fell onto it, our mouths still pressed together. I don’t really register the change of scenery, I was more focused on his hands that were currently leaving trails of heat under my shirt.

He pulls away one last time, his eyes hooded over as he looks down at me, “Wait wait. Are you sure about this?” He asks softly.

It was nice of him to ask, a very sweet thing to do. But I was getting in the groove of things and he just messed up my mojo, “Yes.” I said hurriedly trying to pull him back down.

He resisted my efforts and I had to resist letting out a groan of annoyance, “I’m serious. Are you sure? Because we can’t go through with this and then you ignore me tomorrow because you’re suddenly filled with regret. I’d actually crash out over that Chanel.”

“Richard, kiss me or get the fuck out my room.” I deadpanned. That familiar grin spread across his face, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. Without another word, he pulled off his shirt, tossed it aside, and reconnected our lips in a heated, almost desperate kiss.

+++

I stared at the notes in front of my face as I sat on my bed in my XL Sailor Moon T-shirt. I squinted at my computer screen as I tried to make sense of the notes I took earlier today in class. Man, usually I’m so good at note taking, this is why I need to cut drama out of my life. It’s interfering with my studying.

Just as I was about to slam my head against the keyboard in frustration, I heard the shower turn off in the bathroom. Dick emerges looking, unfortunately, fine as fuck. He’s wearing his sweatpants and no shirt, because of course he is. His hair is damp and he has my extra towel draped on his shoulder. He freezes when he comes out of the bathroom, his eyebrows are furrowed like he’s confused.

“Are… are you doing homework right now?” He asks in shock. I look down at my laptop, then back at him.

“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

“You’re doing homework…” He mutters again, hopelessly confused.

“I follow a strict routine that helps me stay on top of my work and my grades.” I explain while pointing to my planner that's next to me. “Every semester I map out times for homework, studying, and free time. I used up my free time today so now I’m studying and doing homework.”

“This is why you have no friends,” he says as he walks over to my bed.

I snapped at him, “I do have friends now, for your information.”

He grinned, climbing onto the bed to sit behind me, his warm body pressing against my back as he peered over my shoulder at my laptop screen. “Oh yeah, those girls from the party. Who are they, anyway? I’ve seen the tall one at parties, but the short one Wally was into? Never met her before.”

“The short one is Gwen’s childhood best friend, Nadia. The tall one is Sade. Gwen met her here.” I settled back against him, feeling the comforting weight of his arms wrapping around my waist.

“Oh, so they’re Gwen's friends.”

“No! They’re my friends now too. We have a group chat and everything.”

“Group chats are not measures of friendship, Chanel. I have a group chat with my brothers and I hate them a majority of the time.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.” I grumbled. “Help me with my homework.”

“Why? I don’t want to do homework.” He complained.

“You took this class; you should know all the answers to this stuff.” I waved my hand around the screen, trying to emphasize the mountain of assignments. “Plus, the faster I get this done, the quicker I can move on to something else.”

Dick chuckled softly, but I could feel him relenting as he leaned closer, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Alright, fine. What do you need help with?”

“I don’t really need help, per se. I really just want you to tell me all the answers,” I admitted, a little bashfully. I wasn’t usually one for cheating, but did it really count if I changed it into my own words afterward?

“You’re hilarious. I’m not going to do that,” he said, laughing.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” I muttered under my breath. “Get off me then if you’re not going to be useful.” I shrugged him off. I could see him pouting from the corner of my eye but I ignored it. No way he’s gonna be in my room, use my expensive ass body wash, but not help me with homework.

I type away on my laptop, getting lost in the world of legal jargon while Dick gets distracted by his phone. His incessant typing irritates me a little bit. What could be so damn important he has to type that loud? I block it out though and lock in to my work. I make a lot of progress, until he curses under his breath and abruptly stands up, nearly knocking me over.

“Woah!” I yelped, snapping my head up as he rushed to grab his shirt. “Where’s the fire?”

“I’ve got a problem with... work,” he muttered, fumbling to pull his clothes back on.

“Your mafia job,” I stated flatly, barely looking away from my laptop.

“I’m not in the mafia.” He grins. “This is an issue between my brothers actually. We all work together and Damian and Jason are fighting about something so I have to go and try to mediate.”

“What a good big brother.” I joke, my eyes still locked on my laptop screen.

Dick threw on his jacket, then paused at the door. He turned to me, looking almost hesitant. “Do you… wanna come meet them?”

“Not in the slightest,” I mumbled, still typing.

“What? Why!”

I sighed then paused my typing to look up at him, “I have three reasons.” I hold up three fingers. “Reason number one, I do not want to get involved with your family at all. It would probably mess up my chances of getting into a good law firm.”

“Or improve them considering we’re such influential people.” He throws in. I glare and keep going.

“Reason number two, your little brother Damian is a literal demon. I’ve heard what he does to people. Granted, I’ve never heard of him putting his hands on a woman, but I don’t want to be the first. I know I have a smart mouth. And the last and most important reason, I have used up all my free time. I’ll fall behind on my work if I don’t get this done now.”

I put my hand down. “But good luck to you though! You know where the elevator is!” I turn back towards my work as he stands there dumbfounded.

“Wow. I know how that feels now.” He dramatically covers his chest with his arms and sniffles, “You- you used me for my body!”

“Get the fuck out,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes.

“Okay, okay, wait.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “What if I promise to give you all of my homework and notes for Criminal Procedure if you come along?”

I froze. That was a good deal. A really good deal. Dick’s notes and homework were probably top-tier, given his grades, and I loved a good study guide. I bit my lip, struggling against my academic urges. Logically, I knew it was a bad idea to get involved with the Waynes any more than I already had. But… those notes.

“Fine!” I snapped, shutting my laptop and standing up. “But I want notes, homework, essays, projects, everything. The whole nine yards!”

“You got it,” he agreed with a smug grin.

“And,” I added, pointing a finger at him, “you have to promise to keep your little brother away from me at all costs. I can’t afford to die at 21—I have shit to do.” I grabbed my jeans off the floor and slipped them on.

“Damian won’t touch you, I promise,” Dick said, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“And do not let me hear any incriminating conversations that would make me have to lie for you in court. I need a clean slate for law school.”

He just smirked and nodded. I pulled on a large brown hoodie, slipped into my Air Forces, and sighed. Shaking my head, I muttered under my breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this for some class notes.”

Chapter Text

Dick’s car was somehow even nicer inside than it looked from the outside—and it was already pretty nice on the outside. One of those sleek black luxury cars with the starry ceiling, the kind that sparkled like you were sitting under a sky full of diamonds. I had to bite back a gasp. I refused to feed his already massive ego by letting him know how impressed I was. Instead, I just sank into the leather seat, crossing my legs nonchalantly like I hadn’t just stepped into one of the fanciest cars I’d ever seen.

As soon as he pulled away from my dorm, I whipped out my iPad and got to work. You can do so much with an iPad if you pay for the extra service—honestly one of the best purchases I’ve made. I opened GoodNotes and my classroom portal at the same time, instantly getting back into the groove of things.

From the driver’s seat, Dick glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re doing homework?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Yes. I am,” I replied, not even looking up from my notes.

He snorted softly. “You’re doing homework, while riding in this cool-ass car, on the way to my family’s house.”

“You know who I am. Don’t act shocked now.” I say as I furiously scribble my homework answers. 

“You’re right. I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he muttered with a shake of his head, smirking as he focused back on the road.

I was just about to solve another problem when a text notification from Nadia popped up on the screen. Curious, I clicked on it. The moment I saw the attached pictures, my stomach dropped.

There, clear as day, was a photo of Dick holding my hand as he pulled me off the dance floor at the party last night. And another picture—this one even worse—of us walking into the dorm elevator together earlier today. I sat up straighter, my heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest. These were posted on one of those instagram accounts that highlight campus couples. 

“No no no…” I whisper under my breath. 

“What happened?” Dick asked.

“We got posted to GU couples.” I grumbled. I hurriedly went to the instagram account and reported the pictures. I knew it was a futile effort because this account was too big for a couple of reports to take them down, but I had to try anyway.

“And that’s a problem because…?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

“Because then people will think we’re involved!” I snapped, feeling my face heat up.

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “But… we are involved.”

“No we’re not!”

“That’s not what you were saying about 20 minutes ago.” Dick laughed. I had the distinct urge to throw my iPad at him.

I ignored his stupid little comment and kept going “We’re not dating, Richard. And now everyone on campus is going to think we are.” I crossed my arms, frustrated.

“Is that such a bad thing?” He gave me a sideways glance, his tone teasing but with an edge of sincerity that I didn’t expect.

I opened my mouth to reply but closed it again. Was it a bad thing? I wasn’t even sure anymore. All I knew was that campus gossip wasn’t something I needed in my life right now. Not with finals around the corner, and especially not with a Wayne.

“I don’t want the hassle.”I muttered. As soon as I said that Sebastian started texting me, blowing up my phone on whether or not it was true me and Dick were dating. “Great. Just great! The hassle has already started!” I groaned.

“Who is it? Your little group chat?” Dick snickered.

“No, it's Seb, he’s asking if it's true.” I sighed. 

He rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, “Want me to deal with him?”

“Deal with him how?” I asked just as Sebastian’s name flashed across my screen. Before I could pick it up Dick grabbed my phone and answered it.

“Sebastian, why do you keep harassing my girl?” Dick said in that weird cold voice he uses anytime he gets mad.

“I am not your girl.” I muttered. Dick ignored me.

“It doesn’t matter why she’s with me at 6 pm. What matters is your strange habit of always texting and calling her. Didn’t we just have a talk today? Do we need to speak privately? Just you and me?” 

My stomach twisted at the way his voice changed, how effortlessly he could flip the switch. I watched him, half in awe and half in disbelief at how serious he was taking this. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about him handling it.

There was silence for a moment, then Dick’s lips curled into a smirk. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Have a nice evening, Seb.”

He hung up and handed the phone back to me, “You didn’t have to do that,” I muttered, clutching my phone tightly in my hand.

Dick glanced over at me briefly, his expression serious. “If he bothers you again, tell me.”

“I probably won’t.”

“I’m serious, Chanel. Tell me. Sebastian is weirdly obsessed with you and I don’t like it.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.”
 
 “Good,” he said, his focus returning to the road, though I could still feel the tension in his shoulders. His protective streak was… something I hadn’t expected. Annoying, yes, but also kind of sweet in a frustrating way. Not that I was going to admit that to him.

As we drove, I slowly eased back into my homework, trying to shake off the lingering tension from Sebastian’s texts. The car’s soft hum and the twinkling lights on the ceiling helped a little, and for a brief moment, I let myself sink into the comfort of it all.

But then, as I glanced up from my iPad, something outside the window caught my eye. The familiar tall, wrought-iron gates loomed ahead, and my stomach twisted.

“Wait…” I sat up, blinking as the car approached the massive entrance. “Where are we?”

Dick raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my confusion. “Wayne Manor.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “I thought we were going to Blüdhaven.”

“Nope,” he said with a casual shrug. “Why would we go there when the problems with my brothers are here?”

“Maybe because y’all live there?!” I was about to hyperventilate at this point. I mean, Jesus I was about to enter the belly of the beast. The heart of the Gotham underworld. Everything wrong in this city started right here. 

“I live in Blüdhaven. Everyone else lives in Gotham.” Dick explains.

“You didn’t mention this when you asked if I wanted to come along!” I said, my voice rising slightly. “I thought we were going to your apartment or something. Not... this!”

Dick glanced at me, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Does it matter? You said yes.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t know we were going to freaking Wayne Manor!” I rubbed my temples, trying to keep the panic from fully taking over. “This is way more than I signed up for. No amount of notes is worth risking my future like this.”

Dick slowed the car as we pulled up to the gates. “Relax. You’ll be fine. No one’s going to bother you here.”

“Yeah, they won’t. Because as soon as I step out of this car I’m calling an Uber.”

“No you’re not.” He laughs as we pull inside.

I scoff, “Watch me, Richard.” I pull my phone out and open the Uber app right away. The prices to get back to campus were a little steep, but there was no cost I wasn’t willing to pay for my financial security in the future. “You owe me forty bucks.” I grumbled.

Dick parked the car and glanced over, an amused grin still playing on his lips. “Why?”

“Uh, because you tricked me into coming here and now I have to pay thirty dollars to get back to my dorm. The extra ten is for emotional trauma.” I stuffed my things into my bag. “I still want those notes too!”

Before I could make my dramatic exit, Dick grabbed my hand gently, his thumb brushing my knuckles in a way that was both calming and irritating. “Okay, wait. What if we stay for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes max, and then I’ll drive you back to school for free? I’ll still give you my notes and the ten bucks.”

I looked at him and squinted my eyes, “No, if I’m staying here for twenty minutes, you’re giving me 100 dollars and your notes for this class plus your notes for Business Law.”

“What about 20 bucks and half my Business Law notes.”

I crossed my arms and leveled him with a glare. “Fifty bucks and all your Business Law notes.”

We sat in silence for a moment as he mulled it over. Then he gave me a small nod. “Deal.”

“Deal.” We shook on it, sealing the most ridiculous deal of my life. I still couldn’t believe I was actually going through with this. With a deep breath, I swung open the door and stepped out of the car, feeling the full weight of my decision as I stared up at the massive mansion before me. Wayne Manor. God help me.

If I made it out of this alive, those notes better be gold.

Dick led me up the grand stone steps toward the towering front doors of Wayne Manor, a structure that could have doubled as a gothic castle. As soon as we reached the top, the heavy doors swung open to reveal an older gentleman with a perfectly groomed handlebar mustache and the crispest suit I’d ever seen in my life. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a historical drama, only way more polished.

 “Master Richard. How nice of you to come this evening. I assume Master Timothy told you of the situation between your brothers?” 

“Hello Alfred. Yes, he did.” He sighed, rubbing his head. “Those two fight over the stupidest things man.”

Dick turns and gestures to me, “This is Chanel. She’s with me.”

Alfred’s eyes flicked to me, sharp but kind. “Ah, is this the Chanel who, if memory serves me correctly, called you ‘the embodiment of a man-child’ during your sophomore year at Gotham U?”

I blinked, momentarily embarrassed. Dick, on the other hand, grinned wide, clearly proud of the memory. “Yup! That’s her.”

“Well, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Chanel,” Alfred said with a small, respectful bow, his expression softening into what I assumed was his version of a smile.

“Nice to meet you too,” I muttered back.

The nice butler leads us inside, and the grandeur of Wayne Manor hit me like a punch to the gut. The place was massive, with ceilings that seemed to stretch endlessly upward and walls adorned with dark, rich wood panels that gave the whole place a timeless, almost eerie atmosphere. The gothic architecture was undeniable—stained glass windows casting dim, colored light across the marble floors, and massive iron chandeliers that hung like something out of an ancient cathedral. It was as grim as it was beautiful, a perfect reflection of everything Gotham represented: power, mystery, and a hint of danger lurking around every corner.

My eyes wandered to a massive portrait hanging over an equally gigantic fireplace, its flames crackling softly in the vast, echoing hall. The painting was of a young Bruce Wayne with his parents. He was smiling, he looked so happy. A far cry from the pictures of the man I’ve seen recently. I wonder if the death of his parents were what caused him to go down this route? Dragging his sons down with him.

We walked through the manor, my footsteps feeling too loud against the polished marble floors, until Alfred guided us to a more modern-looking living room. Despite the updates, the room still carried the house’s dark, heavy aesthetic. Black leather furniture was arranged around a low glass coffee table, the sleek, sharp lines clashing subtly with the traditional feel of the rest of the house. It was like a little oasis of modernity, but still just as intimidating as the rest of the manor. The walls were a deep charcoal, and abstract art that probably cost more than my tuition hung in carefully selected spots. A large flat-screen TV was mounted on the far wall, though even that seemed to fit the dark elegance of the room.

And then I saw them—the rest of the Wayne boys, and it was chaos.

“I didn’t steal your fucking car!” Damian, the youngest Wayne, yelled up at Jason. Despite Jason towering over him by at least a foot and a half, Damian didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, yelling straight into his face with that fierce, unshakable attitude I’d only ever heard rumors about.

“I fucking saw you on the cameras! You stole my fucking car!” Jason barked back, his deep voice reverberating off the walls. His entire body was tense, like a storm about to break, and his fists were clenched as if he was ready to swing at any moment.

“It’s only stealing if I don’t return it, dumbass! It’s back, isn’t it?” Damian shot back, his face twisted into an almost amused smirk.

Jason’s face went redder, and the vein on his neck pulsed in anger. “YOU TOTALED IT! IT’S BACK IN PIECES!” he bellowed, his voice full of raw fury. The sheer volume and intensity of it had me instinctively taking a step back, my heart pounding in my chest. How was this real? How could they be brothers and fight like this?

Damian, still smug as ever, shrugged nonchalantly. “But it’s back, right?” His voice was almost taunting, and that was clearly the final straw. In one quick, brutal motion, Jason snapped his arm back and landed a punch square on Damian’s jaw with a sickening crack. My breath hitched, and I gasped, my hand shooting up to cover my mouth. How could someone just hit their own brother like that? How could they be so... vicious?

Damian’s head whipped to the side, his dark hair falling in his eyes, and for a split second, the smirk that had been plastered on his face disappeared. But then, with chilling calm, he slowly turned his head back toward Jason, his expression now hard and deadly. “Oh, you’re fucking dead,” he growled, and then he lunged.

I stood there, frozen in shock, as the two of them collided like wild animals. They crashed into the coffee table, knocking over books and a vase, fists swinging, snarling curses at each other. Damian might’ve been smaller, but he was fast and ruthless, throwing punches and kicks with the kind of precision that made me wonder just how many times he’d done this before. Jason fought back just as aggressively, his brute strength making each hit look like it could break bones.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, watching as Jason threw Damian against the couch. My eyes were wide, and my body tensed, every instinct screaming at me to back out of the room, to leave this insanity behind.

Dick, though, didn’t even look surprised. He sighed heavily, like a parent exhausted by their rowdy kids, and turned toward Tim, who I only now realized was sitting on one of the black leather couches, watching the whole thing with a relaxed grin on his face, like it was his favorite TV show. “You’re not gonna do anything?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, not even bothering to look away from the brawl. “You’re the eldest. You deal with it.”

Dick rolled his eyes, clearly used to this kind of nonchalance from Tim, and walked over to the two boys. He grabbed Jason by the back of his shirt, hauling him backward with what looked like practiced ease, while using his other hand to push Damian back against the couch.

“All right, enough!” Dick snapped, his voice carrying the authority of someone who’d been breaking up these kinds of fights for years. “What the hell are you two even fighting about this time?”

“He totaled my car!” Jason roared, struggling to break free from Dick’s grasp. “Again!”

“Because you won’t let me drive it,” Damian spat back, wiping blood from his split lip. “And it’s a shit car anyway.”

“You wrecked his car because he wouldn’t let you drive it?” Dick asked, exasperated. 

Damian paused, and then frowned at the ground, “Well, it sounds stupid when you put it that way.”

“Because that is stupid.” Tim snickered from the other couch. Damian flipped him off and Tim did it back.

Dick then turned to Jason, who stopped struggling in his grip, “You’re fighting a high schooler over a car, when you have 12 of them.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, “Yeah but I like that one.”

“You like all your cars Jason, that's why you bought them.” Dick sighed. He just glared at the ground and didn’t respond. 

“What car was it?” Dick asked.

“It was my Altima.” Jason grumbled under his breath.

Dick looked at him, stunned beyond belief, “You’re fist fighting him… over a Nissan?” Then he looked at Damian and pointed, “You got mad that you couldn’t drive… a NISSAN?!”

“It's the principal of the matter!” Damian yelled the same time Jason shouted.

“That’s my everyday car!”

Dick held his hands up, silencing them both, “Here's what I’ll do.” He looks at Jason. “I’ll buy you a new fucking Nissan, but I’m also gonna fight you tomorrow. Then you can see what it feels like to be beat up by someone bigger and stronger than you.” 

“I’m taller.” Jason mutters angrily. Dick shuts him up with one look. 

Then he turns to Damian. “I’m taking away one of your bikes and sending it to the scrap yard. Everytime you take someone's car and you crash it, I’m breaking a motorcycle.”

“You can’t do that! That’s not-”

“That's not what?” Dick asks in a low, dangerous tone. “That's not fair? Is that what you were about to say?” Damian gulps hard and shakes his head no, looking down at the floor.

“Hm, that’s what I thought.” Finally, he looks at Tim who had a wide grin on his face watching this whole thing unfold. “I can’t think of what to do to you yet, but when I figure it out, you’re dead for watching this happen and not doing shit. You’re smarter than that.”

Tim’s face falls at Dick’s words. Finally, the room is silent and the tension that was there earlier completely dissipates. Dick has great interpersonal skills, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a future mob boss I’d say he had a great future in being a crisis management counselor. 

“Can I just ask one thing?” Damian pipes up.

“What?” Dick asks, looking at him.

“Who’s the broad?” He points his finger in my direction, straight at me. Broad? Who the hell is he calling a broad? 

Dick smacks Damian on the back of the head, “Don’t call her that.”

“Wait, but who is she?” Tim asks, standing up off the couch now, staring at me with inquisitive eyes. All of their eyes were now plastered on me, and the room felt about thirty degrees hotter now. My nerves were on edge but I kept my face calm, something I’ve mastered over the years of dealing with my father.

“This is Chanel!” Dicks grins and walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulder. Which I promptly shake off.

All their mouths fall open at the same time. Jason cocks his head to the side, “This is Chanel?! The one from your major?”

Dick nods. “Yup!”

“The one who called you a big headed idiot whose skull was only there for decoration since it wasn’t holding a brain in it?” Tim asked.

Dick nods enthusiastically again.

“The one who you said she'd rather gouge out her eyeballs and eat them whole than go on a date with you? That Chanel?” Damian added. Jesus, I’m pretty harsh huh?

“The one and only!” He beams, like he’s so proud of all the insults I’ve given him over the four years we’ve known each other. 

Tim furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, looking genuinely puzzled. “Why are you here?” He asked.

“Dick said he’d give me his notes if I came along,” I replied flatly.

Tim blinked at me like I’d just said something utterly insane. “And that worked on you? You came to Wayne Manor just because he promised you some notes?” His tone was incredulous. “Even with our... not-so-sterling reputation?”

“No.” I sneered. “I thought I was going to Dick’s place in Bludhaven. Not here to your little mafia den.”

All four of them responded in unison, their voices perfectly synchronized as if they’d practiced it a thousand times. “We’re not in the mafia.”

“Yeah sure whatever.” I said, not believing them for a second.

Tim squints his eyes at me, and looks me up and down giving me a long once over that makes me uncomfortable considering the fact he’s freshly 18. “This is so weird.” He mutters. “You’re really mean, but for some reason it makes me attracted to you.”

“Gross,” I mutter, shuddering at Tim's comment.

“You get it, right?” Dick says, practically bouncing in place, a wide grin on his face. “The meaner she is, the hotter she gets!”

I snap my head towards him, my expression filled with disgust. “Do not objectify me while I am literally standing in the room,” I say, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Sorry Nel.”

“It’s Chanel.” I growl. I pull out my phone to check the time. My patience was wearing thin, and my tolerance for Dick was on a rapidly ticking clock. “We’ve been here 18 minutes. If I’m not in your car in the next two you have to give me 100 bucks in addition to that fifty you already owe me.”

Dick grins down at me, “We didn’t agree to that.”

“Read the fine print next time.”

Dick lets out a dramatic sigh, turning towards his brothers, who were still watching us with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Alright, guys, I gotta get her back to campus. My girl gets mad when she’s not studying.”

My eyes narrow into dangerous slits. “I am not your girl!” I stomp out of the room, trying to retrace the route we took to get into this mansion in the first place.

As I make my way down the hall, I hear Tim calling after me, his voice filled with a teasing tone. “Bye, Chanel! I hope we get to see you again!”

Without looking back, I scoff. “For my sake, I hope we never do.”

+++

Dick took the long way back to campus. I guess he was trying to get me to talk to him or something but as soon as my butt touched that chair I was back to doing my homework. I noticed the long route he was taking, but I ignored it. Work was more important since I was now an hour behind my schedule. I’m going to have to stay up late tonight to try and finish up.

When we finally pulled up in front of my dorm, I didn’t waste a second. I bolted out of his car like the seat was on fire, but Dick was right on my heels, falling into step beside me as we walked to my building. I quickened my pace, hoping he’d take the hint and leave, but instead, he followed me all the way to my floor.

Once we reached my dorm, I spun around to face him, my hand gripping the strap of my bag tightly. “Report that page that posted us,” I demanded. “I think with the amount of followers you have, we could get it taken down.”

Dick smirked, that familiar, irritating grin pulling at his lips. “Why would I do that?”

I blinked. “Uh, because it’s a lie? We are not a campus couple.”

“We could be,” he murmured, his voice low and soft as he took a step closer. 

My heart jumped into my throat, but I forced my face to remain neutral, even though my pulse was racing. “No. We couldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asked. The seriousness in his voice a huge contrast to the goofy smile on his face.

I opened my mouth to give him a well-thought-out response, ready to shut this conversation down for good, when something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A glint of light—like a camera. I glanced over Dick’s shoulder and saw my nosy neighbor, Sammy, half-hidden behind her door, her phone aimed directly at us like we were some kind of reality show. I gasped and shook my finger in her direction, “Sammy! You bitch! It was you who sent those photos to that fucking instagram account wasn’t it!” 

Sammy jumped, her eyes wide as she slammed her door shut without another word. I moved to storm after her, but Dick grabbed my arm, gently pulling me back before I could go on a full rampage. He pushed me inside my dorm room and closed the door behind us, sealing us both in before I could even react.

“Why would you do that! I was about to go over there and forcer her to delete whatever fucking picture she just took!”

“I’ll take care of it.” Dick’s voice was calm, measured. He stepped toward me, closing the distance in a way that felt too deliberate. “Now answer my question. Why can’t we be a couple?”

His easy grin from earlier had vanished, replaced with an expression that bordered on emotionless. I hated it when he did that—when his face became unreadable, like he was flipping a switch between his playful self and whatever this was. It made me feel like I was talking to a wall.

I crossed my arms over my chest, “I’m not attracted to you in that way.”

“That's a lie we just had sex.”

Damn it! That’s a good point. “People can have sex without feelings being involved.”

“Yeah some people can. But not you.” He said.

I scoffed, “You don’t know me like that.”

“Chanel,” he said, my name coming out like a sigh, “I’ve been the one constant thing in your life since freshman orientation. Whether you like it or not, I do know you.”

I threw my hands up, exasperated. “Fine, Dick. You want the real reason?” My chest was tightening, words spilling out faster than I could control. “The truth is, I don’t want to get involved with the Waynes. Getting too close to you would ruin my reputation, and in turn, my career.”

His eyes didn’t waver. He leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “No, it wouldn’t. We’re a family with a lot of connections and businesses. We could use a lawyer—especially a good one like you. You know damn well we’d boost your career, not tank it. So try again.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to scream. “You sleep around too much.”

His response was instant. “I haven’t slept with anyone, except for you today, in about six months.”

My head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. “What? Why?”

“I told you why, Chanel. It wasn’t fun. I was doing it as a coping method to get over a girl I realized I got over years ago. I also realized, I liked you too much to be fucking around with other girls. You’d never take me seriously if I was still whoring around like I used to.”

There it is. Out in the open now. Dick just said he liked me. I guess I knew. it was always obvious I was just trying to deny it so I didn’t have to confront the fact that someone this dangerous has feelings for me. 

“Dick, you don’t really like me. You like the idea of me. There's a lot you don’t know and that I’m not willing to share.” I ran my hands through my braids, just trying to mask the shakiness of them.

His eyes locked onto mine, reading me, studying me. “Like what? The shit about your dad?”

“Yeah, like the shit about my father.”

“Chanel, I don’t care that your dad was a murderer, I've been around worse things.”

I froze as the words came out of his mouth. My blood ran cold as my worst fear just came true. He knows who my dad is. “What… What did you just say?”

“Ah shit. I didn’t mean to say that.” Dick stepped closer, his hand outstretched like he was going to try and comfort me. I recoiled, moving back and throwing out my arm to stop him in his tracks. There was no way I was letting him touch me right now.

“How do you know?”

“Chanel…”

“No, answer me. How do you know?” I practically shouted. My pulse was pounding in my ears, my mind scrambling for answers I wasn’t ready to hear.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “After the party I had Wally look you up. I wanted to know what Sebastian meant and why you looked so frightened after he mentioned your father. Wally did a background check and figured out who your dad was… and how he killed your mother.”

The air seemed to leave the room in an instant, leaving me gasping for breath.

“But… but I changed my last name.” I stammered, shaking my head in disbelief. “Everything about me should be locked up tight. The judge told me, no one would know.”

I stumbled backward, my legs giving out as I collapsed onto my bed, my hands burying my face as the reality of it all crashed down around me.

“I’m sorry, Chanel,” Dick said softly, his voice full of genuine regret. He took a hesitant step toward me. “I was just worried about your safety, and-”

“Get out,” I muttered, my voice muffled by my hands.

“What?” He stepped back, his eyes wide, not sure he’d heard me right.

“I’m not mad,” I said, louder this time, but my tone was brittle. “But I need to be alone, so please. Just... get out.” I could feel the tears slipping down my cheeks, running down my arms, and I hated it. Hated that he was seeing me like this.

“Chanel, I’m-”

“Dick,” I cut him off, my voice breaking, “please.”

He stood there for a long moment, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something else, but then he stopped himself. He nodded, his face full of guilt, and turned toward the door. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, he looked back at me, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really sorry, Chanel.”

And then he was gone.

The second the door closed behind him, the dam broke. I crumbled, slowly crawling onto my bed, curling into myself as the sobs wracked my body. Every tear felt like a release of the fear, the anger, the shame I’d buried for so long. But it didn’t make it any easier.

The room was dark, the only sound was my quiet, broken sobs as I buried my face in the pillow, wishing the world away.

Chapter Text

I skipped class today, which is something I've never done before. When Gwen came back to the dorm, she looked confused and worried. I couldn’t blame her. I was wrapped in three blankets, dressed in full Hello Kitty pajamas, and staring blankly at the wall. Sebastian kept texting, asking where I was. I lied and told him I was sick, that I wouldn’t be coming in. That only made him more concerned—probably because he knows I’ve shown up to class sick before. He must’ve thought I was on my deathbed. Even my professors emailed, checking in on me.

Nadia and Sade eventually came by too—Gwen must have told them something was wrong. They gently forced me to get out of bed, shower, brush my teeth, and eat. I appreciated the effort, but it felt impossible to do anything but hide under the covers.

“Chanel, you really need to eat more,” Sade said softly, nudging a plate of fries toward me.

I pulled the blankets tighter around me and shook my head. “I’ll eat later,” I mumbled.

“You said that an hour ago. How much longer is ‘later’?” she pressed, pushing the plate closer.

“I’m just not hungry.” My voice was muffled as I buried my face deeper into the blankets. Sade sighed, moving the plate back to the desk. I could hear them whispering among themselves, probably trying to figure out what to do with me.

"I really don't know," Gwen muttered. "When I got back, she was just like this."

I heard Nadia mention something in a hushed tone. “...Wally said Dick is upset about some...”

But the rest of her sentence was too low for me to hear.

Sade then chimed in, “...Call him and see?”

That got my attention. I sat up abruptly, panic rising in my chest. “Do not call Dick!”

All three of them whipped their heads toward me, startled by my sudden outburst. I had been practically catatonic for hours, and now they were probably wondering why the mere mention of Dick had me reacting like this.

“Why not?” Sade asked, crossing her arms.

“I don’t want him to come by.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t, okay? Please don’t call him,” I pleaded.

Gwen’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Did that bitch-ass motherfucker hurt you?”

“NO! No!” I quickly yelled, groaning as I ran my hands down my face. “Okay, well… yes, but not physically. Just... he did too much, and I didn’t like it. That’s all.”

“Him ‘doing too much’ doesn’t explain why you’re curled up in bed like this. Chanel, you’re always working, studying—you haven’t even looked at your textbooks since I got back! Whatever he did, it’s serious. And I don’t care that he’s in the mafia! I’ll handle it! I know a guy!” Gwen ranted.

I couldn’t help but smile softly as she paced the room, going off about what she’d do to Dick if she saw him. It was nice to have someone care this much about me. I hadn’t felt this kind of worry from anyone in a long time—not since my mom died.

Suddenly, the weight of everything hit me all at once. The love and concern from my friends, the pain of losing my mom, the hurt from Dick digging into my past—it all overwhelmed me. Before I knew it, I was crying. Full-on, uncontrollable sobbing.

Gwen stopped her ranting immediately, rushing over to my side. Sade was right behind her, and Nadia grabbed tissues and a water bottle from the desk. They were doing their best to comfort me, but I was lost in a whirlwind of emotions. My sobs echoed through the room, deep and uncontrollable, the kind that shakes your entire body. I hadn’t cried this hard since the day I found out my mom was gone, and now that same helplessness clawed at me again.

“Why did you threaten to skin him! Look what you did!” Sade hissed at Gwen.

Gwen scoffed as she rubbed my back, “I did nothing! This is obviously his fault!”

I started crying even harder, my body racked with sobs. Nadia smacked Gwen’s arm and hissed, “Do NOT mention him! It’s making her worse!”

They were honestly terrible at this, but they were trying so hard, it made me want to laugh. And somewhere in the middle of my grief, I did. It started as a tiny giggle through my sobs, but watching them bicker like kids—it was so ridiculous that it grew. I giggled more, and before I knew it, I was laughing—full, belly-deep laughter. It was insane how fast my emotions were turning.

They paused their arguing to look at me as I was doubled over laughing like an insane person. Gwen cocked her head to the side, “uh, are you feeling better?”

I nodded, wiping away my tears with a shaky laugh. “Yeah,” I managed to choke out between a few remaining sobs.

She exchanged glances with the others before cautiously asking, “Are you feeling good enough to tell us what happened?”

I sighed, the laughter fading as reality set back in. “Yeah.” I ran my hands along my pants, looking down at the ground. “Dick just… looked into something private. Something I didn’t want known. And he did it without my permission.”

“If you’re okay with me asking, what did he look up?” Nadia asked as she sat down on Gwen’s bed across from me.

I bit my lip, hugging my knees closer to my chest. “I’m not really ready to share the details. But it was... traumatic.” My voice cracked. “Him digging into it brought back all the memories I’ve tried to bury. All at once.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry Chanel.” Sade placed her arm over me.

I shook my head, offering a weak smile. “It’s okay. I just... need today to feel everything, you know? And maybe tomorrow I’ll be alright.” Hopefully.

Gwen, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s healthy,” she said, just as there was a knock on the door.

We all froze. “Are we expecting anyone?” Sade asked.

“Nope. Everyone I expect to be here is here.” Gwen said.

“I’ll get it.” I said standing up. “I need to stretch my legs, and it's probably Seb anyway.”

“God I hope not.” Gwen muttered under her breath. I grinned and shook my head as I trudged to the door. I should probably tell her the rumors about him aren’t true.

I opened the door and came face to face with Dick’s red headed side kick, Wally.

He grinned at me, as I stared at him very unimpressed, “Hi.” He waved.

I sighed and turned around to Nadia, “It’s for you.”

“Huh?” She said, confused. I moved out the way so she could see him standing there at my door. “Oh!” she stood up and rushed to the door, her face getting redder the closer she got. I moved out of the way so that they could talk.

“Hi Pretty.” He said looking down at her smiling.

“Hi Wally.” She muttered, her face was completely red at this point. I turned around to look at the others and they were making kissy faces in the couple’s general direction.

“As much as I am happy to see you, beautiful,” he said, his voice light, “I’m actually here for your friend.” His eyes flicked over to me. “See, my boy’s down the hall. He feels really bad about whatever the fuck he did yesterday, but he’s too much of a chicken shit to come over here and apologize himself. So I had to do it instead. Because he’s a huge pussy.”

Gwen let out a sharp laugh. “Did you just call Dick a pussy?” she asked, sounding half-impressed.

Wally nodded sagely. “Absolutely. Man’s a complete coward right now.” He looked back at me, his tone softening. “But seriously, Chanel. He feels terrible about what happened. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I ignored the sympathy in his voice, my mind focused on one thing. “Where is he?”

Wally glanced down the hallway, pointing towards the far end, near the garbage room. I followed his gesture and sighed, feeling a mix of exhaustion and frustration building up inside. Without a word, I slid my feet into my fuzzy Hello Kitty slippers, the comfort of them doing little to calm me. I turned to my friends, who were watching me with wide, curious eyes.

“I’ll be back,” I mumbled, grabbing my phone off the desk.

“You’re gonna talk to him?” Gwen’s voice was filled with shock, her eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.

“Yeah.” I shrugged, not really sure what else to say.

“Why?”

I shrugged again, more out of habit than anything. “Why not?”

Turning to Wally, I muttered a quick, “Thanks for letting me know. Uh, you can come in, I guess.”

“Thanks!” He grinned. He walked inside my room like he’d been there before. He was way too comfy. Nadia followed him inside. She sat on Gwen’s bed and he basically sat on her fucking lap with how close he was to her. I do not think Nadia is used to being pursued like this. She is so nervous. The whole thing would have been amusing if I wasn’t so exhausted.

I gently closed the door behind me, leaving them to their little scene, and turned toward the end of the hallway. There he was—Dick Grayson. He was pacing, head down, eyes glued to the floor, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. Sweatpants. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in sweatpants. The black hoodie he wore had the hood pulled low over his face, giving him an uncharacteristic air of nervousness. He looked nothing like the put-together, confident man I’d always seen.

Each step I took down the hall in my Hello Kitty slippers was met with a soft meow, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. I could see Dick pacing up ahead, hands buried deep in his sweatpants pockets, his head down. He looked so unlike the Dick Grayson I knew—no easy grin, no perfectly styled hair, just a guy who seemed lost in his own head. So lost he didn’t even hear me approaching.

When I got close enough, I stopped, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "Why are you here, Richard?"

He froze mid-step. His head jerked up, and for a second, he just stared at me, wide-eyed like he wasn’t expecting me to show. Then, he let out a breathless, "Chanel… Hi."

I didn’t respond, just stood there waiting. He must’ve sensed my tension because he quickly launched into an apology.

"Look, I’m sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you or invade your privacy. I just… after what Seb said at the party, it messed with me. I kept thinking about how scared you looked, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let it go. I asked Wally to help me dig into it, and I found out about your dad… about what he did." He paused, swallowing hard. "I was just worried, okay? I didn’t want you to be in danger."

I felt my fists tighten at my sides. My chest was tight, anger bubbling up from a place I tried to keep buried. "Why would you think that was okay?" I shot back, my voice harsher than I intended.

He blinked, caught off guard. "I didn’t think, I just… acted. I was trying to protect you, Chanel."

I laughed bitterly. "Protect me? You think digging up my past, finding out my dad was abusive and that he killed my mom, was protecting me? You think invading my fucking privacy is protecting me? That wasn’t your place, Richard. That wasn’t for you know."

“I know. I’m sorry.” He said softly. “Are you mad at me?”

“Am… am I mad at you? AM I MAD AT YOU?! Of COURSE I’m fucking mad! I’m yelling at you in the middle of the goddamn HALLWAY!”

He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. Then, as if grasping for a lifeline, he said, "But yesterday, you said you weren’t—"

"Yeah, I said that so you’d get the FUCK out of my room!" I snapped. My words came out sharp and jagged.

He flinched back as if I had slapped him. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Unless you unkill my mom and somehow have my dad never be born then no. There's nothing you can do for me.” I turned away from him and walked back in the direction of my dorm.

“I’ll fix this! I promise I will!” He yelled after me. Without looking I flipped him the bird.

I pulled open my room door and four bodies came tumbling out, clearly they were eavesdropping. I rolled my eyes as they all hopped up and tried to act like they weren’t minding MY business.

"Get your stupid asses in the room," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I was too tired to be truly annoyed.

+++

Later that night, after everyone had gone, I was pulled from my sleep by my phone buzzing loudly on the nightstand. Groaning, I glanced at the clock—2:30 a.m. Seriously? Everyone in my life knew I had a strict ‘no calls past 11’ rule. Gwen had left and wasn’t spending the night in the dorm. She said she had to go ‘study real quick’ but really she was at a dick appointment. I could tell by the goofy look on her face. So I figured this was Gwen calling and she just forgot her keys.

I grabbed my phone, “Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Baby, did you see my text?” Dick’s soft voice said on the other line.

Of course it's his stupid ass calling me. I glared into the darkness, wishing I could somehow channel my rage through the phone. "No, I didn’t see your fucking text, Richard. It’s almost 3 in the morning!"

“Look right now.”

Sighing, I put him on speaker and opened my messages. My eyes widened in shock as I stared at the screen. Dick had sent me a picture. It was of my father—tied up, bleeding, and looking absolutely terrified in some dimly lit, run-down warehouse. His eyes were wide with fear, blood trickling down his face. I felt my stomach drop.

I bolted upright, my heart pounding. "Oh my god. Dick, what did you do?"

His voice, now calm and almost too casual, sent a chill down my spine. "I told you I’d make it up to you, Nel."

Chapter Text

“Come get me right now,” I said, my voice hurried and frantic as I scrambled out of bed. I yanked on whatever clothes I could find scattered across my floor—sweatpants, a hoodie, mismatched socks. My heart raced, thumping in my chest so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“I’m already outside.” Dick’s tone was so casual. So nonchalant. It scared me. Is this what Gwen was talking about? Is this the side of Dick I never saw before? 

I rushed outside only grabbing my phone and my keys. I skipped the elevator and flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time until I bursted out the front doors of the dorm building. There he was, standing against his car. His arms crossed while he looked up at the moon with a serene expression. I started shaking as I made my way over to him.

He felt my presence and looked away from the moon to smile at me. The same smile he always has when he looks at me. It scared me now.

“Dick. What did you do?” I asked again. I was clutching my phone so hard my knuckles were turning white. My hands were shaking so badly. 

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch my cheek. Gently, he wiped away a tear I hadn’t even realized was falling. “Why are you upset? I did what you asked, Chanel. I’m going to get rid of your father,” he said softly, his tone sweet, almost comforting.

The calmness in his voice—so utterly detached from the horror of what he was saying—made my blood run cold. There was a faint metallic scent on his hand that brushed against my skin. Blood.

“I-I never asked you to do that.” My voice was shaking with nerves.

“This afternoon. You said the only way I could make it up to you was to bring your mother back from the dead, or wipe out your father’s existence. So, I chose the option that I knew I was able to accomplish.” His hand moved from my face to my waist as he pulled me closer to him. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

I stared at him, completely frozen. How could he say that so casually? Like he’d solved some kind of math equation instead of deciding to end someone’s life . “How can… how can you just kidnap someone and- and hurt them like that? And you’re just so calm. How can you be so calm?”

“Chanel,” he said softly, his eyes boring into mine, “you know who I am.”

Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. He was right. I did know who he was. I knew the Waynes weren’t some ordinary family. I knew he was in the mafia. But I guess, deep down, I didn’t really process what that meant. I had seen Dick as the guy I had an academic rivalry with, not someone who could casually orchestrate something like this. Not a killer. Not a cold-blooded killer.

“Just… Just don’t kill him. Please.” My voice came out weak. I looked into his eyes, pleading and begging.

“You know I can’t do that, baby.” He sighed, like it hurt him to have to defy my plea. “He hurt you. So he has to go.”

“If you kill him, you’re always going to have that body hanging over your head. Can you live with that? Like, can you really live with yourself if you do that?” I was grasping at straws now, hoping to appeal to some shred of humanity in him.

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’ve lived with it just fine my whole life, Chanel. He won’t even be a blip on my radar.”

“Jesus Christ.” I muttered. My knees felt weak. If Dick wasn’t holding me up right now, I might’ve fallen over. “Why? Why? Why? I don’t get it. Why me?”

His eyes softened as he looked at me, and his expression shifted from calm to something darker—something more possessive. “Because ever since freshman year, when I first saw you at orientation, I’ve been obsessed with you. You don’t care about me at all. I could die today, and you wouldn’t feel a thing. Everyone around me is fake, artificial. They either kiss up to me or run away in fear.” His grip on my waist tightened. “But you, Chanel. You don’t. You hated me for me . And now, because of that, I’m attached to you forever. You’re mine , forever.”

His confession, coupled with his stupid love sick smile made me want to vomit. Was this his weird, sick declaration of love?

“T-take me to my father.” I asked. All fight left in me gone.

He shook his head, his voice soft. “You don’t want to see him right now. You can’t stomach violence like I can.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand taller. “I lived with intense violence for most of my life. I can handle seeing him. Just take me to him.”

Dick paused, his eyes scanning my face before he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, his voice calm again. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He opened the passenger side door for me, gesturing for me to get in. I slipped into the seat, my eyes wide, my mind racing, trying to prepare for whatever nightmare awaited me in that warehouse.

+++

Twenty minutes later we were parked at the Gotham harbor in front of a warehouse that was dark and dingy. I stepped out of the car, my hands shaking in fear and anticipation for what was about to come.

“C’mon Nel. Entrance is this way.” Dick gestured for me to follow him. He led me to a side door, his pace steady, unhurried. He pushed it open, and I followed him into the building. The moment I crossed the threshold, my nose was assaulted by the sickening stench—metallic blood mixed with urine and sweat, so thick it clung to the back of my throat. I gagged, instinctively covering my nose and mouth with my hand, but the smell was everywhere, coating every inch of the warehouse like a foul blanket.

Somewhere deeper in the building, I could hear groaning and the faint shuffling of feet. The sound sent a fresh wave of nausea through me, my stomach twisting itself into knots.

“Turn on the lights. It’s me,” Dick said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. 

A second later, the overhead lights buzzed to life, harsh and flickering. The fluorescent bulbs cast an eerie, cold glow over the scene in front of me. The warehouse was filled with shadows, but what was illuminated was enough to make me want to turn and run. Carnage. There was no other word for it. Blood spattered the floor in messy puddles, mixed with dirt and grime. Stray fingernails littered the ground, some still stuck in the deep gouges scratched into the concrete, and here and there were clumps of skin, torn flesh, and—I swear I saw—a finger or two.

Then my eyes landed on my father, and I froze.

He was slumped in a chair, bound tightly with thick ropes, his arms and legs limp, his body barely upright. His face... God, his face. It was swollen and bruised so badly it was barely recognizable. One eye was completely swollen shut, the other glazed over with fear and pain. Blood trickled down from his scalp, pooling at his chin before dripping to the floor. His head lolled on his chest, rocking slowly from side to side as soft groans escaped his lips.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, barely able to take it all in. This was worse than I’d imagined. Way worse.

“I did this all for you.” Dick said, slowly wrapping his arm around my waist. He sounded so in love. 

Donna and Wally stepped out of the shadows now, their expressions both read of shock. “You brought her here?” Wally asked.

“She wanted to come.” Dick shrugged. 

Wally turned towards me, his eyes pleading, “Please don’t tell Nadia about this. I want her to like me.”

I waved him off. Him and Nadia’s budding relationship was the last thing on my mind right now. Donna stood next to my father, her gaze on him was deadly and ferocious. “Did you come to chastise him one last time before he dies?” she asked.

“No... I...” My voice wavered as I tried to make sense of why I was even here. “I don’t really know why I asked to come,” I admitted truthfully. “I guess I just... wanted to see if it was real.”

It was like hearing my voice had stirred something in my father because suddenly, his head snapped up, and he strained to lift it, his one uninjured eye blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on me.

“Chanel... Is that you?” His voice was raspy, barely a whisper, as though it took every ounce of his energy to get the words out. His lips trembled, his whole body shaking as he wheezed. “Please... help... Chanel.”

Those words. Please... help... Chanel. They struck something deep in me, transporting me back to that night—the night my mother died. The night I could still hear her pleas for mercy. She had begged for her life, just like this, and he hadn’t listened. He’d just kept hitting her, smacking her, choking her until she couldn’t beg anymore. The red-hot rage I’d buried for years flared up inside me, boiling over in an instant.

Before I realized what I was doing, I stormed over to him. My hands found his greasy, matted hair, and I yanked his head up so that he had no choice but to look at me. “Did you spare my mother when she begged and pleaded for her life?” My voice came out low and venomous, seething with a fury I hadn’t known I still had in me. “Did you?”

His lip quivered, his one good eye blinking as fat tears started to roll down his face. “I’m... sorry,” he choked out between sobs.

“No you’re not.” I spat in his face. “You’re just sorry that you’re going to get what’s coming to you. You beat on her daily. You beat on me daily. You’re just a piece of shit and a waste of space. I hope you die a slow and painful death.” 

I shoved his head away from me, disgusted by the very sight of him, and stalked back over to Dick, who was waiting for me with open arms. I fell into his embrace, letting the tears flow freely as I buried my face in his chest, sobbing quietly. His arms wrapped around me, rubbing slow circles on my back as he whispered soothing words into my ear.

“What do you want me to do, Nel?” he asked softly, his lips pressing against the top of my head in a gentle kiss.

“I want you to hurt him,” I whispered, my voice breaking as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. “Make him suffer... just like my mom did.”

Dick’s embrace tightened, his hand stroking my hair as he whispered, “Okay. I will.” His voice was so soft, so sweet, and yet so full of promise.

Behind us, my father wailed in the background, his cries echoing in the warehouse as we walked out hand in hand, leaving him to his fate.

+++

Dick sat down beside me on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The silence between us was thick, but not uncomfortable—just like the entire ride over here. Neither of us had spoken a word, the events of the night sitting heavy on our shoulders. Now, he simply wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close as I tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

His warmth was the only thing grounding me at this moment. I didn't know why, but suddenly, the words I’d kept buried for years came pouring out. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the fact that I’d just seen my abuser at the brink of death, but I couldn’t stop the flood.

“He’s not my real dad,” I whispered, staring at the floor. The confession felt oddly freeing. I hadn’t said that out loud in years. “He’s just the only father figure I’ve ever known. My real dad died when I was young. Gang violence. I didn’t really know him—just have these vague memories. And they’re so fuzzy, like I’m watching them through a fog. Sometimes I wonder if they’re even real, or if I just made them up to comfort myself.”

Dick’s hand gently rubbed my arm, offering silent support, but he didn’t speak. He knew I needed to get this out.

 “My mom said he was killed by a man named Deathstroke. Or at least that’s his gang name. I don’t know his government.”

“I know who he is.” Dick’s hand tightened around me. “He’s a piece of shit that’s been a thorn in my side for too long. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

“Please don’t. You’ve done enough.” I said. 

Dick’s expression hardened, and before I could react, he grabbed my face, tilting my chin up so that our eyes locked. His blue eyes were burning with something fierce, something dangerous. “Until every single person in this world who has hurt you has been wiped out, I haven’t done enough,” he growled, his tone low and menacing. “Do you understand?”

I scowled, yanking my face out of his grip. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Dick. I understand perfectly fine. But when you eventually get caught—and you will get caught—don’t blame me. I’m telling you right here and now that I do not condone the shit you’re doing.”

He stared at me for a moment, the intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction before his lips curled into that familiar, mischievous grin he always wore. “You won’t defend me in court?” he teased, the tension slipping from his voice.

“It’s illegal for a lawyer to defend a client they know committed the crime. So no, I won’t.” 

“You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.”

“Ugh, get out.” I groaned and pushed him away.

“Wait! Wait! I’m sorry. I’ll stop flirting. Just keep telling me about your childhood.” He begged. 

I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest, “well, to continue, my mom met the man I call my father one day at work. My mom worked at a bar, in the shady part of town. She was a bartender there and even though it was dangerous it paid the bills. The men would give her a lot of tips because they thought she was beautiful. And she was beautiful. My mom was the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I wanted to look just like her when I grew up.”

“I’m sure you do.” Dick whispered softly, grabbing my hand.

I shrugged, brushing the compliment off, and continued, “Anyway, that’s where she met him—my stepfather. He was one of those regulars, a high tipper. At first, she said he was sweet. Really charming, nice, treated her well, and was great with me too. It was like a fairytale for her.” I paused, the bitter taste of those memories heavy on my tongue. “But once they got married, it all went downhill. He changed. It was like he’d been wearing a mask, and as soon as he had her, he ripped it off. He became controlling, angry, violent. We lived in that hell until I was sixteen.”

I stopped, closing my eyes as the memory of that night replayed in my mind. “That’s when he killed her.”

Dick’s grip on my hand tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I saw him do it,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “He beat her to death right in front of me. And then—” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “He came after me. I ran to the neighbor’s house, screaming for help. They called the cops, and he was arrested. But... he only served five years in Blackgate. Good behavior,” I spat, the bitterness evident in my voice.

“That’s disgusting,” Dick muttered, his eyes flashing with anger. “Five years for murder?”

I nodded, staring down at our intertwined fingers. “Yeah, well, Blackgate’s always full. They needed space for more violent offenders.”

Dick looked at me incredulously. “What’s more violent than murder?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that after he got out last year, I changed my last name to my real dad’s. I didn’t want him to find me, or even know where I was. Then I focused on studying as hard as I could and got a partial scholarship here. That’s how I ended up in Gotham U.” I let out a deep breath, as if saying it all aloud finally lifted a weight off my chest. “And now, here we are.”

“Wow. You’re stronger than you realize Chanel. To go through all of that and still find the strength to study and go to school, it’s incredible.” Dick said.

I sighed, meeting his gaze. “Well, it’s what my mom would’ve wanted.” The weight of those words settled over us, as his eyes searched my face, processing everything I’d just shared. I could feel the tension radiating off him, like waves rolling off his body. He was angry—angry for me, for what I had to endure. It was oddly comforting, knowing that he cared this much. Maybe more than I expected.

“I think I love you,” he blurted out suddenly.

I blinked in surprise, then rolled my eyes. “No you don’t, Richard.”

“Yes, I do!” he insisted, his voice rising with emotion. “I hate it when people call me Richard but I love it when you do. I hate it when people talk to me disrespectfully but I love it when you do. I hate it when people glare at me but I love it when you do. I’ve never felt the urge to kill someone, as much as I feel the urge to go and kill everyone who has ever hurt you. The thought of hurting everyone who’s ever hurt you drives me insane.”

His eyes were wide, wild with sincerity, and something else I couldn’t quite place. He looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded, like his love for me was the only thing that made sense in a chaotic world.

“Rich- Dick. You just like the idea of me. We don’t really know each other that well. You just like the concept of Chanel that you have in your brain.”

“No I don’t. I love you. I love you so much I have the urge to buy you a G wagon and a house.” 

I paused, blinking again in disbelief. Did he just say…?

“Do you love me enough to pay off my student loans?” I asked, half-joking but also kind of serious.

He grinned, leaning in closer, his eyes locked on mine with an almost feral intensity. “I love you so much, I’d buy this entire school for you, Nel.”

I bit back a laugh, my mind spinning. “Okay, yeah, you do that then,” I nodded furiously, deciding to play along with his ridiculous, but somehow adorable, declaration. “And pay for me to go to law school while you’re at it.”

His grin widened, and he leaned even closer, his lips hovering inches from mine. “I’ll buy you whatever you want,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I love you.”

I didn’t respond with words. Instead, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking him down to meet my lips in a hungry, passionate kiss.

Chapter Text

"Are you my girlfriend now?”

“No.”

“Aw man.”

We were in my room, tangled together on my bed. Cuddled up like a normal couple, but there was nothing normal about this situation. Unfortunately for me, I’ve proven to be a total idiot. The man kidnapped and tortured my father, and yet here I was, in his arms. Not only that, but I slept with him. Again. Something is seriously wrong with my brain. A couple of months ago, it was filled with thoughts of law, endless studying, and reruns of lawyer shows. Now, somehow, Richard Grayson has managed to wedge himself in there, taking up way too much space.

Speaking of studying, my schedule was officially wrecked. I skipped class again today, and I was fully aware of how much this was going to set me back. It wasn’t that I didn’t care—far from it. I was just too tired, emotionally and physically, to face it right now. But I’d have to catch up eventually. This weekend would have to be a hermit-style lockdown: books, notes, and no distractions. If I wanted to graduate at the top of my class, I had no choice.

“You have to give me your notes,” I reminded him absentmindedly, scrolling through my phone.

Dick pulled me closer, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I feel like you’re only using me for my money and my brain,” he pouted, his tone playful.

"I am," I mumbled back, still focused on my screen.

He laughed loudly. As if I was joking.

“You should go. Gwen will be back soon.”

“But I want to hang out with you more.” He whined.

I rolled my eyes. “I have to study.”

“All you do is study. Why can’t you ever have fun?”

“Studying is fun for me, Richard.”

“Nerd.” He grumbled. But he got up anyway. I watched as he got redressed and headed towards my bathroom.

“Do NOT use my body wash! You used too much last time!” I yelled after him. I’m still mad about that. That bottle of vanilla body wash was forty bucks!

“I won’t! You stingy ass motherfucker.”

I ignored him, scrolling through my social media timeline. My feed was full of old high school acquaintances I hadn’t talked to in years, and random celebrities I followed out of habit. I liked seeing how poorly some of the people I hated were doing; it was oddly therapeutic. I chuckled when I came across an old bully announcing her third pregnancy. Petty, I know, but it made me feel a little better about my life choices.

But my amusement quickly disappeared when I saw it—the GU couples page had posted me and Dick. Again. Are they serious? This was getting ridiculous. They didn’t post anyone else this much. Why were we so special?

Dick came out of the bathroom a moment later, smelling suspiciously like vanilla. I shot him a glare but decided to let it slide—barely. Instead, I shoved my phone in his face.

"They posted us. Again! This is from last night when you picked me up," I complained, waving my phone like it held the most damning evidence in the world.

Dick furrowed his brows, examining the picture. It was of us standing in front of his car, looking entirely too cozy with each other. "Who took this?" he muttered, his eyes narrowing. "I think you have a stalker."

“Me?” I scoffed. “More like you. You're the campus celebrity.”

"Don’t gas me up, I’ll get a big head," he grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

"Take this seriously, Richard," I snapped, my frustration growing.

"This is really not that deep, Nel," he said, sitting down on the edge of my bed. I sat up, leaning back against the headboard.

"It’s going to cause me to get attention I really don’t want," I sighed, running a hand through my braids.

"If you’re with me now, you’re gonna get attention no matter what," he said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I’m not with you, Dick," I reminded him, a bit more sharply than I intended.

His grin faded, replaced by that blank, unreadable expression he sometimes wore. He cupped my cheek, leaning in close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. "Chanel, stop acting like you don’t know you’re mine," he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice. "I’ve told you this already. If you don’t want to label it, fine. Whatever. We won’t label it. But at the end of the day, I’m yours, and you’re mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it."

His words made my heart race. There was something terrifyingly possessive in the way he spoke, but at the same time, it sent a strange thrill through me. I couldn’t find the words to argue back.

Before I could react, he leaned in and kissed me—hard. It wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was firm, almost demanding, like he needed to prove a point. A chill ran down my spine, and I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something else entirely. When he finally pulled away, he brushed a loose braid from my face, his touch surprisingly tender given the intensity of the moment.

"I have to go take care of some things. But I’ll see you later," he said, his voice back to its usual carefree tone.

"Okay," I replied breathlessly, still trying to process everything that had just happened.

He grinned, pecking me one last time before standing up and heading for the door. "Bye, Nel," he called out, using that goofy voice he always used with me. And just like that, he was gone, leaving me sitting there, more confused and dumbfounded than ever.

A few minutes later, Gwen walked into the room. "Girl, guess who I just saw walking toward the elevator! Dick! I wonder what he was doing here?"

I tried to hide my nerves, forcing a nonchalant expression. "I wonder what he’s doing here too," I replied, feigning ignorance.

+++

For the rest of the day, I buried myself in my books, the weight of everything—Dick’s strange possessiveness, my father’s impending death—pressed down on me like a lead blanket. I tried to focus on the cold, hard facts of criminal law, hoping the structure and logic would drown out the chaos in my head. Especially the guilt. My father’s death was something I had distanced myself from emotionally, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of my own role. It wasn’t my hand pulling the trigger, but I hadn’t exactly stopped Dick either. I had encouraged him, let it happen. Maybe I didn’t care that my father would die, but I hated that I was complicit in a murder.

I tried to cope by diving into my criminal law studies. Ironically, Dick had finally sent me his notes, and they were immaculate. Color-coordinated, organized, thorough. For someone who didn’t seem to take any notes in class, he had somehow produced some of the best notes I’d ever seen. It was annoying how his life of crime hadn’t dulled his academic skills.

Gwen came back some time later, with Sade trailing behind her. I didn’t even notice her leaving again, that’s how immersed I was in studying. I was hunched over my desk, my braids brushing my shoulders as I furiously scribbled down more notes on my iPad, The Good Wife playing in the background for some comforting noise. The rhythmic tapping of my stylus against the screen was the only thing grounding me in the moment.

“She’s feeling better.” Sade grinned as she tossed her bag on Gwen’s desk.

“Wow, I haven’t seen her this locked in since before mock trials.” Gwen looks at me in complete and utter awe.

Sade’s eyes drifted to my screen. “You seriously watch lawyer shows while you study law?”

I nodded, my voice absent as I continued writing. “They help me stay focused. It’s like immersion therapy.”

“Yeah, it's like when we watch Drag Race while making clothes for the fashion show,” Gwen chimed in with a laugh.

“Oh, nice! Have fun!” Sade said, shrugging as if she understood, but then they both left me to my work.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed glued to my desk after that, but by the time I looked up again, I was a month ahead in class notes, finished twelve assignments, and it was pitch-black outside. Sade and Gwen had left to go eat hours ago. I vaguely remembered them saying goodbye after Sade spent a while playing with my braids, brainstorming ideas for my next hairstyle.

I was about to get dressed and maybe meet them when my phone pinged. Pathetically, I jumped for it, thinking it was Dick. I hated how much control he had over my thoughts. But it wasn’t him—it was Sebastian.

Hi Chanel. Just checking in to see if you’re alright! I have the class notes if you need them. Miss you.

Wow, I kind of feel like human garbage for forgetting all about him and being annoyed by his presence lately.

Hey Seb. I’m feeling better. I’ll be at class tomorrow. Thanks for the offer but I got the notes from someone else. Miss u 2.

Okay, that’s good to hear! Can we grab a bite to eat after class tomorrow? I miss hanging out with you.

I was immediately put off by his offer. It felt… wrong to hang out with him one on one. But I couldn’t figure out a good excuse to say no.

Sure! But not for long, me and Gwen have plans. That lie came out easier than I expected.

Cool! See you tmrw!

See u.

I sighed and tossed my phone on my bed, already dreading it.

+++

I got to class the next day bright and early. I sat in my usual seat in the back of the lecture hall and pulled out my iPad, my textbook, and my water bottle. It felt nice to be back in class after two days of being M.I.A. My professor also seemed happy to see me. She smiled widely at me this morning when I walked in the doors.

As the class began to trickle in, I spotted Sebastian. My first instinct was to hunch over and make myself look as small as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice me and sit somewhere else. But I shook the thought away—it was mean, and I had promised myself to give him another chance.

Sebastian, of course, saw me almost immediately and bounded up the steps two at a time until he reached my seat. "Hey Chanel," he greeted, his voice chipper.

"Hi, Sebastian." I managed a small smile, though my stomach twisted a little as he sat beside me, pulling out his laptop and notebook.

He sat down in the seat next to me and began to pull out his laptop and notebooks. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Thanks for asking.” I took a sip of my water and avoided looking in his direction. Why was I so uncomfortable?

“Did you go to the doctor or anything? To see what was wrong?” He asked.

“I was just having bad period cramps.” The lie flew out of my mouth smoothly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, a blush creeping up his neck. “Ah, okay.” And just like that, the conversation ended. The quickest way to stop a conversation with a guy you don’t want to talk to—bring up your period. It works every time.

More and more people trickled into the class and I was counting down the minutes until it was over before it even started. I was nursing my water bottle like it was my only life line, hoping that if Seb saw that something was in my mouth he wouldn't try to talk to me.

The professor finally stood at the front, ready to start her lecture, and I set my water bottle down, prepared to take notes. I was focused—until the door creaked open at the last second, and Dick strolled in like he owned the place.

My heart skipped a beat, and I fumbled, dropping my Apple Pencil onto my screen in shock. I’d completely forgotten he transferred into this class. He flashed the professor one of his signature charming smiles, the kind that probably disarmed her irritation at him strolling in just a minute before class started. Then he looked around the room, made eye contact with me and grinned, then looked next to me at Sebastian and his grin dropped.

Dick’s face went emotionless, and he strode toward our section with a chilling calmness. Every pair of eyes in the room followed him, the air growing thick with tension. He stopped right in front of us, his gaze landing on me first. His eyes were cold, void of the usual warmth or humor, and for a second, they terrified me. Then, he shifted his attention to Sebastian.

“You’ve been pissing me off lately, Sebastian Waller,” Dick said, his voice low and empty, like a hollow echo of the person he usually was.

Sebastian blinked, his eyes wide. “W-what?” he stuttered.

Dick didn’t even flinch. “You should know better by now.” He was gearing up to say something else, probably something far worse, when I reached out and grabbed his arm. My fingers gripped his sleeve tightly, a silent plea for him to stop before this got even more out of hand.

“Just sit on my other side,” I whispered urgently, feeling the stares from the entire class. My face flushed with embarrassment. The professor was literally about to start, and the last thing I needed was a scene.

But Dick didn’t move, not at first. His eyes stayed locked on Sebastian, and his tone was cold as he replied, “The seat isn’t the issue. It’s the disrespect I have an issue with.”

“Dick!” I hissed under my breath, my nails lightly digging into his arm as I tried to get his attention. “Sit. Down.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dick tore his eyes away from Sebastian and shifted to sit beside me on the other side. I exhaled sharply, releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The tension in the room seemed to lessen slightly, and I focused on the professor as she began her lecture. Dick was mad for the rest of the class, his anger was rolling off of him like waves. And Sebastian just seemed annoyed.

I tried to ignore both of them and just take my notes. But it was hard when every other second I could feel Dick burning a hole into the side of Sebastian's head. I kept having to discreetly smack him so he would stop.

Once class was over I hurriedly packed up my things. I grabbed Dick’s hand and dragged him out of the room. I could feel him gearing up to say something to Sebastian so I had to intervene.

“Chanel!” Sebastian called after me. “Aren’t we hanging out after class? Chanel!”

I cursed under my breath as I power walked out of the room. Does that kid have a death wish? Can he not pick up on Dick’s murderous aura right now?

“What the fuck is he talking about, Chanel?” Dick asked. He planted his feet in the middle of the hallway. Stopping me from dragging him out any more. People were slowly leaving the building and watching us as they did.

“We were gonna get some lunch or something together after class today. It’s no big deal.” I said rushed. I really wanted to get out of this hallway right now.

“No.” He stated.

“Who are you to tell me who I can and can’t hang out with? We’re not about to go hook up! We’re grabbing a sandwich. Relax.” I said, crossing my arms.

Sebastian stumbled out of the lecture hall just then. He was one of the last people in the hallway with us. His eyes flickered between me and Dick, a bit annoyed, “Are we still hanging out?” He asked.

“Yeah, gimme a sec.” I said holding up my hand to him.

Dick shot a glance back at Sebastian, and I saw his jaw tick in frustration. He turned back to me, his expression hard. With a heavy sigh, he relented. “Fine. Go.”

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, he grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me hard. The kiss was rough, possessive, claiming me in front of everyone. My eyes widened in shock, partly because of the sudden PDA and partly because of the intensity of it. When he pulled away, he locked eyes with me, his gaze dark and intense. “I’ll see you tonight,” he muttered before turning on his heel and walking away.

As he passed Sebastian, he brushed past him roughly, bumping into him with enough force to make it clear it wasn’t an accident.

Sebastian stood there, staring at me with wide eyes, clearly dumbfounded by what just happened. A couple of other students in the hallway were staring too, whispering amongst themselves. Just great, we’re getting posted again for sure.

“What was that?” Sebastian finally asked, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

I sighed, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. “Uh... we’re talking.”

“You’re… talking?” he repeated, as if trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yeah,” I said, running a hand through my braids. “We’re talking.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched slightly, his frustration clear. “What do you mean by ‘talking’?”

I sighed again, feeling the weight of the conversation already. “We’re just… talking, Seb. It’s complicated.”

Sebastian looked like he wanted to say something more, but I cut him off, feeling overwhelmed. “Can we just go, please?” I asked, my voice more tired than anything.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

We walked out of the law building, the crisp autumn air biting at my cheeks. “Where are we going?” I asked, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

“I wanted to show you this new sandwich place downtown,” Sebastian said, shuffling his feet a bit.

“We’re going off campus?” I really did not want to do that. Traffic around here at this time is brutal and I hated the idea of being stuck in it.

Sebastian didn’t acknowledge my hesitation and instead hit me with a question of his own. “Are you actually about to date Dick Grayson?”

I could feel my irritation spike. Why can’t he just drop this? I sighed. “I don’t know, Seb. We’re just talking.”

“You told me last year that you didn’t want to date anyone while you’re still studying.” His voice was quieter, and I realized he was bringing up the time I gently turned him down when he tried to ask me out. At the time, I had been laser-focused on school, and romance wasn’t on my radar.

“I can change my mind,” I muttered, looking away.

“But for him? You hated him like two weeks ago! Why would you change your mind for him but not for m—”

I cut him off before he could finish that thought. “Listen, I really don’t want to discuss my love life right now. I thought we were just going to grab a bite to eat and catch up. If this is turning into an interrogation, I’d rather not go.” I crossed my arms, giving him a pointed look.

“Sorry. I’m just a bit confused I guess.”

I sighed, “It’s okay. Me too bud.”

The awkward tension between us finally eased, and we started chatting about class and assignments as we made our way to his car. It was surprisingly nice. I didn’t realize how much I missed just talking with him until now. A few minutes later, we pulled up to a quirky sub shop, courtroom-themed, with law puns all over the menu. I couldn’t help but grin at the decor. It was cute, in a nerdy sort of way.

All the sandwiches were law themed. I got a Guilty as Charged grilled cheese and also a Cross-Examination turkey club. Sebastian got an Objection! BBQ chicken sandwich.

As we were eating and discussing the latest episode of law and order some guy approached us, smiling wide and pointing at Seb, “Grant? Is that you?”

I blinked, completely thrown off. Who the hell is Grant?

Sebastian’s face tightened, and he shook his head quickly. “Sorry, man. Wrong guy.”

The guy’s grin widened as if he didn’t hear a word Sebastian said. “Nah, that has to be you! You’re Grant Wilson! Do you remember me? I’m Josh, from high school!”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “I’m not Grant.”

Josh laughed like it was all some big joke. “Wow, you look exactly like him!”

Sebastian’s voice went cold. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not him.” He started to clean up his things, the sudden shift in mood making me feel uneasy. “C’mon, Chanel. We should probably go.”

I looked at him, confused. “Why? We just got here.” But he was already packing up, so I grabbed my leftovers, not wanting to waste food.

“Are you maybe related to him?” Josh persisted, apparently oblivious to the rising tension.

“Doubt it,” Sebastian muttered, tossing his trash in the bin.

Josh wasn’t done. “Do you know his dad? Slade Wilson? He’s sort of a big name around here.”

Sebastian froze for half a second before continuing. “Nope.” His voice was tight, like he was fighting to keep it even.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I could tell this conversation was hitting a nerve. I stuffed my sandwiches into my bag and followed Sebastian toward the exit, feeling the weird tension lingering between us as we left.

“That was weird,” I muttered as we walked toward Sebastian’s car, the conversation still lingering in the back of my mind.

“Yeah,” Sebastian replied half-heartedly, his voice flat as he fiddled with the keys in his pocket. He turned to me abruptly, his eyes suddenly serious. “Can you not tell anyone what just happened?”

“Huh?” I blinked, confusion clouding my mind. Why would I ever tell anyone about this? It felt like such a nothing thing, a minor encounter that didn’t warrant any gossip.

“Just, please don’t tell anyone,” he urged, his brow furrowing with a mixture of frustration and anxiety.

“Uh, okay, I guess.” I shrugged, genuinely baffled by his request.

“Thanks,” he said, a small, tight smile flickering across his face as he resumed his path to the car. I watched him, a sense of unease creeping in. What had just happened that made him so paranoid? It seemed odd for him to care so much about an interaction that felt like a throwaway moment.

My phone pinged just then, jolting me from my thoughts. I pulled it out, and a rush of excitement flooded through me when I saw it was a message from Dick. Ignoring the flutter in my heart, I opened the text.

Are you done hanging out with that loser?

I rolled my eyes and held back a grin.

He’s not a loser. And yeah we’re about to head back to campus.

Cool. See you in 20.

I closed my phone and put it back in my pocket, grinning to myself. I wonder what me liking Dick more now that he’s a bit crazy says about me? I brushed off that thought and hopped into Sebastian’s car, ready and excited to be back on campus.

Chapter Text

As soon as we got back to campus I hopped out of Sebastian’s car and hot footed it to my dorm. He was being weird anyway. He was weirdly quiet. Sebastian is never quiet. Either way, I was excited to get outta there it was getting awkward. 

I spotted Dick leaning casually against his car, waiting for me in front of my dorm building. I told myself to keep it cool, but my body clearly didn’t get the memo because I was smiling like an idiot before I even realized it. Once I caught myself, I clamped my mouth shut, but it was too late. He saw me.

“You were excited to see me!” He exclaimed, meeting me halfway to his car.

“No I wasn’t.” I said walking past him. I went to the passenger side and waited for him to unlock the door.

“Yes, you were. I just saw all 33 of your teeth.” I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Adults only have 32 teeth.” I grumbled. I pulled the still locked door handle so that he’d get the hint and open the door so I can avoid this awkwardness. 

Instead of doing that, he moved in close, placing his head on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. I froze for a second, my face heating up at how casual and intimate it felt. “Nel, no need to deny it. You like me,” he whispered, his voice way too smug for my liking.

I scoffed, “Richard, open the door.”

He chuckled, pressing even closer. “Calling me Richard doesn’t make me mad, Nel. I like it. So, you’re gonna have to find something new to try and annoy me.”

“Okay, how about I call you a stupid empty headed, pig headed, piece of sh-” He cut me off by placing a kiss on my cheek. 

I felt my face go up in flames. He pulled away, laughing softly. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he murmured. My face was still burning when Dick finally— finally —unlocked the door, and I hopped into the car, shutting it a little harder than necessary. He took his time walking around to his side, grinning like he had just won something.

“Where are we going?” I asked while putting on my seatbelt, when he got in the car.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. You’re the one who wanted to get in here so bad.”

I shot him a look. “Why were you standing outside your car if you didn’t wanna go somewhere?”

He turned to me like I was the one being dumb. “Uh, so I could see you. Duh.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I think I saw my brain for a second. “Lord,” I muttered under my breath. “Well, we’re in here now. Let’s go somewhere.”

He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, “You hungry?” He asked.

I leaned back in my seat. “I just ate.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glaring at the windshield like it offended him. “Oh yeah. I forgot y’all went on a little lunch date,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I groaned. “It was not a date. We were just hanging out. Stop being weird and jealous.”

“Stop hanging out with Sebastian, and I will,” he shot back.

“Okay, then you stop hanging out with Donna,” I said, crossing my arms.

He didn’t miss a beat. “I can’t do that. She works for me.”

I snorted. “I can’t stop hanging out with Sebastian. We’re study partners.”

Dick tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You’ve got a million other people to study with. Pick literally anyone else.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “We’ve been partners for four years, Grayson. We work well together.”

He smirked, eyes flicking over to me. “Grayson is new.”

I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I’m workshopping it,” I said, turning my attention to the window, watching the trees blur by. “Since Richard doesn’t work anymore.”

“Most people just call me Wayne. Nobody uses my pre-adoption last name,” he said with a laugh.

“Wayne’s too broad. There’s, like, 15 of y’all Wayne boys.”

“You’re dragging it now,” he snorted. “There’s five, if you include Duke.”

“Who?” I turned to him, genuinely confused.

“Duke. My dad took him in two years ago after his father passed. His dad was a good friend of ours.”

“Mafia buddies, huh,” I said with a chuckle.

“I’m not in the mafi—”

“You can’t say that anymore. I saw you kidnap my father,” I interrupted. He just grins and doesn’t respond. “It’s nice your dad took in Duke. Would I know what he looks like?”

He shook his head. “Nah, probably not. He likes to keep to himself mostly, stay out of the limelight.”

I glanced at him. “Maybe you should follow in his footsteps.”

He chuckled, “Stop flirting with me, Nel. I’m driving, and it’s distracting.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so weird,” I muttered, turning back to the window. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“My place.”

I shot him a look. “Be specific.”

“Blüdhaven.”

“Why?”

“So we can make out without your roommate walking in.”

“You’re so stupid,” I said. “We are not doing that.”

+++

An hour later, we were making out on his couch. I know, I’m weak. What can I say? We got into his place, and one thing led to another, and now here we are. I was straddling him, hands tangled in his hair, his grip tight on my thighs. Things were getting heated, but then my phone rang. Of course.

I pulled back, both of us a little out of breath. Dick groaned, clearly annoyed. “Whoever that is, ignore it. Please.”

I reached for my bag that was next to us and fished my phone out of it. The person calling was Sebastian. “It’s Seb.”

“Ignore it,” Dick said again, this time more pointed.

I hit accept anyway. “Hello?” I said into the phone, trying to ignore the way Dick was rolling his eyes, head tipped back dramatically toward the ceiling like I’d personally offended him.

“Hi, Chanel.” Sebastian’s voice was small, a little hesitant.

“What’s up, Seb? I’m kinda busy.”

“I was hoping you could help me out with some classwork real fast.”

“Uh, can it wait? Just text me the questions, and I’ll answer them when I get home.” I tried to keep it short.

“You’re not home?” he asked, his voice a bit sharper.

“Nope. I’m with a friend.” Dick snorted at the word “friend,” and I slapped him in the chest, shushing him.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Is that friend male?”

I blinked. “And if they are? Why does that matter?”

“You sound out of breath, and I swear I heard a guy just now—”

“Oh my god, you’re being weird. Bye.” I hung up before he could finish, tossing my phone back into my bag. When I turned, Dick was already looking at me, eyebrows raised and a little glare in his eyes.

“A friend?” He asked.

I rolled my eyes, “Sorry, should I have said mortal enemy?”

“You should’ve said boyfriend.”

I laughed. “You are not my boyfriend.”

“Fiancé, then.”

“You’re so stupid,” I muttered, leaning back down to kiss him again. We were back at it for a few minutes before something clicked in my brain, and I pulled away suddenly. “Oh my god, wait. You won’t believe what happened at the sandwich shop today. It was so weird.”

“What happened?” he asked, hands still resting on my thighs, his thumbs drawing lazy circles.

“This guy came up to Sebastian thinking he was some other guy named Grant.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “How’s that weird?”

“Lemme finish!” I shot him a look, and he raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “Anyway, so this guy kept calling him Grant, and Sebastian got super mad about it. Like, mad enough that we left early, and I didn’t even finish my food. The guy also asked if he knew Grant’s dad, some dude named—uh, Sid? Something like that. Apparently, this Sid guy was a big shot in Gotham back in the day.”

“Who the fuck is Sid?” Dick looked confused.

“I don’t know. I figured with all your connections and mafia stuff, you’d know.”

“Are you sure his name was Sid?”

I scrunched my face, thinking back. “Nah, but it started with an S. It wasn’t, like, a common name either. I never heard it before.”

“Silas?”

“No, but that’s close.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember. “Sla—oh! Slade! That was it! The guy said Slade Wilson! He thought Seb looked like someone named Grant Wilson.”

Dick’s fingers tightened around my thighs and his face turned dark and stormy. “What did you say?” He asked in a low, venomous tone.

“Uh, Slade Wilson?” I repeated, confused and a little nervous now.

He just hummed, then kissed me hard before moving me off his lap and standing up. “I need to make a call.”

“Wait, is everything okay? Who’s Slade Wilson?”

He turned to me, his face serious. “A demon.”

A chill ran down my spine. “What?”

“Slade Wilson is a monster. He torments people and kills anyone for the right price. His reputation is... long, and it’s not good.”

I stared at him, my heart starting to race. “Should I be concerned?”

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “I’ll handle it, baby.”

“Dick, tell me the truth. What’s the big deal?”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Slade’s other name is Deathstroke, Chanel. He’s the man who killed your father.”

“Jesus Christ.” My body went cold as soon as Dick uttered the word Deathstroke. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, it can’t be. Which is why I’m gonna go make a call. Then when I’m done I’ll drive you back to your dorm, then I’m gonna go take care of it.” Dick said, calmly but with a sense of danger on the side. 

“Uh…” I paused, the thought of going back to campus making my stomach twist. “I don’t think I want to go back right now.” If Sebastian—Grant, or whoever the hell he really is—was tied to Deathstroke, the last thing I wanted was to be somewhere he knew I’d be.

Dick’s expression softened slightly. “You wanna stay here tonight?”

I nodded.

“Alright, you can stay here. I’ve got food in the fridge, or if you want something delivered, just call the concierge. My card’s on file.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“My room’s upstairs. Last door on your right. You can wear whatever you want, my sweats are in the dresser.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.” He leaned down and kissed me quickly before pulling out his phone and walking out of the room.

I grabbed my phone and shot a quick text to Gwen, letting her know I wasn’t coming back tonight. She texted back almost immediately, saying she was staying at Sade’s to finish their dress for the fashion show. That made me feel a little better, knowing she wouldn’t be in our room if Sebastian—or Grant—decided to show up acting crazy.

Dick came back in a few minutes later, his face still tense. “I’ll see you later. I’m locking the doors, don’t let anyone in.”

“Got it,” I nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid or dangerous.”

“When have I ever?” He grinned, that spark of his usual self breaking through. I smiled hesitantly as I watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, I collapsed back onto the couch, my head spinning.

This is what I get for getting involved with a mafioso.

Chapter Text

Dick’s POV

I was over people testing me lately. Especially that bitch-ass Sebastian Waller. It’s like everyone missed the memo that Chanel Pierce is mine. Always has been, ever since I laid eyes on her freshman year. I’ve been keeping the vultures away from her ever since. Every scumbag who thought they had a chance—gone. But for some reason, he never stayed gone. Waller.

I cracked my knuckles as I pressed down on the gas, speeding toward Gotham. Wally sat in the passenger seat, clearly stressed out.

“Dick, can we not do this tonight? Nadia finally agreed to hang out with me.”

“No.” My grip tightened on the wheel. “It’s happening tonight.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, turning his head to look out the window. “You keep showing this level of crazy, Chanel’s gonna bolt.”

I ignored him. She’s seen pieces of me slip through, little cracks in the perfect mask I built for her. The closer she gets, the harder it is to keep everything hidden. But I have to hide it. Because if she knew who I really am, the monster under the surface… she might run. And I can’t have that.

“How far are we?” I asked him.

“Like a minute away.” He looked down at his phone. “Turn right up here and it should be the first one on the left.”

“Is Donna there yet?”

“Yeah. She’s with Garth and Roy too.”

I cocked an eyebrow, “Jason is letting us borrow Roy? I’m surprised.”

Wally chuckled, “Well, Roy was ours first.”

I took the turn and spotted Donna’s massive truck parked down the block. Her and the others were leaning against it, waiting. I pulled up behind them and got out, the familiar burn of adrenaline pumping through me. Donna straightened when she saw me coming.

“Boss,” she said, giving me a nod.

I returned it, turning to Wally. “Which house?”

He pointed at the last house on the block, “The yellow one. Right there.”

“He live alone?”

“Nah, he has a housekeeper but she’s on vacation right now I believe.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.” I beckoned them to follow me. “Put your hoods up, cameras.”

We all pulled our hoods over our heads, covering our faces. Sure, we could wipe any security footage if we got caught on camera, but that was extra work. Better to avoid that bullshit altogether.

When we reached the front door, I didn’t hesitate. I kicked it down with enough force to make the wood splinter. Wally sighed behind me, “Dick, please just use the lock pick next time.”

“Fuck off. Let’s go.” I rushed inside the house. “Wally check up stairs, Donna check down stairs with Garth, me and Roy will stay on this floor. When you find him, give me a shout.”

“Got it.” They all said, breaking off into their teams. I turned to Roy, who looked as calm as ever.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered.

We started sweeping through the main floor, checking every corner, every closet. I opened one door to find nothing but cleaning supplies. A few coats hung limply in the hallway closet. So far, the place looked pretty untouched, but my gut told me he was here.

I was just about to open another door when I heard the sounds of a struggle upstairs. A loud commotion. My lips stretched into a wide grin. We got him. I knew he was here.

Roy and I bolted toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. When we reached the top, we found Wally wrestling with Sebastian—or should I say, Grant—on the floor. He was thrashing wildly, trying to land a hit on Wally, but Wally had him pinned, his arm locked behind his back in an iron grip.

“Let me go!” Grant screamed, still wriggling like a fish on a hook.

Wally grunted, clearly getting annoyed. “You’re a slippery little fucker, aren’t you?”

I squatted down, watching the scene unfold with amusement. “Wally, come on, man. Can’t handle one untrained guy?”

Wally shot me a look. “Fuck you, he’s trained.” I gestured for Roy to go help him which he did. Together they grabbed both his arms and dragged him to my face.

“Hi, Grant.” My grin only grew wider at the fear in his eyes.

“Fuck off! Do you know who my father is?!” he spat, literally—spraying me with his gross spit.

My smile dropped, and I wiped the saliva off my face slowly. “Do you know who mine is?”

He blanched. “Look, listen, I don’t know what this is about, but I’ve got money—”

“You know why I’m doing this.” I leaned in closer, my voice low. “You’re messing with something that’s mine.”

“You’re kidnapping me over a girl?!” he shrieked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“That’s what I said,” Wally muttered under his breath, probably annoyed that I dragged him into this. But I ignored him, getting right up in Sebastian’s face.

“She’s not just some girl,” I growled, my patience thinning. “She’s my girl. I don’t like it when people mess with what’s mine.”

“This wasn’t meant to involve you!” Grant sputtered, desperation in his voice now. “My dad just wanted to get some information from her about her dad’s money! That’s it! After that, we were going to, um, dispose of her... But if you want to keep her, go ahead! Just—just don’t hurt me!”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I barely registered anything he said after dispose of her. “Dis… Dispose of her?”

“Not anymore! I promise!”

“You were… going to… kill my Chanel?” Blood was rushing in my ears. I was starting to see red. I stood up slowly, looming over Grant.

“Boss… you said no bodies tonight.” Wally said slowly. I could hear the faint sounds of Donna and Garth running up the stairs behind me but all I could focus on was Grant Wilson’s stupid ass face.

“We didn’t know you staked your claim on her when we made the plan! You know my father has the utmost respect for the Justice Society and for The Titans!” His pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Garth,” I said, my voice low, “find a plastic bag and put it on the floor in the basement.”

“But, boss—”

“Don’t argue. Just do it.” I didn’t even look at him, just waved him off. There was a pause, but then I heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs.

“Donna.” I turned my attention to her. “Drag him to the basement.”

Grant started wailing, his pleas spilling out in a pathetic stream of begging. “Please! No! Please!”

But Donna didn’t hesitate. She grabbed him by the collar and began dragging him toward the stairs, his feet scrabbling uselessly against the hardwood as he tried to resist.

Roy followed behind her. I stayed upstairs, gripping the railing so tightly I thought it might snap. Wally stepped closer to me cautiously, like he was approaching some wild animal. I guess with the way my blood was boiling, I couldn’t really blame him.

“Dick,” he said softly, “think about Chanel.”

“That’s ALL I’m doing right now!” I hissed at him.

“No, man. I mean really think about her. Think about how she’ll feel when she finds out you killed her friend.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice calm, reasonable. I hated that he was reasonable.

“He’s not her friend. He’s a lying, convincing piece of shit.”

“She doesn’t know that yet,” Wally said gently. “All she’s gonna hear is that you took it upon yourself to kill someone she trusted. That’s all she’s gonna see, and that’ll wreck her. You’ve gotta chill out, really think this through. You already killed her Father, what else are you going to make her go through?”

I took a deep breath, trying to ground myself in Wally’s words. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, he had a point. Chanel had taken her father’s death hard—and the man was an abusive bastard. If I killed Grant, it might break her completely.

“Fine.” I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of my body. “I won’t kill him.”

Wally’s face lit up. “Great choice.”

“I’ll just make sure to hurt him enough to send a message.”

“Also a great choice,” Wally patted my shoulder, clearly relieved. “Now, do you think you can be done in like… 30 minutes? I told Nadia I’d meet her.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully. “Go downstairs, you idiot.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You can prioritize your girl, but when I try to, it’s suddenly a problem?”

+++

I trudged into my penthouse 45 minutes later exhausted. To Wally’s delight, Grant Wilson had a low pain tolerance and it didn’t take much to break him. Just a few fractured fingers and one dislocated arm. So Wally got to go see Nadia just in time, like he wanted.

Grant's reactions were kind of pathetic for him to be nicknamed Ravager. What was he Ravaging? Obviously nothing.

I tossed my hoodie onto my couch and made my way towards my bedroom, a bit excited. I liked having Chanel in my space. Having her near me in any capacity was always a win, but there was something about her being in my house that felt different. Better. More... right.

I marched up the stairs and slowly opened my bedroom door to see Chanel bundled up in my sheets, softly snoring. She looked ethereal. The way her hair fanned around the pillow in a Halo shape reminded me of an Angel. She was an Angel. My Angel. The only thing in this world that made my life better.

I climbed into bed as quietly as I could, trying not to disturb her. I lifted the blankets to slip under them and immediately noticed she’d taken me up on my offer to wear my clothes. She was wrapped up in one of my black t-shirt and a pair of my boxers serving as makeshift shorts. I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. I was already thinking of ways to keep her here in my house, in my clothes, for the rest of the month when she stirred awake.

“Grayson?” she mumbled in a soft, sleepy voice.

I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Where’d you go?” she asked, stretching lazily, her body arching like a cat’s as she yawned.

“I had some business to take care of, but it’s all handled now. Everything’s fine.”

“I hope you didn’t kill anybody today,” she murmured, trying to sound serious but sounding far too sleepy to pull it off.

I chuckled softly. “Of course not, Nel. I’d never.”

“Hm. Right.” She snuggled closer, resting her head on my chest. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her even tighter against me. I never wanted to let her go.

“I want you to stay here for a month,” I blurted out.

“No.”

“The week?”

“No.”

“Two days?”

She hesitated, then mumbled, “... Maybe.”

I grinned wide. “I’ll take it.”

She cracked one eye open to give me a sleepy look. “You smell like blood.”

Shit. I guess I hadn’t scrubbed up enough after leaving Grant’s place. “I didn’t kill anyone, Nel.”

“You better not have,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she snuggled deeper into my chest. “I can’t deal with that again.”

“I promise not to kill anyone you know ever again.”

She sighed, her breath warm against my chest. “Anyone at all ever again.”

I didn’t respond to that. I just kissed her forehead a second time but my lips lingered there a bit longer. She knows that’s an impossible thing to ask of me. After a pregant pause, Chanel sighed and closed her eyes. “I don’t know why I even bothered. Good Night Grayson.”

“Good night, Chanel,” I whispered, holding her close.

Chapter Text

Three days after my first night at Dick’s place, I woke up with three disturbing thoughts.

Number one: I hadn’t heard from Sebastian in a while. The guy never leaves me alone for this long, and I was too relieved to wonder if something was up.

Number two: I hadn’t been back to my dorm room for three days. Three. Whole. Days. I’d been crashing here, in his bed, every night. And I wasn’t even mad about it.

And then there was number three, the most disturbing thought of all: I liked it here. I liked hanging out with Dick, waking up beside him, and having him around in this unspoken way that felt…right. I liked him more than I’d ever wanted to admit.

I rolled over to look at him, and there he was—eyes closed, looking like a picture of calm. He looked peaceful, but also ridiculously handsome. When did I start to think he was handsome?

As he stirred a bit and pulled me closer, I turned my gaze to the ceiling. Was I forming feelings for Dick? Real ones? The kind you can’t shrug off? I decided to break it down in the most logical way I could: a pros and cons list.

Pros: He’s rich. He’s, well…handsome. He’s not entirely an asshole, as I first thought. He stopped sleeping around. He seems dead serious about me. He’s rich (did I mention that?). He’s got career goals outside of his family mess. His notes? Immaculate. And yeah, mega rich.

Cons: Mafia. Mafia family. A little bit crazy. He runs his own section of the Mafia. Definite murderer.

He has more pros but those cons are loud and heavy. Maybe he could be my first fling? But I don’t think he’d let it be a fling. Should I leave him alone now? No, unfortunately I am now attached.

“Stop thinking so loud you’re waking me up.” Dick mumbled tiredly. I jumped a bit at hearing his voice. I wasn’t expecting him to be awake yet. “What are you thinking about?” He yawned.

I turned to him and looked at his half lidded eyes and sleepy face.“Whether or not I have feelings for you.”

His eyes shot open and he got up, “What?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pregnant pause, then he asked, “And the verdict?”

I turned back toward the ceiling. “Still deciding.”

“Hm.” He nodded.

I kept staring up, watching his ceiling fan spin and spin. “I’m making a pros and cons list.”

“What’s on it?”

“Pro, you’re rich. Con, Mafia money.”

“... Anything else?”

“Pro, you’re nice to me. Con, you’re in the mafia.”

“You said that already.”

“It’s a large con.” I sighed.

He chuckled, then pulled me closer to lie on his chest. My head nestled against him without a second thought, his warmth and steady heartbeat strangely comforting. “What if we just ignore the mafia part?” he suggested.

I snorted. “How exactly do we do that, Grayson? The mafia is kind of the biggest part of your identity. It’d be like me ignoring the fact I’m black. It’s impossible.”

“Actually the biggest part of my identity is my dic-”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“My fault.”

I rolled my eyes and continued speaking, “Also, it's not like your dad is a part of it and you just grew up around it. You actively have your own little subgroup. It’s way too big to ignore.”

“I’m not trying to have that be my whole life though. I want to go into corporate law. Hence the law degree I’m aiming for.” He grabs my hand and laces our fingers together.

“Are you going into corporate law to protect your mafia investments?”

Dick laughed, giving my hand a little squeeze. “Not everything goes back to my family business, Nel.”

“Just wondering.” I shrug my shoulders.

“Alright, let’s try it from a different angle.” His voice softened as he leaned his head back against the pillows. “Do you like being around me?”

I squinted at the wall, avoiding his gaze. For some reason, admitting it out loud felt embarrassingly… vulnerable. “Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Do I ever make you feel unsafe?”

“No,” I admitted quickly, then added, “But I do fear for everyone else’s safety when they’re around us.”

“I’m working on my anger issues.”

“Please work harder.”

“What if I took you on a date? Would that help?”

“I don’t like dates.”

He tilted his head. “You’ve never been on one. How do you know you don’t like them?”

“I just…know.”

“Alright,” he said, not missing a beat, “how about this, we hang out somewhere other than my place. We don’t call it a date. Just two people, doing whatever, outside.”

“Just hanging out?”

“Yeah. Just you, me, and…wherever you want to go. I don’t even care if it’s the library.”

“I do like the library.”

“Yeah I know. You’re a nerd.”

“Shut up.” I grinned. “You pick somewhere to go since you suggested it. But don’t pick some place where I have to do strenuous physical activity.”

“Aw damn. I was going to pick a mixed martial arts class and then rock climbing afterwards. Then we’d finish off with a 15 mile hike. Guess I gotta scrap that idea and start all over again.”

“You’re not funny.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I do, whole-heartedly.”

+++

I finally went back to my dorm. I figured I should show my face to Gwen before she thinks I’ve been kidnapped or murdered. When I walked through the door I was greeted with the sight of all three girls. Sade and Gwen were chilling on her bed and Nadia was on the floor sitting in between Sade’s legs as she did her hair.

Gwen gasped dramatically and pointed at me, “The prodigal daughter has returned!”

“Look who finally decided to come back home. How has your stay been at Casa de Wayne?” Sade asked.

I finally admitted to Gwen on day two of my stay at Dick’s place where I was—and then, of course, the whole story spilled out. Minus anything illegal, naturally. So she heard about all things Dick, with the key exception of my father’s death. Gwen had immediately lost her mind and called Sade and Nadia. Sade thought it was fun and cool. Gwen thought I’d lost all sanity. Nadia just kept her mouth shut, seeing as we were both basically in the same situation.

“It was fine,” I said, shrugging as casually as I could manage. “We didn’t do much, just hung out.” I tossed my bag onto my desk and walked over to the girls.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure all you did was hang out,” Gwen said, adding air quotes around the last two words.

I ignored her, turning my attention to Sade and Nadia instead. “Why are you doing her hair?”

“Uh, because you abandoned me for three days,” Sade replied, raising an eyebrow, “and because I’m practicing styles for the fashion show.”

“Oh, nice!”

“We got you tickets for it, by the way,” Sade added. “It’s next week, and you have to be there. No excuses. If you don’t show, I’ll never speak to you again.”

I laughed, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “Got it. Fashion show next week. I’ll be there.”

“Good!” she said, satisfied. “Now, sit and tell us about Dick.”

I sank down onto my bed and shook my head. “Nah. I’m tired of talking about him. I want Nadia to talk about Wally.”

Nadia’s face erupted in flames, “Why? Nothing is really going on.”

“Lies. Spill.”

She let out a dramatic huff, pulling her knees up to her chest like she was protecting some kind of precious secret. “Well…yesterday he…kissed me—”

Sade immediately let out a screech and tackled her in a hug. “WHAT? And you didn’t tell me?!”

“You didn’t let me finish!” Nadia squeaked, her face turning even redder. “It was only on the forehead! But I—I liked it, okay? I think he’s trying to take things slow. He knows I’m, you know…a little wary.”

“As you should be,” Gwen muttered. “The guy is literally in the fucking mafia.”

Nadia sighed, biting her lip, clearly a little torn. “He hasn’t done anything to make me feel unsafe, though. I mean, he’s just…really sweet.”

“Aww. I approve.” Sade gushed.

“Of course you do. You’re insane.” Gwen shook her head.

“Don’t be a hater.”

“I’m being a realist. Even if these guys are nice to you both, their enemies will not be. They will try to use you to get to them. I’ve read about shit like this.”

Sade turned towards Gwen looking very unimpressed, “Do you think that Dick Grayson would let anything happen to Chanel? He almost bit your head off just thinking you made her cry. Imagine what he’d do to someone who laid hands on her. I can’t see it happening.”

I already knew what he’d do. He’d kidnap them, probably tie them up somewhere in one of those grimy old warehouses by the pier, and deal with them in ways I wasn’t supposed to know about. But I kept that thought to myself.

“Okay but what about Wally?”

“I’m sure the reason those two get along so well is because they’re very similar. Plus, the justice society loves to crush anything in their way. I don’t even think they have enemies. Just people who hate them but are too scared to do anything about it. Too scared to get Bruce Wayne’s wrath poured down upon them.”

“You guys know too much about this shit.” I mumbled. I leaned back against my head board. “Anyway, I think it’s too late for me. I’m about…eighty percent sure I like him now.”

Gwen threw her hands up in horror. “Why would you go and do something like that?”

“I didn’t want to!” I protested. “It just…happened!”

“Well, stop it.”

Sade smacked her on the arm. “Don’t tell her that! Do what you want, girl! Go after that boy!”

“You people irk my soul,” Gwen muttered, folding her arms as I burst into laughter. She just rolled her eyes, but I could see her fighting a smile.

+++

“Where are we going?” I asked Dick as I slid my way into his car.

“I booked us a dinner cruise.” He said as he started up the car.

I blinked. “A dinner cruise? Like, the ones with all the old people?”

“No,” he chuckled, pulling out of the parking lot. “I rented the whole thing for us. So we could be alone.”

I narrowed my eyes at the side of his face, “Sounds like a date.”

“No. Just hanging out on a boat.”

“Hm… okay.” I didn’t fully believe him, but I also had no energy to argue. “Let’s talk about Professor Graham. What an asshole right? How dare he say that my argument wasn’t logically sound!”

I spent the rest of the car ride ranting and raving about my least favorite professor as Dick listened intently and added in a comment here and there. This guy has been a thorn in my side all semester so it felt good to get it all off my chest. I was ranting so much I didn't even notice when we arrived.

“... And then he gave me an 80! Which is fine, ya know. I’m not one of those people who thinks a B is a bad grade but I know I deserved an A on that damn assignment. I worked on that case for 3 days! All for an 80?”

“I agree with you. And I hate to interrupt Nel, but we’re here.”

I paused my rant and looked out the car window. What I saw wasn’t one of the normal boats I’ve seen online or on TV for dinner cruises. It was massive, and looked suspiciously like a yacht. We stepped out of the car and I walked up to the pier. I could hear the faint sounds of a violin quartet and I paused.

“Grayson, I thought we said no date.”

“It’s not a date. We’ll just be hanging out on a boat.”

I eyed the walkway, “With a violin quartet and rose petals covering the ground?”

“Yeah!” He grinned and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go!”

Dick led me up the stairs, and I couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. The upper deck was a scene straight out of some romance movie. Fairy lights were strung along every edge, glowing softly, and there was an elegant table set up with candles and a single bouquet in the middle. From here, the Gotham skyline stretched out in front of us like a mural of lights on the water, reflecting in soft ripples.

The only thing I could think to say was, “I… I’m underdressed.”

“You look perfect.” He pulled out my chair, waiting until I sat to push it in before sitting across from me.

“This feels like a date,” I muttered, casting a glance toward the musicians.

“If it was a date, I’d have told you to dress up. Since I didn’t, it’s not.” He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Just then, a waiter in a crisp black suit stepped onto the deck, nodding as he announced that we’d be starting with a four-course meal. I looked over at Dick, trying to keep my face neutral.

“Four courses?”

“Yeah.” He grinned and leaned back against his chair.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m trying to impress you.”

I snorted, even though I was sort of flattered. “Cute.”

“Thanks, I know.”

A minute later the waiter came out with the food. It was some fancy deconstructed something or another. One of those weird fancy foods rich people eat to make themselves feel superior. Whatever it was, it didn't taste very good and I had to wash it out with the wine. Which also didn’t taste very good.

I could tell Dick didn’t like it either. His face scrunched up at the first bite. I tried to save face, “This is, um, interesting.”

“It’s shit.” He said bluntly.

“You said it, not me.”

“That chef is fired for sure. I’m gonna tell the waiter to get us some burgers. I don’t know why I bothered to try and be fancy. I hate this shit.” He muttered. He pulled out his phone and made some calls.

Twenty minutes later, we had two Big Belly Burger meals, and we ditched the stiff table setup to sit together on one of the lounge chair couches. From here, we had an amazing view of the water and the lights of Gotham as we ate and laughed. I popped a fry in my mouth and watched the waves crash softly against the pier.

“Gotham looks so much prettier from this far away.”

“It’s pretty up close too,” he said.

“Pretty disgusting. Gotham has the most rats in any city in the United States.”

“All cities have rats.”

“Not Metropolis.”

Dick chuckled, “well that’s because they have Lex Luthor who makes sure his precious city is perfect.”

“Y’all should invest your money into cleaning up Gotham instead of using it for crime.” I said as I ate another fry.

“We do. My father was the one who set up the orphan fund. And he sends half his paycheck to various charities all over Gotham one a month. We do what we can.”

“If you have enough money to rent this big ass boat out you haven’t done enough.”

“Ouch." He clutched his chest "Hurtful. But true. This is why I like you, you keep me humble.”

I grinned, “Someone has to.”

“You should humble me more often. Like all time.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What?”

He sighed and ruffled his hair, “That was my really bad way of asking you to be my girlfriend. Officially. I mean in my head we’ve been dating since mock trials but for you-”

I interrupted him by bursting out laughing “That was your way of asking? Like that?”

“I’m not smooth all the time, Chanel. And I happen to be very nervous right now so if you could hurry up and say yes so we could move on that would be great thanks.” He huffed.

“And what if I said no?”

“You won’t. Because you like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh I don’t?”

“No, you don’t.”

He closed the distance between us just then and pressed his lips to mine, soft and lingering, his fingers tracing my jaw. I melted into the kiss, my hands gripping his shirt, holding him close as he tilted his head, deepening it in a way that made me forget the rest of the world.

When we finally broke apart, I found myself breathless, the faintest smile on his face as he leaned back. “You like me.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, unable to help a small smile of my own. “I guess I do.”

“Does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?”

“Ask properly this time.”

He rolled his eyes but straightened up, shifting into a mock-serious posture. He locked his gaze onto mine, intensity sparking between us. “Chanel Pierce,” he began, his voice low and dramatic, “please do me the great honor of becoming my girlfriend.”

I looked at him, and my smile widened, “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Chapter Text

Fashion shows were a lot more hectic than I ever imagined. Gwen had roped me into helping with some last-minute fittings since her model was apparently MIA and I happened to be her exact size. But as soon as I walked into the fashion building, I knew I was in over my head. Absolute chaos greeted me. People were running around, some carrying gowns over their heads, others with rolls of fabric trailing behind them, like some sort of high-stakes sewing game. Everywhere I looked, someone was either barking instructions, yelling about missing thread, or stabbing pins into mannequins like they were mortal enemies.

Gwen spotted me hovering near the doorway, looking thoroughly out of place, and rushed over, already looking exasperated. “You’re late!”

I blinked, glancing at my phone. “I’m…two minutes early?”

“That means you're late! C’mon I have a lot to do!” She grabs my arm and yanks me. We bob and weave through the crowd until we enter a room with a piece of paper taped on it that read “Group 4 dressing room.” 

Gwen pushed me inside, “Strip.”

I stare at her dumbfounded as she shuts the door behind us, “I’m sorry?”

“Did I stutter? STRIP!” 

Reluctantly, I peeled off my clothes until I was down to my underwear, feeling more exposed than I wanted. Thank God I wasn’t wearing my granny panties today. She handed me a long, flowy blue dress that I slid into. And the second I had it on, all my complaints vanished. The dress was stunning. Strapless, with just enough structure to hug me in all the right places, and long enough to pool elegantly at the floor. The only nod to a sleeve was this delicate, off-the-shoulder tulle strap designed to look like flowers. The corset top hugged me snugly, and the skirt, with its intricate, hand-sewn design, seemed to shimmer. I felt like royalty.

“Wow,” I breathed, twirling a little. “This dress is beautiful.”

Gwen flashed a rare, proud smile, admiring her work. “Thanks. It’s the last piece in the show, so Sade and I made sure to pour everything into it. Gotta leave the crowd with their jaws on the floor.” She tilted her head, sizing me up. “Now, how well can you walk in heels?”

“Pretty good. I wear them often for courtroom field trips and sometimes for mock trial days.”

“Great!” She beamed. “Put these on.” She bends down under the vanity and pulls out a box and shoves it into my hands. I open the box and see two gorgeous blue heels, adorned with little butterflies. 

“Did you guys make these too?” I ask as I step into the shoes.

Gwen snorts and shakes her head, “Nope. We bought them off eBay and added the details last minute. Just small stuff. How do they fit?”

“A bit tight but not too bad.”

“Perfect!” Gwen crouched down and started poking and prodding the dress. She was fluffing it out and pinning things together. 

“So, where's your model?”

“In the hospital. She fell down a flight of stairs and broke her arm.” Gwen answered from the floor with a pin in her mouth.

“Ouch. Who are you gonna get to walk the end of the show?”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “No idea. Sade’s out there now, scouting anyone who can fill in, but the show’s today, so I doubt we’ll find anyone. All the models are already booked.”

“Well, good luck. If I could help in any way let me know.” I regretted saying those words as soon as they left my mouth. Gwen’s eyes lit up in a way that I’ve never seen before. “No no no.”

“Please, please, please!” She clasped her hands together, pleading.

“I have stage fright!” I protested, already backing up.

“Liar,” she deadpanned, unimpressed.

“It’s true!” I insisted.

“You can’t be a lawyer and have stage fright. That’s not how this works.” She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, practically daring me to argue.

“That’s different! I’m in my element when I’m in the courtroom! So it’s not as scary. Plus I have plans before the show, so I can't stay long.”

She rolled her eyes, “Your little boyfriend can wait.” My heart skipped a beat at the word boyfriend. I have a boyfriend now. I’ve had one for two weeks. It feels surreal. She continued, “You’ve been glued to his side since he asked you out. I think spending a couple hours apart would do you some good.”

“My plans aren’t with Dick.” I lied.

“You only have so many friends, Chanel. It’s not me and Sade who you have plans with since we’re here. It can’t be Nadia since she’s with Wally right now. So it has to be Dick.”

“It could be Seb.”

“Sebastian has been MIA for three weeks. He probably fled the state knowing his creepy ass. It’s not him.” Gwen crossed her arms and gave me a look. That’s true. Ever since the night Dick told me that Sebastian could be deathstroke’s son, I haven’t heard a word from him. I believed Dick when he told me he didn’t kill the guy. But I still wonder what happened to him. “You have no excuse, Chanel.”

“Fine!” I threw my hands up in the air exasperated. “I’ll do it.”

Gwen squealed, “Let me call Sade and tell her the good news. She thought it would take much more to get you to do this.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, “How long have y’all been planning this?”

Gwen sheepishly smiled, “Like, a week-ish? You’re roughly the same size as our model and once she told us about her hospital visit we knew you’d be a good replacement. I’ve seen you strut on campus when you’re locked in on mock trial days so I knew you’d be perfect for this!”

“I do not strut.”

Gwen pulled her phone out of her back pocket and shoved it in my face. It was a video of me sashaying on campus with my headphones on heading to class last semester. 

“Who took that video?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just worry about the fact that you have the walk, the look, and now the dress. You’ll be perfect!”

“I hate you.”

“You love me, bitch.”

+++

I texted Dick that I had to cancel our plans last minute because I was in the fashion show. He wasn’t upset in the slightest. He was actually ecstatic. I didn’t really know how excited he was until a couple hours later when Sade was doing my makeup thirty minutes before the show started. Gwen bursted into the dressing room scaring me, Sade and the other models and students. She was panting heavily and looked disheveled. 

“Jesus! What the fuck happened?” Sade asked, clutching her chest like she had a heart attack or something. 

“The Waynes are here.” Gwen panted.

“Huh?” one of the girls in the back squeaked, makeup brush frozen mid-air.

“I said, the Waynes are here. ALL of them. Including Bruce. And some members of their crew. I saw Diana Prince.” 

“No fucking way.” Sade’s voice dropped to a whisper, and suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on me. I sighed, clenching my jaw. Of course, Dick had to make this as dramatic as possible.

“Uh, excuse me for a second.” I said with a smile that probably resembled more of a grimace. I grabbed my phone and got off the makeup chair. I slowly made my way to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind me I pulled up Dick’s contact and called him. He answered on the first ring.

“Hi baby.”

“Don’t you hi baby me. What did you do?” I hissed, pacing.

He chuckled. I could practically hear that annoying, smug grin of his through the phone. “What do you mean?”

“Why is your entire family here? I barely invited you, let alone the whole Wayne clan.”

“I wanted to show off my girl. Is that a crime?”

“It is when you’re scaring half the fashion department to death!”

“...oops?”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“You know that’s not true.” He laughed, completely unfazed. “Besides, my father’s excited to finally meet you.”

The mention of Bruce Wayne sent a jolt of nerves up my spine. I wasn’t scared of walking the show before, more annoyed than anything. But now, knowing that the Bruce Wayne was going to be there, judging me. I was racked with nerves. 

“Send some of them home,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I can’t Nel. They’re here for our protection. Clark wouldn’t let father out the house without at least ten guys guarding him.”

“As if you need protection.” I sneered. He didn’t say anything, only laughed. “Send some to guard outside or something, I don't know. Just make the room less crowded and less intimidating for the other students.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” I sighed in relief. 

“Anything for you.” 

“You’re corny.”

“More like loving and considerate.” I could hear someone gagging on the other end. Sounded suspiciously like Tim. “Sorry Nel. Gotta go. One of my brothers decided to eavesdrop and now I have to beat the shit outta him.”

“Not in front of the students.”

“Yes ma’am.” He said sweetly. “Bye, love you.”

“Bye.” I hung up and shook my head. Dick is going to give me an ulcer and major heartburn one of these days. I exited the bathroom and sat back down in my makeup chair.

“Everything okay?” Sade asked as she got back to work, beautifying my face.

“Yeah. Just had to handle a few things.”

“Wayne things?” Gwen asked. She was behind us doing last minute prep on some dresses.

“Yes. Wayne things.”

“Soo” Sade started as she twirled her makeup brush in her hand. “Could you hook me up with one of them? I’m partial to Jason but I’ll even take a non Wayne like Roy.”

I bursted out laughing and jokingly pushed her away, “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being for real!”

“I’m begging you not to get involved with a mafia boy. I already have two friends down. I don't need to make it three.” Gwen sighed.

“You just don’t get it.” Sade shook her head. I grinned, my friends are ridiculous. 

Thirty minutes later I was changed into the gown. Somehow Gwen was able to make the heels fit better and be less tight and pinchy on my feet. The dress also fit better than before, which I didn’t think was possible. Sade styled my braids in a way that framed my face nicely. She also moused the curly bits so that they popped more. My hair looked brand new despite being over a month old at this point.

I peeked out the curtain to look at the crowd and saw a packed house. Every seat was filled. It was intimidating. But most of all, I saw Dick and his family dead smack in the front. They all looked like they came from church, or a funeral. Dressed in all black they stood out from the crowd of colorful fashion students. Dick was in a black button down with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He was wearing normal black slacks and dress shoes. On his wrist was a gold watch that shimmered in the light. His hair was combed back with a couple pieces out around his face. He looked really good. Like really really good. 

I can’t believe that’s my boyfriend.

Next to him on the right were his brothers, dressed similarly to him. Except Tim had a coat on and Jason had a tie that was hanging loosely around his neck. Damian was almost an exact 1 to 1 replica of Dick’s outfit. Down to the hair too. Next to him was a dark skin boy I’d never seen before, he must’ve been Duke. The guy Dick told me about a while ago. He was handsome as well. He was also in all black, but his shirt wasn’t a button down but a turtle neck. And he has a gold chain around it. The Wayne’s seemed to love their gold. Or maybe that was just a mafia thing.

On Dick’s other side was his father. I’d recognize Bruce Wayne anywhere. His face is plastered all over Gotham. The billionaire mafia playboy. He was wearing a full suit, tie, shirt, pants, everything. His watch was silver though. He was talking quietly to the man next to him. Clark Kent. And next to him was Diana Prince, who was rocking a long black dress with a slit on the right leg. I could’ve sworn I saw a knife tucked in there but I brushed it off. That’s none of my business.

“Places, everyone! Let’s get this started!” a professor shouted from somewhere in the chaos behind me. I snapped the curtain shut and walked back to find Gwen and Sade’s group. We were the final collection in the show, and as the last model, I’d be the one closing it out. I had a bit of a wait ahead of me, which only gave my nerves time to multiply.

“Alright, listen.” Gwen put her hands on my shoulders like she was sending me off to war. “Fashion shows fly by. Ten, maybe twenty minutes max. So this will be over fast. I know it’s intimidating to be the last one out there, but you’re the last one because you’re the best one, okay? Me and Sade are right behind you in spirit. Now go make us proud!” She grinned before adding, “And don’t mess up, because I need an A on this.”

“Gwen!” Sade hissed, horrified.

“What? I’m being honest!”

“It’s okay Sade. That actually helped a bunch. Thinking of this as a graded assignment makes me want to do this well.”

“That’s the spirit! Go break a leg!” Gwen ushered me to my spot in line. I steeled myself as I waited for my turn. I imagined that I was listening to my hype playlist as the line got shorter and shorter. Once it was my turn I took a deep breath then stepped out. I told myself I was only going to pick one thing and look at it as I walked, so I picked Dick.

When I stepped out onto the runway, the lights were blinding, and the crowd was a solid wall of faces, just a blur around the edges. But there, right in the middle, was Dick. Even in a sea of all those people, he was the only one I could really see.

His eyes locked onto mine the second I stepped out, and he leaned forward just slightly, a look of complete focus on his face, like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at. His hands rested loosely on his knees, but I could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he was just as tuned in as I was. Every step I took felt like it was pulling me closer to him, like there was some invisible thread connecting us, keeping his eyes glued to me. I had to fight the urge to break into a grin.

I channeled every ounce of confidence I could find, letting my hips sway just a little as I walked. It was working because I could hear Sade yell, “Yes!” Over the music. And because Dick looked spell bound. 

His mouth parted slightly, and I watched his gaze sweep over me, taking in the dress, the way the fabric floated with each step, the tiny details Gwen and Sade had worked so hard to perfect. But really, he didn’t look like he was seeing the dress at all. His eyes were on me.

I reached the end of the runway, and for a second, everything seemed to pause. I gave a slow, deliberate spin, the gown fanning out around me like water. As I turned, I caught the flash of something in his eyes—like pride, maybe, or awe. Then I turned and made my way back up the runway as the crowd clapped and cheered for the end of the show. 

Once I made it backstage Sade and Gwen met me with two huge hugs, “You did so good!” Gwen squealed.

“We’re gonna get an A!” Sade laughed. 

“We’re gonna get an A!” I repeated. Even though this wasn’t my assignment, the idea of a good grade was always exciting for me.

“Chanel! You have a visitor!” One of the other fashion students yelled from the back of the stage.

“He was fast.” Gwen muttered as we separated. 

“I’ll be back.” I said, rolling my eyes and making my way towards Dick who was standing near the door.

“You better! That dress is mine!” Gwen called back.

I approached Dick with a wide grin, “So what did you think?” I asked as we stepped outside the loud backstage area. 

He answered by grabbing my face and kissing me deeply. I was momentarily shocked but I kissed him back. I grabbed his shirt to hold onto as he pulled me closer. It was starting to get a bit too hot and heavy for school so I pulled away, “I’m guessing you liked it.”

“I want you to wear that dress at our wedding.” He said panting.

“Uh…what?” I blinked, my brain trying to catch up. But before I could really process that, he pulled me back in, kissing me like he couldn’t get enough.

I pulled back, “Woah. Calm down, we're at school.” I said. “Plus you’ll ruin my makeup.”

“You are the most beautiful girl in the world.” He whispered as he placed his forehead on mine.  My heart soared at the compliment and the love sick look on his face. “You can never do another fashion show, I don’t want anyone else to ever see you look that good again.”

“You just said you wanted me to wear this dress at our wedding.” I laughed.

“We’ll get married at a courthouse. Closed doors.”

“Who said I was ever going to marry you anyway?”

“After today, you have no choice.” He placed his hands on my waist and gripped me tightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You can’t stare into my soul, looking that fucking good and then expect me not to buy you a ring. This solidified what I already knew. You’re mine for life.”

“You’re a little possessive.”

“Look at you,” he said, eyes sweeping over me like he was committing every detail to memory. “Of course I am.”

A loud banging knocked us out of our moment. “Chanel! Give me my dress bitch!” Gwen yelled from the other side of the door.

“I gotta go. Gwen is going to murder me if I don’t return her dress.”

“Yes, I will!” She hollered. 

I rolled my eyes and ignored her, “See you later.”

“Meet me at the front of the building when you’re done. I want you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

For a second, my stomach did a flip. Bruce Wayne himself—the Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s infamous kingpin, billionaire, and my boyfriend’s dad—waiting to meet me. I felt my mouth go dry just thinking about it, but I pushed down the nerves and gave him a quick nod.

“Okay,” I said, pretending to be cool even though my heart was practically sprinting. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Good,” he said, his gaze lingering on me, full of pride and something softer I couldn’t quite name. I turned, slipping out the door before I got pulled right back into him, mentally preparing myself to face Gwen—and soon enough, Bruce Wayne himself.

Chapter Text

Part 2 - Jason Todd

The Wayne family has run Gothams seedy underground since before Gotham was Gotham. They are the founders of the city and sit on top of a dark throne. Most of the civilians know that when you see a Wayne, you avoid them at all costs. Especially the main five, Bruce and his sons.

Bruce Wayne commands the Justice Society, the heart of the city's criminal empire, with his two trusted lieutenants. Diana Prince is the muscle, an unstoppable force, while Clark Kent is the brains, always two steps ahead. It was Clark’s idea to send the Wayne boys to university. He thought it would polish the family's image, make them seem like respectable members of society. They still have to pretend to be normal, after all.

My mom’s been working for the Waynes since I was a kid. Which, naturally, means I’ve always been around them. The Waynes have a way of slipping into your life, embedding themselves so deeply that you don’t even realize how much they’re there until you look closer. And out of all of them, Jason has always been the most present. He was my best friend—the one person who got me, no matter how twisted things got. We were this odd little duo, conspirators in a world that always seemed a bit too eager to throw punches our way. But then he almost died, and whatever happened to him in those dark hours, it changed something fundamental. My best friend came back, but he wasn’t really the same. And ever since, it’s been like I’m standing next to a stranger who wears Jason’s face.

+++

I hated going to work. I know everyone hates going to work, but trust me, my situation is different. I’m not just clocking in to file paperwork or flip burgers. No, my job is to clean the house of the most feared family in Gotham: the Waynes. East Coast mafia royalty. The place is intimidating, to say the least, and it doesn’t help that I have to work side by side with my mom. Technically, it’s only a seasonal gig—I work there during the school year to help cover my tuition at Gotham U since I’m only on a partial scholarship. And Mr. Wayne pays well, which is the one bright spot in all of this. The downside? His sons. Especially his second son.

Jason and I have this… complicated, ancient history. We were best friends once, back in the days when all I saw was his heart and the way he made me laugh. And maybe, okay, I was also a little hopelessly in love with him. Then it all changed. He got kidnapped by Joker, who’s not just some random thug but the ruthless leader of a rival gang. Jason barely made it out alive, and whatever happened in that ordeal? It changed him. The guy I once knew vanished, replaced by someone with an edge sharper than a knife—a guy who seemed haunted and a whole lot meaner.

“Isis! Hurry up! We’re gonna be late, and I’ve got a ton to do today!” Mom’s voice echoed from the kitchen, pulling me out of my thoughts. With a sigh, I finished shoving things into my bag. Finally, senior year. My last first day cleaning for them. It couldn’t come soon enough.

“Coming, Mom!” I shouted back, stealing a quick glance in the mirror as I passed it. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and tried to smooth out my shirt. I looked a little ragged, honestly, but it’s not like cleaning requires couture. The problem is, though, my stupid heart doesn’t seem to understand that. She’s stuck on the fact that there’s a chance I’ll run into him today. And, of course, he’s going to see me in these old, faded shorts that hang too long and a threadbare T-shirt of my dad’s. Real cute.

I grabbed my essentials, airpods included, and rushed out to meet my mom, who was already waiting by the door, looking impatient as ever. “What took you so long?” she snapped. “You know we have to leave by nine sharp to avoid traffic!”

“Sorry, Mom. Couldn’t find something to wear.”

She just rolled her eyes. “There’s no need to look pretty when you’re cleaning, Isis. You’re going to get dirty anyway.” She doesn’t know about my years-long crush on Jason; she just thinks I’m vain. “Come on; I want to stop at Jitters for a coffee and a muffin before we get there.”

We walked out of the house together and headed to our car—well, technically Mom’s car. Mr. Wayne bought it for her five years ago after he found out she was taking two buses to get to his house every morning. He’s nice that way, a little intense, but decent once you get past the scary exterior.

The ride to the Wayne’s house was too short for my liking. For the first time in a decade Jitters had no line so we were in and out. Then we got every green light and no traffic at all. It was like the universe was working against me.

“Wow, we’re early today!” Mom grinned as she parked the car.

“Yippie.” I said dryly.

“Oh don’t be so upset. I know cleaning is beneath you but this is good money and Mr. Wayne is a good man.”

“Cleaning isn’t beneath me mom. I’m just tired. I have a lot of homework.” I opened the car door and we made our way to the employee entrance.

“Don’t stress yourself too hard honey. You know you can take your time. There's no shame in graduating next fall.” She said, patting my arm.

My mom is sweet like that. She’s a bit of a worrywart, especially when it comes to me and school. I wasn’t exactly a standout student in high school; getting into Gotham U on a partial scholarship felt like the biggest miracle of my life. And honestly, it’s kind of my lifeline out of here. This business degree is my shot to help my family finally get out from under the Wayne family’s thumb. Once I graduate and help my dad get his restaurant off the ground, we won’t need anyone’s charity—or their pity—ever again.

“Mom, I can’t graduate next fall. My scholarship is only good for eight semesters, so that’s four years.” I stuffed my bag into a storage locker and grabbed my airpods, my lifeline for surviving these shifts.

“I’m sure Mr. Wayne would give you an advance for one semester. Maybe even a raise if we ask him. You know he likes you since you and Jason are so close.”

“We were close, Mom. We’re not thirteen anymore. I barely see him.” The words were practically mumbled as we walked toward the closet for our supplies.

Mom kept talking as we went, and I could feel her eyes on me as I grabbed my cleaning kit. “Well, I think he’d still help you if you needed it. He’s got a good heart under all that… intensity.”

“It’s fine, Mom. I’ve got this.” I forced a smile, lifting my bucket. “So, where am I on duty today?”

“Basement. Just need to tidy up the gym and the second living room. Shouldn’t be too much work, but Mr. Wayne has a big meeting here tomorrow, so he wants the space spotless. Nice, easy day for you! Might even finish early.” She nudged me with her shoulder, grinning like she’d won the lottery.

I smile at that. Leaving early sounds perfect for someone with avoidant issues like me. “Sounds good.”

+++

A half hour later I was in the zone. My music was blasting in my ears as I cleaned the gym as fast as possible. I was on my last task, sweeping and mopping the floors when the doors burst open. I jumped and held in a scream as three of the four Wayne sons walked into the room. Tim, Damian, and just my luck, Jason. We all sort of stared at each other, mostly me staring at Jason, until he grinned and walked up to me.

“No way, Flower is that you?” He says. I flinch at the childhood nickname. I haven’t heard it in a long time.

“H-hey guys.” I wave meekly.

Jason stops a few feet in front of me and cocks his head, “What are you doing here?”

“I… Uh.” I clear my throat. “I work here now. With my mom. To help pay for tuition and stuff.”

His eyes widened, “Tution? You go to college? And how long have you been working here? How did I not know this?”

Well that’s because I’ve been avoiding you like the plague.

“Oh well, I mostly work mornings, so I can make it to classes in the afternoon. And I go to Gotham U.”

“I go to Gotham U.” He says. I know. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“Different Majors I’m guessing.”

“Hmm, maybe.” He murmurs looking at me up and down. I kept my eyes glued to Jason’s face as I gripped the handle of my broom like it was a second life line. He was wearing shorts and a tight compression shirt that was basically showing off every outline of his upper body. It was very distracting.

“Or,” Tim interrupts walking up next to Jason. “She’s been avoiding you.”

Jason pushes his head away, ignoring him, “We need to catch up, Flower. We can’t go that long without speaking again.”

I gave him a shaky smile, it probably looked like a grimace, “Of course. I’ll always be around here, so. Whenever you wanna hang just let me know.” Please, please don’t want to hang out.

Damian walked up to the other side of Jason just then. I was surrounded completely by Wayne boys and it was stressing me out a bit. “This was a nice catch up or whatever but, we need to work out.”

“Oh sorry.” I rushed to grab my cleaning things. “I’ll finish this later, once y’all are done in here.”

I try to make my escape but Jason grabs my upper arm and stops me just before I could exit, “Wait, is your number still the same?”

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Never changed.”

“Great. I’ll text you next time I’m on campus.”

“Looking forward to it.” I gave him a small smile and hastily left their gym, way too scared to look behind me.

Once I finally made it to the living room, I exhaled, slumping a little. My heart was pounding as if I’d just finished a marathon. Seeing Jason up close again was… a lot. He’d grown up in every sense—taller, broader, and just all-around larger. Jason had always been tall, but now he looked like a brick wall, only more intimidating. And attractive. Very, very attractive.

I took a peak over my shoulder at the gym and saw Jason throwing massive punches at a punching bag. Tim was on the other side holding it in place. Everytime Jason threw a punch, Tim grimaced. But he held it firm.

Jason looked so good working out. My old crush that never fully went away was starting to grow a bit bigger the more I watched him. I was barely paying attention to my cleaning. I was just sweeping so that I had an excuse to stare to be honest. The room wasn’t even all that dirty so I didn’t mind killing a couple of minutes in here to watch the free show I was getting from the other room.

I was so entranced by Jason's now shirtless boxing workout I didn’t notice when the other door to the living room opened. “No way.” A deep voice laughed behind me. I jumped and spun around. Standing there was Dick Grayson, the eldest brother and his on again off again (but never really ever truly off) girlfriend of three years, Chanel Peirce. “Isis, is that you?”

“Hi.” I waved at him. I guess I’m getting a full family reunion today. Just my luck.

“So… are you still in love with Jason? Still? After all these years and even after he looks like a massive wall of stupid?” He laughed. I flinched, Dick always could tell I was into Jason as a kid. I guess he never forgot it. Chanel rolled her eyes and smacked him on the back of his head.

“Shut up Grayson.” She hissed. Chanel Peirce is the kind of girl I aspire to be. She’s drop dead gorgeous, never a hair out of place. She passed the LSATs with the highest recorded grade in Gotham City ever, then she breezed through law school and passed the Bar on her first try. Now she’s working for the best law firm in the state while also dating the eldest son of the most prominent family on the east coast.

All while I’m fumbling through school like a headless chicken, not really sure of what my future will look like. They were a power couple. And I was jealous beyond belief.

“Hi, I’m Chanel. Nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand for me to shake and I took it hastily. Hoping some of her brains and good looks will brush off on me.

“I’m Isis.” I responded.

“How do you know the family?” She asked.

Dick interjects before I could even open my mouth, “Isis here is an old family friend. Her mom has worked for Father since forever so she was always over here. She’s also Jason’s old best friend.”

“Jason had friends?” Chanel snickered.

“Only Isis. He called her his Flower.” Dick said, dragging out the ‘R’. “He came up with it ‘cause the goddess Isis always holds flowers. Lotus flowers. So she became Flower.”

My face erupted in flames. Back in middle school, Jason and I went through a mythology phase after devouring Percy Jackson and The Kane Chronicles. We’d read a book on Egyptian myths and latched onto the story of the goddess Isis. Jason had started calling me Flower because the goddess Isis is often depicted holding lotus flowers, and back then, I was always wearing flower crowns. It was embarrassing and kind of sweet all at once.

“Yeah.” I chuckled awkwardly. “We were a bit nerdy.” I wasn’t quite sure what else to say.

“That’s cute.” Chanel said, smiling. “I have a friend who is a bit nerdy, Nadia.”

I know Nadia too. My online stalking was immense when it comes to the people who surround the Waynes. Nadia is Wally West’s financé and soon to be wife. I know he’s obsessed with her since all his posts on instagram include her. It’s cute.

“Oh, cool,” I managed, mentally kicking myself for being the most awkward human on Earth. I pointed lamely to the broom in my hand. “Uh, I should probably get back to it…”

“That’s her way of telling us to get lost so she can drool over Jason again without fear of being judged.” Dick snickered.

“What! No! I really need to finish cleaning!”

The two of them looked around the semi spotless room then back at me. Not believing it for a second. But Chanel just nodded and grabbed Dick’s hand, “We need to head out anyway. Dick was gonna help me out with a client, but we’ll find a different room to go over my paperwork in.” She dragged him out of the room and waved on their way out. “It was nice to meet you Isis! Hope we can talk again some day.”

I waved back, even though they were already out the door, and waited until their footsteps faded down the hallway. Only then did I turn to steal another peek through the gym window. Tim and Damian had vanished, leaving Jason alone, his focus narrowed in on that punching bag.

He looked intense—furious, almost—as he hammered his fists into the bag, each hit sharper and harder than the last. Sweat dripped down his forehead, plastering his hair to his skin, and his jaw was tight, like he was holding back something more painful than any physical hit. There was a kind of haunted look to him, a look I hadn’t seen since he was released from the hospital all those years ago.

My heart panged and I turned away. This is why I couldn’t get close to him anymore. This is the exact reason. It hurt me to see him like this and know there was nothing I could do to help. It hurt to know that the Jason I fell in love with when I was younger was now gone, and replaced by this shell of who he used to be.

I swept up the rest of the dust on the floor, wishing I could somehow also sweep myself away from our past.

Chapter Text

Once I was done with my less-than-stellar cleaning job, I headed upstairs to the staff section of Wayne Manor. It’s a cozy little area, tucked away from all the grand hallways and marble floors, like a hidden wing in a castle. There’s a kitchen, a modest living room, and two small rooms for the day-only staff to crash if they need it. For the live-in staff, there are private rooms of their own, and it always feels a bit like stepping into another world up here—much more lived-in, with coffee stains on the counters and well-worn cushions on the couch.

I stashed my cleaning supplies in the closet, then beelined for the kitchen. Now, here’s the thing: Emmet, one of the groundskeepers, is an absolute snack hoarder. He thinks he’s sneaky, hiding his good stuff on the top shelf above the microwave, like the rest of us don’t notice. But I’ve been on to him for a while. Today, I knew he had honey buns stashed up there—I’d seen the wrapper in the garbage, which is about as close to a neon sign as you can get. 

I opened the cabinet and saw the box sitting there like a prize. A grin formed its way onto my face just at the sight of it. I love honey buns. I stood on my tippy toes to try and grab the box but it was just beyond my reach. Just great. I found them and now I can’t even reach them. I keep trying though, I stretch as much as I can to reach the box but no luck.

Suddenly, a big arm reached around me, effortlessly snagging the box from the shelf. I felt a hand on my waist, steadying me, and my heart practically leaped into my throat. I spun around, and there he was—Jason, standing so close I could feel the warmth radiating off him. He was holding Emmet’s precious honey buns, looking at me like he was amused by the whole scene. 

“Oh!” I jumped a bit at how close he was. I tried to back up but I couldn’t since the counter was right behind me. So I was stuck being a breath away from him.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, his voice low. He handed the box over to me and I took it, clutching it to my chest as a makeshift barrier.

“It’s, uh… it’s cool.” I managed, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt. He placed his hands on the counter, basically boxing me in.

“You grew up nice.” He grinned. 

My heart pounded wildly in my chest at his comment, “Is that a dig at my weight?” I’m a big girl, plus sized and not ashamed of it. 

“Absolutely not.” His eyes ran down my body and I suddenly got the intense urge to cover myself completely head to toe.

“Thanks.” I cleared my throat. “You too.”

His grin widened. “Thanks.”

“So…” I shuffled a bit, gripping the box of honey buns like it was the last lifeline I had. “Why are you in the staff room? You guys don’t usually come in here.”

“Well.” He stood up straight and backed up a bit, giving me room to breathe finally. “Tim’s little comment made me realize you probably have been avoiding me. And I find that to be insane because, why would my Flower avoid me? So I asked Alfred where you usually hang out when you’re here and he told me you never leave the staff room unless you’re cleaning.”

Damn you Alfred, you little snitch.

“I haven’t been avoiding you. We just, never, crossed paths I guess.”

“Bullshit Flower. I live here and I haven’t seen or spoken to you in what, four years?”

Four and a half, but who's counting?

"Well, people grow apart." I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual. "You stopped talking to me first back in high school. I just followed your lead." The words came out sharper than I'd planned, but I wasn’t about to sugarcoat it, especially with the whole memory of that party incident lurking in the back of my mind. No way did I want to dredge that up right now.

He tilted his head, like he was considering that. “Well, let’s fix that now. Hang out with me tonight.”

“I have homework,” I blurted out, a little too quickly. “I can’t.”

“Tomorrow then,” he said, not missing a beat.

“I’ll… see what I can do.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it as whatever you want, it's still a maybe.” I said with another shrug. I looked down at my feet, focusing on my shoes to avoid his gaze because, frankly, maintaining eye contact with him for much longer might actually kill me.

“You’re still a little sassy I see.” His shoulders shake with laughter. “And shy.”

“I’m not shy. I’m just… reserved.” I retorted. 

“Got a boyfriend?” he asked suddenly.

I snapped my head up, my heart hammering. What kind of question was that? And why now?

“Uh, why?” I managed, clutching the box tighter like it could shield me from his gaze.

Jason’s grin widened, almost wolfish. “I need to know if some guy’s gonna try and beat me up when I take you out tomorrow.”

His words made my stomach flip, and the warmth that crept up my cheeks had me wishing I could melt into the floor. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I mumbled, trying to sound casual, though I was clutching those honey buns so hard I was probably squishing them.

Jason’s smile softened, but it was that kind of soft that still held a challenge, like he’d already decided something. “Good to know,” he murmured, voice dropping low enough that the words curled around me, leaving me feeling warm. 

“Is that Jason Todd-Wayne?” My mom’s voice cut through the moment, high-pitched and unmistakable, snapping us out of whatever strange little bubble we’d been in.

We sprang apart like guilty kids caught red-handed, and Jason’s whole demeanor shifted. The predatory, confident smile vanished, replaced by one of those polite, mother-pleasing smiles I knew he saved for times like this. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Morena,” he said, somehow polite and charming and totally inoffensive in a way that Jason usually wasn’t.

“Come here and give me a hug!” She spread her arms out and rushed over to crush Jason in a hug so tight I saw him flinch. But he hugged her back nonetheless. “You grew up to be so big!” She said as they pulled apart. I pulled a honey bun out of the box and started munching on it. I needed something to do with my hands so that they wouldn’t start shaking. 

“Yeah,” He laughed. “I’m 6’2 now. Almost as tall as dad.”

“No no, I mean you’re big! Large! Look at these shoulders!” She then proceeds to basically grope the poor guy as she touches his shoulders and arms. 

“I go to the gym a lot now.”  Jason explains as my mother finally lets him go. 

“Oh!” My mother says looking between us. “Were you two talking? DId I interrupt?”

“No, I was just about to leave. I have some work to do.” He says to her. He turned back to me, arms outstretched, waiting for a hug. I blinked, my brain short-circuiting for a second as I looked at him, a little bewildered. After a half-second pause, I shuffled over, letting him pull me in. He wrapped his arms around my waist, warm and solid, and I couldn’t help but feel every muscle in his grip as he held me close. The honey bun box was squished between us, but I didn’t care.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmured in my ear, his breath tickling my skin, making a shiver run up my spine.

II barely managed a nod, frozen in place, before he finally let go, his hands lingering a beat too long. Then his eyes drifted down to my honey bun, and before I could even blink, he leaned in, took a huge bite right out of it, and then turned on his heel, munching as he strolled out of the room. I stood there, half my sweet treat gone, barely processing what just happened as he disappeared down the hall.

My mom and I watched him leave then she whirled around towards me with a dangerous mom grin. The kind of grin where you know she’s thinking something that’s wrong and not true and out of pocket completely. 

“ See you tomorrow ?” She said, grinning widely. “What does he mean by ‘ see you tomorrow ’? Are you two going on a little date?”

“What? Mom, no. He just wants to hang out and catch up. But I don’t even think I’m going to say yes. I have a lot of homework.” I said looking down at my feet. I take another sad bite of my honey bun.

“Isis Morena. You will hang out with that young man tomorrow. You know he’s troubled. He could use a good friend like you to lean on.”

“Mom, he’s a mafia leader. He’s fine.” I sigh and eat the rest of the treat and toss the empty wrapper in the garbage, trying very hard not to think about the indirect kiss we just shared.

“They’re not in the mafia. They’re just Italian!” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Mom, Bruce Wayne is Irish, not Italian. And all his sons are adopted, except for Damian, who’s half Arab. None of them are Italian.”

“Oh, whatever!” She waved me off like the details were irrelevant. “You know what I meant. They’re a good family.”

“Yeah, a good family of professional criminals,” I muttered under my breath, too low for her to hear. I was suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the entire day weighing on me. “Can we go now? I’m tired and need to get back to that essay draft.”

She sighed, “Yes Habibti. Let’s go. But we’ll talk about this later.”

“Trust, I know. You never know when to drop things.” I joked. She grinned and pinched my arm. Then we left the Wayne Manor together laughing, arm in arm. 

+++

A couple hours later I was in my house on my bed typing up the last very bit of my essay draft when my phone pinged. I was expecting it to be a text from my best friend, Safiya. We had plans to watch anime together tonight over Discord and I assumed she was texting me about when she should log on. 

But when I picked up my phone, the name on my screen was Jason. I immediately tossed it to the floor like it was on fire, my heart going from zero to cardiac episode in half a second. He actually texted me? I mean, I knew he’d said he would, but part of me thought he was just being polite or, you know, Jason-ish—saying something to see how I'd react, with no intention of following through.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed my phone, hesitating for a second before I opened the message.

What time am I picking you up tmrw? 

Wow, he’s cocky.

I typed back, my fingers shaking way more than I’d like to admit. Who says I’m even going?

The little dots appeared almost instantly. Ur funny. What time?

I’m busy.

Get un-busy. Get un-busy. I read it twice, rolling my eyes so hard I thought they might stick, but I was grinning anyway.

I’ll see what I can do

Same address?

Never moved

I’ll see u at 8

I tossed my phone to the far end of my bed and grabbed a pillow, pressing it over my face as I let out a muffled squeal, hugging it to my chest like a total maniac. I was… excited. No, worse than that. I was giddy, and my face felt like it was permanently stuck on some ridiculous grin. Then I realized what the hell I was doing. Would Chanel act like this over a man? No, so why am I? I let go of the pillow and cleared my throat while grabbing my laptop to finish the essay.

School first, then old crushes.

Chapter Text

I woke up the next morning with a pep in my step I hadn’t felt in months. For someone supposedly trying to cut ties with the Waynes and all their chaos, I was doing a spectacularly bad job. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I bolted to the bathroom like I had an important meeting with the Queen. I brushed my teeth like my life depended on it—twice, just to be sure—and threw in floss and mouthwash for good measure. Then I hopped in the shower, pulling out my nicest body wash, the one that smelled like vanilla ice-cream, and went to town. I even shaved from head to toe, which was a whole event. By the time I stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was practically a sauna, and I was two seconds away from passing out.

Once I was dried off, I slathered on lotion until my skin practically glowed and spritzed myself with my special occasions only perfume. The expensive one. The one that lasted all day and had people asking, “What’s that amazing smell?” I paused for a second, wondering if I was doing too much, but then shrugged it off. This wasn’t about Jason—well, not just about him. It was about showing that I was doing great. Thriving. Radiating success.

After that, it was time to deal with my hair. I spent way too long scrolling through tutorials before settling on one that was effortless enough to say, Oh, this? I just woke up like this, but polished enough to whisper, But also, I care. It was a delicate balance.

Then came the real nightmare: my closet. I needed an outfit that worked for school but also said, Hey, I’m fun and casual and not overthinking this at all. But all I found were sweaters, jeans, and an alarming amount of hoodies. My “closet” was starting to feel more like a cry for help. I made a mental note to go shopping for cuter clothes with Safiya the next time she asked. 

Speaking of my best friend, she took that opportunity to call. I answered the FaceTime while still digging in my closet, “Morning Safiya.” I said.

“Hii Isis!” Safiya was my best friend since diapers. We’re ‘cousins’ (our mothers are best friends and we grew up together. We aren’t actually blood related but I called her my cousin and I called her mother aunty and her dad uncle) and we have never gone a day without speaking to each other. Ever. I think we’d explode if we did to be honest. “Why are you ass-deep in your closet?”

“I have no clothes.” I muttered annoyed. 

“You have plenty of clothes.”

“I have no clothes good enough.” I whined.

“For Jason? Seriously? I thought you were over him?” She asked, shocked.

“I… I am!” I lied. “I just don’t want him to think I’m the same old Isis with the same old clothes. I want him to see I’m matured and that I’ve grown into a respectable woman. Who is also now a little hot. But my closet doesn’t give hot!”

“Why would you want him to think you're hot if you’re over him?” She asked. Even though I wasn’t facing the screen I could still feel her narrowed eyes pointed directly at me.

“Because he got hotter!” I snapped, exasperated. “I want to look hotter too. It’s about equality!”

“Yeah sure. Whatever you say.” She scoffed. 

“It’s the truth! You should’ve seen him yesterday, Saf. It was insane.”

“Shouldn’t you be used to him? You stalk him online and everyone associated with him like, all the time.” she laughed.

“First of all, WE stalk him. I remember you always being there. And second off it’s different in person. He looks better in person.” I paused as I remembered him punching the punching bag in the gym and his sweat gliding down his face. I gulped. “So much better.”

Safiya made a gagging sound. “Keep it in your pants, please.”

I ignored her and sat back on my heels, staring at the disaster that was my closet. “I’m doomed.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll come over and save you, since you’re clearly a lost cause.”

Safiya was the most fashionable person I knew. She always looks good and she never ever had a hair out of place. So I was glad for the help. Would I be okay with the eventual name calling and roasting she was for sure going to also bring with her? No. But the help was nice. 

“You’re the best, I love you.” I grabbed my phone and blew her a kiss. 

“This isn’t free. Tell Aunty I’m raiding your fridge for some of her basbousa and tell uncle I’m taking some jollof rice too! I will be paid in some way shape or form!” 

“We need to eat too.”

“I need payment and it will be in food. I’ll see you in 15.” Then she hung up before I could argue about her blackhole of a stomach. 

Then 15 minutes later, like clockwork, she arrived. She walked into my room with one arm full of clothes and another arm full of food from my mother’s fridge. “Let’s get dressed bitch.”

+++

I arrived on campus feeling better about myself than I had in ages. The outfit wasn’t anything groundbreaking—just a cropped pink sweater, some light-wash jeans, and my beat-up old Converse—but it wasn’t my usual hoodie-and-sweats combo either. And because it was outside my comfort zone, I felt like I’d just stepped off a runway. I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at my reflection in every passing window, convinced I was giving off main-character energy.. 

Safiya was with me, rolling her eyes as I strutted across campus, “You are too much.” She laughed.

“Don’t be jealous I look better than you now.” I joked as I hiked my back pack up higher.

“If you’re so into your look then maybe you should talk to lover boy over there.” Safiya said with an evil grin. She pointed across the yard towards the Quad and when I followed her fingers I saw Jason walking in the opposite direction of us with his second in command and best friend Roy. I almost fell on my face.

“No, he looks busy.” I said as I began to walk faster.

“Nah, they look free. Go say hi.” Saf said, with that evil ass grin still plastered on her face. 

I shook my head so aggressively I nearly knocked the buns out of my hair. She rolled her eyes at me, took a deep breath, and then, like the devil she is, yelled across the Quad. “JASON!”

I froze mid-step, my soul leaving my body as Jason and Roy both turned around—and so did about half the student population. Safiya didn’t wait around to see the carnage; she cackled like a maniac and sprinted off, leaving me standing there like a deer caught in headlights. I swallowed the urge to chase her down and strangle her on the spot.

It’s fine. I’ll deal with her later. I’m nothing if not patient when it comes to revenge.

I sheepishly waved at Jason and he motioned for me to walk over to him with his head. I sighed and walked over to him and Roy. I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life. This must be pay back for when I liked four three year old pictures on Saf’s crush’s insta on her account. 

When I made it up to him I could barely look him in the eyes, “Hi.” I muttered.

He grinned and looked in the direction Safiya ran off, “Was that Saf?”

“Yup.” I said with a slight snarl. 

“So, you guys are still best friends huh.”

“Unfortunately.” I mumbled. 

I looked over at Roy who was staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. I could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to place me. Before he could embarrass himself further, Jason sighed and said, “It’s Isis,” like it was obvious.

Roy’s jaw dropped, “No way.” He whispered as he looked me up and down. “Isis? Like… nerdy Isis? The one with the braces and the anime T-Shirts?”

I flinched at the description of my middle school/ high school self. “I got those braces off in 11th grade, Roy. And you had some anime T-Shirts too!”

“Yeah but not like your collection.” He snorted. I smacked his arm and he faked being hurt and pouted. “So, what have you been up to?” He asked.

“Working and school.” I answered, trying hard to avoid Jason’s face as he watched the two of us talk.

“Oh nice. Where do you work?”

“At my house.” Jason said, interrupting me before I could answer. “She cleans it with her mom.”

“You have Isis clean your apartment? Weirdo.” Roy shuddered. 

Jason rolled his eyes then smacked the back of Roy’s head. “No dumbass. Wayne Manor. Why the fuck would she clean my apartment?”

“I don’t know what sick shit you got going on man.” Roy said with a grin. “I can see you being weird like that.”

“I’ll show you how weird I can be when I stick my foot up your ass.” Jason muttered annoyed. 

Roy chuckled and shook his head, “See, this is what I mean by weird. Who thinks about sticking shit up another person’s ass?”

“It’s called a euphemism, idiot,” Jason snapped, already losing patience. “Second of all—”

And that’s when I tuned them out. Their back-and-forth was entertaining for a while, but they were both so into it now that I figured this was the perfect opportunity to make my escape. I took one cautious step back, then another. When I’d put a safe amount of distance between us, I turned on my heel, ready to disappear into the crowd. Before I could take a single step forward, I felt a tug on my backpack. Jason had grabbed it and reeled me back like a fish on a line. My back collided with his chest and he looked down at me grinning.

“If you break it, you buy it,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Where were you trying to go?” He asked with a smirk.

“Class.”

“And you couldn’t say bye?”

“Well you two were really into your conversation. It would be rude to interrupt.” I shrugged. I turned around to face him.

“Skip class and hang out with us.” He said softly, leaning in a little closer to me. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat and fought the urge to succumb to his eyes, “I can’t skip class. The semester just started.”

“C’mon,” he coaxed, dragging out the word like he was trying to tempt me with a secret. Then his hand landed on my hip, right where the cropped sweater left my waist exposed. My stomach did somersaults, and I silently cursed my butterflies for being so predictable. “It’ll be fun.”

Before I could decide whether to push him off or lean into him like a lovesick idiot, Roy’s voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water. “Can you not act like I’m not right here?”

Jason turned to Roy with an expression that could only be described as murderous. “Go away.”

Roy crossed his arms. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m your boss. So yes, I can. Go.”

Roy rolled his eyes and muttered, “Pulling rank so you can flirt with a girl who’s clearly not interested in you is crazy, but okay,” before stomping off to a nearby bench, where he flopped down and sulked like a kid sent to timeout.

“ANYWAY.” Jason said loudly enough for Roy to hear him. He turned to me, “Come hang out with us. We’re gonna get food then chill at my place. A few of the guys might come over.”

“Outlaw guys?” I asked, referencing his section of his father’s mafia.

“Yeah. you know most of them.”

“No thanks.” I shook my head firmly. The idea of lounging in Jason’s apartment surrounded by mafia affiliates made my stomach twist. Sure, I knew about their lives, but that didn’t mean I wanted a front-row seat to it.

“They’re cool. And you won’t be the only girl. Artemis and Kori will be there too.”

Oh, perfect—his two goddess-like exes. As if that made the offer more appealing.

“No. I gotta get to class.” I said, firmly.

He sighed then slid his hand off my waist, “I’m trying to catch up with you Isis. I miss you.” He admitted. 

I felt bad and sheepishly scratched my arm, “Aren’t we hanging tonight anyway?”

His face lit up, the grin that followed wide enough to rival the sun. “Oh, so you do wanna hang out with me? I thought you said no.”

“I said maybe, not no.”

“And that maybe turned into a yes?”

It had always been a yes, honestly—but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m feeling generous,” I said, trying to sound aloof.

He smirked, tilting his head in that way that was simultaneously infuriating and endearing. “Sure. Whatever you say.” Then, with an easy tug on one of my backpack straps, he reeled me closer. “Lemme walk you to class.”

“You’re obsessed with me huh?” I joked, trying to distract myself from the fact that he keeps subtly cloning the distance between us.

Jason laughed, the sound warm and deep. “I just miss you, Flower. I missed you a lot.”

The nickname made my heart bloom right there in my chest. My cheeks warmed, and a tingly sensation spread through my body like sunlight on a cold day. He missed me. Just like I missed him.

“Sure,” I said, nodding as if I wasn’t melting on the inside. “You can walk me to class.”

Chapter Text

I stared down at my phone reading Jason’s text over and over again feeling stupid.

Can’t hang out tn. Smth came up. Srry.

That’s it. That’s all he said. I threw my phone on my bed and stared up at the ceiling of my room. I don’t even know why I got my hopes up. We aren’t close anymore. He probably was bored and figured hanging out with his old friend might cure his boredom. Or maybe talking to me while walking me to class this morning turned him away from me for some reason. I try to go over our conversation in my head for any red flags I might’ve thrown out but nothing strikes me as odd. We just caught up. I talked about my mom, brother and dad. While he talked about the Outlaws, minus any illegal activities. I did joke that he and Roy were practically joined at the hip, maybe that’s what did it?

I sighed and sat up. There's no need to overthink this now. He cancelled and this will probably be the last time we ever speak again. There will be no next time. I will move on and cut all Waynes out of my life. Including Jason.

Just then my computer started ringing with the discord call sound. I hopped out of bed and pressed the answer button because there's only one person who ever calls me on discord, Safiya.

“Hi Saf.” I said as I sat down on my computer chair and put on my headphones.

“Hi Isis. I’m surprised you answered. I assumed you’d be getting ready to go hang out with lover boy.” She joked. She had her braids in a high bun and was lounging on her chair sitting criss-cross with a bucket of popcorn in her lap.

“He cancelled. Said something came up.” I said with a shrug. I hoped my voice didn’t give away all the hurt I was currently feeling at that moment. I didn’t want Saf to know how much I was actually looking forward to hanging out with him.

“That dickhead.” She muttered. She sat up straighter in her chair and put the popcorn bucket on her desk behind the computer. “Well, I was actually calling to see if you wanted to go to The Pit tonight, after your hang out. But since you aren’t going anymore we can definitely go.”

“The Pit? Are you crazy?” The pit was one of Gotham’s most infamous underground bars and fight rings. People go there to score illegal drugs, drink cheap beer, and watch the underground fighting league. That was the exact place I did not want to be. “I am not going. Plus we couldn’t get in even if we wanted to. It’s invite only.”

Safiya’s grin widened like she’d been waiting for that exact reaction. “Oh, I’ve got an invite.”

“What?”

“I met this guy—don’t ask me how—and he said he could get me and a friend in.”

“What guy?”

“Vic.”

The name triggered a spark of recognition. “Wait… Victor Stone?”

“Yeah!” Safiya beamed. “You know him?”

“Know him?” I stared at her like she’d grown another head. “Saf, he’s an Outlaw!”

Safiya froze for a moment before scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. “Oh. Oops. You know I don’t keep up with all these gangsters and who’s who.”

I groaned, dragging my hand down my face. “Saf, he’s Jason’s number four! How do you not know that?”

“I don’t care about mobsters like you do. I have normal interests.” She waved me off. “And what does him being in Jason’s gang have to do with us going?”

“It’ll get back to Jason!”

“Okay and?” She crossed her arms. “Why do you care?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. I just sat there, blinking at her as her question hung in the air. Why do I care? Why does it matter if Jason finds out? He’s not my boyfriend. Hell, we’re barely friends at this point. I’m trying to get over him. Isn’t that the goal here?

And, if rom-coms and self-help articles have taught me anything, the best way to get over someone is to let loose and maybe drown your feelings in cheap drinks and bad decisions.

I sighed, resigning myself to whatever chaos Saf was about to drag me into. “Alright,” I muttered. “I’ll go.”

+++

“Oh my god, this place smells like blood and vomit.” I gagged, covering my nose as we stepped into The Pit.

“Isn’t it great?” Safiya beamed, like we’d just walked into a five-star hotel and not the literal armpit of Gotham. I rolled my eyes and looked around the room.

This was exactly what I thought this place would look like. The Pit was in an old underground warehouse that was constructed in the 50s during the insane nuclear bunker phase. In order to get in we had to knock on a door in some shady ass neighborhood and give the guy a password. Then after that he opened the door and let us in. From there we had to walk down like a hundred flights of stairs until we reached another door.

At the bottom, another locked door. Vic knocked, and the guy who opened it didn’t even bother asking questions. One look at Vic, and we were waved right in. VIP treatment, I guess.

The Pit itself was chaos in a concrete box. Two bars flanked the room, both already crowded with people yelling for drinks. Dead center was a giant boxing ring, complete with makeshift bleachers surrounding it. Men with buckets patrolled the aisles, taking bets while a hyped-up crowd screamed for blood. In the ring, two guys in ridiculous masks were beating the absolute hell out of each other.

“This is… something,” I muttered under my breath, side-eyeing the nearest bar like it might be contaminated.

I was no stranger to fights, seeing as I grew up with Jason Todd as my best friend and his crazy ass fight crazy family. So the fights didn’t bother me one bit, what did bother me though was the strange costumes and masks these guys were sporting.

“Why are they dressed like that?” I asked loudly to Vic over the noise of the crowd.

“That’s the gimmick! The fights are anonymous,” Vic explained, as he led us towards the bleachers so we could find some seats. “Anyone can join, no questions asked. Plus, the masks make it harder for anyone to track the fighters later. You know, no grudges, no retaliation. It keeps things clean.”

“That’s smart.” I said as we finally found some seats high up the bleachers, away from the spray zone on the bottom seats. I was okay with fights but not okay with getting sprayed by a stranger's blood.

Safiya was buzzing with excitement. My cousin was a bit of an adrenaline junky, so I knew this was going to feed her craving for a while. Hopefully, anyway.

Bored with the fight, I let my gaze wander around the room. It was a veritable who’s who of Gotham’s criminal underworld. King Shark’s men were scattered by the bar, chatting and laughing like they weren’t literal hitmen. A cluster of Falcone’s guys lingered near the betting buckets, looking serious as hell. And I was pretty sure I saw The Penguin himself, nursing a drink and muttering to one of his lackeys.

This place wasn’t just sketchy; it was a hub for the most dangerous people in Gotham. And here we were, sitting right in the middle of it, because Safiya thought it would be fun. I made a mental note to have a very serious talk with her later about our definitions of fun.

I looked back toward the ring just in time to see one of the fighters eat an absolutely brutal punch to the head. His legs wobbled like a newborn deer before he crumpled to the ground, totally out cold. The crowd erupted, a wave of cheers and stomping so loud I could feel it in my chest. The winner, grinning under his mask, threw his fists in the air like a gladiator basking in glory. I didn’t even care about the fight, but the crowd’s energy was infectious. Before I knew it, I was grinning too, caught up in the sheer chaos of it all.

A man in an obnoxiously bright purple suit hopped into the ring, grabbing a mic. “And that’s another win for Firefly!” he announced, holding up the winner’s hand. Two guys dressed like medics but probably not even remotely qualified for the job climbed into the ring to drag out the unconscious loser.

“For all those who bet on Firefly, head over to Gregory in the back to collect your winnings!” Purple Suit yelled before his voice dropped into that dramatic announcer tone. “Next up, the fight you’ve all been waiting for!”

The crowd erupted again into more loud cheers. Purple Suit flashed a predatory grin. “In this corner, we have the reigning champion—Black Mask! With an unbeatable record of 50-0, he’s never been taken down!”

From the right side of the ring, a hulking man in a black skull mask strutted in. Shirtless, of course, because apparently that’s mandatory. His tattoos were covered with bandages, probably to keep his identity a secret. He wore black boxing shorts dotted with little skulls, and his hands were wrapped in black tape that read Death on one fist and Black on the other. Honestly, it was giving middle-school emo vibes, but the crowd ate it up.

“And in this corner,” Purple Suit continued, milking the drama for all it was worth, “we have our undefeated newcomer! With a record of 15-0, he’s taken The Pit by storm since last summer! Let’s hear it for—The Red Hood!”

The roar of the crowd was so loud it actually hurt my ears. Whoever this guy was, they loved him. Into the ring stepped a younger, leaner fighter. His full-face red mask gave him a faceless, almost ghostly vibe. His generic red boxing shorts and matching hand wraps didn’t scream personality, but his presence made up for it.

The way he carried himself felt super familiar. The way he rolled his shoulders and got into his fighting stance. Just his body in general, was familiar. Especially those eyes, I knew those eyes. Everything that could identify him was covered by nude tape/ wrapping so I had no clue who he was, but I knew deep down that I knew him.

Black mask tilted his head in a way that I assume was supposed to come off menacing. But instead to me it made him look corny. The Red Hood ignored him and stood firm in his fighting stance. I didn’t know much about boxing, just small tidbits from watching Jason practice over the years but I could tell he had no openings. At least none that I could see.

Purple Suit didn’t waste any time. “Are we ready for the fight of the year?” he roared into the mic.

The crowd answered with a frenzy of cheers and stomping. “Then LET’S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS!” Purple Suit bellowed before darting out of the ring just as Black Mask lunged forward.

Black Mask was fast—shockingly fast for a guy who looked like he was pushing 40. He swung wide, aiming a devastating liver shot, but Red Hood dodged at the last second. The move sent Black Mask stumbling, looking like an idiot, and the crowd roared with laughter.

He scowled, visibly pissed, and squared up again, rolling his shoulders like that was going to help. This time, he charged for the face, but before he could even wind up, Red Hood ducked under his swing and delivered a vicious shot to his ribs. The sound of Black Mask’s gasp was loud enough to cut through the crowd’s noise. It was the kind of hit that made you wince just watching it.

Black Mask staggered backward, clutching his side, and Red Hood didn’t chase him. He stayed planted, giving his opponent just enough space to regroup. Black Mask took a shaky breath and finally raised his arms to guard, looking a little less cocky now. The two men circled each other, like sharks in the water. Not one of them making a move to attack.

I leaned forward, finally drawn into the fight. Something about the way Red Hood moved had me paying attention, even if I couldn’t quite place why.

Without warning, Black Mask lunged. His arm swung wide, looking like he was aiming for Red Hood’s head. Red Hood reacted instantly, throwing up his arms to block. But it was a fake-out. At the last second, Black Mask kicked out his leg, sweeping it hard enough to send Red Hood crashing backward onto the mat.

The crowd roared, split between cheers and boos. Black Mask pounced, clearly hoping to end the fight right then and there, but Red Hood was faster. He rolled to the side, and Black Mask hit the mat face-first like a sack of bricks. Before he could even think about recovering, Red Hood moved, straddling his back and grabbing a fistful of hair.

Black Mask let out a scream that probably would’ve been funny in any other context, clawing uselessly at Red Hood’s fingers. Red Hood didn’t budge. Calm, steady, and terrifyingly methodical, he pulled Black Mask into a headlock. The room collectively held its breath, and even though I wasn’t exactly rooting for either of them, I knew it was over.

Black Mask thrashed, punching wildly and trying to flip his opponent, but Red Hood’s hold was ironclad. The fight was done, and everyone watching knew it.

I stared at Red Hood’s eyes, trying to see if I could place where I knew such an insane fighter when he looked up and they locked onto my own. He tilted his head in confusion, then I saw his eyes narrow in anger. And that’s when I finally realized who that was. That was Jason.

I gasped, shooting up out of my seat like the bleachers were on fire. “We need to go.”

“What?” Safiya blinked at me, confused.

“We need to go now,” I hissed, grabbing her arm.

“Why? It’s finally getting good!”

“That’s Jason,” I said through clenched teeth.

She whipped her head back towards the ring, where Black Mask was knocked out cold and Red Hood, aka Jason stood over his body, his eyes still trained on me. “Oh shit.” She whispered. “That's Jason.”

She finally got up and grabbed her things. Vic looked at the two of us confused on why we were getting ready to go, “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing, just… something came up.” Safiya said quickly before we both bolted from the bleachers. His protests faded into the background as we scrambled toward the exit, my heart pounding in my ears.

I couldn’t believe I’d been stupid enough to agree to this. What was I thinking? This was why I didn’t leave my room. My instincts were screaming at me the whole way here, and I ignored them. Never again.

“I’m so sorry Isis!” Safiya said next to me. “If I’d known I never would’ve told you to come!”

“It’s fine.” I replied looking around for an exit. “Just know I’m never taking your suggestions for going out again though.”

“Deal.”

We were almost at the exit, so close I could touch the door but a voice called out behind us making us freeze in our tracks, “Isis.” Me and Saf slowly turned around to be greeted by three fourths of the Wayne boys staring back at us.

“Hi.” I mumbled out pathetically.

“Someone wants to talk to you.” Tim said with a smirk as he motioned towards the ring. I look over to see Jason still with the red mask on staring in our direction as the Purple suit guy holds his hands up announcing he was the winner. Even though the mask covered his entire face and I was too far now to see his eyes I could tell he was pissed.

I looked back at the boys with a grimace, “We have to head home.”

“I can drop off Safiya. Jason will drop you off.” Dick spoke up with a grin.

I looked at my friend who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here right now then shook my head no, “It’s fine. I’ll talk to him later.”

“No.” Damian interrupted. “You talk to him now. Dick will drive your friend home.”

I took a deep breath. I could handle talking back to the other brothers, but Damian? No. He was a total basket case. “Fine.” I muttered. “But only for two minutes.”

+++

My leg bounced restlessly as I sat alone in Red Hood’s locker room, the adrenaline in my veins refusing to settle. Tim and Damian had dumped me here five minutes ago, and now all I could do was wait. I told Saf to text me when she got home and she promised she would, so that set some of my fears aside, but now I’ll have to deal with a pissed off Jason. Which was never fun.

Just as I tried to psych myself up for the inevitable showdown, the door flew open with a loud bang, and there he was. Jason, in all his furious glory, sans the red mask. His eyes scanned the room, landing on me in an instant, cornered like a deer caught in headlights.

We stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Finally, I managed a feeble wave. “Hi,” I said, immediately cringing at how stupid I sounded.

“Isis,” he growled, stalking toward me like a predator closing in on its prey. “Are you fucking insane? Why are you here?”

Massively intimidated, I scrambled to my feet. Something about arguing while sitting down just felt like surrender. “I was invited,” I said.

“And so you came?”

“That’s what you do when you’re invited to places, Jason. You go.” I crossed my arms across my chest as a way to shield myself from him.

He looked all over my face like I had lost my mind, “Isis, next time say no when someone invites you somewhere filled with fucking criminals.”

I scoffed, “What are you? My dad? I don’t have to fucking listen to you Jason I barely know you!”

“What kind of bullshit is that? We’ve known each other for years!”

“Yeah,” I shot back, “when we were kids. We haven’t been in each other’s lives for half a damn decade, Jason! So don’t think you can just waltz in and tell me what to do, especially when you canceled on me two hours ago just to come here yourself!”

“That’s different, and you know it!” His voice rose, matching my volume. “I had to fight tonight—it was the only time Black Mask was available! And it doesn’t matter how long it’s been; I can still tell you when you’re being fucking stupid by showing up to dangerous places where you don’t belong!”

“Fuck you, Jason!” I screamed, pushing past him toward the door. “If I don’t belong here, then I’ll just leave!”

His hand shot out, grabbing my arm and stopping me in my tracks. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Home!” I yanked my arm free, glaring at him.

“And how are you planning to do that?”

“Uber! Taxi! I don’t know! I’ll figure it out!”

He closed his eyes for a moment, visibly trying to calm himself. When he spoke again, his tone was softer but no less firm. “I’ll take you home.”

“No thank you.”

“It’s dangerous for you to wait on the street for an Uber in this neighborhood at this hour. Let me drive you.”

“I’ll ask Tim then.” I muttered pulling out my phone getting ready to call him.

“He came on his bike.”

I cursed under my breath and put my phone back in my pocket. “Fine. Drive me home. But do NOT speak to me.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a shirt and some sweat pants from a bag I didn’t notice before that was laying on the ground. “Turn around while I change, then we can go.”

“Fine.” I snapped while turning around. “But don’t take too long, I have shit to do.”

“You have nothing to do,” he muttered. I scoffed but held my tongue because he was unfortunately right. I don’t have shit to do.

+++

Fifteen minutes later, we were in his car, the silence between us so heavy it felt like an extra passenger. Jason kept his eyes on the road, and I kept mine on the window, counting down the minutes until this awkward ride was over.

When we finally pulled up to my house, I unbuckled my seatbelt, eager to escape, but then I noticed him doing the same. I froze.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you to your door.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a dickhead?”

“Debatable,” I muttered. We exited the car and he walked beside me to my front door. I grabbed my keys from my pocket, “Okay well. Bye I guess.”

I made a move to open the door but he grabbed my hand, “Wait.” He said.

I snatched my hand out of his grasp, “Stop grabbing me all the time, damn. What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words coming out gruff but genuine. “For yelling earlier. I didn’t mean to come off so aggressive. I was just…worried. My first instinct is always anger, and I’m trying to work on that.”

“Work harder,” I said flatly.

“I will,” he promised, nodding.

“Good.”

He hesitated for a moment, then held out his arms. “Hug?”

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

“So I know you’re not mad.”

“You’re a child,” I muttered, but I relented, giving him the quickest, least warm hug I could muster. His body heat was dangerously comforting, and I wasn’t about to let that chip away at my resolve.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, backing toward his car.

“We’ll see,” I replied, slipping inside.

I closed the door, pressing my back against it as I listened to the low roar of his engine fading into the distance. Getting rid of this crush was going to be the hardest thing I’d ever do.

Chapter Text

Showing up to work the next morning was more embarrassing than usual. Mostly because when I walked in I had three Waynes waiting to talk to me in the staff room. And I was dressed like a bum while they looked incredible. As always.

“Oh wow!” My mother exclaimed as we walked into the staff room and came face to face with Jason, Tim, and Damian. “All your friends are here Habibti!”

I froze in my tracks as the three boys stared at me and my mother. Jason and Damian were leaning against the way opposite the door and Tim was lounging in one of the arm chairs next to them. They were dressed pretty casual, Jason and Tim were in jeans, Jason wore a hoodie and Tim was in a T-Shirt. Damian was in a pair of black joggers and a black hoodie to match with the hood up. Me on the other hand? I was in the baggiest pair of grey sweatpants I owned and a T-Shirt I got from a Hatsune Miku concert in 10th grade. I wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.

“Hi Mrs. Moreno.” Jason said with his mother pleasing smile.

“Hi Jason.” My mother beamed back at him.

Tim cracked a smile and leaned back against the chair he was sitting on, “Cute shirt.” he said to me. I rolled my eyes.

“Die.” I muttered under my breath. My mother shot me a look so deadly I shut my mouth and looked away quickly. I heard him snicker and glared at the floor. This is so embarrassing.

“Well,” She said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll leave you kids to your little chat. Let me go and get my things then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Mom!” I hissed at her, grabbing her hand before she could leave. “Where do I go? I need to work too.”

“Oh psh.” She waved me off. “Play with your friends.” She winked at me. “I’ll do the cleaning today. It’s a light day anyway.”

Then off she was, shuffling into the hallway with her bucket and mop and I was left alone with the boys. I sighed and sat down at a chair on the other side of the room from them. “Why did you guys decide to ambush me at my place of work?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“We live here, Isis.” Tim said with a grin.

“Yeah but this is the staff section. You guys are never up here.”

“Is that why you hid up here for four and a half years? Because you knew we’d never catch you?” He tilted his head in that dumb way he did when he knew he got you. I hated just how smart Tim Drake was. He caught everything you ever threw at him, it was infuriating.

I ignored his jab. “Again, why are you here?”

“This is our house,” Damian said flatly, finally speaking up. “We can go wherever the fuck we want.”

“Be nice,” Jason interjected.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?”

“Are you gonna make me?” Jason asked, standing up straight from his position on the wall. Damain stood up straight too and squared his shoulders.

“Yeah I just might.” Damian said with a snarl.

“Oh my god, ladies, please be calm. We have company.” Tim said with a sigh. “Sorry Isis, they have no home training.” The two boys backed away from each other but still pinned each other down with cold glares.

“I remember.” I replied, going through all the memories of those two fighting like rabid dogs. For some reason, they could never leave each other alone. But at the same time they despised each other's presence. “Again though, why are you here?”

Jason shrugged, “We’re bored. We thought coming up here to talk to you would be fun.”

I eyed them warrily, not believing it for a second. “Even Damian?” I asked while I pointed at the boy who was currently scrolling through his phone looking bored.

“It was his idea,” Tim said with a mischievous smirk. “He still has a little crush on you from when you used to babysit him back in the day.”

Damian’s head snapped up, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Shut the fuck up, Tim.”

“What? Am I wrong?” Tim leaned back, clearly enjoying himself.

“Immensely,” Damian replied, sneering. “I never had a crush on her.”

“Then what do you call writing poetry about her eyes in your diary when you were ten?” Tim asked, tilting his head in faux curiosity. “I call that infatuation.”

I blinked, thrown off by the sudden revelation. Though, as much as I hated to admit it, it kind of made sense. Damian had always been prickly—sharp-tongued, short-tempered, and perpetually scowling. But there were those rare, almost imperceptible moments of softness. Like how he used to insist on walking me to the bus stop when I babysat him, even though he’d never actually say why. Or how he’d leave crumpled little drawings on the kitchen table after I helped him with his homework, never quite looking me in the eye when I thanked him.

I’d always thought it was just his awkward way of saying he appreciated me. But now? Now I had Tim gleefully blowing that assumption out of the water. A crush? Damian? It felt impossible and obvious all at once, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

Before I could dwell on it too long, Damian launched himself at Tim, locking him in a headlock. Tim didn’t seem fazed in the slightest; if anything, he looked entertained.

Jason sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Tim says we have no home training? Look at them.”

“I need… I need to leave,” I muttered, mostly to myself. This was way too much chaos for me to handle this early in the day.

I stood and made my way toward the door, determined to escape the chaos. But the moment I stepped out of the staff room, I heard the unmistakable sound of three sets of footsteps trailing behind me. So much for getting away.

“Where are you going?” Jason asked, walking next to me.

“I don’t know.” I replied as I kept walking. We were about to exit the staff section of the house and head towards the main building. Where the boys lived.

“Go to the gym, I want to work out.” Damian barked. I furrowed my eyebrows, confused on what that had to do with me but I complied anyway. Not wanting to risk Damian’s ire. He was a scary kid.

“We can’t work out, we’re in jeans.” Tim protested.

“There's always clothes thrown around y’alls bathroom down there. I’m sure you’ll find something.” I mumbled as we made our way downstairs.

“I hope you’re not looking through it.” Tim shot me a look. “That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“I clean your house. Of course I look through it.”

“Creep.” He shuttered.

“I won’t have to if you pick up after yourselves once in a while.”

“What’s the point of doing that when we have people like you to clean it all up for us?” He said with a grin. I ignored his dumb joke and opened the gym doors.

“We’re here.” I mumbled unenthusiastically.

Damian shoved passed me and made his way to the boxing ring in the center of the room, “Tim! Spar!” He barked as he tossed off his hoodies, revealing a plain white wife beater underneath.

Tim groaned, dragging his feet toward the gym bathroom. “So demanding,” he muttered before turning back to me and Jason. Somehow, Jason had managed to migrate to my side without me noticing. Tim’s gaze flickered between us, and his eyes twinkled with barely-contained amusement. “Well, I’ll leave you two to chat. You must have a lot to talk about,” he said, his voice dripping with mischief.

Then he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me alone with Jason, who was watching me. I ignored his stares and turned on my heel ready to leave. But he stepped in front of me, stopping me in my tracks.

“Are you still mad at me?” He asked.

“Yes.” I replied automatically.

“Why? We hugged! That used to work in the past!” He said it like it was a universally agreed-upon fact, his tone somewhere between teasing and exasperated. And okay, fine—when we were kids, maybe I’d been a little too quick to forgive him. Back then, Jason could do the bare minimum—like ruffle my hair or throw an awkward hug my way—and I’d act like he hung the moon. It was embarrassing how easily I folded for him. But that was then.

“Yeah, well, times change,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I avoided his face, fixing my eyes on the gym doors like they were an escape hatch from this increasingly uncomfortable conversation.

Jason sighed, his voice losing some of its earlier confidence. “I know I shouldn’t have called you stupid. I was just worried. I didn’t like seeing you there, around all those dangerous people.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Your entire family are ‘dangerous people,’ but you’re fine with me being around them.”

“That’s different,” he shot back immediately.

“How?”

“We’d never hurt you.”

I tilted my head at him, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm. “Well, you have in the past,” I muttered, my voice low but pointed.

He flinched, the words hitting their mark. “I mean physically,” he corrected quickly. “We’d never hurt you physically.”

I sighed, running my hands down the sides of my pants in an effort to ground myself. I hated confrontation, and this one was already dragging on too long. “I was safe,” I said quietly. “I was with Vic.”

Jason’s expression shifted in an instant, his eyes narrowing. “My Vic?” His voice dropped.

“Yes.”

“He brought you there?” His tone turned darker, more dangerous, and it took me a beat too long to realize the minefield I’d just stepped into.

“Jason, calm down,” I said quickly, holding my hands up as if that might stop him from spiraling. “He didn’t remember me, and he was inviting Safiya anyway. He has a thing for her. She just brought me along because I was ups—” I clamped my mouth shut, my brain catching up with my mouth a second too late.

Jason tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he pieced the rest together on his own. “Because you were what?”

I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly fascinated by the scuff marks on the floor. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Isis.” His voice was firm, insistent, the kind of tone that made it clear he wasn’t going to drop this.

“I was upset yesterday. I got a bad grade on a test, and she knew I needed cheering up.” The lie tumbled out, brittle and unconvincing. It hung in the air, obvious and awkward.

Jason didn’t buy it. I could tell from the flicker of skepticism in his eyes. And worse, I could tell he knew I knew he didn’t believe me. But, to my relief, he let it go, “I’ll have to talk to Vic later about his habit of bringing girls to dangerous mafia hangouts to try and impress them. I told him about that shit in the past anyway so he’s in trouble for doing it still.”

“You gonna kick him out the Outlaws?”

Jason snorted. “Nah. I need his skills—he’s too valuable.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe like this was just another casual chat. “But I will beat his ass.”

“Jason!” I protested, horrified. “That’s mean!”

“I’m in the mafia, Flower,” he said, tilting his head at me with a smirk that shouldn’t have made my heart skip the way it did. “Did you expect me to be nice?”

My breath caught. The words jolted something loose in my memory—another time, another place. We were seventeen, at that stupid party I never should’ve gone to, and Jason had said those same words to me. It was the night he broke my heart, shattered our friendship, and left me feeling like I didn’t know him at all. My stomach twisted at the memory, and I saw the flicker of realization in Jason’s eyes. He knew exactly where my mind had gone.

I cleared my throat, snapping myself back to the present. “I have to go,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “My mom might’ve said I don’t need to clean, but I don’t feel comfortable getting money from your father that I didn’t work for. So, if you’ll excuse me.” Before he could stop me, I darted around him and headed for the stairs.

“Isis, wait—” Jason called after me, but I didn’t stop. My heart pounded like thunder in my chest, each step echoing in the silence.

How was it that I’d spent so long burying that night, only for one stupid sentence to pull it all back to the surface?

Chapter Text

“And then I told him I wasn’t interested, but he was like, ‘Aye shawty, I could rock your world,’ and I was like, Vic, please. I don’t need anyone to rock my world, and THEN—”

I half-listened as Safiya went off about Vic for the hundredth time while we made our way to class. She couldn’t stand that man half the time but still couldn’t seem to pull herself away from him, either. A conundrum, really.

“Just block him,” I said flatly as we approached the business building.

“Nah, because sometimes he can be funny,” she replied with a small smile.

“But you can’t stand him.”

“I can stand him most times,” she corrected as we climbed the stairs. “I just hate it when he tries to go all gangster-mafia on me. Like, he knows he’s a sweetheart. Why does he do that?”

“Saf, it’s not an act. He’s literally in the mafia.”

“But he doesn’t need to act like it!” she shot back dramatically, throwing her hands up. I couldn’t help but laugh. Safiya didn’t always make sense, but she’s my cousin, and I love her, so I let it slide.

Just as we reached the front door, a voice called out my name from behind. We both turned to see Jason jogging up the stairs toward us. My stomach sank. I rolled my eyes and turned around as if I hadn’t seen him. Safiya, in true solidarity, mirrored me, and we kept walking.

“Still ignoring him?” she asked under her breath.

“Yup.” Two weeks and counting. I’d decided after that comment he made, the one that dredged up all those old wounds, that Jason Todd would never get another free pass from me. Not anymore. Not after everything. He’d never once apologized—not for blowing up our friendship in high school and not for the way he hurt me over and over again. I’d spent so long excusing him because of those stupid childhood memories and the even stupider crush I used to have. But no more. I was done being his punching bag and his afterthought.

I know the only reason he’s talking to me is because he’s bored. He thinks it’s funny to flirt with the homely girl who used to have a crush on him. Well, I refuse to be a laughing stock. Never again will he have that power over me.

Jason caught up quickly, those ridiculously long legs of his making my attempt to outpace him completely useless. He slid into step beside me, his presence annoyingly large and impossible to ignore. “Hi, Flower,” he said softly, using that nickname that always managed to worm its way under my skin. My heart betrayed me with a traitorous little flip, but I swallowed it down and kept my eyes forward.

I ignored him and tried to walk faster to class. Poor Safiya was doing her best to keep up with us but she was so little it was hard for her.

“I can tell you’re still mad.” He said. Oh wow! I wonder what gave it away, me not talking to him or me trying to walk 50 mph to get away from him. “Just tell me what I can do for you to forgive me. I don’t want to go four years without speaking again.”

Safiya glared at him, “Apologize!”

“I did! I gave her a hug and everything!”

“Apologize for real!” Safiya shot back. “Like, genuinely! For everything!”

“How can I when she won’t talk to me?” He asked exasperated.

“Figure it out!” Safiya grabbed my arm and pulled me into the classroom, leaving Jason standing in the hallway, probably wondering what just happened. Once we were safely inside and a good distance from the door, Safiya turned to me with wide eyes. “Oh my God, that was so badass of me, right?” she whispered, bouncing on her heels.

I nodded, “Yeah you were so cool. Very masc. It gave protector.”

“I hope he doesn’t burn my house down or, like, shank me for that,” she muttered, her confidence wobbling now that we weren’t in the heat of the moment. “I can’t believe I just yelled at a Wayne. What am I, insane?”

I laughed as we found seats at the back of the room. “Relax. He won’t do anything. Probably. I mean, I don’t really know him like that anymore, but even at his worst, Jason wasn’t the type to burn houses down.”

“Good to know, because I was sweating like a whore in church,” she said, wiping her forehead for dramatic effect.

“What the hell, Saf?”

“It’s an expression!”

“Well, never say it again. Please.”

+++

Later that night, I found myself in the Wayne mansion’s basement, deep in my cleaning routine. The space wasn’t filthy—just a bit dusty—so the job was straightforward: wash the pillows and throw blankets, dust all the nooks and crannies, mop the floor, and call it a night. I specifically chose to come at night because I figured the boys wouldn’t be around. The last thing I needed was to get cornered or, worse, laughed at.

AirPods in, music blasting, I was in my element. The quiet hum of the dryer in the background and the rhythm of Only 1 by Ariana Grande in my ears made the chore oddly soothing. There was something meditative about cleaning an empty room late at night. Just me, the dust, and the muffled melodies. No chaos, no snarky remarks—pure peace.

I dusted the last shelf, singing along under my breath, and checked my watch. Twenty minutes left on the dryer. Perfect. I decided to get a head start on mopping. Normally, I saved that for last, but finishing it now meant I could leave faster. Win-win.

Grabbing the mop meant venturing upstairs to the supply closet. I kept to the staff pathways, making sure to avoid anyone I didn’t feel like dealing with. Once I had the mop in hand, I figured I’d make a quick pit stop at the staff room to snag a donut from Emmet’s secret stash.

I opened the staff room door expecting to be the only one in there but instead I saw my Idol, Chanel Peirce, with giant glasses on, an oversized Hello Kitty T-shirt and pants to match. But the pièce de résistance? She was wearing huge Hello Kitty slippers that meowed with every step she took.

She froze, wide-eyed, staring at me like I’d caught her committing a crime. Meanwhile, I was still processing the fact that Chanel Pierce, the girl who practically floats everywhere looking flawless, could look this… normal. It was almost endearing, but mostly just a shock to my system.

Chanel cursed under breath and smacked her forehead, “I am going to kill Dick,” she grumbled.

I stayed planted in the doorway, still not entirely sure what alternate universe I’d walked into. Chanel Pierce? Here? In that outfit? At this hour? I was starting to wonder if I’d fallen asleep dusting.

Clearing my throat, I managed a polite, “Um, good evening.”

She sighed, clearly defeated. “Hi, Isis.” She knew my name. That alone almost made me grin, but I held it in, trying to play it cool.

“Are you okay? Why are you in the staff room?” I asked, stepping inside hesitantly.

“I wanted to get some water but I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.” She gestured to her outfit. “Dick told me to come here because no one works this late. But obviously he’s a big fucking idiot because you’re here.”

“Well in his defense no one usually does. I just switched my shifts to be late last minute so no one knows except Me. Bruce.” I explained.

Her eyebrows raised knowingly. “Ah, avoiding Jason, huh?”

I froze like a deer caught in headlights. How did she know? “I don’t know what you mean,” I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the floor tiles.

“It’s fine. Dick told me everything,” she said, waving me off as she grabbed the Brita filter from the counter. She filled up an old, slightly battered water bottle that was absolutely plastered with Hello Kitty stickers. “Jason’s been moping around all week because you won’t talk to him. That’s actually why we’re here. Did you ignore him extra hard today or something?”

I winced. “Um… kinda.”

“How badly did he fuck up?”

“Which time?” I snorted.

“Ah, I get it.” She sighed and plopped into one of the chairs, cradling her water bottle like it was a baby. “Dick fucks up all the time too. I swear it’s in their DNA.”

“They’re not blood though.” I said as I sat across from her.

“Yeah well the way they all act the fucking same you would think they were.” She mumbled. Hearing her curse was so cool. She never cursed online. “If I may, let me give you a piece of advice.”

“Sure.” I said sitting up straighter in the chair.

“Try and hear him out. The boys have like no emotional intelligence at all and if you leave him to his own devices he might do something stupid like kidnap and torture a guy to try and make it up to you.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.“Just hear him out. Tell him how you feel, why you’re upset, and give him a chance to process it. If you don’t, he’ll stew, obsess over it, and then—worst-case scenario—you. And you do not want a Wayne obsessed with you. It’s annoying.”

“Sounds like a dream, honestly,” I joked with a giggle. “A rich, powerful guy obsessed with me? Yes, please.” Especially if they looked like Jason.

“That’s what most people think,” she said dryly, sipping from her sticker-covered bottle. “Cute on paper. In real life? No. He won’t even let me pee alone.”

“Oh wow.” The image of Dick following Chanel like a lost puppy popped into my head just then and kind of made me laugh.

“I suggest you talk to him tonight. He should be in the gym beating out his frustrations on the punching bag." She stood up and stretched. I followed suit and got up as well. “No time like the present. Plus the sooner you get him out of his bad mood the sooner me and Dick can leave. Cause I hate staying here, it’s creepy.”

“You really think I should?” I said softly, all humor leaving my voice.

Chanel nodded, “Yes I do. I think Jason really cares about you, in his own sick way. And whatever he did I’m sure was bad, it’s always bad with them. But you owe the both of you the closure you need to move on from this. Also slinking around this house at midnight can not be healthy.”

“Alright, I’ll go talk to him.” I said, my voice filled with resolve. If Chanel says its a good idea, then it must be.

“Great.” She smiled at me. “One last thing, never ever tell anyone what you saw here today.”

“Pardon?”

“My outfit. Never ever tell anyone. You’re now one of three people who know my deepest secret and I’d like to keep the numbers low.” She said pointing at me.

“Got it! My lips are sealed.” I made the zipped lips motion and tossed the fake key for extra emphasis.

“You’re the best.” She grinned. Then the two of us left the staff room together. Chanel made her way towards the bedrooms and I made my way down the gym. It’s now or never.

+++

Jason didn’t notice me at first. He was too busy obliterating the punching bag. His fists slammed into it with an intensity that made me wince, his sweat-drenched hair flopping into his eyes as he moved. The sound of his gloves hitting the bag echoed in the gym, sharp and relentless.

I hovered in the doorway, too nervous to walk in. My palms felt clammy, and I had to remind myself to breathe. Eventually, though, Jason must have sensed me because he growled without even turning around.

“Tim, I swear to God, if that’s you, I’m beating your ass. And Dick can’t help you this time.”

I cleared my throat. “Not Tim. It’s me.”

Jason froze, one gloved hand gripping the bag to steady it. “Finally talking to me?” he asked, his voice cold and distant. He didn’t even bother looking at me.

I shuffled awkwardly into the room, keeping a few feet of space between us. “Yeah, well… someone told me I probably should.”

“Hm.” He ripped off his gloves and tossed them aside. When he finally turned to face me, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. His eyes were tired and guarded, but there was something familiar in them—something raw. It was like looking at the Jason I used to know, the one who would come to me after fighting with his brothers to rant and let off steam.

We just stared at each other for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on us. Finally, I broke the silence.

“You hurt my feelings,” I said softly.

“I know.” He said.

“No, I mean. Four years ago. You hurt my feelings. Actually even before then, before the party. After the Joker incident you kept constantly hurting me and I always brushed it off because I knew you were hurting too. But It started to build up and build up. And after The Pit it just became too much. You never said sorry.”

“I did say sorry.”

“I mean meaningfully. You never actually apologized with heart, ever. And I know it's been years but now that you seem to want to be back in my life I need apologies for everything. All of it. Starting from the beginning. We can’t be friends again until you realize that I’m not one of your little mafia buddies. You can’t just talk to me any which way and expect for it to be okay. I might be quiet sometimes but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with what you do to me.” I held back my tears as all the anger and emotions I'd been building up all these years finally came out. I cried when angry, I was one of those people, but I didn't want Jason to see that. I didn’t want him to think he made me cry even though he did.

He sighed and his eyes softened, “I am sorry. For everything. Especially the party.”

That damn party. Years ago, when we were both seniors in highschool we attended a party. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some random house party. The kind that happened every weekend and started to blur together at some point. What made this one special though was the night before.

Jason had texted me, telling me he needed to see me. So I snuck out of the house and he picked me up and we headed to his apartment, instead of going to the house. At that point I had only been to his place a handful of times. And never at night. So this felt different and special. He led me upstairs and we talked in his living room at first. He didn’t tell me what was wrong, until this day I still don’t really know why he needed me there all I knew was he was upset and I wanted to help make him feel better.

We talked for hours, the kind of conversation where time feels irrelevant. We reminisced about dumb things from school, traded gossip, and mocked people we couldn’t stand. At some point, he opened up about The Outlaws, the group he was putting together under the Justice Society. His voice carried a rare hint of pride when he talked about it, and I remember feeling warm just seeing him excited about something for once.

Eventually, the conversation shifted. We moved from the living room to his bedroom. I don’t even know how it happened—it wasn’t planned. We just ended up there, lying on top of the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That’s when I decided to be bold. Or maybe stupid. We’d been drinking a little, just enough to make me brave, and I told him I liked him. Not in the casual, “you’re cool to hang out with” way. I told him I liked him, liked him.

Jason being Jason, he didn’t say much. Instead, he kissed me. Hard. It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was intense and overwhelming, and it stole every coherent thought from my brain. It was my first kiss. And before the night was over, he became my first… everything.

When I woke up the next morning he was distant and aloof. I just figured he needed time to process what happened so I let it go. Then the party happened.

I went, knowing Jason would be there. I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe some grand gesture, like in the movies. I’d imagined him pulling me aside, confessing that he felt the same way, and we’d live happily ever after.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, when I walked in, I saw him with her. Kori. Her fiery red hair caught the light as she leaned into him, their lips locked in a kiss that felt like a dagger to my chest. It was like the entire world slowed down for a moment, just long enough for my heart to shatter.

I couldn’t believe it. The hurt was raw, immediate, but I managed to pull him aside to ask why. Why would he do this to me?

And all he said was, “I’m in the Mafia. Did you think I was nice?”

That was it. No apology, no explanation. Just that cold, heartless line before he walked away.

He and Kori dated for the rest of senior year. Every time I saw them together—her arm around him, his hand on her back—it was like reopening the wound. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but it broke me a little more each time.

It was the cruelest thing anyone had ever done to me.

“That’s not good enough,” I snapped, my voice trembling with years of pent-up anger and hurt. “Just saying ‘I’m sorry’ won’t erase the hurt and utter embarrassment I felt. I was young and dumb, and I thought I was in love. You used me and crushed me. Then, four years later, you want to act like that didn’t happen?” My laugh was bitter, sharp, and raw. “Yeah, no thanks. You can’t just call me Flower and hug me like nothing happened, like everything is suddenly fine and dandy. Fuck you, Jason.”

The last words came out visceral, like I was spitting venom. I didn’t even realize I could sound so mean, so cutting. But I meant it. Every word.

Chanel was right. Bottling up everything really had made me feel like shit. Now that it was all out in the open, I felt freer, like some impossible weight had finally been lifted off my chest. For the first time in years, I could breathe again.

Jason’s lips parted slightly, and his gaze softened—not with pity, but with something raw and unfiltered. “You… loved me?” he asked, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it.

“Was that the only thing you gleaned from that rant?” I asked, frustrated.

But he didn’t waver, didn’t flinch at my tone. He just stood there, staring at me, and asked again, more insistently this time: “You loved me?”

“Yes dumbass! It was obvious!”

“Not to me.” He muttered.

“Yeah well literally everyone in the world knew but you.” I huffed. I checked my watch and realized the laundry had been down for thirty minutes. “I have to get back to work.”

“You can’t just leave after you drop a bombshell like that on me. We need to talk about it.”

“I’m on the clock.” Then I turned and left the gym. Jason followed closely behind me.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” He asked, desperate.

“I really don't know. I don’t think there's anything you could do.”

“There has to be something.”

I paused walking and turned to look at him, “Right now there's nothing you could do for me that would make me feel better. At least nothing I can think of at this very moment. For now, give me space, stop trying to talk to me and let me breathe.”

He nodded, “Okay. But I will make it up to you. I promise I will.”

“Sure. Whatever.” I stalked out of the gym feeling lighter and better than ever. For the first time in years, I felt like I was truly, finally over Jason Todd. The boy I’d been crushing on all those years ago wasn’t the same man standing before me now, and I realized I’d been clinging to the sweet memories of someone who no longer existed.

Now, I could let those memories go. I could look forward.

And that felt better than anything Jason could have ever said.

+++

The morning light streamed through the blinds, warm and golden, as I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day. For once, I didn’t feel the usual heaviness lingering in my chest. I stretched lazily, enjoying the rare sense of peace, before grabbing my phone from the nightstand.

The moment I unlocked it my screen was flooded with notifications—texts from Safiya, one after another, screaming in all caps.

SOMEONE BURNED DOWN EVERY OTHER RESTAURANT ON YOUR DAD’S BLOCK BUT HIS! LOOK AT THESE PICTURES! WAS IT JASON?!

Confused and still half-asleep, I quickly clicked the link she sent. My stomach churned as I scrolled through the images—photo after photo of burned-out mom-and-pop restaurants that had once lined the same street as my dad’s soul food joint. Charred signs, crumbling walls, ash-strewn sidewalks. The kind of destruction that felt too deliberate, too targeted, to be an accident.

The accompanying article only confirmed it: ‘Supposed Electrical Fire Burns Down Every Restaurant on Fifth Street But One.’

Every single restaurant, except my dad’s.

My hands trembled as I zoomed in on one of the photos. That’s when I saw it—something that made my blood run cold and hot all at once. On the door handle of my father’s untouched restaurant was a small lotus flower.

Next to it, a folded note.

I didn’t even need to open the note to know what it said. Jason. Of course, it was Jason. Who else could pull off something like this?

But still, I couldn’t help but click another photo that had a closer look. I squinted to make out the words scrawled in sharp, familiar handwriting:

I’m sorry.

My throat tightened as I stared at the screen. Ohhh. So this is what Chanel meant.

Chapter Text

“Saf, what do I do?!” I whispered urgently into the phone, my voice shaky as I paced the length of my bedroom.

“I don’t know!” she practically yelled back. “I’ve never had a man burn down an entire block for me before! This is new territory for both of us!”

She wasn’t helping, but I couldn’t blame her. What does anyone even say in this situation? “Some of those shops were friends of ours, Saf! Nice people! And now, because of Jason’s deranged mind, they’ve lost their livelihoods. All because—what? He feels bad?” My voice cracked on the last word. I was spiraling, clutching my phone like it might have answers. “Should I call him? Should I just—?”

“NO!” Safiya practically shrieked, cutting me off. “Are you CRAZY? You call him, piss him off, and he’ll probably come and burn down your house next!”

“Oh my God,” I groaned, collapsing onto the edge of my bed and burying my face in my free hand. My stomach churned, and I started rocking back and forth, trying to will away the nausea. “I think I’m going to throw up. This is—this is insane. I don’t even know how to process this right now.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s just... let’s just stay calm,” Safiya said, but she didn’t sound remotely calm herself. “Maybe it wasn’t him! Maybe this is all a coincidence!”

I froze mid-rock, pulling the phone away for a second just to stare at it. Then I brought it back to my ear. “There was a lotus flower on the door and a note that said ‘I’m sorry.’ Who else could it possibly be?”

“Okay, but—but maybe he left the flower and the note there before everything burned down!” She was really grasping at straws now, and we both knew it. “And then—uh—there really was an electrical fire!”

“That just happened to burn down every single restaurant on the block except my dad’s? Seriously?” I couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped me.

“I’m just trying to be optimistic!” she shot back, her voice high-pitched with panic.

“Optimism is not gonna help right now, Saf,” I groaned, flopping back onto my bed like the weight of the entire situation was physically pressing me down. “What do I even do? I can’t just pretend this didn’t happen, but if I confront him—God, I don’t even know what he’ll do next.”

“Try talking to one of his brothers! Tim seems reasonable!”

“Tim is not reasonable, Saf,” I snapped. “Tim is insane. The entire family is insane. And he’d probably think what Jason did was totally fine because, hello! They were all raised the exact same way. Plus,” I added with a groan, “Chanel hinted the other night that Dick might’ve done something similar for her. I think they all just take apologizing to these insane extremes.”

Safiya let out a long sigh. “I don’t even know what he was trying to accomplish.”

“He was trying to wipe out the competition. Remember that day he walked me to class?”

“Yeah.” Safiya answered hesitantly.

“Well, I told him the reason I wanted to major in business was to help my father’s restaurant get off the ground. I think he remembered that and figured the best way to do it was to burn everything else so that there was zero competition in the market. With no other restaurants on the block everyone has to go to him for food.”

“That’s fucked… and low key romantic.”

“Safiya, be serious!” I exclaimed.

“I am!” She yelled back. “Think about it. He’s a made man. This is his way of trying to impress you and win you back! It’s sorta romantic in a sick way.”

“I’m going to be sick.”

“What exactly happened last night that made him think this was warranted? Because I know school could not have been the catalyst for all this.”

“I reminded him of how wrong he did me at that party. When he hooked up with Kori right after he took my virginity.”

“Ohh… that explains his crash out. Yeah he must’ve been guilt ridden.”

“I mean, he should feel guilty,” I said, pacing again. “But burning down buildings? That’s unhinged. Did he really think I’d just forgive him and—”

A knock behind me made me freeze mid-sentence. Slowly, heart pounding in my chest, I turned to the source of the noise.

It was Jason.

At my window.

My phone slipped out of my hand, clattering onto the floor as I stared at him in utter shock. I could faintly hear Safiya on the other end, her voice rising in panic as she yelled, “ISIS! WHAT HAPPENED? ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW OR I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”

Jason’s lips moved through the glass. “Let me in,” he mouthed.

I just sat there, frozen, staring at him like I’d seen a ghost.

“Please,” he mouthed again, his expression soft and desperate.

“ISIS!” Safiya screamed again, “RESPOND RIGHT NOW OR I’M CALLING 911!”

Her yelling snapped me out of my shock induced freeze up, and I scrambled to grab my phone. “I have to go,” I muttered hastily.

“What? Why—” Safiya started to say, but I hung up before she could finish, still unable to look away from Jason.

I slowly made my way over to my window and cracked it open. “W-why are you here?” I asked.

“Did you see what I did for you?” he asked. He looked… nervous. Like he was confessing to leaving flowers on my doorstep, not, you know, committing arson on an entire city block. He swung his body inside my room and closed the window behind him. It suddenly felt too cramped in here for the both of us.

I decided to try and play coy, to see if maybe I was wrong and Jason wasn’t the one who committed that arson, “See what?”

“I made sure your dad had no competition.” He smiled shyly. I blanched. Oh okay so he is insane.

“Jason…” I started, choosing my words carefully. “Why would you do that to those people?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wavered, my frustration bleeding through. “Some of those restaurant owners were friends. That was their livelihood.”

“I took care of that. I sent them all enough to rebuild and then some for bills in the next coming months. Anonymous donation.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. “If you had enough money to do that, why didn’t you just give it to my dad so he could upgrade the restaurant? I probably would’ve forgiven you then, to be honest,” I muttered, absently twisting the hem of my shirt between my fingers.

“I could still do that if you want. I’ll do anything for you to forgive me Flower.” He said desperately as he stalked closer to me. I stayed rooted in place, too nervous to move as he cupped my cheek.

“Quit fighting.” I whispered.

He blinked, “What?”

“If you really want to get in my good graces, then stop fighting at The Pit,” I said, louder this time. I braced myself for the argument I knew would follow. Fighting was Jason’s thing. His crutch. I remembered when we were kids, how he’d throw himself into street fights just to blow off steam. ‘Fighting helps me cope’ he’d said once. And I believed him. The Joker had left his mark, and Jason had been fighting ghosts ever since.

“Okay.” He whispered. He dropped his hand from my cheek and let it fall to my waist. I froze in shock. The last thing I was expecting was him to agree to that at all. And for me of all people? Why?

“I… I’m serious.” I stuttered.

“So am I. I’ll quit fighting at The Pit.” He placed his forehead on my own and looked into my eyes with an intensity I hadn’t seen since that night when we were 18. “I care about you more than I care about fighting random goons for sport. I’ll figure out something else to help with my fucked up brain.”

I swallowed hard, trying to process what he was saying. “You could try therapy,” I suggested.

He cracked a lopsided smile like I’d just made the funniest joke in the world.

“The way I’m so serious right now,” I said flatly. “You need therapy.”

He laughed—a real, hearty laugh—and then, to my utter shock, he buried his head in the crook of my neck, wrapping his arms around me. His embrace was tight, almost desperate, but it didn’t feel manipulative. It felt like he needed it more than I could understand.

For a moment, I just let him hold me. Not because I’d forgiven him—not even close—but because he seemed so… lost.

After a beat, I broke the silence. “I would also really like that money for my dad, if that’s still on the table.”

Jason laughed into my shoulder, the sound warm and rumbling. “Sure. If it’ll get you to stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said quietly. “I don’t think I’m capable of hating you, unfortunately.” I sighed, my voice turning soft. “I’m just… disappointed. Tired, mostly. You’re exhausting, Jason.”

“Sorry.” He murmured, his breath fanning my cheek.

“It’s okay. I guess it’s what I signed up for when I became your friend.” I shrugged.

Jason’s arms dropped, and he took a small step back, his head tilting slightly as he studied my face. “Are we still friends?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Not like before, no,” I admitted, the words tasting bittersweet as they left my lips. “I can’t be the same old Flower I used to be. I’ve grown and moved on from that part of my life.” I met his gaze firmly, even as my chest ached. “But if you ever need anything, I’ll be here.”

“Need? Like what?” His eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something unreadable, and his gaze lingered a little too long. My face grew hot as I caught the subtle implication in his tone.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, suddenly flustered. “Like… emotional stuff. Stuff you can’t talk to your brothers about.”

“Why the fuck would I talk to them about anything other than work?”

“This is why you need therapy,” I shot back, shaking my head. “You gotta talk about your feelings with somebody.”

“I got you, right?” His voice softened as he spoke, his blue eyes searching mine.

I nodded, hesitantly. “I guess…”

“That’s all I need.”

“That can’t be healthy.”

“Obsession rarely is.”

I froze, his words sinking in slowly. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jason didn’t answer. Instead, his lips twisted into a wide grin that sent a chill down my spine. He backed up toward the window, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Am I gonna see you at Roy’s party tomorrow?” he asked, his voice light, like he hadn’t just dropped that bomb on me.

“I didn’t even know about it until right now,” I replied, blinking at the abrupt shift in tone.

“Well, now you do. You comin’?”

“I’ll think about it.” My answer was automatic, a vague deflection. Realistically, I wasn’t going, but I also knew Jason wouldn’t let it go unless I gave him something.

He climbed half way out my window, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You always do.” I sighed.

“Bye Flower.” Then he was gone. I stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty window, my pulse still racing. When I finally moved, it was to grab my phone. My fingers fumbled as I dialed Safiya. She picked up on the first ring.

“YOU STUPID DUMB ASS BITCH!” She hollered at me.

“Love you too Safiya.”

+++

After Safiya chewed me out for thirty-some-odd minutes for being alone in my room with a confirmed arsonist, we moved on to dissecting what Jason said. Well, most of what he said. I conveniently left out the part about his obsession because the last thing I needed was Saf going full-on scorched earth. She made it clear under no circumstances should I go to that party, and I wholeheartedly agreed. I had no business there. I didn’t want to go anyway. So the next day, I went about my routine—school, cleaning their house, heading home—thinking that was the end of it.

That is until 11 p.m. rolled around, and I got a knock at my window.

I was expecting a text, maybe a call, with Jason asking why I hadn’t shown up. What I wasn’t expecting was him, in the flesh, looking like he’d been dragged through a bush and high as hell.

“Jason?” I opened the window cautiously, my eyes scanning his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess, his shirt slightly askew, and his eyes? Bloodshot and heavy-lidded. “What the fuck?”

Instead of answering, he clumsily climbed in, his movements awkward and uncoordinated, before giving me a look that could only be described as pitiful. “Why didn’t you come?”

“Why are you high?” I countered, shutting the window behind him before anyone noticed my late-night visitor.

“Weed is legal and I needed something else to do now that I can’t fight anymore. I’ve decided to take up smoking.”

“It’s bad for your lungs.”

Jason shrugged, like that was the least of his concerns. “I do a lot of shit that’s bad for me, Flower. Doesn’t stop me.” He pushed past me, kicked off his sneakers without a second thought, and threw himself backward onto my bed like he owned the place.

“Oh, okay, yeah, just make yourself at home, I guess,” I muttered, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

He didn’t respond to my snark. Instead, he mumbled, “Isis, I’m sorry.”

I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, near his head. “I know. You’ve said it a million times.”

“No.” Jason’s voice softened, and for a second, he sounded sober. “I mean about high school. How we ended things. I was being such an asshole and hurting people because I was hurting and I hated that no one else was too. I regretted what I did to you the second I did it but I was too stupid to stop. I didn’t even like Kori. I was just with her because I knew it was hurting Dick.”

“Hearing you say you loved me,” he continued, his voice cracking just a little, “was like a punch in the gut. I hurt the only person I truly cared about, and then to find out she loved me? When I didn’t even like myself?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m such an asshole.”

“Yeah, you were,” I said, because what else was there to say?

“I loved you too, you know,” Jason said, so quietly I almost missed it. He kept his eyes on the ceiling like he couldn’t bring himself to look at me. “I guess I just didn’t realize it until now.”

My breath caught in my throat. Did I hear that right? He loved me? My ears were ringing, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. I stared at him, frozen in place, my mind reeling.

This was the exact thing I’d dreamed of hearing ever since I was young and stupid and so deeply in love with Jason Todd that it hurt. Back then, I imagined moments like this in every variation possible: grand confessions in the rain, soft whispers under the stars, even just a quiet “I love you” while we sat on my crappy couch watching reruns of old shows. I’d dreamed of it a million times—but now that it was here, I couldn’t move.

I finally managed to speak, but my voice came out small, like it didn’t belong to me. “You… did?”

He turned his head to look at me then, his expression soft in a way I wasn’t used to seeing. Vulnerable. It made my heart ache. “Yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “I just didn’t know how to deal with it back then. I didn’t know how to deal with anything. So I pushed you away instead.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to process his words. My chest felt too tight, like it couldn’t contain the storm of emotions raging inside me. Relief. Sadness. A flicker of hope. But most of all, disbelief that the moment I had built up in my head for so long was actually happening, and it was so different than I had ever imagined.

“I…” My voice trailed off. What was I even supposed to say? That I’d loved him for so long that the memory of it still lingered in the back of my mind, no matter how much I tried to move on? That I’d wanted to hear those words from him for years?

Jason didn’t push me to speak. He just lay there, watching me quietly, waiting for me to process whatever the hell this was.

“Why now?” I finally asked.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what it would’ve been like if I’d been better,” he said, his voice low.

It was like a bomb went off in my brain. My chest felt tight, my head swimming with emotions I couldn’t even begin to sort through. This was all too much for one night. I felt like I was being hit with everything I’d ever wanted and everything I’d tried so hard to forget, all at once.

“Oh. Um,” I stammered, struggling to string together a single coherent thought. Words were failing me, slipping through my fingers like water. “I don’t… I mean, I—”

Jason’s lips on mine cut me off mid-fumble.

It wasn’t tentative or testing the waters; it was confident, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t wait any longer. His hands came up, one cupping the side of my face while the other curled around the back of my neck, pulling me closer like I might slip away if he didn’t anchor me in place.

I froze at first, shocked by the suddenness of it. But then something in me cracked open, and all the emotions swirling inside—confusion, anger, longing—poured into the kiss. My hands found his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly, like it was the only thing grounding me.

He tasted like weed and desperation, but somehow, it wasn’t unpleasant. It was Jason. And that was enough to make my heart feel like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest.

His lips moved against mine with a fervency that made my head spin. He kissed me like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words all at once. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing heavily. His thumb brushed against my cheek, and his voice was soft when he finally spoke. “Hope that makes up for last time.”

“We should probably do it again just to make sure.” I said breathlessly.

Jason grinned and then reconnected our lips again. 

Chapter Text

“You stupid slut.” Safiya shook her head, perched on my computer desk chair like the judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. I hung my head in shame, arms crossed defensively, as she began her lecture.

“He literally burned down half a block two days ago,” she continued, her voice dripping with disbelief, “and you decided it would be a good idea to make out with him?”

“Well, in my defense—”

Her hand shot up, effectively silencing me. I snapped my mouth shut, already knowing I was doomed.

“There’s no good defense for this, and I can prove it,” she declared, “Let’s go over the events of the last three days so you can see how dumb you look right now. Day 1: You remind him of how wrong he did you in high school. Rightfully so. It was warranted and needed. He responds by BURNING DOWN THE BLOCK as some twisted form of ‘sorry.’” She air-quoted the word with so much disdain I shrank into myself.

“Day 2,” she continued, counting off on her fingers, “he knocks on your window, admits it was him, and y’all have a little chatty chat about friendship and whatever. You tell him you can’t be like you used to be. You set boundaries. You draw a line in the sand!”

I already knew where this was going, and I wanted to disappear into the floor.

“Day 3,” she said, her voice rising to an accusatory yell, “YOU START HUMPIN’ AND GRINDIN’?”

I flinched like she’d physically slapped me, my cheeks burning. “Well, when you put it like that, it makes it seem dumb,” I mumbled.

She scoffs, “Um well because, IT IS!” She threw her hands up in the air exasperated. “Be honest. Did y’all have sex?”

“What?! No!”

“Don’t yell at me! It’s not like y’all haven’t done that before.” She crossed her arms and stared me down.

“Too far.” I shook my head.

“No, what was too far was you kissing that man. He’s insane!”

“He kissed me!” I protested, as if that somehow made it better.

“And you kissed back!” she shot back. I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out because, well, she wasn’t wrong.

“And probably more, too!” she added, narrowing her eyes. “I see that hickey, bitch!”

I slap my hand over my neck automatically. I didn’t think it was visible. “W-We didn’t do anything but kiss!”

“Why would you kiss him regardless! He did you so wrong!”

“He’s hot!”

Safiya threw her hands up in the air, “Oh my god. This bitch is stupid.”

“I called you to debrief, not to get yelled at,” I muttered, pouting like a scolded child as I focused on the floor.

Safiya wasn’t moved. “I’m family. Sometimes family needs to knock some sense into you before you ruin your damn life.”

“We are not blood-related at all,” I pointed out.

“Shut up!” she huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She glared at me for a moment, clearly trying to piece together her next words. “Well, what now? Y’all dating or something?”

“No. Just friends.”

Safiya’s scoff was so loud and dramatic it was almost theatrical. She rolled her eyes for good measure. “Just friends. Sure. That’s the same thing I told my mom about that boy from summer camp, and you know how that ended.”

“Saf,” I sighed, already exasperated.

“See, this is why I’ve been telling you to come out with me to the clubs and find yourself a real man.”

“I don’t do clubs, Saf.” I reminded her. The last time I went to a club was for my 22nd birthday. It wasn’t fun or cute. An old man, probably my father’s age, hit on me the entire night. Trying to buy me drinks and shit. And then when I finally accepted his offer of a free drink he thought that meant he had free reign to touch me however he wanted! It took Safiya and two men to pry me off of him at the end of the night because of how close I was to breaking his nose. “I also wouldn’t want to find a man at a club anyway. They’re degenerates.”

“Not if we go somewhere fancy.” She leaned closer and her eyes twinkled. “See we always go to shitty clubs like Backlight or 42. But tonight I say we go to The Obsidian lounge.”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “There’s no way in hell we’re getting in there.” The Obsidian Lounge wasn’t just a club—it was Gotham’s crown jewel of exclusivity. Getting in there required either knowing somebody or shelling out a small fortune to bribe the bouncers. Neither of which applied to us seeing as we’re nobodies who don’t know anyone and we’re also dirt poor.

“Vic said he could get us in,” she said smugly.

Of course. I should’ve known. “Do you actually like this boy, or are you just using him for his connections?”

“Shush. That’s not the point,” she said, waving off the question like it was irrelevant. “Yes or no?”

“No thanks,” I said firmly. “Not my scene. Plus, I don’t want a man right now.”

“Obviously, you do,” Safiya shot back without missing a beat, “otherwise you wouldn’t have been bumping nasties with the Wayne.”

“That’s different,” I said defensively, even though I didn’t have a solid follow-up for exactly how it was different.

“How?” Saf asked, leaning forward with her arms crossed like she was cross-examining me. “Listen, Isis. You keep saying you want to get over him, but you’re not doing anything to actually get over him. This is your chance to go out there, meet someone new, and remind yourself that there’s more to life than Jason Todd. Look, I’m not saying you’re going to find your husband in one night, but it’s a start. You’ve got to branch out.”

Ugh. She was right, of course. Safiya’s always right when it comes to this kind of stuff, and it’s honestly the most annoying thing about her. I was too hung up on Jason, constantly telling myself I’d move on, but then kissing him last night? That was a huge step in the wrong direction.

“Fine,” I sighed, dragging the word out like it was physically painful to say. “I’ll go.”

+++

It was just a club. That was the mantra I kept repeating to myself as I stood at the bar in The Obsidian Lounge, nursing my apple martini and trying not to feel like I’d made a colossal mistake. Sure, it was nicer than the rundown spots Safiya usually dragged me to, but at the end of the day, it was still just a club: overpriced drinks, too-loud music, and way too many people who thought they were hotter than they actually were.

And I’d wasted such a cute outfit on it.

The black bodycon dress with dark blue flowers had been a last-minute find, but it made my tummy look flat for the first time in forever. Plus, Safiya and I had spent three hours straightening my hair until it was so smooth and shiny I barely recognized it. My makeup was flawless too—Saf had gone all out with blending and contouring like she was trying to win an award.

But all that effort? Completely wasted on this boring, underwhelming night.

I sighed, swirling the last bit of my martini around in the glass, watching the tiny green apple slice bob lazily in the liquid. Across the room, Safiya was having the time of her life with Vic. They were dancing like they were the only two people in the entire club. I didn’t have the heart to interrupt her, even though I was counting down the minutes until I could leave. It had taken me a solid 15 minutes just to convince her I was fine on my own, and I wasn’t about to ruin her night because I was bored.

I took another sip of my martini—the only saving grace of this entire evening—and held back another sigh. At least the drink was good.

“That kind of night, huh?”

The voice startled me. Deep and smooth, it cut through the pounding bass of the music and made me turn to see who it belonged to. Standing next to me was a man—handsome enough to make me momentarily forget my existential crisis. He was tall, not Jason-level tall, but enough to make me crane my neck a little. His shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, hinting at a well-built frame, and his locs—short and neat, stopping right around his jaw—framed his face perfectly.

He looked good. Too good. And he was talking to me?

“Yeah,” I replied with a small grin, trying to act like I wasn’t fazed. “Not really feeling the vibe tonight.”

Feeling the vibe? Who says that anymore? I mentally face-palmed. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Safiya leave me alone. Clearly, I wasn’t equipped for this.

He chuckled, flashing a set of impossibly white teeth. “I get it. This place isn’t usually this dry.”

“You come here often?” I asked, taking another sip of my drink for courage.

“Yeah, pretty often. You?”

“Nah, first time.”

He leaned against the bar casually, his body language so relaxed it almost put me at ease. Almost. “Hm. Thought so. I’d definitely remember if I’d seen you here before.”

My face burned instantly. Was I blushing? God, I was blushing. I fumbled for something to say but landed on, “Really?” Like a total amateur.

“Of course.” His eyes raked down my down then back up. “You’re pretty memorable after all.”

I giggled like a loser and tucked a hair behind my ear. “I’m Isis.” I said shyly.

“Isis,” he repeated, like he was testing it out. “Pretty name,” He held out his hand for me to take. “I’m Virgil but my friends call me Static.”

“Static?” I raised an eyebrow, shaking his outstretched hand. “What are you, a rapper or something?”

He grinned wide, the kind of grin that could probably melt ice caps. “You see a fine Black man with a nickname, and you automatically assume rapper?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No! I mean… yes? Kind of? Why do they call you Static, then?”

“Well,” he began, leaning in like he was about to tell me some big secret. “Funny story—when I was little, I had…” His voice trailed off, and his brow furrowed as he looked past me.

“What?” I asked confused.

“Uh, one of the Wayne boys is storming over here and he looks pissed.” Static answered.

I whipped around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. And there he was—Jason—making a beeline for me like I owed him money. His jaw was set, his eyes were blazing, and he had that walk. The one that screamed somebody’s about to get it. My stomach sank.

Behind him, Tim trailed with a grin that looked like he was thoroughly entertained, and Damian followed looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Perfect. Everyone decided to make an appearance tonight.

I turned back to Static, trying for an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

He tilted his head, confused. “For what?”

“For whatever the hell is about to happen.”

“ISIS!” Jason’s voice boomed from behind me, loud enough to make several people turn and stare.

I took a deep breath before pivoting to face him, plastering the fakest smile I could muster on my face. “Boys,” I greeted, forcing a cheeriness I didn’t feel. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Jason snapped, his glare cutting through me like a knife.

“Clubbing.”

“Who the fuck is that?” It took me a second to realize he was pointing at Static. I glanced over my shoulder at Virgil, who looked so very confused.

“This is my new friend, Virgil. But his friends call him static.”

“Static?” Tim asked, his grin widening as he joined the conversation. “Why do they call you Static?”

“Well, funny story actually,” Static began, his smile returning as he leaned casually against the bar. “When I was a kid I—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jason interrupted, his voice sharp. His eyes never left mine as he jabbed a finger in Static’s direction. “Why are you here with him?”

I folded my arms and stared back at him, doing my best to stay calm. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you’re here with him,” Jason shot back, emphasizing the last word like it was an insult.

“Listen, if y’all got something going on I am more than happy to leave.” Virgil spoke up, raising his hands in a surrender.

“We don’t,” I snapped at the same time Jason barked, “Good. Leave.”

My jaw clenched as I turned to Jason, my arms crossing automatically. “We are not together. You have no right to tell me who I can and can’t hang out with.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Not together?” he repeated, his voice low and sharp enough to cut glass.

“Yeah,” I said firmly. “We aren’t. So leave me and Virgil alone. We’re gonna go dance.”

Before Jason could say another word, I grabbed Virgil’s arm and dragged him onto the dance floor. My heart was pounding, partly from nerves and partly from anger. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Damian looking thoroughly disinterested, sipping on a beer like this was the world’s dullest soap opera. Tim, of course, was grinning ear to ear like he was at a comedy show. Jason, though? Jason looked ready to snap, his eyes locked on me with a heat that made me whip my head forward and focus on weaving through the crowd.

We reached the dance floor where Safiya and Vic were, and I immediately sidled up next to her. She leaned in, eyes wide. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” I whispered back, panic creeping into my voice. “He just got mad all of a sudden! I don’t even know why he cares!”

“How do you know Jason?” Vic asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to piece it together.

“We’re old friends,” I answered, trying to sound casual.

Vic stared at me for a moment, his face shifting as realization dawned. His eyes went wide. “OH SHIT! FLOWER?!”

“Yup,” I said with a sigh, already knowing where this was going. “That’s me.”

Vic immediately dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “Oh god. He’s gonna kill me.”

Safiya patted his back comfortingly, though her expression was more amused than sympathetic. “Yeah, probably,” she said lightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were you!” He wailed.

“I said my name! It’s not my fault you forgot who I am.” I said with a sniff.

“Don’t worry about it babe.” Safiya said to him. “Let’s just have fun tonight. You can worry about your impending death tomorrow!”

“Easy for you to say. He’s not glaring a hole into your back right now.” Vic mumbled. But either way he conceded and the two of them walked away hand in hand towards the other bar.

I turned around to Virgil who had been standing there quietly the whole time. “Sorry,” I said, wringing my hands together nervously. “I know we just met, and I didn’t mean to drag you into… whatever this is.”

Virgil waved it off with a shrug and a small, understanding smile. “No, no, it’s cool. I should’ve figured a girl as fine as you wasn’t single.”

I could practically feel my cheeks burst into flames. “Oh, I’m not taken,” I said quickly, laughing in a way that was definitely not smooth. “I promise.”

“Ex, then?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied me.

“No, nothing like that,” I replied, shaking my head. “We used to be… best friends.”

Virgil chuckled, glancing over toward the bar. “Best friends don’t usually look at each other the way he’s looking at you right now.”

Against my better judgment, I peeked over at Jason. Yep, still staring, his expression as intense and unreadable as ever. Meanwhile, his brothers had clearly moved on—Tim was leaning against the bar, chatting up some poor girl who didn’t know what she was in for, and Damian had retreated to a corner to play pool. But Jason? He was exactly where I left him, laser-focused, like I was the only thing in the room.

I turned back to Virgil, flustered. “He’s just…” I trailed off, struggling to find the right words. How could I explain Jason’s behavior when even I didn’t understand it?

“Well,” Virgil said after a beat, clearing his throat. “If I’m gonna die tonight because I talked to a pretty girl, might as well make it worth it. Wanna dance? Since we’re just kinda standing here anyway.”

“Sure!” I grinned shyly.

At first, it was awkward. Not because of him—Virgil had this effortless cool about him—but because I am always awkward. My moves felt stiff, like I was thinking too hard about every step, every sway, every anything. But then, as the music pulsed around us and he cracked a joke about my “serious” dance face, I relaxed. It stopped being a performance and started being fun.

He was so funny. The kind of funny where you laugh until your sides hurt and your cheeks ache from smiling too much. It didn’t take long for me to forget all about Jason and his intense, brooding stare. Virgil had me too busy trying not to laugh-snort on a crowded dance floor.

Then the music shifted. The high-energy beat faded into something slower, smoother. The kind of music that felt intimate, even in a packed club. I didn’t even register the change until Virgil’s hand slid to my waist.

“Hope you don’t mind.” Virgil said softly, referring to his hand.

I shook my head, “No I don’t.” I said a bit shyly. Then I hesitantly returned the favour by wrapping my arms around his neck. I wasn’t sure if that was proper club etiquette but It felt right to do.

If he thought it was weird, he didn’t show it. He just smiled, a small, warm grin that made my stomach flip. His eyes scanned my face, lingering on my lips for a beat too long to ignore. The air between us felt charged—not in an uncomfortable way, but in a way that made me suddenly hyper-aware of how close we were. Time seemed to slow down and I think it dawned on me that I was about to become like those people I see online who say they makeout with strangers in the club. And honestly I didn’t really mind. Usually I would be against it, but Virgil is fine and funny. Two good qualities.

He leaned down and connected our lips together softly. It was nice, but before anything could really actually happen a crash erupted on the other side of the room. We sprang apart and I whipped my head in the direction it happened.

He was fuming, his fists clenched at his sides while Damian and Tim held him back. Tim looked like he was trying to talk him down, but Jason’s eyes were locked on me, wild and angry. He was trying to push him way over here. Over to me.

Oh god. I had completely forgotten he was still here.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, my stomach sinking.

“Maybe you should go deal with that.” Virgil said, slightly concerned.

“Yeah, I should.” I sighed. I can’t believe Jason and his stupid anger issues just ruined my night. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool. I thought he would’ve tried something as soon as I touched you to be honest.” He shrugged. “Before you go lemme get your socials.”

I rattled off my instagram name and he saved it in his phone. “Hopefully we can talk again.” He said with a smile.

“I would like that.” I grinned. Another crash sounded from the bar and I flinched.

“I’ve gotta go,” I said hurriedly, already backing away. “Bye, Static.”

“Bye, pretty,” he called after me.

I rushed toward Jason and his brothers, my heart pounding with every step. Damian saw me coming first and let out a dramatic groan, rolling his eyes as he released his hold on Jason’s arm. “There, she’s here now. You happy?” he snapped at Jason, who ignored him entirely, his furious gaze locked on me. Tim saw me next and let out a visible sigh of relief, quickly dropping Jason’s other arm like he didn’t want to be collateral in whatever explosion was brewing.

“Do something,” Tim practically begged, his voice low but urgent.

I nodded without a word and grabbed Jason’s wrist, my fingers wrapping around his like it was the only way to stop him from combusting. He was tense, practically vibrating with restrained fury, but he let me pull him toward the back exit without a fight.

The door slammed shut behind us, the muffled bass of the club fading into the background as we stepped into the crisp autumn night. The alley was quiet except for the occasional distant honk of a car and the faint rustling of leaves. For a second, I thought we might actually have a calm conversation. That illusion shattered the moment Jason spun on me, his voice erupting like a thunderclap.

“Isis, what the fuck was that?”

I stood there in shock for a second at just how angry he was until I finally spoke up, “Jason I really don’t see what the big deal is—”

“I let it go,” he cut me off sharply, his words spilling out like a dam had burst. “I let it go when I followed you here and saw you dressed like this—looking good as fuck but showing it off to everyone but me. I let it go when I saw you talking to that fucking loser virgin or whatever his damn name is. I let it go when you grabbed his fucking hand to drag him to the dance floor. I even let it go when you fucking danced.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower but no less heated. “But then you let him touch you? And then he fucking kissed you?”

There was so much to unpack in what he’d just said that my brain short-circuited. I focused on the last part because it felt like the simplest. “So what?!” I shot back, throwing my hands in the air. “People do that at clubs. They kiss strangers!”

“No. Not you. You’re not allowed.”

The sheer audacity of his words made my jaw drop. “What? And why not?” I demanded, my annoyance bubbling over. “I’m a grown woman, Jason. I can do whatever the fuck I want!”

“YOU’RE MINE!” he roared, the declaration echoing off the brick walls of the alley.

I froze, every nerve in my body lighting up like a live wire. “I’m sorry, I’m what?” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re fucking mine, Isis,” he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you think you’re gonna let any fucking guy come around and touch you?”

“I-I’m so confus—”

“From now on.” Jason interrupted me. “If I see you touch that motherfucker again– actually scratch that. If I see you touch any fucking man again that isn’t me, I will kill them and their entire fucking family. Then I’ll destroy anything that remains of them that exists. You’re mine, Flower. Don’t ever fucking forget it.”

Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys, shoving them into my hand. “Go to my car. It’s parked on the street. We’re going home. But I need to go back inside and deal with some shit. And don’t even think about arguing with me right now, Isis. I am two seconds away from snapping and killing that motherfucker.”

Too shocked to argue, I nodded wordlessly. Jason’s fiery gaze softened for just a moment as his eyes roamed over my face.

“Sorry I yelled,” he muttered, his tone softer now. And then he grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim, a brand, a storm packed into a single moment. His lips crashed against mine with a heat that left no room for second-guessing. He kissed me like he wanted to erase every other kiss I’d ever had, like he wanted to make sure I never thought about anyone but him again. His hands framed my face, his thumbs brushing gently against my cheeks even as the kiss consumed me.

My knees nearly gave out from the sheer intensity of it, but Jason held me steady, his grip unyielding. Time seemed to stop, the world narrowing down to just the two of us in that dimly lit alley. When he finally pulled back, I was left breathless, my lips tingling and my heart racing like I’d just run a marathon.

He stepped away without another word, the fire in his eyes banked but not extinguished. As he stalked back into the club, his shoulders still tense with barely restrained anger, I was left standing there in the cool night air, trembling from head to toe.

I stared at the keys in my hand, my mind spinning. I needed to talk to Chanel. I needed to figure out what the hell I’d just gotten myself into because this…this was a lot.

Chapter Text

The car ride was awkwardly quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of the radio and the faint clink of the strap on my purse as I fiddled with it. I texted Safiya to let her know I was leaving early with Jason, and her response came almost immediately: “Yeah, I figured. Is he driving you home so y’all can fool around or so that he can lock you in his basement forever?” I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond.

I stole a glance at Jason out of the corner of my eye. His knuckles were practically glowing white as he gripped the steering wheel like it had personally offended him. The veins on his hands and forearms stood out sharply, and his jaw was so tight I thought it might shatter. I quickly looked away, turning my attention to the blur of trees outside the window.

Jason gets mad—I mean, he’s Jason, of course he does—but this felt different. His anger was usually quick and loud. This? This was something else entirely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this pissed for this long.

I bit my lip, debating whether I should say something. Probably not, right? But the tension in the car was suffocating. “Can I ask a question?” I mumbled, keeping my voice low. “And you promise not to get mad? Or…more mad, I guess.”

Jason’s eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. “I can’t promise anything,” he replied, his voice gruff and still tinged with anger.

Not exactly reassuring, but okay. “Uh, where are we going?” I asked cautiously.

“Home,” he said shortly.

I frowned, glancing at the road ahead. “You missed the turn for my house,” I pointed out.

“My home,” he clarified, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The apartment.”

Oh. Oh no. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Alone?” I asked, my voice coming out a little higher-pitched than I intended.

Jason turned his head just enough to glance at me, his gaze piercing even in that brief moment. “Is that an issue?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm but layered with enough weight to make my stomach flip.

I shook my head quickly, my words tumbling out in a rush. “N-nope. It’s fine. Totally fine. Super fine. Just great. Amazing, even.”

His lips twitched—just barely—but he didn’t say anything, turning his attention back to the road. I let out a silent breath of relief and sank back into my seat, mentally kicking myself for sounding so much like a babbling idiot.

A few moments of silence passed again before Jason spoke, startling me, “I’m sorry for how aggressive I was. I’m just… mad.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, still not sure where this was going. “I can see that.”

He let out a sharp breath, like he was trying to steady himself. “I just really like you, Isis. And I was going to tell you today, but you never texted me back. Then Tim showed me Safiya’s story, and I saw you were going out to a club. I had this bad feeling, so I followed you. And when I got there, I saw you with that guy, and I just—” His voice broke off, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I saw red. Why would you let him touch you after we were together yesterday? I thought I made it clear how I felt last night.”

My mouth fell open, but no words came out. First at his confession, then at the accusation laced in his tone. “I—uh—huh?” was all I could manage.

“Why would you do that to me? Is it revenge? For high school? Because if it was I get it, it fucking hurts like hell.” He laughed joylessly as he turned into his apartment complex parking lot.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything to you, Jason.” I admitted. “I didn’t know you liked me. We’ve fooled around before and you didn’t have feelings for me back then.”

“Of course I had feelings for you, Flower! Why else would I give you that fucking nickname?!”

“I don’t know!” I shot back, my voice rising to match his. “Because we were best friends?”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’ve liked you since middle school, Isis. Since middle school. But you never gave me the time of day!”

I blinked at him, my mind racing to process everything he was saying. “Hold the fuck up. I—what?”

“It’s true!” Jason said, parking the car with a sharp turn into the space. He turned to face me, his blue eyes blazing. “I hit on you all the fucking time, and nothing ever happened until after—” His voice caught, but he pushed through. “Until after I came back from the Joker incident. I was hurt, broken, and you didn’t say you liked me until I wasn’t even the same Jason anymore. That… that messed me up, Flower.”

I sat up straighter in my seat, my chest tightening at the weight of his words. “Jason,” I began, my voice trembling with equal parts disbelief and frustration. “I was in love with you for half of my life. You never gave me the time of day. Then, after I confessed how I felt, you turned around and dated Kori for all of senior year. Do you know how that felt? How confusing that was? How much it made me question everything?”

“I just thought you liked me because I changed! And I told you already, I was hurting so bad I wanted everyone else to hurt too.”

We sat there looking at each other in silence, the revelation hanging in the air between us. My mind was reeling from this. Jason has always liked me? Since middle school? Just like I’ve always liked him?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did, remember.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“That moment in your apartment, when it was just us two talking and reminiscing about old times just felt right. You felt like old Jason again, and it was late at night and you know I used to read all those cheesy YA romance novels.”

Jason’s face softened just a little, and he nodded. “I do. You were obsessed.”

“I was,” I admitted, a faint smile tugging at my lips before fading again. “And that night, it felt just like one of those moments they talk about in the books, you know? So I said it. I told you how I felt. To be honest, I was already starting to lose feelings by then. After you came out of the hospital and got so…” I trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

“Mean? Aggressive?” Jason supplied, his voice low but not defensive.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But that night, you were nice and sweet again, and it felt like the right time to tell you. I guess I was wrong.” I shrugged, trying to downplay the sting of the memory. He winced.

“You weren’t wrong,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer. “I was. I was just so… messed up back then. I didn’t know how to deal with everything, and I didn’t know how to handle you telling me something I wanted to hear for years but didn’t think I deserved anymore.”

“You didn’t deserve it?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. “Jason, I told you because I thought you did. Because I thought we finally—” I stopped, my words catching in my throat. “Never mind.”

“Say it,” he pressed, his gaze snapping back to mine. His eyes were intense, searching, like he needed me to spell it out for him.

I sighed, fiddling with the strap of my purse again, my fingers clumsy and restless. “I thought we finally had a chance,” I admitted, my cheeks burning. “That after all those years of dancing around each other—”

“Dancing?” Jason interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Not literally,” I clarified, rolling my eyes. “You know what I mean. All those almosts and what-ifs and mixed signals. I thought we were finally going to get it right. But then you—” My voice broke off, and I had to take a deep breath. “You pulled away. You chose Kori. And I thought, okay, I guess I was wrong. I guess I didn’t matter as much as I thought I did.”

Jason’s head snapped back like I’d slapped him. “You’ve always mattered,” he said, his voice sharp, almost desperate. “I don’t know how you can think you didn’t. Flower, you’re the only person who’s ever—” He stopped himself, exhaling hard through his nose. “You’re the only one who’s ever really known me. Even back then, when I didn’t know myself.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening all over again. “Then why?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Why did you do me like that?”

“I’m sorry, Isis.” He whispered.

I couldn’t look at him anymore. My gaze dropped to my hands as they toyed with the strap of my purse, the repetitive motion the only thing keeping me grounded. “Can we go inside, please? These heels are killing me,” I said quietly.

He nodded and unlocked the door for me. We exited his car and walked inside the complex together. It was a silent walk, but not an awkward one. I guess now that everything was out in the open I was too busy thinking hard about everything we just discussed.

He led me towards the elevator where we both got in together. He pressed the top floor button, penthouse suite, because of course he upgraded to the penthouse. We stood at opposite ends, me looking at the wall in front of me like it was the most interesting thing on the planet, and Jason had his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at his feet.

We stayed like that for about two seconds before he pushed off the wall and stalked towards me like some sort of predator. It startled me, “Oh! What happened?” I asked.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He blurted out.

“Huh?”

“Do you. Want to be. My. Girl. Friend?” He enunciated every word as if the issue with his statement before was that I couldn’t hear him and not the fact that he asked me to be his girlfriend.

“This is so sudden! You can’t just ask me something like that so randomly–”

“Flower.” He stopped me, walking even closer. So close in fact I could smell his cologne and the faint mint in his breath, “It’s a yes or no answer. Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“I—I need to think about things,” I stammered, my words tumbling over each other. “A-and I have to discuss it with Safiya and Chanel and my mother—”

“Yes or no,” he said again, cutting me off. His tone was gentle but insistent, leaving no room for excuses or overthinking.

“Yes,” I blurted, the word leaving my lips before I could second-guess it.

Jason didn’t wait a second longer. He descended on me, his lips crashing into mine with a force that stole the breath from my lungs. I gasped, startled by the intensity, and he took advantage of the moment, his tongue slipping into my mouth. Heat flared between us, and I melted into him, my hands sliding up to loop around his neck. His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers digging in like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. He pushed himself flush against me, until there was no space left between us, just the overwhelming closeness of him and the way he made me feel like I was on fire in the best way possible.

Safiya is going to kill me.

He trailed kisses down my jawline, kissing a trail of fire towards my neck, his breath hot and uneven. His hands roamed down my sides, causing shivers to run down my spine, and he paused just above my collar bone, as if asking for permission. I tilted my head back to give him access, and he bit down on the sensitive skin of my neck before sucking on it gently, pulling a low moan from the back of my throat.

Just as things were starting to get really heated, a loud gasp snapped us out of the moment. We broke apart, both of us a little disheveled and flushed, and my heart dropped as I realized the elevator door was open, revealing a mortified maid staring at us. Oops. Jason cleared his throat and stepped away.

I was absolutely mortified. I hid my face behind my purse as Jason grabbed my hand and pulled us out of the elevator and to his house.

“Oh my god,” I whispered once we were safely out of sight. “That was so embarrassing. She’s going to tell everyone. I just know it.”

Jason didn’t even flinch. “The staff here is discreet,” he said, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Don’t worry, she won’t talk.”

“That’s not the point!” I hissed. “We probably looked like a couple of drunk idiots! I’m going to be a cautionary tale in their break room. ‘Don’t end up like that girl in the elevator.’ Oh my goodness.”

Jason snorted as he unlocked the door, a grin tugging at his lips. “Trust me, the way Roy used to bring girls here, they’ve seen worse.” He paused, his grin vanishing. “Roy,” he growled, his tone suddenly dripping with menace.

“Huh?” I blinked, trying to process the abrupt mood shift.

Jason pushed the door open with more force than necessary. “He crashes here sometimes. All the time, actually. Especially since I’m usually at the manor.”

I didn’t have time to question what that meant because Jason stormed inside, and I followed close behind, curious and a little wary. The living room looked surprisingly cozy—modern furniture, warm lighting, and a giant flat-screen mounted on the wall. But the thing that really caught my attention was the figure sitting on the couch.

Roy. In a fluffy white robe. With a green face mask slathered across his face. Casually watching Sex and the City like it was his own personal spa day. He turned towards us slowly, looking shocked and embarrassed.

“Roy?” I whispered, because honestly, what else could I say?

He hung his head, muttering like a guilty child, “Should I leave?”

“Yeah,” Jason replied flatly, looking less angry and more…disappointed? Roy shuffled to his feet with all the dignity one could muster while wearing a fluffy robe and a bright green face mask. He exited the room without another word.

Five minutes later, he reappeared, now dressed in his regular clothes and sans the face mask. “I have a load of laundry going,” he began casually, like we hadn’t just caught him mid-spa day. “So if you could just call me when it’s done, that’d be great—”

“Get the fuck out,” Jason growled, cutting him off with a glare so sharp I felt secondhand anxiety.

“Right. Right.” Roy nodded quickly, holding his hands up like he didn’t want any trouble. He turned to me with a sheepish wave. “Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” I replied, trying not to laugh as I waved back.

Jason’s glare followed Roy all the way out of the penthouse. The moment the door closed, he locked it with a loud click.

And that’s when it hit me—I was alone. With Jason. In his penthouse.

I turned around, intending to make a joke or something to break the tension, but whatever words I had died the second I saw him. He’d already shed his jacket and was staring at me with a heat in his eyes that made my heart skip about five beats.

“Oh,” I said, my voice coming out much higher than usual. I took a step back, trying to put some distance between us. “So, uh, should we discuss the terms of this budding relationship?” I asked, forcing out a nervous laugh to lighten the mood.

“Terms are simple,” he said, taking a step forward. “You talk to another man, I kill them. Easy.”

I backed up more until my butt hit the back of the couch and I had nowhere else to go. “That doesn’t seem realistic.”

“Obviously, there are exceptions,” he said, now standing directly in front of me. He placed his hands on either side of the couch, effectively caging me in. “Like my brothers, your brother, your father, Alfred…”

“What about your dad?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jason shook his head. “Nah. I’ve seen how Bruce operates. It’s where Dick gets it from. He’s also off-limits.”

“But he’s married!”

“Dad can’t turn it off. Trust me.” He smirked, leaning in a little closer. “Why do you think your mom likes him so much?”

“Ugh, ew, gross. Don’t even joke about that,” I groaned, scrunching my nose.

“I’m not joking. Dad’s a flirt. So no, you can’t talk to him.”

“Jason,” I said, exasperated. “This is really controlling. We need to amend some of these rules.”

“We can amend them later.” He said, his voice low. His eyes trailed down from my own to my lips, making his intentions clear.

I started to sweat a bit. The elevator was one thing—fast, sudden, and over before I could process it. This? This was different. I had time to think about it now, and thinking only made me more nervous.

I started rambling because that’s what I do when I’m nervous. “Are you sure you want to date me? I mean, I get really clingy and overly emotional. I might call you every second because I suddenly started feeling self-conscious or—”

Jason’s gaze snapped back to mine, and he frowned. “What the fuck do you have to be self-conscious about?” he asked, like the very idea was incomprehensible.

And that was it. That one line? Yeah, I was done for.

I grabbed his shirt, yanked him down to me, and kissed him so hard I saw stars.

Chapter Text

Waking up the next morning, my brain was running on fumes. I wasn’t in my bed—easy to tell because this mattress was way too comfortable to be mine. And I wasn’t in my room either. The one I was in was pitch dark, unlike mine, which is a pastel explosion with anime posters covering every square inch of wall space.

For a solid minute, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to connect the dots in my groggy brain. Where the hell was I? Then, like a wrecking ball to the face, the memories of the night before hit me, and I turned my head ever so slowly, praying I was wrong.

Nope. Jason was knocked out cold beside me, lying on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow, and snoring softly.

Panic set in like I’d been struck by lightning. I scrambled out of the bed so fast I almost tripped over the comforter, my heart hammering in my chest. My eyes darted around the room, searching for anything to cover myself with. The first thing I found was Jason’s shirt from last night, tossed lazily on the floor. I yanked it over my head, muttering a silent apology to my dignity, and started scanning the room for my purse.

I spotted it—halfway across the room, sitting next to his dresser like someone had thrown it in a hurry. Probably me. Sprinting to grab it, I fumbled to open it and immediately cringed at the screen: a long list of missed calls and texts from both Safiya and my mother

“Shit.” I whispered under my breath. I quietly snuck out of the room and called my mother.

She picked up on the first ring and started berating me and screaming at me for staying out all night without telling her. I apologized profusely but she wasn’t hearing it. She told me to go to my aunt's house (Safiya’s mom) for the day because she was just too angry to see me. I knew all that meant was I was gonna be chewed out by my aunt next. But I agreed and she hung up with a huff.

The next person I called was Safiya. She picked up quickly as well, “Where are you?” she demanded, skipping any form of greeting.

“Hello to you, too,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples.

“Don’t ‘hello’ me. Where are you?”

“… I don’t want to say because then you’ll get mad.”

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice dropping in disbelief. “You slept with him.”

I stayed silent and didn’t answer her, knowing if I opened my mouth even a little bit she’d somehow know everything that happened last night.

“Oh my god.” She whispered after a long beat of silence. “You’re dating him aren’t you?”

I gasped in shock, “how did you know?”

“YOU STUPID BI—” She launched into a tirade of insults so creative I didn’t even know half those words could be strung together like that.

I held the phone away from my ear, wincing as her voice hit levels I didn’t think were humanly possible. And yet, despite the screaming, I couldn’t help but let out a small, sheepish laugh.

“Are you laughing? YOU’RE LAUGHING, YOU DUMB MOTHERFU—”

Cue five straight minutes of Safiya going off with an energy that could probably power Gotham for a week. I held the phone a few inches away from my ear, letting her vent. Because I knew, deep down, all that fire wasn’t just anger—it was also a lot of worry.

When she finally paused for breath, I seized the opportunity. “So… how was your night?”

“I’m going to kill you.” Safiya hissed.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen! It just did!”

“Isis, he literally trashed half the club last night because you barely kissed Static. He is not mentally okay.”

“Trashing half the club is a stretch. He only broke a couple of glasses.”

“No,” Safiya corrected, her tone laced with genuine concern. “I mean, after you left with him he came back in then threatened Static to stay away from you. He was fucking pissed. And Static didn’t help either, he just stared at him with a smirk and said something like ‘she’s a grown woman she can do whatever she wants’. Jason almost decked him, but Tim held him back. Didn’t matter though cause I guess he was so pissed you even showed up to the club that he started destroying the place with the help of Damian. And I mean de-stroying. Broken glasses, bottles, speakers, and Damain even broke a pool table in half. I don’t know how the fuck he did that but he did. After Jason was satisfied he tossed the owner like 20 gs in cash then left. It was insane. You cannot date that kind of insane, Isis.”

I was speechless. I mean, I haven’t heard of him exhibiting that sort of violence since he was maybe 17 in highschool. Was he really that mad? “I’ll talk to him.” I muttered.

“No, don't talk to him, DUMP HIM! He is not good for you. Somehow he will bring you down with him.”

“Safiya… I can’t.”

She sighed heavily, and I could practically see her rubbing her temple. “Do you love him or something?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe, I don’t think I ever really stopped.”

“Oh god,” she groaned, exasperated. “This is so sick and twisted. You’re too sweet to be in a toxic relationship! That should be me in toxic relationships, and you should be the one stressed out trying to get me out of it!”

“It’s not toxic!”

“I bet he told you that you can’t talk to other guys, huh?”

“… Okay, and? He wasn’t for real.” I lied.

“The dick can’t be that good, bitch. Did he fuck you stupid?”

“Oh my god.” I slapped my hand against my head. “Listen, this is all so new and I just woke up I can barely think. He’s not even up yet. We have a lot to talk about regarding this… thing we now have. I promise to update you and I promise to be safe. I have to go over to yours anyway. My mom is pissed at me for staying out all night and not telling her.”

“Well,” Safiya said with a sigh. “I don’t know how that’s gonna happen considering my mom is pissed at me for the same reasons yours is mad at you.”

I paused, raising an eyebrow even though she couldn’t see me. “You spent the night with Vic?”

“Unfortunately,” she said, not even trying to deny it. “Now my mom says she’s too angry to talk to me because I didn’t tell her I wasn’t coming home. She told me to go to your place.”

I groaned again, pacing the length of Jason’s penthouse like that might help me think. “Okay, what if we meet somewhere in the middle?”

“Like where?”

“My brother’s place,” I suggested. “He’s not home right now—he should be at work. We could crash there for a couple of hours, no moms, no drama.”

“It’s a plan, I guess,” Safiya said, though she didn’t sound thrilled. “But make sure you actually show up this time, or I’m calling the police. And I am so fucking serious.”

“I will. I promise,” I said, glancing back toward Jason’s room when I heard the unmistakable sound of sheets rustling. “I think he’s up. I gotta go.”

“Oh, so now you’re abandoning me for a man. How cliché. I hope you know I—”

I hung up before she could launch into another rant about how monumentally stupid I was for getting involved with Jason. Because let’s face it, I already knew. But did that stop me? Nope. Clearly, I wasn’t built to make great life decisions.

Jason opened his bedroom door a minute later, in just his boxers looking tired and disheveled. I stood there awkwardly staring at him and trying not to ogle.

“Were you on the phone?” He asked, his voice low and gravely from sleep.

“Yeah, it was Saf she was wondering if I was okay.”

“Oh.” He said. He stretched a bit and yawned. My eyes darted to the ceiling because I refused to let myself ogle at his happy trail. “Tim is coming over later to discuss some business idea, I think Dick might be stopping by too.” Jason said as he walked up to me.

“Oh, that’s cool. I was gonna head out soon anyway I need to go meet up with Safiya.”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at me, “Why can’t she come here?”

“We’re going to my brother’s place.”

“What time are you gonna be back?” he asked, crossing his arms. And oh my god, his arms. Why did they have to look like that?

“I wasn’t planning on coming back here today,” I said, now feeling awkward under his gaze. “Why? Did you want to do something?”

“No, not particularly,” he admitted. “I just want you around.”

It’s moments like this that unfortunately blind me to Jason’s red flags. Because wow, that was so fucking sweet of him to say. But now I have to ruin the mood by bringing up his behavior, “So um, before I leave can we talk about some stuff?”

He nodded and leaned against the wall, “Yeah sure.”

I shifted nervously. “So… Safiya told me you destroyed half the club last night before we left.”

“I got mad,” he said with a casual shrug, like he was talking about accidentally knocking over a drink, not absolutely wrecking that poor club.

I huffed, “Yeah I get that. But I don’t think it’s okay to trash an establishment that had nothing to do with the reason you were angry.”

“I gave them money after,” he said, like that somehow made it better.

“Jason…” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

He furrowed his brows, genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mess up Virgin like I wanted to. I didn’t kill him or wreck his car or anything like that. I just messed up the club so he’d get the message. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Oh my god, he’s insane. “No, Jason. You shouldn’t do any of that.”

He tilted his head, looking at me like I was the one being unreasonable. “Dick said as long as you don’t kill the people your girlfriend talks to, even if they’re annoying, it’s fine. I didn’t even lay a finger on the dude!”

“Okay so stop taking advice from Dick please.” I sighed. I really need to get in contact with Chanel. “From now on, if you get jealous or get angry, talk to me. But also, there is no need for you to get that jealous, Jason. I am allowed to talk to other men.”

He glared, “No.”

I glared back and put my hands on my hips, “Yes. You’re allowed to talk to other girls.”

“I will literally cut every other girl off right now including Seliina.”

“NO! That’s not what I– argh!” I groaned in frustration.

“What? Then it’s fair!”

“Jason! That’s not healthy! It’s toxic!”

He scoffed. “No, it’s not. Dick said—”

“Dick is insane! Ignore him and stop taking his advice!”

“He’s been in a good relationship with Chanel for three years. I think his advice is worth listening to.”

“Do they not break up every other week because he does something batshit crazy?”

Jason shrugged, completely unbothered. “He never lets her really leave.”

I froze for a second, blinking at him. “Do you not think that sentence is insane?”

“No, not really,” he said, dead serious.

“Oh lord.” I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temples like I could physically massage away the absurdity of this conversation. “Listen, we are not like Chanel and Dick. We can be different and have our own unique relationship. If you want me to be happy with you, then you can’t restrict me from talking to the opposite sex. And I won’t do the same to you. But if you do restrict me like that, I won’t be happy, and ultimately, it will lead to a breakup. And let me be clear, I won’t be coming back like Chanel. Trust me on that.”

Jason’s expression softened, his brows furrowing in concern. “You’re unhappy?” he asked quietly, his voice so gentle it made me pause.

“Well, I will be if you keep this up,” I said, my tone softer now. “Not only is it scary for me, but it’s also suffocating. Always having to watch what I say or do because I’m worried you might fly off the handle? That’s not healthy, Jason.”

“I’m sorry, Flower,” he said, his voice full of regret. “I’ll work on it. I’ll try not to get so jealous.”

“Okay, thanks, Jason,” I said, offering him a small smile. There it was—proof he could listen if I pushed hard enough. Safiya had doubted, but here he was, proving her wrong. “Is there anything you want from me in this relationship, since we’re talking and getting things out in the open?”

He looked at me for a second, then said, “I want you to move in with me.”

My smile dropped instantly. “Realistic things.”

“People move in with their boyfriends all the time!” He argued.

“We haven’t even been dating for 24 hours, and you want me to move in with you already?!”

“Well, yeah,” he huffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s the big deal?”

“I have strict Afro-Caribbean parents. That will never happen.”

“Your mom loves me.” He smirked.

“Not enough to sanction this. She would disown me.”

He snorted like I was playing and opened his mouth to retort back when his gaze dropped down to what I was wearing and he paused. “You’re in my shirt.”

I looked down at myself with furrowed brows then back at Jason, “Um yeah. I’ve been wearing it this entire conversation.”

“Woah.” He whispered. “I really like you in my shirt.”

“Thanks big guy.” I grinned, feeling all warm and fuzzy from the complement. “But back to the whole move in thing—”

“Yeah uh, you win.” He said absentmindedly. He pushed off the wall and walked closer to me, placing his hands on my waist.

“I… win?” I asked, confused.

“Mhm.” He mumbled, placing his forehead on mine.

“So all I have to do to get you to listen to me is to wear your clothes while looking a little slutty?” I joked.

He didn’t respond, he just kissed me softly while walking us backwards towards the bedroom.

Chapter Text

I arrived at my brother’s place just in time, pulling up in my Uber at the exact moment Safiya was about to call 911. Her face was twisted with panic, and she was already halfway through what I’m sure was a meticulously planned, dramatic missing-persons report. I barely managed to calm her down, which involved a lot of hand-waving, rapid-fire reassurances, and even swearing on my ancestors’ graves. Eventually, she relaxed—barely.

Once the crisis of my "disappearance" was averted, we settled into our usual rhythm. Saf flopped dramatically onto my brother’s couch like she owned the place, and we immediately raided his snack stash. The man had a fortress of junk food tucked away, and we went through it like raccoons, chatting about nothing and everything.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the men in our lives, because of course it did. Safiya was spiraling about Vic again, as she had been for weeks. She was genuinely torn, going on and on about how she couldn’t figure out if she liked him or just liked the attention he gave her.

“Like, he’s sweet,” she said, popping a handful of Doritos into her mouth. “But he doesn’t make my heart race, you know?”

I sighed and gave her a pointed look. “Saf, you’ve got to cool it with the adrenaline addiction. Maybe calm and chill is exactly what you need right now.”

She scoffed and shook her head like I’d just told her to start scrapbooking. “But calm is so… boring.”

“Vic isn’t boring! For god’s sake, the man is in The Outlaws! He has bodies on him. Like, plural. He’s just playing it safe with you so he doesn’t scare you off.” I grabbed a bag of gummy bears and ripped it open. “And honestly, if it was anyone but you, Saf, he probably would have scared them away. Remember when he took you to the pit for your first date? That’s unhinged.”

She let out a snort of laughter, finally cracking a smile. “Okay, fair. That was insane. But you have to admit, it was kind of fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You weren’t the one threatened by half the Wayne clan that night to talk to their insane brother.”

“Speaking of insane Waynes,” Safiya said, shifting her position on the couch to face me more head on, “What the hell are you thinking dating a man who threatened to off a man just last night?”

“What are you thinking dating a man who works for him?” I shot back.

“I am not dating Vic. We are just chilling right now.”

I snorted, “Yeah sure okay.”

“It’s true! We’re not official or nothing. Unlike you! You got the title!” She exclaimed, getting so excited she almost fell off the damn couch. “Which is really surprising because you usually don’t make bad decisions like that. It’s usually me fucking up.”

“Then maybe this isn’t a bad decision,” I said with a shrug. “I can’t really explain it, Saf. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I like Jason. Unfortunately.” I let out a small laugh before continuing, “And last night, he told me he’s liked me since middle school. Around the same time I started liking him, too. With us, it’s not about whether we’re good for each other on paper—it’s a ‘right person, wrong time’ situation. And I don’t want to let any more time pass without giving it a real shot.”

Safiya squinted at me, clearly trying to poke holes in my logic. “Okay, but what if you realize he’s not all he’s cracked up to be?”

“Then at least I’ll know I tried,” I said, meeting her gaze steadily.

Saf let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head. “Okay, but also now you’re stuck with a crazy-ass mafia guy forever. That man’s not letting you go, Isis. Ever. You’re basically doomed.”

I leaned back against the couch, pretending to consider her words with all the gravity they deserved. “Well,” I said after a moment, “at least he’s rich and hot. If I have to be stuck with someone forever, I’m glad it’s him.”

Safiya threw a pillow at me, laughing. “Girl, you’re hopeless.”

“No, I’m real!” I shot back, grabbing the pillow and launching it back at her laughing.

+++

A couple of hours later, my brother came home from work and immediately kicked me and Safiya out. But not before yelling at us about always raiding his cabinets like he’s got money to burn. He even threw in the classic “I’m not made of gold!” line for good measure. The pièce de résistance, however, was the usual threat: “I’m taking your house keys away.”

This was, of course, an empty threat. He loves me too much to actually follow through. But still, I made a big show of dramatically clutching the keys and promising I’d stop. (I wouldn’t.)

Safiya offered to drop me home, which I gratefully accepted because I had no interest in hemorrhaging more of my non-existent funds on Ubers. As we pulled up to my house, I was already rehearsing my excuses. How to explain to my mom why I’d been out so late. Why I was in men’s clothes—Jason’s hoodie and a pair of old sweatpants that were too small for him but somehow fit me perfectly.

The best I could come up with was a vague ‘I stayed at Shai’s place’ (my older brother), which felt solid enough. But before I could even open the front door, I froze.

Because there, on my front porch, was Jason Todd. Smiling. With my parents.

Laughing and grinning.

I almost fainted.

My mom saw me first, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree, which was not the reaction I had been bracing myself for. “Oh! Habibti, you’re here!” she called out, waving me over like we were at a family picnic instead of living through my worst nightmare. “Come, come! Why didn’t you tell me you and Jason are dating?”

It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head. What the hell was happening right now?

I stumbled closer, the confusion surely evident on my face. “Oh, uh… because it’s new?” I mumbled, shooting a bewildered look at Jason, who winked at me.

“Two months is hardly new, Ada,” my father said with a hearty laugh. His use of the term, a common Igbo endearment for an eldest daughter, usually warmed me. But considering I was his only daughter, it always struck me as a little ironic and very humorous. Right now, though, nothing about this situation was remotely funny.

“Two months?” I repeated confused.

“Yeah babe,” Jason said, slinging his arm around my shoulder’s casually. “Two months.”

“Habibti why didn’t you tell me?” Mom asked again. “And you two acted like you haven’t spoken in years when you saw him all those weeks ago! You were playing with me, huh? You didn’t want me to know you were dating him. I bet you thought your mom would embarrass you in front of your fancy rich boyfriend!”

“...huh?” I was baffled.

“I have to apologize again for keeping Isis out so late last night.” Jason interjected, his voice dripping with sincerity. “After we came back from midnight mass with my father, we just fell asleep at the house. I feel so bad for getting her in trouble. I should’ve woken her up and gotten her home.”

“Oh it’s fine.” My mom waved him off. “I know how late mass can get at the church. I pass out in the car right after!” She joked. They all laughed together as if she just told the funniest joke in the world. I just smiled weakly.

“Well.” My father clapped and looked between the two of us with a smile. “We should let these two talk. I have a feeling Isis wasn’t expecting for their relationship to get out this suddenly and might need to chew out her new beau.” He winked at me.

My mother giggled then the two of them shuffled inside the house and closed the door behind them. But I knew my parents. They’d be at the window in approximately 0.2 seconds, spying on whatever conversation was about to go down. I grabbed Jason’s arm and pulled him further from the porch.

“What the hell is going on?” I hissed, finally unleashing my pent-up confusion.

Jason grinned, clearly far too pleased with himself. “I lied to your parents and said we’ve been dating for two months so they’d let you move in with me sooner.”

I smacked my forehead, groaning. “Jason…”

“What?!” he said, sounding genuinely defensive. “It’s a solid plan! And I told you your mom loves me. She was practically eating out of my hand. Your dad, though? That man’s tougher, but I think Mr. Moreno respects me now. This is gonna be a breeze. By our fake three-month anniversary, we’ll start dropping hints about you moving in.”

“What the fu—” I started, only for Jason to cut me off with a quick peck on the lips. The audacity.

“I gotta go now. I need to clear out closet and shelf space,” he said with that signature grin of his. Before I could gather my thoughts to protest, he leaned down and kissed me again, longer this time, in a way that made every coherent argument I had lined up scatter like leaves in the wind. My brain short-circuited so hard I might as well have blue-screened.

When he finally pulled back, leaving me standing there like a statue, he added casually, “I also gotta go buy you a gun.”

I blinked, the haze clearing just enough to process that. “Um, I’m sorry, what?”

“A gun. For protection,” he repeated, as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “I have enemies, Flower. I’m not like Dick and Tim, who somehow have theirs ‘mysteriously disappear.’ And I’m not like Damian, who everyone’s too terrified to even look at funny. People test me more, especially after Joker got the jump on me that one time. So, yeah, I’m getting my girlfriend a gun. Just in case they try to get to me through you.”

He started walking backward toward his car, parked on the street. “You know how to shoot?”

“Not even a little bit, Jason,” I called after him, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was my life now.

“We can work on that,” he said, completely unfazed, like we were talking about learning to bake cookies or ride bikes instead of wielding firearms.

He opened the car door, tossed me one last grin,“Bye, baby.”

“Bye,” I replied softly, still rooted to the spot as he drove off.

Once his taillights disappeared, I stared at the empty street and muttered to myself, “What the actual hell did I just agree to?”

Chapter Text

A couple days later I found myself walking home alone after a pretty good study session with Safiya. I realized we had been playing around too much these days and in order for my dream to become the next Chanel Pierce to be fulfilled I was gonna have to hit the books. Hard.

The walk back home was nice. It wasn’t too chilly out today and I was playing some soft music in my airpods. The slight wind made the leaves fall and cascade on the ground beautifully. Made me feel like I was in a movie or something.

The song that was currently playing in my ear was On My Terms by this up and coming popstar Lyric Kane from Gotham. I liked to support smaller artists, especially ones from my hometown so me and Safiya gave her album a try and we both ended up loving it. Tim also seems to be really interested in her for some reason. He claims it’s because her stalker case interests him, I think it’s because he thinks she’s pretty but he’s too much of a big head to admit it. Either way, her music was great and On My Terms was starting to blow up and I was lowkey proud of her for it.

I strolled along the streets humming the melody of the soft R&B song when I noticed the same car kept passing by. At first I just thought they must be lost, Gotham is a big city and unless you grew up here it was very easy to lose your way. But by the fourth time it drove past me I realized I was being followed.

I paused my music and immediately called Jason who picked up right away, “Hey Flower.” He said, sounding out of breath. “What’s up? Did you wanna come over sooner?” I could hear the sounds of shoes squeaking and the rhythmic sounds of punching. He must be at the gym.

“Jason, I think I’m being followed,” I said, keeping my voice as calm and low as I could. I slipped my phone into my pocket, pretending I was still just listening to music.

His tone changed instantly. “Where are you?”

“Canary Street,” I whispered, glancing around. “I’m a few blocks from home.”

I could hear shuffling on the other end of the line, “Go inside the nearest populated store and do not get out until I get there.”

“Everything’s closed Jason, for the holiday.”

“Shit,” he muttered. There was a pause, and then, “Okay, keep walking. When you hit the end of the street, double back and run. Hide somewhere—an alley, behind a dumpster—anything. The car will take time to turn around.”

“Okay.” I said quietly. My eyes burned with unshed tears at the fear slowly creeping up on me.

“Do you have the gun?” He asked. I could hear the sound of his car door slamming and the engine roaring to life.

“No, I left it at home,” I admitted, wincing.

“I bought it for you to carry everywhere, Isis.”

“I know, I know! It just scares me, and—”

The car suddenly screeched to a halt ahead of me, pulling onto the sidewalk. My breath caught as the doors flung open.

I didn’t wait to see who stepped out. I turned and bolted.

“GO GET HER!” a man’s voice bellowed, followed by the heavy sound of footsteps closing in behind me.

“JASON!” I screamed, my lungs already burning. I wasn’t a runner, and it showed. They were gaining on me fast.

“Baby, just keep running! I’m coming—I promise!” Jason’s voice shouted through the phone. His words were meant to reassure me, but the panic I heard only made my chest tighten more. My legs felt like they were turning to jelly, but I forced myself to keep moving, my sneakers slapping against the pavement. My lungs burned, and my vision blurred slightly from tears threatening to spill, but I didn’t dare stop.

The sound of footsteps pounded behind me, relentless and growing louder. I risked a glance over my shoulder—big mistake. The men chasing me were gaining fast, their black masks making them look like faceless shadows.

“Isis, keep going! Don’t stop!” Jason yelled in my ear.

I pushed myself harder, feeling the sting in my thighs and the ache in my calves as I wove around parked cars and lampposts. I was nearly at the corner when another car suddenly screeched to a stop in front of me, cutting me off. My heart leapt into my throat. I skidded to a halt, frantically scanning for another way to escape.

The car door swung open, and I braced myself for the worst. But instead of more masked men, Virgil leaned out, his face tight with urgency.

“Get in!” he barked, already pulling out a gun.

I barely had time to react before he fired off a few shots toward the men behind me. The loud cracks made me squeal, instinctively ducking as I scrambled into the car. I slammed the door shut just as Virgil jumped back into the driver’s seat.

The tires screeched as we sped off, the engine roaring as Virgil whipped the car around a corner. “Isis, what the fuck is happening?!” he demanded, his voice sharp as his eyes darted between me and the road.

My hands shook as I fumbled to buckle my seatbelt, my chest heaving. “I don’t—I don’t know!” I stammered, glancing out the back window. The men were retreating to their own car, their black masks eerily familiar. My mind raced, trying to piece together where I’d seen them before.

“Isis!” Jason’s voice rang through my phone again, snapping me back to the moment. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “Virgil got me.”

“Virgil?” Jason’s tone turned incredulous. “What the fuck is he doing there? Share your location with me right now.”

I quickly did as he asked, my fingers trembling as I sent him the pin. Then I turned to Virgil, my pulse still racing. “Wait…what are you even doing here?”

“I live around here,” he said, his jaw clenched as he whipped the car through another turn. “Imagine my surprise when I’m driving home from work and see the pretty girl from the club being chased by some goons in black masks.”

I blinked at him, trying to process his words. “You live around here?”

“Yes, Isis. Now focus,” he snapped, glancing at me. “Who were those guys, and why were they after you?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, still trying to catch my breath. “Probably trying to use me to get to Jason.”

Virgil muttered something under his breath, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Of course they are. You’re mixed up with the Waynes—what else did you expect?”

“Rude.” I mumbled.

“What is Jason’s address? Or should I take you to Wayne Manor.” Virgil asked, ignoring my comment.

“Manor.” Jason barked over the phone.

“He says Manor,” I relayed to Virgil, who nodded and made a sharp turn in that direction without another word.

When we arrived Jason was already there flanked by two of his guys, Roy and Vic. Once Virgil parked I bolted out of the car, my legs still shaky, and ran straight into Jason’s arms. He wrapped me up tightly, his warmth grounding me as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“Don’t worry, Flower,” Jason whispered against my hair. “I’m going to find and crush whoever the fuck did this to you.”

As we pulled apart, the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. I swiped at my cheeks furiously, embarrassed but unable to stop. “They were wearing these black skull masks,” I choked out, my voice wobbling. “They looked so familiar, but I just… I couldn’t place them.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, his grip on my shoulders tightening slightly. He exchanged a look with Roy, who raised his eyebrows in recognition.

“What?” I asked, glancing between them.

“Skull masks,” Roy said, his tone grim. “It was Black Mask.”

Jason nodded in agreement, his expression darkening further.

“Who?” Virgil asked from behind me.

“Roman Sionis. Runs a small pack of idiots near the harbour. I beat the shit out of him last time I was at The Pit. I guess he never forgot and got mad.” Jason explained.

I wrung my hands together nervously, the adrenaline still coursing through me. “But I thought everything at The Pit was supposed to be anonymous,” I said, my voice small. “So no one knows who anyone is, right?”

“It is—kind of,” Roy said with a shrug. “You start picking up on who’s who after a while. But Roman? He’s a fucking idiot who likes to make it obvious. Always running his mouth and trying to act bigger than he is.”

“I got a ping on his location boss.” Vic said, speaking up for the first time since I’ve been here. He was holding his phone in his hands and typing away furiously. I always forget that Vic is a tech wizard, It’s the reason they call him Cyborg after all. He’s basically half man half robot.

Jason’s expression darkened with satisfaction as he turned to me. “Good,” he said, before softening his tone just slightly. “You—head inside. Chanel and Dick are in the library. They’ll keep you company. As long as you’re on Manor grounds, I swear to you, no one’s gonna touch you. They wouldn’t dare. You’ll be safe here.”

I nodded, my hands fumbling to smooth my hair, which had gone completely wild from all the running. My fingers tucked a stray piece behind my ear, though it didn’t make me feel any less disheveled.

“So…” Virgil said, his voice cutting through the moment. “What should I do?”

“Can you fight?” Roy asked.

Virgil smirked, casually leaning against the car. “Yeah. And I’ve got a gun in the glove box and about ten ways to electrocute a guy in my trunk.”

My mouth fell open as I stared at him, completely horrified. “I—what?”

He caught my expression and grinned, “That’s why they call me Static.”

“Jesus.” I muttered.

“You’re Static? Static shock? The kid who put Ebon in the hospital when he was only 16 by frying him with about 60 volts?” Jason asked, sounding low key impressed.

“Yup. That's how I got the nickname.”

Jason hummed, his expression unreadable for a moment, before giving a single nod. I guess the beef was squashed. Then he turned towards me and ushered me towards the door. “Go inside Isis. I’ll be back soon I promise.”

The sudden shift in his tone made my chest tighten. I reached for his hand, gripping it with everything I had, as if holding him there just a moment longer would change anything. “Be safe,” I begged, my voice trembling despite my best effort to sound steady.

“I always am.” He grinned and winked at me before all the guys hopped into their respective vehicles and sped away. I stared after them filled with fear.

Jason’s POV

I needed to take care of this problem of people testing me. I mean, it was partly my fault they kept doing it, I wasn’t proactive enough like the rest of my family. I loved a good fight too much to ever really truly scare away any potential enemies. I loved the adrenaline, the chaos, the bruises that served as souvenirs. But now? Things were different. I had Isis to think about.

“Their car is near her street—they’re still circling, probably searching for her,” Vic said through the phone, his voice calm but focused.

“What does the car look like?” I asked, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. My other hand rested on the gear shift, itching to put this car through its paces.

“White minivan,” Vic replied. “Very inconspicuous. Guess they figured if they used a mom-mobile, nobody would look twice, even if they heard screaming.”

My jaw clenched so hard it ached. The mental image of Isis screaming in the back of some cheap, dented van made my stomach churn. My foot hit the gas harder, the engine roaring in protest as I pushed it past its limits.

We drifted onto Isis’ street not even a second later and I spotted the van immediately. It was cruising down the road slowly, as if lost or looking for someone.

“Roy,” I barked into the phone.

“Yes, boss?”

“Ram it.”

“My pleasure.”

I could practically hear the grin in his voice. Roy’s car was built for destruction. He and Vic had spent months transforming it into a tank on wheels, reinforced to the point where it could probably take a missile and still roll away with barely a scratch.

I pulled over slightly to give Roy room to do his thing. He floored it, his car roaring like a beast unleashed, and slammed into the back of the van with a force that shook the ground. I could see his eyes lighting up from here, his grin was maniacal. Roy loved a good fight, just like me.

The van spun out in a screech of tires and metal, careening off the road and into someone’s yard. It crashed into a massive oak tree, the front crumpling like paper. Whoever was driving the car was dead or dying. Either way I didn’t care. I had a job to do and an example to make.

I pulled onto the sidewalk directly in front of the wreckage and climbed out of my car. The boys were right behind me—Vic already on his phone, probably checking for police chatter, and Virgil stretching his shoulders like he was warming up for a workout.

Roy stayed in his car, his engine idling menacingly behind the wreck, ready to pin them in if they somehow managed to limp away.

I approached the van, rolling my shoulders as I walked. My leather jacket felt heavier than usual, and the familiar weight of my gun tucked into its holster made me feel like I had the upper hand.

The sound of the van’s side door creaking open cut through the air, followed by two men stumbling out like dazed drunks. Their masks were shattered, the jagged pieces pressed into their faces, leaving behind scratches and bleeding cuts. One of them immediately bent over and emptied his stomach onto the grass, the sickly retching sound echoing through the otherwise quiet street. That one was definitely concussed.

I almost laughed but restrained myself. There was work to do.

I grabbed the more coherent of the two by his collar and yanked him forward, pressing the barrel of my gun hard against his temple. His eyes widened in panic, the whites almost glowing in the dim light.

“Do you know who I am?” I growled.

The man nodded weakly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “J-Jason Todd-Wayne.”

“Exactly. Wayne.” I leaned in closer, emphasizing every syllable. “Why would you try to mess with a Wayne?”

His breathing turned ragged, and he coughed, spitting blood onto the ground. “W-we all told him it was a bad idea. He didn’t listen. I’m sorry, please d-don’t kill me! I’m just following orders.”

“Where is he?”

“He told us to take the girl to a building off First Street after we grabbed her. It’s abandoned—set to be condemned soon. He’s probably there now, waiting.”

“Address,” Vic snapped from behind me. The man rattled off the address and Vic punched it into his phone. “Got it. 5 minutes away. If we go now, we’ll avoid the cops.”

“What about these guys?” Virgil asked, crossing his arms as he eyed the groaning men on the ground. “I thought you Wayne always got your revenge, even on the grunts.”

I shoved the guy I was holding back onto the ground. He landed with a grunt, curling into himself. My fists itched, and it took every ounce of restraint not to finish this here and now, “Usually I would. But we caused quite a public spectacle that I’m sure to hear about later from my father. Getting arrested would just add to that and I don’t have time for that today. Let’s go.” I said turning to leave.

I guess my answer suited Virgil just fine because he shrugged and headed towards his car.

Just as I reached my vehicle, I hesitated, the burning anger still simmering under my skin. I turned and stalked back to the guy who had given us the intel.He was trying to crawl toward the driver’s side of the van, probably to help his buddy. Even though I didn’t have time for real revenge I was still pissed he tried to take Isis. So I grabbed him by his hair, yanking him up with enough force to make him yelp.

“Next time your boss tells you to mess with something or someone that belongs to a Wayne, don’t,” I snarled. Then I drove my fist into his gut. A perfect shot. He folded immediately, choking on a gasping wheeze, his eyes wide and bulging.

I let him drop to the ground like a sack of garbage and walked back to my car, my jaw tight and my knuckles throbbing.

“Really?” Vic asked as I slid into the driver’s seat, staring at me unimpressed.

“Shut the fuck up and drive,” I snapped, slamming my door shut.

+++

Vic’s GPS must not have accounted for the fact that I had a led foot when It calculated the time it took to get to that building. Because we arrived in less than two minutes. We parked near an alleyway to not alert Black Mask to the fact that we were here.

As soon as we parked Virgil ran into his trunk and pulled out some strange high tech looking fingerless gloves. He proudly put them on then stood next to me grinning.

“What is that?” I asked, looking at the strange device on his hands.

“I made these.” He grinned proudly.

“Obviously.” I said. “But what are they?”

“They’re a prototype shock glove I’m working on. Everytime I punch it sends twenty volts to whoever I hit.” He explained.

“That’s not a lot.” Roy chuckled.

Virgil shot him a look. “Try taking twenty volts, twenty times to the chest, and then tell me it’s nothing. Plus, they’re running 200 amps. That’s more than enough to knock out the average guy.”

He started shadowboxing, the gloves emitting faint sparks with each jab.

Vic looked at them thoroughly impressed, “Can I dissect those after this? I’m interested in the hardware and I might be able to help you bring them to their full potential.”

“Of course! Always happy to share my tech.” Virgil grinned. I was unfortunately starting to hate this guy less and less as the day went on.

While they bonded over tech, I walked back to my car and pulled out two gas canisters from the trunk. They were full to the brim—leftovers from a previous mission when I’d torched a series of restaurants to win Isis back. I hefted the canisters onto the ground with a satisfying thunk.

“What’s the plan with those?” Roy asked, stepping closer.

“I figured the best way for people to get my message is if I send it in a format they all understand. After we go in there and beat the shit out of them, I’m burning the place to the ground.”

“How romantic.” He mused.

“I know.” I smirked. “Let’s move out. I want to head back to the manor as soon as possible.”

“Aww, you have separation anxiety.” Roy cooed. I smacked him upside his head and he just laughed.

+++

We snuck into the building easier than expected, which only pissed me off more. Black Mask might’ve had a reputation for torture and kidnappings, but his grasp on actual crime logistics? Weak. Laughable even. His security was so amateur it was almost insulting.

Whether it was Virgil’s gloves or sheer incompetence on their part, the handful of guards we encountered went down without so much as a struggle.

“This is so boring,” Virgil grumbled as he dusted his hands off. “I thought I’d be fighting off, like, fifty guys at once.”

“Shut up. This isn’t a movie,” Roy snapped, casting him an annoyed glance.

Virgil rolled his eyes but stayed quiet as we crept deeper into the building. The faint hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter led us to a larger room.

Peeking in, we saw about ten guys, not including Roman. He was in the middle of a makeshift boxing ring—if you could call it that—formed with rope haphazardly tied to poles. He was sparring with one of his goons, throwing slow, clumsy jabs while the others cheered him on like it was the championship match of the century.

Roy and I stared into the room, equally unimpressed.

“Only ten guys? Really?” Roy whispered, sounding offended. “Do they think we’re crippled or something?”

“Isn’t ten guys a lot?” Virgil asked from behind us.

Vic snorted. “No. There’s four of us, and those ten idiots look like they’ve never been in a real fight. We’ll be fine.”

My patience snapped. Not only did Roman have the audacity to target my Flower, but now he thought so little of me that he only brought ten guys? My blood boiled at the insult, and without another word, I let the rage take over.

I stormed forward, slamming the door open so hard it nearly came off the hinges. The crash echoed through the room, cutting through their laughter like a knife. All eyes turned to me, and the smug smirk Roman had been wearing instantly faltered.

““How did you get in here?” he demanded, his voice sharp and cracking slightly at the edges.

I didn’t waste words. Instead, I lunged forward, fists clenched, ready to fight.

I’ll spare the gory details, but let’s just say the takedown was embarrassingly easy.

Virgil managed to floor two guys with his fancy gloves before the batteries gave out, leaving the sparks sputtering uselessly. Even then, he didn’t hesitate, throwing solid punches to take down a third opponent. He might’ve been complaining earlier, but I had to admit—he held his own when it counted.

Vic, as usual, was an unstoppable force. The guy was built like a tank, all brawn wrapped in the facade of a quiet tech genius. Three guys came at him, and he took them down like he was swatting flies, moving with precision and power.

Roy? He didn’t even break a sweat. He tackled the remaining four like it was a warm-up exercise, his grin widening with each swing. I could hear him muttering insults between punches, his joy in the chaos almost contagious.

As for me, I kept my focus on Roman.

Calling it a fight would’ve been generous. This wasn’t a match—it was a game, and I was toying with him. Roman had a reputation for fighting dirty in The Pit, sneaking bits of concrete or rocks into his gloves to gain the upper hand. Here, though, he had nothing but his bare fists. And bare fists? Against me?

Pathetic.

He swung wildly, desperate to land a hit, but his punches were sloppy, his form laughably bad. I dodged effortlessly, each miss only fueling my amusement.

“Is this the best you’ve got, Roman?” I taunted, sidestepping another clumsy jab. “You thought you could take on a Wayne with punches like that?”

Roman growled, his face flushed with anger, and swung again. This time, I let his fist connect—not because I couldn’t dodge it, but because I needed him close. As soon as his knuckles glanced off my jaw, I reached down, grabbed a handful of his greasy hair, and yanked him toward me.

I learned this trick from Cassandra, a family friend who used to kick my ass regularly during training. “Men don’t know what to do when you grab their hair,” she’d explained while yanking me around like a rag doll. “They’re not used to it. Women might, but guys? They’re clueless.”

She wasn’t wrong. Roman yelped in pain, his hands flailing as he tried to break free. He thrashed wildly, his panic making him weaker.

I could feel the anger coursing through me, sharp and hot. It wasn’t enough to hurt him. I wanted him obliterated. My fingers twitched toward the holster on my hip, my gun practically whispering at me to pull it out and end this once and for all. To turn him into nothing more than a memory.

But then Isis’ face flashed in my mind. The way she looked at me when she was proud, when she laughed, when she trusted me. If she found out I killed someone over her... she’d leave. And I’d lose the one thing that mattered most.

So instead, I compromised.

I pulled out my gun, but rather than aiming for his chest, I pointed it at his leg and squeezed the trigger.

The bang echoed in the room, followed by Roman’s agonized scream. “ARGHHH!” he cried, collapsing to the floor as blood pooled beneath him.

I let go of his hair, letting his head thunk against the concrete. Then I turned to address the room, my voice cold and steady. “In about two minutes, I’m going outside to torch this place. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll get out before I do.”

Without another glance at Roman or his cronies, I turned and strode out of the room. My boys followed close behind, their faces grim but satisfied.

Virgil, as we passed the last goon still groaning on the floor, delivered one last kick to the guy’s ribs. “For good measure,” he muttered with a shrug.

Isis POV

I was chilling with Chanel and Dick watching The Princess Diaries when my phone pinged, knocking me out of the movie. I grabbed it off the end table next to the couch I was occupying and opened it to see a text from Jason. It just read:

For u <3

Attached was a picture. My stomach dropped when I opened it. It was a burning building, flames licking at the sky in an inferno. But that wasn’t the strangest part. Next to the building, in a field, was a massive heart made of flames. Inside the heart, scorched into the grass, was the letter “I.”

I blinked, tilting the phone to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. “Wow,” I muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief. “He’s insane.”

Chanel, lounging with her big glasses and Hello Kitty PJs, snorted beside me. “They all are.”

Chapter Text

Later that same night I found myself at Jason’s place, lazily lounging on his bed while a movie we put on was forgotten about in the background. I was changed out of the clothes I wore to school and into one of his massive hoodies that swallowed me whole and a pair of his sweats, because apparently it’s now a rule that I have to wear his clothing while at his house.

“Did you find it romantic?” Jason asked, pulling me closer to his chest.

“I found it insane. And a little nerve-racking,” I said, my cheek smushed against his shoulder.

He pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Roy said you’d like it. He says girls these days are into big gestures.”

“First of all, please stop taking advice from anyone involved in your mafia because you all seem insane. And second, I mean… in a sense, it is romantic,” I admitted with a shrug. “As long as no one died in that fire.”

Jason pressed a kiss to the side of my face, his lips warm against my skin. “Aren’t you considerate?”

“No, I'm just normal.” I laughed.

“Well to ease your concern I’m pretty sure everyone got out. I didn’t check because I honestly didn’t give a fuck but they had ample amount of time. And Roman wasn’t injured too badly. Just a flesh wound.”

I stared at him for a second, my brain immediately deciding not to ask what the hell he meant by 'flesh wound.'  I liked my sleep uninterrupted by nightmares, thank you very much. “So, you think they’ll back off now?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck and threading my fingers through the back of his hair.

“They’d be stupid if they didn’t.” He growled. “Because then I’d really have to kill them.”

“Why are the police never an option for you guys?”

“Because the police are useless. And we pay them off half the time to look the other way,” he said matter-of-factly. “Except Tim. He likes to use the cops to get people he hates out of his hair the legal way. He’s a scary kid.”

“He is a little creepy,” I admitted with a nod. “But, seriously, maybe we should come up with some non-violent answers to your problems.”

Jason’s eyes roamed my face, his expression softening into something warm. “You’re so cute,” he said, his smile wide enough to make my chest ache in the best way.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. “Huh? Why?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me softly, effectively ending the conversation.

+++

A few weeks later, we were at my house with my family, and it felt like I was living in some kind of surreal fever dream. Watching my two worlds collide was already strange, but seeing how easily Jason had charmed my parents was downright unsettling. They were eating out of the palm of his hand, practically worshiping him.

My dad, a man who barely cracked a smile most days, was now grinning and laughing at every joke Jason made as if he were some kind of comedian. It was almost creepy how hard he was laughing—like, leaning-back-in-his-chair, slapping-the-table kind of laughing. I didn’t even know he had that kind of laughter in him.

And my mom? Oh, my god. My mother. She was batting her eyelashes, giggling like a teenager, and doing everything short of twirling her hair. I wanted to sink into the couch and disappear from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

The only person behaving like a normal human being was my brother, Shai. And by normal, I mean he was in full-on big brother mode—arms crossed, glaring daggers. Shai, being Shai, wasn’t shy about how little he liked Jason. Unlike my parents, he wasn’t falling for the charm act, and to make matters worse, he was young enough to know exactly how dangerous the Waynes were. He went to school with Dick, he knew what they could do. He barely tolerated me and Mom working for them, so the fact that I was dating one? Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled.

“Oh my gosh, Jason, you’re so funny!” my mom giggled, and I had to physically restrain myself from groaning.

“Thanks Mrs. Moreno I try.” Jason chuckled.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my first name?” she said, swatting his arm playfully, like they were old friends or something.

Jason grinned, that stupid, charming grin that he knew would win her over even more. “Ma’am, I could never disrespect you by calling you by your first name. I respect you too much.”

And she blushed. BLUSHED. Like a lovestruck schoolgirl. My mom. The woman who once yelled at a grocery store clerk for looking at her the wrong way.

Shai, sitting in the corner like the world’s angriest watchdog, let out an audible scoff and rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. Meanwhile, my dad just chuckled and shook his head.

“I better be careful, or you might just take my wife!” Dad joked, slapping Jason on the shoulder like they were best buds.

At that moment Shai stormed out of the room, leaving everyone in awkward silence. I sighed and got up, already bracing myself for whatever rant he was about to unleash.

“Is everything okay?” Jason asked, starting to stand up.

I held out my hand to stop him, “Maybe don’t follow me. Let me talk to him.” I pleaded.

He nodded and sat back down on the couch. My mom glanced toward the hallway, her worry written all over her face. “Why is he upset?” she asked in Arabic.

“He’s just being an older brother.” I responded with a small grin before dashing off to go and find him.

I found Shai in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that his knuckles had turned a disturbing shade of purple. His whole body was tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap. I hesitated at the doorway, unsure how to approach him without setting him off further.

“Mom, if you’re here to tell me to come back—” he started in Arabic, his tone sharp.

“Not Mom,” I interrupted in English, holding up my hands in surrender. “Honestly, kind of offended you thought I was,” I added with a nervous chuckle.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he turned around slowly, his face unreadable, which somehow made this so much worse. His silence stretched, and I quickly stopped laughing, clearing my throat awkwardly. “So… what’s with the dramatic exit?” I asked, keeping my voice casual.

“Isis, are you mad?” he asked suddenly in Igbo, the language switch catching me off guard for a moment. My brain short-circuited briefly before I managed to piece together what he’d said. Shai was fluent in all three of our parents’ native tongues—Arabic from Mom, and Spanish and Igbo from Dad—and he loved using them to throw me off during arguments. I, unfortunately, was not as skilled, which meant I was always playing catch-up.

“I’m stupid about a lot of things so you’ll have to be specific.”

“Why the fuck would you think it’s okay to date a Wayne?” he hissed, switching to Spanish this time.

“Stop changing languages!” I snapped.

“Stop being stupid!” he fired back in English. His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of desperation there that made me pause. “Isis, he’s dangerous! His dad’s a killer, his brothers are evil, and he’s a demon! Why?!”

I opened my mouth to respond but found myself frozen, the words caught in my throat. What could I say? He wasn’t wrong. Jason was dangerous. He was part of a family that practically owned Gotham’s criminal underground. But none of that seemed to matter to my heart. My heart didn’t care about the risks or the logic. All it wanted was him.

“I love him.” I finally said softly.

“Oh my God.” Shai groaned. “I was fine with your little crush when you were in high school. I mean I got it, teenage girls love the idea of dangerous guys. But Isis you are a grown woman who is about to graduate college. You need to grow up and get over him before him and life somehow manage to take yours.”

“Shai, it won't be like that. He’ll protect me and shield me and–”

“I know what happened. I know you almost got kidnapped.” He interrupted.

My jaw dropped. “How—”

“Don’t ask. Just know that I know,” he said.

Safiya. She had to have told him. “He took care of it,” I muttered.

“Great. But what happens next time? What happens when he’s not there to take care of it? Isis do you not see the red flags and hear how insane this relationship sounds? Do you want to be like Chanel that fucking badly that you’ll follow in her footsteps and date a mobster?”

“You want to be like Chanel?” A voice from behind us chuckled. I whirled around to see Jason standing there grinning.

“Why are you here? I told you to wait.” I asked, looking between him and my brother nervously. Shai looked ready to strangle Jason and I honestly believed at this very moment he could.

“You were taking a while and your mother was getting worried. So she sent me to check on you two.” Jason stood next to me and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets while staring down my brother. I swallowed nervously. It was tense in here. I hated it.

“Well, we’re almost done here,” I said quickly, trying to diffuse whatever testosterone-fueled showdown was brewing. Neither of them acknowledged me.

“So you don’t approve of me at all, huh?” Jason smirked.

“No. I think you and your family need to leave mine alone.” Shai said. No trace of humor anywhere on his face.

“I can’t do that. I love your sister.” 

Woah, the first time he says he loves me and it’s while arguing with my brother. I was feeling a rush of different emotions currently but one of them was definitely glee.

“Cute.” Shai said deadpanned. “I don’t care.”

“I get it, man. You’re protective. You’re worried. I’d feel the same way if I were you. But I’m not going to hurt her or let her get hurt. Ever. Like I said, I love her. I have loved her since we were kids.”

That was intense. And hot. Mostly intense though.

Shai narrowed his eyes. “It’s not just about you hurting her. It’s about the world you live in. You think love can protect her from that?”

Jason took a step forward, his tone serious now. “I don’t just think it—I know it. Because I’d burn that world to the ground before I let it touch her.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest, and for a second, even Shai seemed taken aback. But then he shook his head, muttering something under his breath, “I can’t stop you two from dating. You’re grown. But I promise you Jason Wayne that the moment my sister gets hurt I will blame you. Even if it’s something as small as a paper cut. I’m a surgical resident so just know I know where all your major organs are.”

“Noted.” Jason nodded. “But there's no need because I’d never hurt you sister or let her get hurt. Not anymore.”

My brother stared at him for a long moment, clearly sizing him up, before finally shaking his head and muttering something about us both being ridiculous. He walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with Jason.

I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that the intense atmosphere had finally dissipated. I looked at Jason who was looking at the ground, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Well that was a lot.” I chuckled. Jason smiled slightly, but kept his head down. I stepped closer, reaching out to cup his face in my hands and forcing him to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked softly, my thumbs brushing against his cheekbones.

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke. “Your brother, he’s right,” he murmured. “This is dangerous. My life is dangerous. I know that but at the same time... I’m too selfish to let you go.”

The crack in his voice made my heart ache, but I didn’t let him dwell on that thought for long. “Jason,” I said firmly, pressing my forehead against his so he couldn’t look away. “Like Shai said, I’m grown. I know what I’m choosing. And I chose this. I chose you.”

His eyes searched mine, like he was trying to find something to argue against, but I didn’t let him. “I love you,” I said, my voice steady. “Even with all your trauma, all the danger, all the chaos that comes with your life. I. Love. You.”

For a second, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable, and then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close like I was the only solid thing in his world. I could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away as he buried his face in my neck.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered, his voice was muffled, and thick with emotion.

I pulled back just enough to see his face, grinning as I gave him a light shrug. “I know,” I said with a playful smirk. “Now, let’s get back out there so you can finally explain why you needed to call this family meeting.” I brushed some imaginary dust off his jacket, mostly just to tease him. Then I paused, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. “Wait. Why did you ask me to call my family together?”

Jason shrugged casually, as if the answer was no big deal. “Oh, I called them to ask if it’s okay if we move in together.”

I blinked at him, unimpressed. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking? You said your parents were traditional so…”

“Traditional as in I can’t move out until marriage,” I said, crossing my arms.

Jason’s face lit up like he’d just won the lottery. His grin was so wide I was surprised his cheeks didn’t cramp. “That could be arranged,” he said.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, throwing my hands up as I turned to walk away.

“What?!” he called after me, clearly amused. “It would solve both our problems!”

I didn’t look back, but I couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at my lips as I headed toward the family room. I can’t believe I fell back in love with this goof.

Chapter Text

The Wayne family has run Gothams seedy underground since before Gotham was Gotham. They are the founders of the city and sit on top of a dark throne. Most of the civilians know that when you see a Wayne, you avoid them at all costs. Especially the main five, Bruce and his sons.

Bruce Wayne commands the Justice Society, the heart of the city's criminal empire, with his two trusted lieutenants. Diana Prince is the muscle, an unstoppable force, while Clark Kent is the brains, always two steps ahead. It was Clark’s idea to send the Wayne boys to university. He thought it would polish the family's image, make them seem like respectable members of society. They still have to pretend to be normal, after all.

I never expected to interact with a Wayne. Growing up in Gotham, everyone knew who they were—the city’s untouchable royalty. But me? I was from the bottom of the barrel, a girl from the south side with dreams too big for the cramped streets and suffocating alleys of Gotham. I wanted to be a singer, not just any singer, but one of the greats. My biggest wish was to tour the world, to stand on stages where the lights were brighter than the moon, and to finally leave Gotham and all the ghosts that lingered in its corners.

And for a while, I thought I’d made it. I got my big break after a video of me singing on the subway went viral. One day I was just another girl trying and failing to become famous, and the next, I was being booked for gigs and signing deals. It felt surreal, like I’d finally escaped the weight of this city. But dreams have a way of twisting when they become reality. My fame didn’t just bring me fans—it also brought me a stalker.

At first, it was just unsettling notes left at my shows. Then it escalated—calls in the middle of the night, messages that knew things no one should know, shadows that felt too close for comfort. The fear settled in my chest like cement, thick and unyielding, and every corner I turned felt like a trap waiting to spring.

My manager’s bright idea to fix it? A publicity stunt disguised as a solution—fake dating someone who could scare off the stalker. And not just anyone. Tim Drake. A Wayne.

Tim wasn’t what I imagined when I thought of a knight in shining armor. He was sharp angles and sharp words, with a cruel smile that felt like it could cut glass. His reputation preceded him—cold, calculating, and always three steps ahead of everyone else. He didn’t need to like me, and he certainly didn’t try to. This wasn’t about affection or romance. It was about strategy.

To the world, we’d be a power couple, his arm around my waist, my hand in his, a perfect picture of Gotham’s elite. Behind closed doors? It was all business. Tim was there to play a role, to keep the shadows at bay with his presence alone. And I? I had to pretend I wasn’t terrified of both the stalker and the boy who might be just as dangerous.

+++

“Joshua, get the fuck out of my face right now, please.” I groaned, holding up a hand to block his overbearing presence. The man didn’t know the meaning of personal space—or maybe he did and just chose to ignore it because he thought it was part of his job description. But right now, I couldn’t deal with him. My chest felt tight, my breathing shallow as I hunched over the couch in my green room, trying to stop my spiraling thoughts long enough to catch a decent breath.

“Lyric, please!” Joshua’s voice was practically a whine as he crouched beside me, his phone and clipboard clutched in one hand like a lifeline. “I know you’re scared. But the show must go on! This is a huge gig—career-making. Once you’re offstage, I promise we’ll deal with the stalker. But right now, you need to perform!”

I knew he was right; he was always right when it came to this stuff. The show, the audience, the brand—they didn’t care about my nerves, my fear, or the fact that some psycho had been following me for months. But logic didn’t make the suffocating weight in my chest any easier to bear.

“Okay,” I muttered, forcing the word out like it hurt. “Just… give me a second. Please.”

Joshua nodded and finally backed off, scurrying out of the green room like a man with a hundred things to do and only five minutes to do them. For a brief, blessed moment, I was alone.

I pulled my knees to my chest, careful not to crush the rhinestones sewn onto my performance outfit. It was a shimmering silver jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and wide legs—a statement piece meant to sparkle under the stage lights. But all I could think about was how constricting it felt, like it was tailored just a little too tight around my ribs.

Closing my eyes, I started the breathing techniques my therapist had drilled into me. In through the nose, hold for four seconds, out through the mouth. Repeat. Slowly, the tight band around my chest started to loosen, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough tonight.

Because he’d found me. Again.

I looked toward the vanity, where the note sat like a landmine I didn’t dare touch again. White cardstock, neat handwriting, a sprig of lilacs attached to it with a silky ribbon. I’m excited to see you perform tonight, my love. The cologne sprayed on it still clung to the air—thick, cloying, and nauseating.

I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, my stomach twisting at the thought of him somewhere out there, watching, waiting.

“Lyric!” Joshua’s voice snapped me back to reality, muffled but urgent from the other side of the door. “You have to be on in five!”

Sucking in a shaky breath, I stood and smoothed out the legs of my jumpsuit, trying to gather myself. I swiped at the corner of my eyes, careful not to smudge my stage makeup, then leaned closer to the mirror to fix where tears had smudged the edges of my eyeliner. Finally, I forced my lips into my practiced smile—the one I’d perfected to hide the cracks. It felt stiff, fake, but it would have to do.

I opened the door to Joshua looking panicked beyond belief, “Calm down Josh. I’m ready.”

“Thank God,” he exhaled, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the backstage area.

The roar of the crowd swelled with every step I took, a living, breathing force that buzzed through my chest and rattled my bones. The energy was electric, almost overwhelming, but it reminded me of why I was here. This was my dream—the music, the stage, the lights. And no matter how terrifying tonight felt, I wouldn’t let him take it away from me.

“Up those stairs, then wait for your cue. After you’re done here I promise you I’ll have an idea for this stalker problem.” Josh yelled over the noise with a shaky smile. He was a good guy, really he was. It was just he was so focused on the stage and show life that he rarely ever accounted for my feelings. So I had no doubt his plan was probably not actually going to help. But it was fine, I understood that it was his job and we weren’t friends.

“Got it,” I said, pasting on the same fake smile I’d perfected for moments like this. I turned toward the stairs, my heels clicking against the metal, and ascended to the stage. The lights were blinding, the crowd deafening, and the weight of a thousand eyes locked on me was suffocating. But I threw it all into the performance, delivering the kind of show that reminded me why I’d fought so hard to get here—even though I felt like dying inside.

+++

“We’re trending!” Joshua burst into the green room, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. It was probably the tenth time he’d yelled that since I walked offstage, but his energy didn’t waver. “Do you hear me, Lyric? Trending!”

I glanced up from the mirror where I was peeling off my false lashes and grinned at his reflection. “Yeah, Josh. You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” 

My body ached in the best way, a satisfying kind of exhaustion after giving everything I had onstage. Performing at Coachella wasn’t just another gig; it was the gig, a dream come true for a small artist like me. So even though I knew he was probably out there in the crowd somewhere, watching me, I gave it everything.

“I know I keep saying it but this is massive! You’ve never trended this much before! I mean, Megan the Stallion even followed you on twitter!” He was bouncing around the room. He was so excited.

I smirked, settling back in the chair as I reached for a makeup wipe. “I’ve trended like this before, you know. It’s literally how I got famous.”

“That doesn’t count,” Joshua shot back, wagging a finger at me. “That was B.J. Before Josh.”

I snorted, “You gotta rethink that acronym, it does not sound right.”

“I meant it in the pure wholesome way, not the nasty dirty way your mind was just conjuring up.” He scowled. Then he looked over my face and squawked in shock, “Wait, why are you de-glamming?”

I stared at him, “Uh… the show is over.”

“It’s Coachella! The show is never over!” He gestured wildly, practically vibrating with energy. “Put those lashes back on, then change into the outfit I laid out on the couch. You need to go out, mingle, and snap some pics for the socials.”

“Josh, I’m really not in the picture mood right now.” I sighed, leaning back in my chair and dragging my hands through my hair. The tension that had eased for a second was creeping back in, settling on my shoulders like a lead weight.

His face softened for a moment, but only for a moment. Then the manager mask snapped back into place. “I know, Lyric. And I do understand. But I’ve already arranged for security—24/7 coverage. Plus, the idea I came up with is already here.”

“It’s here? What is it, a gun? Because trust me I already have one. I grew up in Gotham. It’s pink and sparkly and I named her Sugarpop.”

“No no.” He sighs then sits down. “Well, I guess I should tell you now since he’ll be here soon anyway.”

I squinted at him, my stomach churning. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“It’s not bad!” He held up his hands defensively. “Well… not too bad.”

“Josh.”

“Okay, okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands nervously along the seams of his pants. “So, I know a guy who knows a guy, and they got me in contact with some people who are… um… affiliated with The Young Justice.”

My blood turned to ice. That name. Everyone in Gotham knew that name. You didn’t say it unless you wanted to invite trouble.

I swallowed hard, my voice low. “Joshua, what did you do?”

He shifted uncomfortably, his usually unshakable confidence faltering. “I’ve been really worried about how this stalker situation has been affecting you, Lyric. And I know you’re about to take a break and head back to school. But I thought… while you’re staying in Gotham for GU… maybe you could stay with…” He trailed off.

“Who, Josh?” My voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Tim Drake.” He barely whispered the name, his voice cracking like a teenager caught sneaking out.

“WHAT?!” The sheer absurdity of his words yanked me out of my chair. “Are you out of your mind?”

Joshua flinched but quickly tried to calm me with raised hands. “It’s not as bad as it sounds! I swear!”

“Not as bad as it sounds?” I paced the room, my performance heels clicking against the floor. “You mean you made a deal with Gotham’s most notorious family to stick me with Tim motherfucking Drake and you think this is fine? Do you know what he does to people who try him? No, you don’t! No one knows! All we know is that they disappear one day never to be seen again! And you want that for me?!”

“Tim’s reputation is what makes him perfect!” Joshua blurted. “Nobody in their right mind would mess with you while he’s around!”

I stopped dead in my tracks and spun on him, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. “And what about the fact that I will have to mess with him? Do you know what it’s like to be around a Wayne, Josh? Do you?”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, clearly realizing he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“No you don’t. It’s bad! They’re bad!” I hissed. “I’ve avoided them my whole life! I’ve steered clear and made sure never to get involved with anyone criminal from Gotham! But now you thrust one straight on my lap? To live with?”

“Well… not just live with per se…” Joshua muttered, suddenly fascinated with the scuffed toe of his shoe.

“What do you mean not just live with?” I was on the verge of pulling out my hair.

“Well, me and Angie thought it would also be a good idea if you two… well… um… pretended to be in a romantic relationship.” He rushed those last few words out.

“Angie,” I breathed, the name leaving my mouth like a curse. Of course, she was behind this. Joshua might’ve been the one breaking the news, but Angie was the puppet master pulling the strings.

Angie—my publicist. The so-called best in the business. The woman who didn’t just toe the line of decency; she bulldozed right over it in stilettos and blonde highlights. She’d do anything for money and fame, including this insanity. And because of the ironclad, soul-sucking contract I’d signed with her last year, I was powerless to stop her.

I collapsed back into the chair at the vanity, the fight draining out of me as the reality of my situation sank in. My shoulders slumped, and I let out a ragged sigh. “How long?” I murmured, not even bothering to look at Joshua.

“Not long, I promise. Just while you’re staying in Gotham for school.”

“So, you want me shacked up with him for a year.” I leaned back, staring up at the ceiling like the answer to my problems might magically appear there.

Joshua nodded, though I didn’t need to see it to know.

I dragged my hands down my face, smearing the remnants of my makeup as I let out another sigh, heavier this time. “I regret hiring you.”

“I know I’m sorry.”

+++

Joshua informed me that Tim was currently at the festival but was tied up in a meeting with some friends for business. He’d meet us later. I wondered what “business” entailed in this context. I knew the Waynes didn’t deal in drugs or humans—something I begrudgingly respected. Their money came from loan sharking and money laundering through their endless web of “legitimate” businesses spread across Gotham. But that couldn’t be it, right? No one amassed the kind of wealth they had without some extra skeletons in the closet. I guessed I’d be finding out soon enough, seeing as I was now fake dating one of them.

The thought made me want to scream.

Joshua and I walked through Coachella’s sprawling grounds, stopping every few feet to snap pics with people I barely knew but would look good next to me on my feed. It was exhausting. Every smile felt faker than the last, my cheeks aching from forcing the expression. I hated it. And I hated my outfit.

To be fair, the outfit was objectively cute, and in any other situation I would have loved my little boho chic festival girl thing I had going on. I was giving,’she listens to Erica Badu and Lauryn Hill’ right now which I adore. But I was mad at Josh and since he picked the fit, I hated it.

“He’s done with his meeting,” Joshua said from behind me as we stood near the main stage, watching another artist perform. “He’ll be here in fifteen.”

“Just great,” I muttered, not even bothering to hide my irritation.

Joshua ignored my tone—smart move—and pressed on. “We should head to the hotel. He booked a room at the same one we’re staying at so it’ll be easier for you two to get to know each other for the rest of the festival.”

“How thoughtful,” I replied, the sarcasm dripping from my voice so thickly it practically pooled at my feet.

Joshua winced. He hated when I was mad. But more than that, he hated when I was mad at him. After taking a few more carefully curated pictures for Instagram—because apparently, I couldn’t get through one damn day without feeding the algorithm—we left the festival and made our way to the hotel.

The car ride was silent and filled with tension. I put on my AirPods Max and blasted music at a volume that would probably make my audiologist cry, glaring at Joshua the entire time. He avoided my gaze like his life depended on it, staring out the window and shifting uncomfortably every few seconds.

When we finally pulled up to the hotel, I was greeted by a swarm of paparazzi. Cameras flashed like lightning, and the sound of shouted questions and clicking shutters hit me like a wall.

I groaned. “Why are they even here? It’s Coachella. There are literally more famous people in a five-mile radius than me right now.”

Joshua looked sheepish, avoiding my glare. “It’s because Tim is here. He never leaves Gotham.”

I nearly sneered. Of course. The elusive Tim Drake makes one public appearance outside his dark, crime-ridden kingdom, and suddenly it’s like the second coming. This was going to be a nightmare.

I stepped out of the car with the help of one of my security guys, adjusting my posture like I owned the place, and basically sashayed into the hotel. The paparazzi shouted questions, one after another, most of them centered on my new album and the possible collaborations or surprise tracks. I ignored every single one of them, my expression cool and detached, while Joshua trailed behind me, yelling “No comment!”

The hotel lobby, thank god, was clear. No photographers, no fans—just blissful silence. Still, knowing how sneaky those camera-wielding vultures could be, we didn’t slow down. We made a beeline for the elevators, not stopping until we were safely inside one.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as the elevator doors closed. Josh pressed the button for the penthouse, and the elevator began its smooth ascent.

“I’m not in the penthouse,” I reminded him with a glance. “I’m on the floor below. You know, where the mortals live.” I was making money now that I was semi famous, but not penthouse money. I wish.

“No but um, he is.” Joshua muttered. I glared. Oh so, he was trying to have this first meeting on his turf? The nerve. If I wasn’t genuinely concerned that Tim Drake might snap and end my bloodline if I pissed him off, I’d have demanded he come to my room instead.

The elevator ride was far too short for my liking, and before I knew it, the doors slid open with a soft chime. My pulse quickened, reality hitting me like a freight train. I was about to meet Tim Drake. Not just a Wayne, but the Wayne who made people disappear without so much as a trace.

Josh led the way to the penthouse door and knocked. I crossed my arms, trying to steady my nerves while plastering on a neutral expression. A beat passed before the door opened, and I was greeted by someone who was very much not Tim.

The guy standing in the doorway was impossibly handsome, with jet-black hair and a towering frame that made my 5’5” self feel practically pocket-sized. He wore a leather jacket that somehow looked more expensive than my entire outfit and round sunglasses, which was odd considering we were indoors and it was nighttime.

“Hi, Con!” Joshua greeted cheerfully, his voice a little too upbeat for my current mood.

“‘Sup, Josh,” the guy—Con—replied casually, his voice low and smooth. His head tilted as his gaze settled on me, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, right!” Josh flailed a little, gesturing toward me like I was some rare artifact. “This is my client, Lyric Kane. Lyric, this is Conner Kent.”

The name hit me instantly. Conner Kent. Tim Drake’s right-hand man. His muscle. The guy who could snap someone in half without breaking a sweat.

Conner slid off his sunglasses, revealing piercing sky-blue eyes that made me want to both swoon and bolt in the opposite direction. “Tim’s in the living room. He’s expecting you.”

Josh and I moved to step inside, but Conner held up a hand, stopping Josh dead in his tracks. “Only her.”

“What?” Josh squawked, his voice rising in that way it always did when he got flustered. “But she can’t go in alone! She needs me there, she—”

“She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine,” Conner interrupted smoothly, his smirk deepening. His eyes flicked back to me, scanning my face with a touch of amusement. “We don’t bite.” His lips twitched. “Hard, at least.”

Before I could respond—or demand what the hell that was supposed to mean—a voice called out from inside, one that sent an icy shiver down my spine.

“Conner, let the girl in and stop flirting,” the voice said, light with amusement but carrying a weight that was unmistakable. I knew that voice. I’d heard it countless times in the halls of Gotham Academy, smooth and self-assured. The voice of the devil himself.

Conner’s grin widened as he stepped aside, giving me just enough space to slip through the door. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but instead, I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked inside.

The penthouse was large. Larger than any hotel room I’ve ever been in. I made my way to the living room, trying to force myself not to absolutely lose it.

When I stepped in my eyes went to him right away.

There he was, Tim Drake. Sitting on the couch casually. His eyes followed me as I walked deeper into the room. His blue a darker deeper color than Conner’s. More intense. More beautiful. Actually, all of him was more beautiful than I remembered. He looked… grown. More mature. His jaw was sharper, his features more refined, with a quiet confidence that could make anyone in his presence feel small. He had the kind of face poets write about, the kind of face people wrote love songs about, he looked like a heartbreaker.

Well, going by his reputation he was one.

I stopped a few feet in front of him, towering over him while he stayed seated, like he owned the entire room—like he owned me. For a moment, we just stared at each other, the silence thick enough to choke on.

Finally, I broke. “I’m Lyric,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected.

“I know,” he replied smoothly, leaning back against the couch as though this meeting was the most boring thing he’d done all day. His voice was low, rich, and dark, the kind of tone that could melt butter—or my resolve. Dangerous.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself? That’s usually the polite thing to do,” I shot back, irritation creeping into my voice.

“You know who I am.” His lips curved into a slight smirk. “So, you need my help?”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like my throat had gone dry. “Not really. This was a plan set up by my manager and my publicist—”

“You need my help,” he interrupted, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. Not a question, but a statement carved in stone. “I’ve looked into your case. The police aren’t helpful—especially Gotham police. They’re useless. Trust me, I know. And no matter how many precautions you take—moving, changing your number, switching staff—it hasn’t stopped him, has it?”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, each one painfully accurate.

“I can help with that,” he continued, his voice steady and assured, like he wasn’t just offering a solution but guaranteeing it. “Aside from my mere presence being enough to scare him off, I also have means to ensure your safety is no longer a question. But let me make one thing clear: this won’t be for free.”

My blood froze. I knew it. I knew this was a bad idea.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling, “To be honest darling, I don’t know. I’ve never had someone as pure and… untouched by the criminal underground as you request my help before. There are so many possibilities.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.” I blurted out. I knew how some of these shady guys in the music industry acted, and if criminal life was anything like it Tim was probably looking for just that.

He snorted, a short, almost amused sound. “Oh please. I wouldn’t ask that of you. I’m not a monster.”

Sure you’re not, I thought bitterly, but I didn’t say it out loud.

He straightened slightly, his gaze locking onto mine once more. “Hmm, for now since I can't think of something just know this. At some point, I’ll call on you for something, and when I do you’ll have to say yes.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice trembling just enough to betray me.

He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees, his grin slow and dangerous. “You will.”

Chapter Text

I woke up the next morning with a pit in my stomach and a very strong desire to stay in bed all day. Tim and Joshua both decided that today was the day for our “soft launch,” and honestly, the thought alone made me want to crawl under the covers and never come out.

Contrary to what the tabloids loved to speculate, I’d never actually been in a real relationship before. Not since seventh grade, at least, and even then, I’m pretty sure holding hands twice during recess and breaking up over text doesn’t count. The idea of pretending to be in a relationship, especially with someone like Tim Drake, felt overwhelming in ways I didn’t want to think about too hard.

I decided to delay the inevitable as much as possible, staying cocooned in my bed and staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers to life’s questions. Fifteen minutes after my alarm went off, just as I started to convince myself I could get away with staying in bed forever, the banging on my hotel bedroom door began.

“Wakey, wakey, Lyric! Time to start the day! We have a lot to do, and Coachella Day 2 waits for nobody!” Joshua’s cheery voice rang out from the other side of the door, way too bright for the hour.

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head, willing him to go away.

“Lyric! Gotta get up!” he shouted again, this time with an increased intensity in his banging.

I sat up, glaring at the door like I could set it on fire with my mind. “Fine!” I shouted back. “Just know I’m mad at you and I hate you!”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, his voice muffled through the door. I could hear the exaggerated sadness in his footsteps as he shuffled away, probably heading to go bug someone else.

With a heavy sigh, I finally dragged myself out of bed, feet shuffling as I made my way to the adjoining bathroom. The fluorescent lights flickered on, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Despair. That’s all I saw—pure, unfiltered despair staring right back at me. My mood was perfectly reflected in the tired eyes and slouched posture of the girl in the glass.

“Alright, girl, let’s get it together,” I muttered to myself. If I was going to play this role today, I had to look the part.

I turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the room as I peeled off my pajamas. The hot water was blissful, washing away the remnants of sleep and some of the anxiety that had taken up residence in my chest. I lathered, scrubbed, and shaved, even though I didn’t really need to. One of the perks of being in the public eye was access to every beauty treatment imaginable—laser hair removal included—but old habits die hard.

After what felt like forever, I stepped out and wrapped myself in a fluffy towel, ready for the next part of my ritual: my million-step skincare routine. I slathered, patted, and massaged product after product onto my face, each one promising to make me look like I’d actually gotten a full eight hours of sleep. When that was done, I brushed and flossed. All in all, I managed to get everything done in just under an hour. Record time.

Feeling slightly more human, I threw on a fluffy white robe and padded out into the living room of my suite. My glam team was already there, waiting.

“Good morning!” I greeted them with a small smile as I made my way to the chair they had set up in the center of the room.

“Good morning, my favorite client!” Sade, my stylist, said with her signature beam of sunshine.

“I’m your only client,” I teased, settling into the chair.

“Still my fave.” She winked, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Sade and I had history. We were both Gotham girls through and through, born and raised in the same city that never seemed to run out of problems. She was also a GU alum, which made me love her even more. I loved to pick her brain about campus life and what it’s like out there. When I’d first started rising in the industry, Joshua and Angie had presented me with a list of up-and-coming stylists to choose from. Sade’s name had jumped out at me instantly.

Joshua and Angie weren’t sold on her at first. They thought she was too bold, too gaudy, too much. But I’d put my foot down. Sade had an eye for style, a way of making me look effortlessly stunning, and, more importantly, she got me. I liked to think of us as the next Zendaya and Law Roach—ride or die, creative soulmates.

“Okay, so,” Sade started as she flipped through her iPad, her energy buzzing, “Joshua told me today is the official first day of your relationship, and tonight after the festival, you’re going to a restaurant to help sell the image.”

“Yup,” I replied flatly. “Unfortunately.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” she joked, her laughter light and infectious. “Alright, here’s what I’m thinking: fun and flirty festival girl during the day, then classy bad bitch for tonight. Thoughts?”

“You know I love everything you put me in, girl. Do whatever you gotta do,” I said, smiling at her.

“Ugh! I love you! You’re the best muse.” She clapped her hands, spinning around to her team. “Alright, people, let’s get to work!”

Then they were off, poking and prodding me like a human canvas. Brushes swept over my skin, rollers tugged at my hair, and someone carefully applied rhinestones to my nail beds. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, their chatter blending with the hum of blow dryers and the occasional burst of laughter. By the end of it, I looked like someone who had effortlessly woken up glamorous—an illusion worth every second of effort.

Sade, the world’s biggest perfectionist, was putting the final touches on my makeup when she suddenly spoke up, “So who’s the lucky guy? Joshua never told me.”

“Oh you’re gonna love this.” I snorted. “It’s Tim Drake-Wayne.”

She froze mid stroke with her makeup brush, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know. A Wayne! Josh and Angie think it’ll help deter the stalker. I just think it’ll help get me killed in a different way.”

“You’re not going to believe this, but my old friend from college is engaged to Dick Grayson.” Sade whispered in shock.

“WHAT?” I exclaimed, nearly jumping out of my seat. “You know Chanel Pierce?”

“Yeah, she was roommates with one of my best friends. We got close during senior year,” Sade explained, still looking stunned.

“So… do you know Tim?” I asked, twisting my hands nervously in my lap.

She shook her head. “Not really. I never met the rest of the family, except Dick. I did meet some of his friends, though. Wally West is married to another one of my friends from college.”

“Wow,” I said, my voice trailing off as I tried to process this tiny, interconnected world we lived in.

“Wow is right,” Sade murmured, her expression dazed. “I can’t believe life brought me back to the Waynes. Who would’ve thought?”

I hesitated, then asked the one thing that had been gnawing at me since this whole charade started. “Any advice?”

Sade sighed, setting her brush down for a moment. “Don’t let him get attached.”

“Okay, that’s… ominous. Why?”

“Waynes are…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Obsessive. If you can even call it that. They don’t do things halfway—especially not relationships. When they get attached, they go all in, and they’re relentless. It can be… overwhelming.”

“Well, that should be easy, right? This is basically just a job for him,” I said, attempting to sound confident.

“Hm.” Sade hummed, picking her brush back up to add a final flourish of highlighter. “I hope you’re right. For your sake, at least.”

She stepped back, inspecting her work with a critical eye before nodding in satisfaction. “There. You’re perfect. Ready to knock ’em dead—figuratively, of course.”

I laughed, feeling a bit lighter.

+++

Day 2 of Coachella was on another level. The energy was electric, the crowd seemed even more vibrant, and I finally felt like I could let go and soak in the experience. Artists I’d dreamed of seeing live were performing right in front of me, their voices weaving into the desert air and creating a surreal kind of magic. The scent of sunscreen and sweet festival treats like churros and lemonade mixed with the dust kicked up from the throngs of people dancing.

I was even able to stop and meet fans throughout the day. That part still blew my mind. Fans. Me. Lyric. People with my name on their phones, who had memorized my lyrics and wanted selfies with me. It was surreal to think that just a couple of years ago, I was rehearsing monologues for Hairspray Jr. in a cramped drama classroom. Now, I was signing phone cases and posing for pictures while people told me they loved my music. Semi-famous or not, it was hard to wrap my head around.

I was having so much fun I forgot about my meeting with Tim tonight—until Joshua brought me crashing back to reality.

“Lyric!” he yelled, his voice competing with the sounds of Tems performing in the distance. “We have to head back to the hotel soon! You need to get dressed and leave with Tim in an hour and a half!”

My stomach plummeted like a roller coaster drop. “Already?” I asked.

“It’s 6. We need to go.”

I sighed, stealing one last glance at the stage as if I could will the clock to slow down, but eventually, I nodded. We made our way out of the festival, weaving through crowds of glitter-clad dancers and couples lounging on the grass. The golden hour sun bathed everything in a warm, dreamy glow that made it even harder to leave.

Back at the hotel, we were greeted once again by a wall of paparazzi waiting by the entrance. Their cameras flashed like strobe lights, and the chaotic chorus of “Lyric! Over here!” was as jarring as ever. This time Joshua told me to walk slower, and to let them get a look at me.

“They need to see you so that you’re in the news. Once you and Tim go public then it’ll be even bigger news. You staying at the same hotel then being spotted together at a restaurant is perfect coverage.” He explained.

I wasn’t thrilled about that but I complied. I walked out of the car and made a show of fluffing my hair and sashaying in the building. I waved at a few paps I recognized and even posed for a couple of pictures.

“I hated that.” I told Joshua as we rushed to the elevator in the lobby.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said with a grimace, hitting the button for our floor.

“Instead of being sorry, just stop making me do shit I hate.” I snapped. I was still peeved at him for this whole Tim idea. Him coming up with it was fine, I get it. He has ideas. But to run it by Angie before me? When he knows just how much I hate her? That felt like a betrayal I wasn’t ready to forgive.

“Lyric, when are you going to realize I did this for you?” Joshua started, his voice taking on that placating tone I couldn’t stand. “I just wanted you to be safe, and—”

I cut him off, my anger flaring. “No, what you wanted was for me to start trending again. What you wanted was more eyes on me. You and Angie don’t give a shit about how I feel about anything. So stop pretending you do.”

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open as if on cue. I stepped out without waiting for his response, leaving him to stew in the aftermath of my words. The frustration in my chest didn’t ease as I made my way to my room, but at least I’d gotten it out.

I flung the door open and was immediately greeted by Sade, standing there like a ray of sunshine with a stunning black cocktail dress draped over her arm and a brand-new black, kinky-straight wig sitting on the table, ready to go.

“God, I hate that I love that wig,” I grumbled, tossing my bag aside as I plopped into the makeup chair.

“I knew you’d love it. Gotta look good to feel good.” She grinned.

“Well, I feel like shit,” I muttered, glancing over as Joshua slunk in through the doorway before retreating to his room without a word. Good.

“That’s why we’re gonna make you look like a goddess. Now sit back and let me work my magic.”

And magic she worked. Sade didn’t just glam me up; she transformed me. By the time she finished, I felt like I had stepped out of a black-and-white Hollywood film, reimagined in full color. The dress she’d picked was a masterpiece—backless, with long sleeves, clinging to my body in all the right places. It shimmered faintly under the light, the fabric catching every curve like it had been painted on.

She softly curled my hair which made it frame my face beautifully. And to top it all off I was sporting black So Kates on my feet. Did they pinch and hurt like hell? Yes. But did they make my legs look fantastic? Also yes.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, turning this way and that, taking in the full effect. “Wow,” I breathed. “I look incredible.”

“Of course you do. I dressed you,” Sade said with a snort, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I sighed, the glamour not quite enough to settle my nerves. “I can’t believe I look this good for a man I don’t even like romantically.”

Before Sade could respond, Joshua knocked on the bathroom door, leaning in. “He’s here.”

My stomach tightened. The excitement of the festival was long gone, replaced with a nervous energy that buzzed under my skin. “Already?” My voice cracked slightly.

“He’s waiting,” Joshua said, softer this time.

I looked to Sade, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but the concern etched on her face only made me more anxious.

I took a deep breath and ran my sweaty palms across my dress. I was nervous beyond belief but I had a job to do. And who knows, maybe being seen with Tim really will deter the stalker. I made my way towards the hotel door with a much more confident demeanor than I actually had. I placed my hand on the door knob and opened it.

And there he was, Tim Drake.

He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with tailored black slacks. The top button of his shirt was undone, just enough to reveal a gold chain with a bat charm hanging from it. On his wrist sat a gold Rolex, understated but unmistakably expensive.

His piercing blue eyes traveled down my body, making me feel both powerful and vulnerable all at once. When his gaze finally met mine again, the hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

“You clean up nice,” he said, his tone casual

I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice. “Thanks. You too.” The glint in his eye said he knew just how good he looked—and how much I noticed.

He took a step closer, his eyes scanning my face with an unnerving intensity. Then he grinned wider, leaning slightly forward. “Why are you scared?”

I backed up a step, caught completely off guard. How did he know? I snuck a glance at one of the hallway mirrors lining the walls. All I saw staring back at me was a confident woman—poised, glamorous, untouchable. No trace of fear on the surface. So how could he see through me so easily?

I turned back to him, schooling my expression into something calm, collected. “I guess I’m nervous about the stalker being there tonight,” I offered, hoping that excuse would suffice.

“No, that’s not it,” he said, his voice gentle but laced with certainty. His blue eyes didn’t waver as they locked onto mine. “You’re scared of me.”

“No, I’m not,” I snapped, way too fast for it to sound believable.

“Now, Angel,” he said with a slow tilt of his head, his tone just this side of teasing, “let’s not start this relationship off with lies.” He crossed his arms, his posture casual, like he had all the time in the world. “It’s fine if you don’t want to admit it. But you’re going to have to get over your fear of me if we’re going to sell this.”

“I’m not scar—” I started, but the words got caught in my throat. I sighed, my shoulders sagging. “Okay, fine. I’ll try to act all in love and stuff.”

His face split into a grin, like I’d just handed him the best news of his life. “Great.” Without missing a beat, he looked over my shoulder and snapped his fingers. “Her bag, Jimmy.”

“It’s Joshua.” My manager corrected behind me.

“Whatever.” Tim said. He grabbed my purse from Joshua and then looked down at me again gesturing towards the elevator. “Shall we?”

I nodded and grabbed my purse from him. Then I made my way towards the elevators. I heard Tim behind me mutter to Joshua, “I’ll have her home by 11.” Then laugh as if he just told the funniest joke ever.

I pressed the down floor button just as he arrived. I could feel him step in behind me, his presence too large, too close. I fiddled with the strap of my purse, the silence between us heavy and awkward.

“You smell good,” Tim said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

I flinched at the sound, nearly dropping my purse. “Oh! Thanks. It’s probably my body glaze.”

“Body glaze?”

“Makes me shiny,” I mumbled, my face warming as I gestured vaguely toward my shoulders.

He hummed in understanding just as the elevator doors dinged open, saving me from further embarrassment. I stepped inside, keeping my gaze trained firmly on the floor buttons, while Tim followed me in, exuding confidence like it was second nature. The space suddenly felt too small, his presence filling every corner.

“Give me your phone,” he said casually, just as I reached for the lobby button.

I froze mid-motion, turning toward him with a skeptical look. “Why?”

“Soft launch. Need pics for IG,” he replied.

“Oh, right,” I muttered, reluctantly digging into my purse and handing over my phone.

He took it with a satisfied nod, then added, “I’m going to touch you now. Don’t get scared.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, even though my stomach was already doing nervous flips.

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—more like a knowing look—but he didn’t comment. Instead, he stepped closer. Closer than I was ready for, our fronts almost brushing. I had to tilt my head slightly to keep my eyes level with his chest, refusing to meet his gaze.

His free arm wrapped around my waist, his hand splaying against my back. I held in a shiver at the contact. It was... intimate. Too intimate for two people who’d exchanged more barbs than pleasantries so far. I swallowed hard and tried not to visibly react.

“Look at me,” he said softly. Slowly, I peeled my eyes away from his chest and looked up at his face. He was holding the phone at an angle, lining up a shot in the reflective surface of the elevator. His focus was entirely on the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted his grip and framed the picture.

It was... cute. Annoyingly so. The kind of cute that made you rethink how much you didn’t like someone, if only for a moment.

“Got it,” he said with a grin, snapping me out of my thoughts. He handed me my phone. “Do you like it?”

I glanced down at the screen, surprised by what I saw. The picture was good—better than good, actually. I was looking up at him, my expression soft, almost longing. His face was cropped out, but the angle highlighted the sharp cut of his shirt and the chain glinting against his open collar. We looked... like a couple. Like one of those effortless, magazine-ready couples you’d find splashed across glossy spreads.

“This is really good.” I was honestly impressed.

“Hm, glad you liked it.” He used his free hand to press the lobby button as I added a heart emoji then posted the pic on my story.

My stomach twisted as I hit “share.” This was going to blow up. Anyone from Gotham who saw this photo would know exactly who I was with. Even if they couldn’t tell which Wayne it was, the bat chain gave enough of a hint to narrow it down. And once we were spotted together, there’d be no more guessing. The world would know: I was dating Tim Drake.

“Are you ready?” Tim asked, his voice low as the elevator doors slid open to the lobby. I could already see paparazzi crowding by the entrance, cameras poised and ready.

“No,” I said honestly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I am.”

Chapter Text

The camera flashes hit me like a tidal wave, each one more disorienting than the last. My eyes were half-blinded by the strobe of lights, and every shouted question felt like a slap to the face. My feet stumbled forward, and the only thing keeping me upright was Tim’s steady hand on my waist, guiding me through the mob.

“Lyric! Are you dating Timothy?”

“Lyric! Lyric! What’s your relationship status?!”

“Lyric! Lyric! Did you write Love Lies about Tim?”

The questions hit me like a battering ram. Their voices were loud and overlapping, a chaotic storm of noise that was pounding its way into my skull. My head started to throb, each new shout adding weight to the panic blooming in my chest. I’d never been mobbed by the press like this before.

My breaths came shallow and quick, my vision starting to swim. The camera flashes morphed into blinding halos, and the world tilted on its axis. Oh God, I was having a panic attack—right here, in front of everyone. My fingers clenched the strap of my purse like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but that only made the panic worse. The idea of breaking down in public, with all these people snapping pictures of me, was enough to make my chest feel like it was collapsing.

“Just breathe, Angel,” Tim’s voice cut through the noise, low and calm as he leaned down to my ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Breathe. The limo is ten steps ahead.”

I nodded, focusing on his words as I tried to match his calm cadence. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. My breaths were shaky, but I followed his lead, letting him steer me through the frenzy. His hand was firm on my waist, grounding me as we moved forward.

The sleek, black limo came into view like salvation itself. Tim opened the door in one smooth motion, using his body to shield me from the cameras as much as he could. I slid into the seat, my heart still pounding, but the relief of being out of the spotlight was immediate. The sound of the door clicking shut was the sweetest thing I’d heard all night.

Tim slipped in beside me, his demeanor shifting from calm to sharp in an instant. His hand barely left the door handle before he was pulling out his phone and pressing it to his ear.

“Con,” he barked. “Deal with the paps.”

He paused for a beat as Conner responded on the phone. Tim’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing into a deep line. His jaw ticked, and his grip on the phone tightened.

“I don’t care how it’ll come across,” he snapped, his voice cold as ice. “Threaten them if need be. Just get them fucking gone.”

He ended the call without waiting for a response, tossing the phone onto the seat beside him with a frustrated sigh. For a moment, he sat there, staring out the window, his profile unreadable in the dim light.

“Thanks,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “For... helping me back there.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.” He mutters. Then he lazily turns his head to look at me. “Plus they were pissing me off too.”

“They’ve never been that… intense.” I fumbled with the strap of my bag. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not like you called them here. It was for sure that manager of yours Jones.”

I furrowed my brows, “Joshua? Why would he call the paps?”

“Because he wanted you to get attention.” Tim said casually leaning back in his chair. “He doesn’t seem like a good person at all. No one with their clients best interest at heart would hook them up with a mafia prince. But your manager did. So it’s not too far-fetched to think he called the paparazzi.”

“He’s just a bit dim witted sometimes. But there's no way he’d call the paparazzi, he knows too many of them make me anxious.”

Tim tilted his head, giving me a look like he was trying to figure out if I was naive or just stupid. “He also knows pretending to date me makes you anxious, but here we are. Doesn’t seem like he cares too much about that, does it?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. He was right, and I hated that. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it before, but hearing it said out loud—so bluntly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—stung.

Tim must’ve noticed the look on my face because he sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m not saying he’s a villain here. I’m just saying maybe don’t bend over backwards to defend someone who keeps putting you in situations you hate. You’ve got enough going on without carrying dead weight.”

I swallowed hard, his words sinking deeper than I wanted them to. “He’s not dead weight. He’s just… not great at thinking things through sometimes.”

Tim’s lips twitched again, this time into something closer to a real smile. “If you say so, Angel.” He sat back again, closing his eyes like the conversation was over. And I guess it was. I wasn’t too eager to start it back up again. So for the rest of the ride to the restaurant we sat in silence.

I scrolled through my socials and he just sat with his eyes closed. Joshua texted me a couple of times asking how things were, and what we were doing. But I ignored all his messages. I mean, Tim now really has me thinking that I’m being played.

When we arrived at Velluto Rosso, the restaurant Tim was bringing me to, he finally spoke up. “What are your limits on physical touch?” He suddenly asked.

My head shot up from my endless doom scroll, “Huh?”

He looked at me and cocked his head. “Physical Touch. To sell this I have to touch you but I need to know the limits you have.”

“I guess, just don’t like grope me or anything and I’m fine with anything.” Which is true. I’ve guest starred on a couple of shows for HBO and they are not shy with the contact on that channel. So I’m sort of immune to being embarrassed about physical touch with strangers.

“That’s vague.” He chuckled. “I mean kissing, Lyric. Is that okay?”

The question hit me like a truck. I tightened my grip on my phone. Kissing? I hadn’t kissed anyone in, what, four years? And now, of all people, that streal was going to be ended by a Wayne?

I swallowed hard, trying to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

Tim’s eyes flicked over my face, then he sighed. “If you say so.”

“I’m serious!” I blurted, sitting up straighter. “I’m not lying!”

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced, as he reached for the door handle. Before I could fire back with a retort, he was already stepping out of the limo.

Tim turned back and offered me his hand, and I took it without hesitation. His grip was firm but not overbearing as he helped me out of the limo. Once I was steady on my feet, he rested his hand lightly on my back, guiding me toward the restaurant entrance. It was subtle, almost instinctual, but something about the warmth of his touch felt...nice. Comfortable. I definitely didn’t hate it.

As soon as we stepped inside, the vibe shifted. The host, a young guy who looked like he’d just gotten promoted, took one look at Tim and practically tripped over himself to greet us. His eyes widened, and his polished, professional demeanor kicked into overdrive.

“M-Mr. Wayne! So good to see you here again!” His voice cracked slightly as he rushed to meet us.

Tim didn’t even blink. “Mr. Wayne is my father. You can call me Mr. Drake.” His tone was cool, collected—completely in control. I couldn’t help but think how effortlessly he commanded the room. It was…kind of impressive.

The host’s face flushed with embarrassment. “So sorry, Mr. Drake. Of course.” His gaze flickered to me, and for a split second, I could see the gears turning. Recognition dawned, and his expression shifted, confirming he’d pieced together who I was and what we were doing here.

“Private room, sir?” he asked.

Tim shook his head, his expression remaining calm but firm. “Semi-private. Public enough that we’re seen, but private enough that no one hears our conversation.”

The host’s brows knit together in confusion, and he hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “Are you sure, Mr. Drake? You usually go private when you dine with us, and we always make sure to have that table rea–”

“Why are you questioning me?” Tim cut him off, his voice steady but with an edge that made the air around us seem ten degrees colder. His expression barely changed, but there was something sharp in his eyes that made me tense up. “Do you think I somehow got stupid and can’t make decisions for myself? Or do you think you know better than me?”

Woah. That escalated fast.

The host’s face went pale, and he stammered, “I would n-never presume to know better than yo–”

“Then why are you questioning me?” Tim pressed, his tone dangerously calm.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the host practically whispered, his posture shrinking under the weight of Tim’s stare.

Tim let out a sigh, clearly annoyed. “Show us to a table.”

“Of course. Please follow me,” the host said quickly, spinning on his heel and leading us toward the main dining area, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to comply.

I glanced up at Tim as we walked, but his expression had already softened back into that unreadable calm. He looked down at me and smirked slightly, “You thought that was cool.”

I whipped my head forward as my cheeks began to heat up, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, you’re so easy to read.” He chuckled, just as we approached our table.

“Here you are sir, a table that is public enough you’re seen but private enough that no one will hear your conversation.” The host said as he gestured towards our table.

It was more a booth than an actual table, but I guess on short notice this was all they could provide us given Tim’s demands. I could practically feel the tension radiating off Tim as he gave the booth a quick once-over. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled about the setup, but he nodded curtly and handed the host a crisp hundred. The guy’s face lit up like he’d just won the lottery, and Tim slid into the booth without another word. I followed, tucking my bag next to me.

Once seated, I let myself take in the room. The place was stunning, crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow over the glossy mahogany tables. Each table had pristine white cloths embroidered with delicate patterns that looked so intricate they had to be handmade. Flickering candles sat in the middle of every setup, giving the whole place a cozy but high-end vibe. Even the glasses looked like they cost more than my rent.

The staff matched the setting, too. Waiters floated around in full tuxedos or sleek black cocktail dresses, their hair styled in immaculate updos. The whole place screamed five stars.

I turned towards Tim, who was already looking at me and at my gawking, “This place is nice.” I said softly.

“Only the best for my girlfriend,” he teased, leaning back in the booth like he owned the place. He casually draped an arm along the top of the seat, his fingers grazing the edge of my shoulder. The touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent an unexpected shiver down my spine that I tried to ignore.

“So humorous,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes.

“I aim to be funny,” he said, his smirk widening just as our waiter approached.

The guy couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than me, with a neat tux and his dark hair pulled into a man bun. Normally, man buns weren’t my thing, but he kind of made it work. Kind of.

“Good evening and welcome to Velluto Rosso,” he greeted with a polished smile. “My name is Andrew, and I’ll be your Garçon for the evening. May I start you off with some wine?” He handed us the wine list, his movements smooth and practiced.

Tim didn’t even glance at the menu. “Garçon?” he asked, raising a brow. “French name for a waiter in an Italian restaurant. That’s…interesting.”

Andrew’s smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Yes, well, it’s a new initiative the owners are trying.”

Tim tilted his head, unimpressed. “I don’t like it,” he muttered before moving on. “My usual red wine, and bring us some champagne, the most expensive bottle you have.”

Andrew nodded, his polite smile returning. “Of course, Mr. Drake, right away.” His gaze flickered to me for a moment, his expression shifting just enough that I could tell he recognized me. I offered him a quick, polite smile, and he hurried off to fetch the drinks.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Tim leaned back, his eyes still following the waiter. “He thinks you’re hot.”

I laughed, caught off guard. “No, he doesn’t. And how could you possibly gauge that from a one-minute conversation?”

Tim turned to me, his expression as calm as ever. “His pupils dilated when he looked at you. He started breathing heavier too.”

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open. “You noticed that in one minute?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Noticed more, actually. You kind of have to in my line of work, Angel.”

“What else did you notice?” I asked, leaning in closer without even realizing it. There was something magnetic about the way he spoke.

His gaze roamed over my face, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle he was piecing together. “You have gold specks in your eyes, and whenever you’re nervous, they dull just a little. You’ve got a light dusting of freckles across your nose that your foundation barely hides—unless someone’s looking for them. Your canines are longer than average, almost vampiric. And you definitely used to wear braces or a retainer because you keep running your tongue over your teeth, like you’re expecting to feel something that’s not there anymore. Lastly…” He paused, his voice dropping just slightly. “You’re very attracted to me, but I scare you too much for you to admit it.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded, my brain doing cartwheels trying to process everything he’d just thrown at me. It wasn’t just the accuracy, although I’d never admit to being attracted to him even though it might sort of be true; it was the fact that he delivered it all like it was nothing. Finally, when I managed to find my voice, I muttered, “I meant about the waiter.”

“I know what you meant.” He said bluntly.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I opted to say nothing at all. Tim didn’t seem keen to speak either so we both just sat there looking at each other in silence before Andrew came back with our drinks.

“1989 Château Mouton Rothschild Bordeaux for the wine and Armand de Brignac Brut for the champagne,” Andrew said with a practiced smile. “Shall I pour?”

“I’ll have the wine,” Tim said, his eyes still locked on me, like Andrew wasn’t even there.

I glanced at the waiter and smiled politely. “Champagne for me, please.”

Andrew smiled back, the kind that’s equal parts professional and warm. “Of course, Ms. Kane.” That was enough to make Tim finally look at him. Tim wasn’t glaring exactly, but his expression had all the warmth of an Arctic winter. Andrew, clearly picking up on it, hurriedly poured our drinks and added water with mint and lemon slices to the table before pulling out a notepad and pen.

“For your meals?” he asked, his voice a little tighter than before.

“Chicken alla cacciatora for both of us,” Tim said smoothly, his tone low but laced with that same subtle edge he’d used earlier with the waiter. “With pasta, not rice. And bring us a basket of warm bread and butter.”

“Right away, Mr. Drake,” Andrew stammered before retreating to the kitchen like his shoes were on fire.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a knife, so I decided to break it. “You know, I’m on a diet,” I teased, leaning back in the booth. “I can’t eat all these carbs during Coachella weekend.” It was half a joke, but also kind of true. I’d been cutting back to make sure I looked my best for the performance.

“You don’t need to diet,” Tim muttered without looking up from his wine. “You’re already too skinny.”

“That’s sweet,” I said, half-smiling.

“I wasn’t being sweet,” he replied flatly, swirling his wine. “I was being honest. You look anemic.”

“Still sweet,” I shot back, grinning now. “Also you’re not as perceptive as you thought, the freckles are fake. Sade draws them on to make me look cuter.”

“Hmm.” He hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Interesting. Did I get the part about you being attracted to me wrong?” He took a sip of wine and looked over the rim of the glass at me like he was studying my reaction.

“I—I…” I cleared my throat, trying to keep my composure. “Well, you’re not ugly, if that’s what you mean. And you seem to be attracted to me too.” I was pulling words out of thin air at this point, desperately trying to regain some ground in the conversation. But the truth was, I didn’t really know what Tim thought of me. His expression was always so controlled, like he’d perfected the art of revealing absolutely nothing.

“I never denied that,” Tim said smoothly, setting his glass back on the table.

“I never denied it either.” The words left my mouth before I had a chance to think them through. The second they were out, I regretted them. I could feel my face heating up under the weight of his gaze. Why was I trying to argue with him? Maybe it was because he had this way of pushing my buttons, and I hated letting him win. But man, the look on his face right now made me want to crawl under the table. “Never mind,” I muttered quickly, embarrassed.

I grabbed my champagne glass and downed half of it in one go.

“Easy, Angel,” Tim said, his tone amused. “People are watching. You don’t want to look like an alcoholic, do you?”

I grimaced as the champagne ran down my throat. It tasted like shit. Champagne always tastes like shit. Even the expensive kinds it seems. “There's no paps here, I’m okay.”

“They’ve been outside the window for about fifteen minutes now, trying to snap a picture of us.” Tim nodded toward the large glass window at the front of the restaurant.

My stomach dropped as I turned to look. Sure enough, a cluster of photographers with cameras and flashing lights were stationed outside. I whipped my head back toward Tim, my heart racing.

“How long have they been there?” I demanded.

“Since we got here. Probably followed the limo,” he said casually, like it was no big deal, as if being stalked by photographers was just another Tuesday for him.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought you noticed,” he said with a shrug.

I hadn’t noticed. I’d been too busy watching him—the way he carried himself, the way he spoke. It was infuriating how he managed to pull my focus without even trying.

Tim leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “Want to give them a show?”

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “What kind of show?”

He moved his arm from the back of the booth and cupped my face gently, his fingers brushing my cheek. His thumb traced a line along my jaw, and his eyes—calm but intense—locked on mine. “Guess,” he said softly, his tone teasing but dangerous in a way that made my pulse race.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break free from my chest. I couldn’t find my voice, so I just nodded slightly.

The second I did, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

At first, the kiss was soft, almost testing, like he was giving me the option to pull away. But when I didn’t, it deepened. His hand slid to the back of my neck, his fingers weaving through the hair at my nape, holding me in place like he was afraid I might run and hide. His lips were firm, moving with the confidence of a man who had done this countless times before.

And just like that, everything else—the clinking of glasses, the faint hum of conversation, the flashing cameras outside—faded into the background. It was just him, just us, and the heat that spread through me like wildfire.

I didn’t think I’d ever truly been kissed before this moment. Not like this.

His lips fit against mine like they belonged there, like this was something we’d been building toward without realizing it. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty—just an undeniable connection. And he tasted so good, just like the wine he was drinking, It made me feel drunk on him. My hands, as if acting on their own, reached out to grip the front of his shirt, holding on like I needed something solid to keep me grounded.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathless. His thumb grazed my jaw one last time before he leaned back into his seat, casual as ever, like he hadn’t just sent my world spinning. His lips were slightly swollen, and his gaze was steady, almost challenging, as if daring me to say something.

“Want to guess how many pictures they just got?” he asked.

I turned my head, and the sight nearly blinded me—every camera outside firing off in rapid bursts, the relentless flashes merging into a dazzling, disorienting wall of light that seemed to consume the entire window.

“Too fucking many.”

Chapter Text

“Rising Gotham popstar Lyric Kane seen locking lips with notable bad boy Timothy Drake.” Sade cackled aloud as she read from her phone as she lounged on my couch. “The two seemed to be smitten as the Gotham prince just couldn’t take his hands off her!” She burst into laughter, nearly rolling off.

“Please stop, I’m so embarrassed.” I groaned. It seems like the world still isn’t over me and Tim’s stunt from last weekend. Everyday a new article is written about it, causing Sade to be very, very amused.

“Wait, wait, listen to this one.” She cleared her throat for effect. “‘The duo was in their own little world, completely unbothered by the flashing lights and gawking fans. Is this the beginning of a new celebrity love story?’ HAHAHA!” This time, she really did roll off the couch, clutching her stomach as she hit the floor with an ungraceful thud.

I scowled at her, trying to mask my amusement. “You came here to help me pack, remember? Not to ruin my mood by reading every dumb article out loud.”

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” She clambered off the floor, still wiping a fake tear from her cheek.

It was moving day, and I was officially packing up my life to move in with Tim. Yay...

On one hand, I was thrilled that the stalker had gone radio silent for the past week—an absolute record. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel like the price of that peace was way too high.

Ever since that kiss, I’d been... off. Tim noticed immediately, of course. He always noticed. How could he not when I could barely make eye contact without my heart doing backflips? It wasn’t just the kiss itself—though, let’s be real, that kiss was incredible—but everything about him had me spinning. He was considerate, hot as hell, and had this way of looking at me that made my chest feel tight.

I was a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It’s why half my songs were about yearning and unrequited love. The problem was, if I let myself get too attached to Tim, I knew I’d fall for him. Hard. And let’s face it, there was no way in hell the third prince of Gotham was falling for someone like me.

Sade snapped me out of my thoughts by grabbing a box and tossing a handful of my clothes inside. “So,” she asked, all casual-like, “have you talked to Tim today?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, folding a shirt and tucking it neatly into another box. “I texted him. He said to call him when I’m done packing, and he’ll send some guys to grab my stuff and take it to his place.”

“His one bedroom apartment.”

I froze and slowly turned to Sade with a glare, “He has a guest room!”

“That was originally an office.”

“Still a guest room!”

“Hmph, Whatever you say girl.”

I huffed and bit back a smile. Sleeping in the same bed as Tim seemed nice in theory. Cuddling, him stroking my hair, me gazing up at his eyes…

Stop it Lyric! Stop it!

I shook my head hard and focused on folding another shirt. This was going to be a long day.

+++

“Be careful with her stuff. You break it, you buy it,” Tim barked at the movers. I stood awkwardly beside him, arms crossed, as a parade of his mafia cronies shuffled past us, each lugging one of my many boxes into his house. The whole thing felt surreal—watching dangerous-looking men in tailored suits handle my life’s belongings.

Before all this, I could’ve packed up my entire life in a single duffel bag. Back then, I had a couple of shirts, a handful of jeans, one decent dress, and an ancient pair of beat-up Chucks. But fame had changed all that. Brands sent me endless PR packages stuffed with clothes, makeup, shoes—you name it. And because I couldn’t bring myself to toss any of it, I was now the proud owner of way too much stuff.

Watching box after box disappear into Tim’s house, I couldn’t help but cringe. “Sorry for all the boxes Tim,” I mumbled, wringing my hands together. “It’s mostly PR stuff I can’t seem to let myself throw out.”

“It’s fine, Lyric,” Tim said, his voice softer now. He glanced at me, lips quirking up into the faintest hint of a smile. “I figured you’d have a lot of stuff. You’re a popstar, after all.”

“I write mostly R&B, so I’m not sure why everyone calls me a popstar,” I huffed, narrowing my eyes at him for good measure.

“My bad. You’re an R&B star,” he teased, his tone as smooth as his smirk.

“Thank you,” I replied, giving him my best self-satisfied grin.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “C’mon,” he said, tilting his head toward the apartment. “Let me show you around the place.”

I followed him inside, and yeah, I tried to play it cool, but my jaw definitely dropped a little. I’d gotten used to luxury since my career took off, but this was something else entirely. Tim’s apartment—or should I say penthouse—was on a level I didn’t even know existed. It had two sprawling floors, and each one was probably bigger than my entire childhood home, backyard included.

The vibe was sleek but not sterile, with a lot of deep reds and touches of black and gold that somehow felt warm instead of gaudy. But what really stood out were the bird motifs. They were everywhere—paintings, sculptures, even the handles on a set of cabinets looked like little wings.

“What’s with the birds everywhere?” I asked, pausing in front of a massive painting of a robin perched on a snowy branch.

Tim came up beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I like how free they are. The robin especially. Not sure why that one in particular calls to me, but I’ve always wanted one. Unfortunately, it’s illegal to own a robin in New Jersey.”

“And since when do you care about what’s illegal?” I asked, raising a brow and stifling a laugh.

He let out a short laugh of his own. “I’ve gotta at least pretend to be a law-abiding citizen, Angel.”

That nickname. It got me every time. “Well, hate to break it to you,” I said with exaggerated sympathy, “but the whole ‘law-abiding’ thing isn’t really working out. Everyone knows you’re in the mafia.”

“Yeah, but they can’t prove it,” he shot back with a wink.

And just like that, my stomach betrayed me, doing a little flip like I was a middle schooler with a crush. I tucked a braid behind my ear, a move that I hoped looked casual but definitely wasn’t, and quickly looked away.

Clearing my throat, I forced out, “So, where am I staying?”

I could see him staring at me from the corner of my eye but I ignored him. Too anxious to look at him dead on right now.

“To be honest, I’m barely here,” he admitted, leaning against the wall. “I don’t see the point of staying at this apartment when the manor has cooks, maids, and butlers who’ll handle everything for me. Both bedrooms are unused, so you pick whichever one calls to you and I will use the other.”

“Why pay for this place then?” I asked, keeping my eyes trained on the painting.

“Father insisted we all buy our own places once we turned 18, so we knew what it was like to live on our own. Dick mostly stays in his apartment in Blüdhaven, Jason and Damian are on and off at the manor. I’m the only son who stays full time. Except maybe Duke but he doesn’t like to be called a Wayne kid.” Tim muttered.

“Interesting.” I murmur.

“Not really. I’m just lazy.” Tim says with a shrug. “Bedrooms are next to each other, let me show you.”

I follow after him as he walks deeper into the penthouse. He led me past the kitchen and to a very long hallway. “Door number one is the master bedroom, it has a bathroom attached and a walk-in closet. Door number two is a big room too, but considering it used to be an office it doesn’t have a bathroom attached and the closet was a last minute installation. So it’s large but not the biggest.” He explains.

He opened both doors for me to peek inside. They were surprisingly similar, with red and white bedding and simple, streamlined decor. But the master bedroom? That was a whole other level. It was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline, making the space feel like something out of a dream.

“I’ll take the office bedroom,” I said, still staring at the master bedroom in awe. “I’d hate to kick you out of your own room.”

“You wouldn’t be kicking me out,” he replied, stepping into the room beside me. “Like I said, I’m barely here. If you like this room, it’s yours.”

“Well… if you insist.” I couldn’t help but giggle as I glanced around. It was perfect—spacious, elegant, and definitely big enough to fit all the PR boxes I’d hauled here.

“I knew you’d like it, so I had the guys drop your boxes off here already,” Tim said, leaning casually against the wall like this wasn’t the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in months. “Need any help unpacking?”

“Nah, that’s okay,” I said, waving him off. “I don’t need any of your guys seeing my underwear. Plus, I’m not going to unpack right now. I have to meet with the president of the school soon, and I’ve got dance practice right after.”

“Busy day,” he murmured.

“Life of a popstar.” I shrugged.

“R&B star,” he corrected, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to smile back. “Do you need company?” he asked, his voice softer now, less teasing.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” I admitted, tucking my hands into my hoodie pocket. “I don’t remember the city like I used to. Been away too long.” Lies. Gotham’s streets were practically tattooed on my brain. No matter how long I was gone, I’d always know this city like it was a part of me. But the thought of spending more time with Tim seemed... nice.

“When do you have to leave?” He asked.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. “I got maybe an hour until I gotta be at GU.”

“So we should leave soon. It's on the other side of the city and traffic will be bad.”

“Good point,” I replied, nodding. “Lemme find my clothes and change, then we can head out.”

Tim frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “What’s wrong with what you have on now?”

I glanced down at myself, taking in my panda dunks, biker shorts, and the oversized black Nike hoodie I’d grabbed without thinking. Oh, and my glasses, because I couldn’t be bothered with contacts this morning. “I can’t go out like this,” I said, giving him a look. “People will want photos, and I don’t want to look bad in them.”

“You won’t look bad. You never look bad,” Tim said, his voice so casual and sure of himself that it caught me off guard. My stomach betrayed me again, flipping like it had a mind of its own.

“I appreciate that,” I said with a small laugh, “but Twitter won’t think the same thing.”

“Fuck Twitter,” he shot back without missing a beat, already pushing off the wall like the conversation was over. “Let’s go.”

“No, I really need to chang—”

“Let’s. Go.” His tone was firm, but not harsh, and the way his eyes locked on mine was almost enough to short-circuit my brain.

“Yeah, okay, I’m coming,” I muttered, caving way too fast for my liking. Embarrassment flooded through me as I grabbed my bag and followed him out, feeling like a total pushover.

As we stepped into the hallway, I tried to play it cool, but my heart was racing. Tim didn’t say much, just glanced back once to make sure I was keeping up, and that stupid little smirk of his lingered like he knew exactly how flustered I was.

+++

The car ride to GU felt like it stretched forever, thanks to the gridlocked Gotham traffic. But with Tim and Conner as my company, it wasn’t all bad. Tim had called in Con to drive us, which apparently was not part of Conner’s job description, judging by his constant grumbling.

At least it gave me an excuse to play them some demos from my new album. They both said they liked the tracks, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that they might just be trying to hype me up.

“So, when’s it dropping?” Conner asked from the front, one hand casually on the wheel while the other draped across the center console.

“Whenever the label approves it, and when I deem it ready to be sent in. But it feels unfinished, like it’s missing something.” I admitted, tapping my fingers against my thigh.

“Sounds good to me,” Con replied with a shrug.

“Of course it sounds good to you, Conner. You’ve got the ears of a layman,” Tim said dryly, barely looking up from his phone.

“Fuck off, Tim.”

“Eat shit and die, Conner.”

Apparently they are best friends.

“We’re here. Get the fuck out.” Conner barked as we pulled into a parking spot near the president’s building. I looked out the window of the old gothic arcature of the university. It was prettier in person than online.

Tim opened my door for me then offered his hand to help me out of the car, like a real gentleman. Conner snorted when he saw that but Tim flipped him off then we were on our merry way.

We were stopped a couple times, like I knew would happen by some of my more braver fans. But I think Tim and Conner’s presence behind me made most people too scared to approach. It was like they were my bodyguards.

We got to the university president’s office pretty quickly. I knocked lightly, and the door was opened almost immediately by a secretary with a dazzling smile.

“Hello! Welcome, Ms. Kane!” she chirped. Then her gaze flicked behind me to Tim and Conner, and her expression faltered for just a second. “Oh! We didn’t know you were bringing guests!”

“We were last-minute additions,” Conner said smoothly, flashing her a grin that made her face flush bright red.

She gestured us in, her voice suddenly shy. “Dr. Quinzel will see you now.”

Conner shot her a wink as he passed, which almost made her eyes pop out of her head. Inside, we found a massive desk behind which sat the school’s president.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Quinzel,” I said warmly, taking a seat. Tim slid into the chair beside me, while Conner leaned against the wall behind us with his arms crossed.

“Likewise, Ms. Kane. And please, call me Harley.” Her smile was so wide and genuine it was almost disarming.

“You can call me Lyric.”

“Great! Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get down to business,” she said, her tone shifting to a more serious one. “We here at Gotham University take your safety very seriously. We understand you’re dealing with a stalker, and we’re aware your fame might bring other unwanted attention as well.”

I nodded as she continued, “We’ve devised a plan to get you from class to class without needing to take any main pathways. Additionally, your professors have been informed that you may need to leave class five or ten minutes early to ensure your safety.”

“Won’t that affect her work? She’ll be missing valuable class time.” Tim spoke up, interrupting Harley.

“We’ve considered that,” she said with a professional smile, clearly unfazed. “If you need help catching up, Lyric, we have tutors available to assist.”

“Are these tutors vetted?” Tim asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

“Vetted, meaning?”

“Meaning they’ve been sworn to secrecy and won’t go running their mouths about her business,” Conner chimed in, his tone just a hair away from sarcastic.

Harley clasped her hands together on the desk. “The tutors would be other students on campus.”

“No thanks,” Tim said flatly, waving her off. He turned to me. “I can get you tutors myself—professionals who are vetted, secure, and guaranteed to keep their mouths shut.”

“Tim, be nice!” I whispered, nudging him with my elbow. “She’s only trying to help.”

“This isn’t helping; it’s a hindrance,” he countered, his voice lowering just enough to make it clear he wasn’t backing down. “I’ll have my people map out the best routes for you to get from class to class, and I’ll provide tutors. And bodyguards.”

“Tim,” I said, dragging out his name in exasperation. I glanced at Harley with a bashful smile, hoping to smooth over the tension. She was watching us like she was trying to figure out what soap opera she’d just walked into. “I want the college experience. That includes using university tutors.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I can get you a tutor who looks like a college kid if that’s the issue.”

Before I could argue, Harley interjected, her voice carefully polite. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but... what exactly is your relationship with Lyric?”

“None of your business,” Tim said curtly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

I whacked him on the arm, “Sorry about him,” I said quickly, flashing Harley an apologetic smile. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Woah. That was the first time I’d said it out loud. The word felt strange in my mouth, like it didn’t quite fit yet.

“Oh,” Harley said, her expression softening with instant understanding. “I see the concern now.”

“Yeah,” I said, letting out a nervous chuckle as I shifted in my seat. “Thank you so much for all of this, Harley. I really appreciate it. I’ll talk things over with my team, and they’ll reach out to you to iron out the small details.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, standing up with a bright smile and extending her hand. “Thank you for stopping by, Lyric.”

“Thanks for having me,” I replied, shaking her hand firmly.

Tim was already holding the door open by the time I turned around. As we passed the secretary’s desk, Conner somehow produced a pen from thin air, grabbed her hand, and scrawled his number across her palm. The poor girl looked like she was starstruck. She was gazing at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

“Idiot,” Tim muttered, not even glancing back as he headed for the exit.

I tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably, trailing after him.

“You found that funny?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk.

“Yeah,” I said, grinning as I caught up. “Is he always like that?”

“Conner is physically incapable of keeping it in his pants,” Tim said with a resigned sigh.

“I heard that,” Conner called from behind us, finally catching up.

“I wanted you to,” Tim shot back.

I stayed quiet, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing again as their bickering escalated. When we reached the car, the bickering still hadn’t let up, which is probably why neither of them noticed the small slip of white paper tucked under the windshield wiper.

“Uh oh, parking ticket,” I muttered, stepping forward to grab it. But when I pulled it out, it wasn’t a ticket. It was a note—addressed to me.

That unease hit me instantly, but I still opened it, expecting some clumsy fan mail or maybe a sweet message. Instead, I was greeted by an angry, chaotic scrawl that read: “HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU!”

My heart slammed into my ribs, and the note fell from my fingers like it burned. My chest tightened, and I stumbled back, trying to catch my breath as panic surged through me.

Tim stopped mid-argument, his sharp gaze snapping to me. “Angel, what’s wrong?” He was by my side in two seconds flat, hands gripping my shoulders, steadying me.

I couldn’t even form words. All I could do was point at the note, still fluttering on the ground.

His jaw clenched as he crouched to pick it up. One glance, and the color drained from his face. “Shit,” he hissed under his breath. “Conner, is the dash cam running?”

“Always.” Conner’s tone was suddenly serious, the usual teasing gone.

“Pull the footage. Now.”

Conner pulled out his phone, tapping through screens before handing it to Tim. On the small display, the footage showed nothing at first, just an empty street and their earlier parking job. Then, a voice—soft, hesitant—broke through from somewhere off-camera.

“Um, excuse me, miss? Could you put this note on that car? It’s Lyric Kane’s, and I’m too nervous to do it myself.”

Another voice, bright and eager, answered. “Oh, of course! I’m a big fan of hers too.” Moments later, a young girl came into frame, slipping the note under the windshield wiper before walking away. The true culprit stayed conveniently out of sight.

Tim muttered another curse, his grip on the phone tightening. “Conner, track that girl. I’m taking Lyric home.”

“What about my dance practice?” I asked, my voice shaking as I tried to focus on anything but the bile rising in my throat.

“You can postpone it,” Tim said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re leaving now.” He turned to Conner. “Sweep the car. Bugs, trackers, cameras—anything out of place. I want it gone.”

“On it,” Conner said, already pulling a flashlight from his jacket and dropping to his knees to check under the car.

Tim pulled out his phone, dialing faster than I’d ever seen. “I’m calling us a new ride.”

I just stood there, rooted to the spot, my body trembling. He found me. Even with Tim and Conner, even with all the precautions we’d taken—he found me. And he’s mad now. I knew what happened when stalkers got mad. The news was littered with stories like mine, all with the same tragic endings.

Tim must’ve noticed the panic spiraling in my eyes because his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. “You’ll be alright, Lyric,” he said quietly, his voice low. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

I wanted to believe him, I really did. But promises don’t stop manics from getting what they want. And that maniac wanted me.

Chapter Text

Tim got me back to his place twenty minutes later. I was still a bit shaken but not as much as before. Tim, on the other hand, was on a whole different level—pissed, focused, and pacing around the apartment like he was two seconds from killing somebody. He was making calls back-to-back, rattling off instructions, and honestly, I was starting to get dizzy watching him.

I had to speak up when he called three people in a row about a GPS tracking bookbag for me, “Tim.” I said walking up to him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to do all that.”

He stopped mid-pace and looked at me, phone still pressed to his ear. His face was the picture of calm, but his eyes? His eyes were a storm. “No,” he said firmly, hanging up without even saying goodbye to whoever was on the line. “I do have to do this. I promised I’d protect you, and I didn’t.”

“You did protect me, though,” I argued, stepping closer. “He didn’t come up to me. He didn’t get in my face. He was too scared because you were there.”

Tim shook his head, his jaw tightening. “But he approached. In person. He’s never done that before now, Lyric.”

“Which means we’ve made him mad, which is good!” I said.

“Good how?”

“When people are mad, they mess up,” I explained, the gears in my brain turning. “If we keep up this relationship, he’s gonna get so pissed he’ll eventually slip up and show his face. Then the police can get him.” I crossed my arms, feeling pretty proud of my little theory. Admittedly, it was mostly stolen from Law & Order: SVU, but still—it made sense.

Tim didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, staring at me with that calculating look he always had when he was dissecting something in his head. Then, out of nowhere, a slow grin spread across his face, lighting up his features in a way I definitely wasn’t prepared for.

“You’re kinda smart huh?” he said, his tone was teasing, but also warm enough to make my stomach flip.

I shrugged, pretending his words weren’t currently making my insides feel like a shaken-up soda can. “I’ve been told that once or twice,” I said nonchalantly.

“We gotta go out more,” Tim said, pacing again, his mind clearly running a mile a minute. “Today pissed him off—he finally saw us outside together for the first time since the restaurant last week. It’s basically confirmation that we’re a couple.” He bit his lip, his eyes narrowing like he was mentally assembling a strategy. “We need to post more, be seen more. We need people in our lives to corroborate this relationship. We validity in this. Right now we’re a maybe we need to be a for sure. We need to look so infatuated with each other it’ll make him sick.”

“Right, right,” I nodded, even though I only understood about half of what he was saying. His brain worked at a level I could only aspire to, but I figured nodding made me look supportive.

He pulled out his phone and started typing like his life depended on it. “I’ll get some of my people to pretend to leak information about our relationship to popular blog sites and celebrity gossip magazines. Let the rumor mill churn.”

“What should I do?” I asked, wanting to be helpful—or at least look like I was contributing.

He stopped typing, glancing up at me with a small, amused smirk that made me feel slightly ridiculous for asking. “All you gotta do, Angel, is post us more and look pretty.”

“I can do that,” I said confidently, even though the nickname Angel was doing things to my brain I didn’t have time to process.

“Good,” Tim said with a sharp nod. “I’m going to book a section at a club for this weekend. High-profile, exclusive, the kind of place that’ll get attention.”

“I don’t drink,” I reminded him. The thought of standing around a club pretending to sip on a cocktail made me cringe slightly.

“This isn’t about drinking,” he said, already scrolling through his phone for what I assumed was the hottest club in Gotham. “It’s about appearances. You don’t have to drink, you just have to be there with me.”

“Cool, cool.”

Tim scanned my face, his expression softening just a little. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this all handled. If your stalker even thinks about showing his face around you again, we’ll catch him.”

“And he’ll finally get arrested!” I said, letting myself grin at the thought.

Tim snorted, his tone dry. “Right. Arrested.”

I squinted at him. “... We are going to turn him into the police when we catch him, right?”

Tim tilted his head slightly. “Just know, Lyric, he’ll be dealt with.”

“That sounds… scary.”

Tim laughed, and for a moment, it felt like the room got a little darker. “I’m a scary guy.”

I guess I’d forgotten who I was dealing with for a second. Tim wasn’t just a genius in a suit—he was a Wayne, and that came with its own set of unspoken rules. Before I could dwell too much on that, his phone dinged. He glanced down at the screen, and a grin spread across his face.

“I have to go deal with some things,” he said, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Panic bubbled up in my chest, and I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You have to? Right now?” My voice wobbled, just enough to make me wince. I hated sounding desperate, but the thought of him leaving me alone felt like too much.

Tim paused, his face softening like he’d read my mind. “Conner’s here. You’re safe. This building is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No one is getting in without me knowing.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded. It didn’t exactly feel like Fort Knox, but if anyone could pull off that level of security, it was Tim. “Okay,” I murmured, trying to convince myself as much as him.

“Good.” He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to squeeze my shoulder before heading out. “I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

Too late for that, I thought as the door clicked shut.

+++

Conner was not a good hang out partner. All he did was facetime random women to flirt and when he wasn’t doing that he was scrolling through dating apps looking for more women to flirt with.

Honestly, I wanted to text Sade and invite her over. She was my only real friend left since my career blew up, which was a pretty lonely reality. The others had either ghosted me or suddenly transformed into walking ATM requests. But I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it because I knew exactly what would happen: Conner would try to flirt with her, and Sade, being Sade, wouldn’t just let it slide—she’d flirt back

“Can you hook me up with Coco Jones?” Conner asked out of nowhere, his feet propped up on Tim’s coffee table.

I blinked at him. “No.”

“Whyy,” he whined, dragging the word out.

“One, I’ve met her like, once. We’re not friends. And two, I don’t want to give her whatever you’ve got.” I waved vaguely in the direction of his lower half.

He burst out laughing, practically doubling over. “Baby, I’m one hundred percent clean. I got checked last week.”

“The fact that you even have to get checked regularly is insane,” I muttered, scooting a few inches farther away from him on the couch. “And don’t call me baby.”

He grinned at me like he’d just won something. “You’re only acting like that because you like me, Lyric. Admit it.”

I gagged for effect. “Watch the movie, Con. Like a normal person.”

He didn’t, of course. Instead, he reached over and stole a handful of my popcorn, popping a piece into his mouth with a smug look. “Don’t you have shit to post?”

I glared at him. “How am I supposed to post anything with no Tim?”

“I’m here,” he said, gesturing dramatically to himself.

“You’re not Tim.”

“You don’t need his face for people to think it’s him, stupid,” he shot back.

“Don’t call me stupid, ugly,” I retorted, crossing my arms.

He ignored my jab, waving a hand. “We’ll take a faceless pic, like the one you and Tim first posted. Easy.”

“But I don’t want to touch you.”

He stared at me, deadpan. “... Lyric.”

I sighed, throwing my head back dramatically. “Fine! Give me your hand.”

He held it out, and I grabbed it reluctantly, interlocking our fingers. The moment his hand touched mine, a shiver of pure regret rolled down my spine. God only knows where this hand has been in the last 24 hours.

I snapped a quick picture of our hands, making sure the popcorn bowl and the movie playing in the background were in the frame. To really sell it, I added a heart emoji and a movie camera emoji before posting it.

“There. I posted,” I said, snatching my hand back like it burned.

“And you’re not dead! See? Look how easy that was.” Conner grinned, turning back to the movie like he’d just solved all my problems.

I wanted to crash out and yell at him but my phone rang a second later, interrupting me. It was Tim. Thinking he was calling to tell me some good news, like he caught my stalker already and he’ll never bother me again I answered the phone excitedly.

“Hey Tim!” I said, beaming. Conner paused and slowly looked over at me.

“Who was that?” Tim’s voice was low, sharper than usual.

“Who was who?” I asked, shuffling in my seat.

“The hand. Whose hand was that?” His tone tightened.

“Do you mean from my story? I just posted that like two seconds ago how did you already see–”

“Whose. Hand.” Oh wow, he was pissed.

“Conner’s…” I replied, sounding a bit like a child who was being scolded. The aforementioned gentlemen flinched when he heard me say his name.

Tim took a deep breath then said,“Hand him the phone, please, Angel.”

I didn’t argue. Wordlessly, I handed a now very pale Conner the phone. “It’s for you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Conner took it with shaky hands, holding it like it might bite him. “Hi, boss,” he muttered.

I couldn’t hear what Tim was saying, but whatever it was turned Conner from nervous to downright terrified. “Right… Of course… Never again… I understand… I apologize for overstepping,” he stammered before handing me the phone back, avoiding all eye contact.

“What happened?” I asked Tim cautiously as I placed the phone back on my ear.

“Nothing.” He sighed. “I just had to remind him of some things.”

“Right…” I muttered confused.

“I’ll be back soon,” he added, his voice softer now. “Don’t take or post any more pictures with men unless they’re me. Understood?”

“Got it.”

“Good. See you soon.” Then he ended the call.

I took a peek at Conner, who was doing everything in his power not to look back at me. “Did I just get you in trouble with the boss?” I asked with a snicker.

“Shut up.” He grumbled.

I laughed out loud.

+++

Tim came home around 2 a.m., and the sound of the door unlocking made me glance up from my spot on the couch. I was sprawled out, one leg dangling off the edge, sipping on a strawberry Fanta while To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before played on the TV. He looked like he’d had the longest day ever, his shoulders slightly hunched and his tie loosened.

“You’re up late,” he murmured as he walked over and dropped onto the couch beside me with all the grace of a rock. He tilted his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, swirling the soda around in the bottle.

“Why not? It’s a brand-new mattress. Should be comfortable,” he said, still not looking at me, his eyes now half-focused on the TV.

“It takes me a minute to adjust to a new place,” I said with a shrug. “Plus, I’m kind of a night owl. I’m always up late anyway.”

“I’m surprised. I figured you’d wanna get all the sleep you can, considering you’re an R&B star and all. Jam-packed schedule, right?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Normally, yes. But I’m on break for school, so things are way more chill than usual. Mostly, I’m just practicing for the Destiny’s Child tribute I’m performing in and tweaking my album tracks.”

“Tribute?” His eyebrows raised as he turned to look at me.

“Yeah. Me, Tyla, and Chloe Bailey are doing it for BET next month. You should come!”

“I’ll clear my schedule,” he said with a soft chuckle, then shifted his gaze back to the screen.

We watched in silence for a while, the movie filling the room with soft chatter. But Tim eventually broke the quiet.

“What is this movie?”

I gasped, staring at him like he’d just told me he’d never heard of Beyoncé. “You’ve never seen To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before?”

“Nope,” he said with zero shame, his head tilting slightly toward me.

“This is a classic!” I exclaimed.

“Enlighten me, then,” he said, gesturing at the screen.

Challenge accepted. I launched into an impassioned explanation of how this movie had single-handedly revitalized the rom-com genre when it dropped in 2018, detailing the plot, the characters, and everything in between. But, of course, Tim zeroed in on one specific thing.

“They’re like us,” he said, cutting me off mid-rant.

“In a sense. In a very broad sense, yes,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “But did you hear me about how he was in the hot tub waiting for someone else?”

“Yeah, I got that,” he said, his expression unchanging. “But they’re fake dating.”

“Yes, they are,” I replied slowly, sensing where this was going and not liking it.

“We’re fake dating.”

“I’m aware.”

“... Don’t they fall in love in the end?”

My face heated instantly, and I tried to play it cool by taking another sip of Fanta. “Well... yes, but that has nothing to do with this between us.”

“All media portraying a fake relationship has the main characters fall in love in the end,” he said, his tone calm. “I can’t think of one thing where they don’t.”

“Tim, this is not a movie. It’s real life. Celebrities have fake PR relationships all the time.”

“I know. I just find it interesting that you were watching a movie about a couple who is fake dating and end up falling love; while in a fake relationship yourself. Are you hoping for something, Angel? Trying to glean some advice from Lara Jean?” He asked with that stupid ass knowing smirk he wore when he thought he caught you.

I just stared at him blankly, then abruptly stood up and yawned, “WOW! Look at the time! Better head to bed.” I plunked my Fanta bottle on the coffee table and made a beeline for the hallway, practically sprinting to escape the teasing glint in his eyes.

Tim’s laughter followed me, bouncing off the walls.

+++

When I woke up, I was greeted by the sight of Tim and Conner waiting for me in the kitchen. I was shocked to see Tim in normal clothes. Usually he’s in some kind of suit. But today he was wearing a pair of black joggers and a matching hoodie. Conner was in gray sweatpants, because of course he is, he's a slut, and a white T-shirt.

“Hi sleeping beauty! How was your night?” Conner asked, way too cheerily for my liking.

“I don’t talk to whores before 10 a.m.,” I muttered as I brushed past him, heading straight for Tim’s fridge to snag a strawberry Monster energy drink. Morning people? Couldn’t stand them. I was not a morning person at all, so I needed the caffeine to deal.

“Excited for your first day of school?”

I cracked the can and took a long sip, giving him nothing but a grunt in response.

“Sounds like a yes to me!” he said, cackling as he slid a plate of fruit toward me.

I didn’t bother responding, just plopped into the nearest chair and started eating. The fruit helped soften my mood, but I still wasn’t awake enough to deal with Conner’s nonsense.

“I’m driving you and picking you up every day,” Tim said casually, breaking the peaceful silence. I almost choked on my honeydew. “I also arranged for bodyguards. You won’t notice them, but they’ll be around. And I want you to put an Apple AirTag in your bag and keep one on your person too.”

“This seems excessive,” I mumbled through a mouthful of melon.

“Just trying to keep you safe,” he replied without missing a beat. Grabbing his coffee mug, he stood up and walked toward his room. “Knock when you’re ready to leave.”

I just watched him, sort of in awe over the fact that he cared about me so much to put all this in place for my safety. But then a bucket of cold water crashed over me when I remembered that he was doing this because he wanted something out of me, not because he actually cared. With a heavy sigh, I shoveled the rest of the fruit into my mouth and resigned myself to starting the day.

After breakfast, I took my time in the shower, starting with ice-cold water to shock me awake, then switching to steaming hot to relax the nerves that had been building since I woke up. The warmth helped, but as soon as I stepped out, the reality of my first day back in a classroom smacked me again.

I brushed my teeth, went through my skincare routine, and then stared at my reflection, debating my outfit. Sade had sent me some cute inspo pics last night, but left it up to me to decide. The problem was, my wardrobe wasn’t exactly filled with “normal” clothes. It wasn’t like I only owned red carpet gowns or designer pieces; it was just that everything I had was too much for the average college day.

I put together the most basic fit I could with what I have while still being semi cute. A black bodysuit paired with ripped, baggy jeans gave me a casual but cute vibe. My trusty white Air Forces because they go with basically everything and I kept my makeup light and airy. I threw on a cropped jean jacket too. 

For my hair, I decided to do a half up half down with a claw clip to keep it simple. I specially got these boho braids for school, knowing I wouldn’t want to do my hair every morning, but damn, the maintenance on these is a lot.

Since I’d completely forgotten to buy a normal backpack, I grabbed my oversized Coach tote and stuffed it with everything I needed—MacBook, iPad, water bottle, pencil case, and a notebook. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work for now..

All in all, it took me about an hour to get ready. When I finally stepped out to knock on Tim’s door, I was surprised to find him already waiting in the living room. He was still rocking his black joggers and hoodie combo, but his hair was damp, a clear sign he’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Ready?” he asked, his gaze flicking up as I entered the room.

“As I’ll ever be,” I replied, letting out a resigned sigh.

I followed him into the elevator, pulling out my phone as soon as the doors closed to snap a few pics of my outfit. I struck a couple of poses using the mirror wall as my backdrop, trying to find my angles.

“For insta?” Tim asked from behind me.

“No, for Sade,” I said, twisting slightly to get a better shot of the back of my jeans. “Maybe if one’s cute enough, I’ll post it.”

“Who is Sade, again?”

“My stylist and friend. I send her most outfits I do by myself to get her opinion.”

“Well, in my opinion you look nice, just like always.” He said just as the doors dinged open.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, a little flustered. I hated how much I liked hearing that from him.

The car ride to campus took forever thanks to traffic, but I didn’t really mind. Tim’s car was next-level nice. I didn’t know much about cars, but this one was sleek and all black, with red rims and matching red leather seats. The ceiling had that fancy starry effect everyone seemed to love, so I spent most of the ride lowkey staring at it.

When we finally pulled onto campus, I immediately noticed a couple of black SUVs parked here and there, eerily similar to the ones Tim and his crew usually rolled in.

“Are those my bodyguards’ cars?” I asked, craning my neck as we passed another one.

Tim pulled into a spot before responding. “Yeah. I’ve got a team stationed around campus, just in case.”

“How do you just have the surplus manpower for this?” I laughed. “That’s a lot of people.”

“My father runs a big organization,” he said simply, stepping out of the car.

Touché.

Tim walked around and opened my door for me. I stepped out into the warm spring air, immediately grateful that starting school in the spring semester at least came with decent weather. As I glanced around, my eyes landed on a familiar face waiting by the entrance—a woman who looked less than thrilled.

“I think I spotted my travel guide,” I said, snickering as I recognized the secretary Conner had been shamelessly flirting with. Her expression was sour, and it was clear she’d been expecting a certain blue eyed flirt to come with us. “I think she thought she’d see Con.”

“She’ll get over it,” Tim murmured, leaning casually against the car. “I’ll be back to pick you up when your class ends. Right here, same spot.”

“Got it,” I replied, nodding. But even with that reassurance, I stayed rooted to the spot, my nerves tying my feet to the pavement. You would think as someone who had performed on stage in front of thousands of people before I wouldn’t be so nervous about being the new girl in class. But alas, I was.

Tim cocked his head, studying me like he was trying to read my mind. “Come here real quick,” he said, his voice low.

I hesitated, unsure what he was up to, but stepped closer anyway. Before I could ask, he grabbed my face gently and kissed me. For half a second, I was too shocked to do anything, but then I wised up and kissed him back. It was sweet and grounding and over too quickly for my liking. When he pulled away, he kept his hand on my chin, his thumb brushing lightly over my jaw.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “You’re Lyric Kane. You can do anything—even go to college.”

I grinned wide, warmth spreading in my chest. “Was that kiss part of the pep talk?”

He smirked, his laugh low and almost teasing. “No. That was for the small group of people forming behind us watching this interaction.” He leaned in and pecked my lips again, quick but nice. “That was for the pep talk. Now go. You’re gonna be late.”

I backed up slowly, still smiling at him. “How did I ever end up with such a wonderful boyfriend?” I asked, laying it on thick, my tone dripping with exaggerated sweetness.

Tim let out a soft laugh, his shrug casual but his eyes glinting with amusement. “Who knows? It’s almost like we were arranged to be.”

I laughed then turned on my heel and made my way to the sour receptionist, finally ready to start my day.

Chapter Text

Walking into the lecture hall, it wasn't hard to notice that every single eye was on me. I was used to it, It came with the job. But I felt exhausted already.

The secretary led me to the professor, a petite older woman with a kind face and wire-framed glasses that perched on the tip of her nose. She greeted me warmly, her voice soft and calming, like a kindergarten teacher. It was clear she had no idea who I was, but she nodded patiently as the secretary gave her a quick rundown of my situation.

"Well, welcome, Miss Kane," she said, extending her hand for a quick shake. "If you need anything or have any questions, feel free to ask."

"Thank you," I said, genuinely relieved by her understanding.

As the secretary was leaving, she leaned in close and whispered, "Did Conner mention me?" Her hopeful tone was almost painful.

I forced a polite smile and shook my head. "No, sorry."

Her shoulders slumped as she muttered something under her breath and walked off, clearly more sour than before. I watched her retreating form for a second before sighing and scanning the room for a spot to sit.

I headed straight to the back of the lecture hall, figuring it was the safest place to avoid prolonged staring. If people wanted to ogle, they'd have to awkwardly crane their necks, and only real weirdos would do that. I slid into an empty seat, pulled out my water bottle and iPad, and did my best to look busy, pretending to scroll through my phone as the minutes ticked by.

I was aimlessly scrolling through the weather app—because apparently, I needed to know what the temperature was in Milan—when my phone buzzed with a text from Tim.

How's it going?

I grinned, my mood lifting almost instantly. He didn't have to check in, but of course, he did. He's sweet like that.

It's going okay! My first prof is cool, she def doesn't know who tf I am, but she was understanding when that secretary explained the situation. I replied quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Tim's response came after a short pause.

That's good to hear. Let me know if anyone suspicious bothers you.

I snorted softly. Aw, how cute! You're such a good boyfriend.

Stop flirting and study, Lyric.

I was not flirting I was being honest, Timmy.

I hate that nickname.

I think it just became my new favorite one.

Before I could think of another teasing response, my professor clapped her hands and spoke up from the front of the room. "Alright, class! Two more minutes until we start!"

I hastily texted Tim that I had to go, and his reply came as a simple heart reaction to my message. Smiling, I pocketed my phone just as a shadow fell over me.

"Sorry, is someone sitting here?" a voice asked from above. I looked up to see a tall guy with long blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail and round glasses that framed his face. He was pointing to the seat next to me, looking unsure.

"Nope, go ahead," I said with a polite smile, sliding my bag closer to make room.

"Thank you." He slid into the seat quickly, his movements a little awkward as if he was trying not to draw attention. After settling in, he turned to me with a tentative smile. "I'm Lonnie."

"Lyric," I replied casually.

At the sound of my name, his eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to place it. Then, just as quickly, his eyes widened, and recognition hit him like a freight train. "Oh shit. Lyric Kane."

"Yeah," I said, chuckling awkwardly.

His eyes darted around nervously as he leaned back slightly, holding up his hands like I might accuse him of something. "I—I did not sit here on purpose. I swear I'm not a deranged fan or anything. I can actually move right now if that makes you more comfortable."

Before I could process what was happening, he started hastily grabbing his stuff, fumbling with his notebook and water bottle like he couldn't get away fast enough.

I couldn't help but laugh, reaching out instinctively to place a hand on his arm to stop him. "It's okay, Lonnie. I don't mind you sitting next to me."

His movements froze, and he looked up at me, his face turning an impressive shade of red. Slowly, he started putting his things back in place, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "I just didn't want to come across as a creep."

"You're not," I assured him gently. "You're all good, promise."

That only seemed to make him blush harder. His face was so red I half-expected steam to start coming out of his ears. Jesus, if I said anything else, I might actually kill him.

Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about it for long because the professor chose that moment to begin.

"Okay, class, let's get started!" she said, her voice cheerful and full of energy. "My name is Dr. Shondra, and this is Music Theory 100. I hope you all are excited to jump into the thick of things because I sure am!"

I turned my attention to the front, pulling my iPad closer to take notes, though I could still feel Lonnie's flustered energy radiating from beside me. Poor guy. At least he seemed harmless.

+++

Class ended way too quickly. Dr. Shonda was such a delight—kind, engaging, and effortlessly made even the more technical aspects of music theory feel approachable. If all my professors turned out to be even half as wonderful as her, I might actually enjoy this whole school thing. The thought had me in good spirits as I packed my bag and headed out.

I walked leisurely to the parking lot, making sure I followed the path Tim made me memorize about a million times so I could avoid crowds. Even still, I could tell that the big burly guy trying to pretend he wasn't following me and watching my every move was one of my bodyguards. So I felt safe and sound.

"Lyric! Hey, Lyric!" A voice called out behind me, making me pause. I turned to see Lonnie jogging toward me, something shiny in his hand catching the light.

Before I could fully register what was happening, chaos broke out. In a blur, one of my bodyguards slammed Lonnie against a nearby wall, while another stepped in front of me like a human shield, his broad back blocking my view.

It happened so fast I barely had time to gasp. "Wait! Wait! Guys, it's okay! He's okay!" I shouted, waving my arms like a referee calling timeout. The tension in the air hung thick for a moment before the guard pinning Lonnie slowly let him go, though his posture screamed he was barely restrained.

"Sorry, Ms. Kane," one of them said, straightening his suit. "We thought it was a knife."

"I understand." I sighed, rubbing my temple as I rushed over to Lonnie. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, his hands trembling as he held out the shiny object.

"I-I just wanted to give you your pen," he stammered, voice shaking. "It fell out of your bag."

I looked at the pen in his hand, then at his terrified expression, and my heart softened. "Thank you," I said gently, taking it from him. "That's very sweet of you."

His blush returned with a vengeance, spreading all the way up to his ears. "N-no problem," he mumbled, before managing a weak laugh. "Well, I better go before they actually kill me. Bye, see you next class."

"Bye, Lonnie," I said, watching him shuffle away in a hurry. Once he was out of sight, I turned to my bodyguards, who had already faded into the background like shadows. These guys were good, I had to admit. Almost too good.

Two minutes later, I finally made it to the parking lot and spotted Tim leaning casually against his car, scrolling on his phone. The sight of him made me smile instantly, like a reflex I couldn't control. My pace picked up on its own, first a brisk walk, then a jog, and before I knew it, I was practically sprinting toward him.

Tim glanced up just in time and stepped off the car, opening his arms as I launched myself at him. He caught me with ease, his steps steady as he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tightly.

"Hi, Angel," he murmured into my neck, his voice low. I clung to him for a few more seconds before leaning back slightly, still keeping my arms locked around him. His hands shifted from my waist to my hips.

"How was class?" he asked, his blue eyes scanning my face like he was genuinely curious.

"It was great! Really fun! My professor is super nice, and I'm actually excited about the curriculum," I said, the words spilling out in a rush. "No one even asked for a picture today, which really surprised me. Oh! But funny story, I met this guy who asked to sit next to me. He didn't realize who I was at first, but once I said my name, he nearly tripped over himself trying to prove he wasn't a creep. It was honestly kind of cute."

Tim's expression shifted instantly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Guy? Cute?"

"His name's Lonnie, and he's harmless, trust me," I said with a laugh. "Though your bodyguards almost tore his head off for trying to give me my pen back, so we might need to have a little chat about their overzealousness. Can't have them randomly tackling people every two seconds."

"You're standing here talking about another guy right to my face," Tim said, his voice flat but his brow lifting just enough to show he wasn't serious. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

I grinned, leaning in a little closer. "Is it working?"

"Yes," he replied bluntly, his hands tightening on my hips just enough to make me laugh.

"Good, I need to keep you on your toes so you know that there's other guys out there waiting to snatch me up." I joked, poking his chest.

"Hmm, right. So what you're saying is you want me to increase security around you while you're at school and to tell them to jump any man who comes within a five foot radius of you." He said.

"You're so stupid." I laughed.

"Don't play with me, Lyric," he growled, and even though he was clearly joking, there was a very real edge of seriousness beneath it that made me pause. "Because I will do it."

I narrowed my eyes at him, though I couldn't stop smiling. "Why do I feel like you're actually for real?"

"Because I am," Tim said without hesitation, and I knew him well enough to know he wasn't bluffing.

A loud, exaggerated sigh came from the car parked directly in front of Tim's, startling me. "Oh, BROTHER!" Conner groaned from the driver's seat, leaning dramatically out of his window. "Get in your car and let's GO already! You two are making me sick."

I blinked in surprise, realizing for the first time that Tim's car wasn't alone in the parking lot. Conner had been sitting there, watching the entire time.

"Con?" I asked, reluctantly letting go of Tim, though he shifted easily and laced his fingers through mine as I stepped closer to Conner's car. "Why are you even here?"

Conner leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "Wanted to see my girl Yasmin," he said casually, like it was obvious.

"Ohhh, is that the secretary's name?" I asked, laughing.

He looked genuinely confused for a second. "Secretary? What secretary?" Then the lightbulb went off in his brain. "Ohhh, her! Nah, her name's Cloe. I forgot about her! She was a good kisser. I should hit her up again."

"Gross." I shuddered. "Also why does it seem like you're collecting all the Bratz to add to your roster?"

"First off, I am and I'm glad someone noticed. Second off, you'd be lucky to kiss me and experience just how good I am at it. I'd blow Timmy boy here outta the water." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Thank God I don't have to." I muttered.

"You almost did. I was almost gonna be your little fake boyfriend but then Tim found out you were the one asking for help and decided it should be him."

That horrifying thought sank in for a moment, and I felt a full-body shiver at the idea of having to fake-date Conner. But then his words clicked, and I whipped around to Tim, who was already watching me, completely unbothered. "You really did that?" I asked.

"Yeah." He shrugged like it was no big deal. "It only made sense. Someone higher up in the organization would be a better deterrent than a lower-level guy your stalker wouldn't care about. The only people higher than me are my dad and my older brothers, but they're all happily tied up with women they're obsessed with and would rather die than leave them. So, I was the best option."

I pouted up at him. "So it wasn't because you liked my music and thought I was pretty?"

A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips. "It didn't hurt that you're also the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Angel." Warmth bloomed in my chest.

"Oh my GOD," Conner groaned, leaning on his horn for a split second to emphasize his disgust. "I'm leaving. You two are unbearable."

Without another word, he rolled up his window and peeled out of the lot like he couldn't get away fast enough.

"He's so dramatic," I muttered, crossing my arms as I watched his taillights fade in the distance.

Tim chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around my waist to tug me toward his car. "Come on, let's go. We've got stuff to do," he said, opening the passenger door for me.

"We do?" I asked as I slid inside.

"Yup, we do." He closed the door and rounded to the other side of the car.

"What stuff do we have to do?" I asked just as he sat down.

"We need to buy a dress."

I blinked. "For?"

"The club," he said casually, his grin widening like this was supposed to be exciting news.

I groaned as he reversed out of the lot, the car's engine rumbling beneath us. "I don't want to go to the club, and I already have a ton of clothes. I don't need more."

Tim shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the wheel. "I want you to wear something your stalker's never seen before. Something he'll know I bought you specifically. I want him to see it and know exactly who you belong to. That'll piss him off enough to slip up and show himself in person. And when he does, we'll be there."

His fingers flexed against the gear shift as he spoke. "I'll have the place crawling with YJ guys. He won't have anywhere to run."

"I don't want him to show up," I murmured, my voice small. Just the idea of that man being close enough to see me made a cold wave of dread wash over me. The thought of pretending to drink and dance while knowing he was in the crowd watching me made my skin crawl.

Tim must've picked up on my unease because he reached over, grabbing my hand and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. "I know you don't. And I'm sorry to put you through this. But in my mind, this is the fastest way to end it. We weed him out, catch him, and then you can go back to your normal life without worrying about him ever again."

I wanted to agree with him, to nod and let him have his plan, but deep down, something in me hesitated. Because as much as I wanted the stalker gone—and I really did—I knew that once he was out of the picture, Tim would be, too. And I wasn't ready for that yet. I'd grown attached to him.

He looked at me from the corner of his eye, "I won't let him touch you Lyric I promise. And if he did, I'd kill him on the spot."

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to break the tension. "Don't commit murder for me," I joked as we pulled into the mall's parking lot.

"I'm not in the business of murder. It's too messy, too many variables." He slowly turned to look at me. His gaze was sharp and intense and made my heart beat a million times a second. "But for you? I'd do it. I think I'd do just about anything for you, Angel."

My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I forgot how words worked.

When I did finally remember how to speak I swallowed hard and gave him a shaky grin, "Okay, you've convinced me. I'll buy a new outfit. But I'm paying for it."

Tim laughed. "No, you're not." Then he got out of the car and opened the passenger door for me. "But it's cute that you'd try."

"I'm rich, you know," I reminded him as I stepped out of the car. "I have multiple number-one hits, and I just got back from performing at Coachella."

"I'm richer," he said simply, grabbing my hand and cutting the conversation off like it wasn't even worth debating.

We walked into the mall hand in hand, five of his guys trailing behind us like shadows—including Conner, who must've magically reappeared at some point. I didn't even question it anymore. It was probably a good thing they were here because Gotham Academy must've just let out. A swarm of teenagers in their plaid uniforms started trailing us almost immediately, their phones out, snapping pictures.

I smiled, waved, and blew as many kisses as I could manage, but Tim was a man on a mission. He didn't let me stop for selfies or even acknowledge the growing crowd. He cut through the mall like he owned the place—which, knowing him, wasn't entirely impossible—and led us into a high-end boutique. Tim had his guys clear the place out for us.

I felt awkward standing there as these big burly men in suits ushered these poor shoppers out of the store. Even if they didn't seem to mind their shopping trips coming to an abrupt end.

"W-welcome, Mr. Drake!" a store clerk stammered nervously as she hurried over to us, her hands wringing together like she didn't know where to put them. Her eyes darted between Tim's sharp gaze and the human wall of security guards standing behind him. "What brings you to our boutique today?"

Tim didn't answer her, instead his eyes dragged lazily from her to me, then back to her, the silence heavy enough to make her shift on her feet.

"Oh!" she suddenly squawked, like she'd finally cracked the code. "Ms. Kane! It's a pleasure to meet you. How may I help you today?"

I offered her a polite smile, trying to make up for the sheer terror radiating off of Tim. "I'm just looking for a cute dress to wear to a club. Nothing too fancy, but nothing too plain, either."

"Got it!" she said quickly, nodding like her life depended on it. She gestured toward a couple of plush chairs near the back of the store. "If you two would like to take a seat, I'll grab a few options for you to try on. May I ask your size?"

I rattled it off, and she nodded so fast I thought her head might actually pop off before she zoomed away, probably relieved to be out of Tim's glare.

Speaking of Tim, I turned to him with an exasperated look. "Would it kill you to be nice?"

His expression didn't budge. "I don't like how she approached me first when we're in a women's clothing store and you're a woman," he grumbled.

"That's very sweet Tim, I understand why you're upset. But you also need to remember you're in the mafia and everyone is scared of you." I said as I gently pat his chest.

He looked down at me, then muttered, "I'm not in the mafia." As if it was practiced. I furrowed my eyebrows, confused on what the fuck he was talking about considering I know for a fact he was. But when I looked at Conner who was standing behind him he mouthed out, "We are in public stupid."

"Ooh." I nodded. "Right right. I mean your dad is an influential businessman and not a mafioso."

Tim grinned, "That was a good save."

"I know right?"

Tim ordered all his guys to stand outside of the store to make sure no one came in, including Conner who pouted about it like a child. We sat down on the chairs the clerk offered us. Tim pulled mine closer to this, so close our thighs were touching, then he wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we waited.

The clerk came back a few minutes later with a bunch of dresses in her hand, "Here you are Ms. Kane. We have a dressing room right through here for you to try them on." She pointed towards the side of the store.

"Thank you..." I looked down at her name tag. "Jade." I smiled wide, if Conner found out her name he might just try to bag this poor store clerk. I grabbed the dresses from her.

"No problem! Please let me know if there's anything I could do for you, I'll be right over by the register." She smiled and rushed away.

"I'm not coming out to show you the dresses unless I really like them." I said as I turned towards Tim once she was far enough away.

His face dropped into an unimpressed frown, "Why?"

"Because I said so." I muttered before I walked into the changing room. The real reason was I wanted to blow him outta the water with whatever dress looked best. But I couldn't say that to his face.

The first dress was a red slip. It was cute, but it felt more fancy dinner than club night. The second was a short black dress that was so scandalously tiny it could've doubled as a napkin. Hard pass. The third dress was so atrocious I didn't even bother looking at myself for more than half a second.

By the time I grabbed the fourth dress, I was already prepared to be disappointed. It was denim—denim. Who wears denim to a club? But I tried it on anyway because, hey, sometimes life surprises you. And surprise me it did, because the moment I zipped it up, I wanted to throw something. It looked really good.

The top hugged my torso perfectly, and the skirt flared out just enough to make it look cute. I glared at the mirror, as if it were personally responsible for how amazing I looked. Stupid dress. (AN: google Manon's denim dress from the Touch MV. This is what she's wearing.)

I walked out of the dressing room. Sitting in my spot was Conner who was scrolling on his phone next to Tim who was also on his phone. I stood there, waiting for them to acknowledge my presence with my hands on my hips.

Conner looked up first, his jaw dropping so fast it was a miracle it didn't hit the floor. "Holy shit," he muttered, loud enough for Tim to hear.

That got Tim's attention. He looked up from his phone, his eyes following Conner's gaze until they landed on me. The second they did, it felt like the air in the room shifted. Scratch that—it felt like the temperature skyrocketed by fifty degrees, and the heat was all coming from him.

I cleared my throat. "Thoughts?" I asked, giving a slow spin. When I turned, I heard a sharp choking sound from Conner.

"I mean, I knew you were hot before, Lyric, but damn," Conner muttered.

I shot him a flat look, completely unimpressed. Then I turned to Tim, whose eyes were already on me—intense, unrelenting, like he hadn't blinked since I walked out. "Timmy? What do you think?" My voice came out softer than I intended, and I wasn't sure why I suddenly felt so nervous.

"Conner, get out," Tim said, his voice was low and rough. I bit my lip to hide my smile.

"What? Why?" Conner groaned, throwing up his hands.

"Out," Tim repeated, not looking away from me for even a second.

Conner stood, grumbling all the way to the door. "Selfish asshole," he muttered as he stomped out.

Tim stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he approached me. His eyes dragged over me, taking their time, leaving a heat in their wake that felt almost unbearable.

"Do you like it?" I asked, even though the answer was written all over his face.

He didn't answer at first, just closed the remaining space between us. His hand found my hip, fingers curling slightly, holding me like he wasn't planning on letting go. "Mhmm."

"How much do you like it?" I asked, my voice daring, though I wasn't sure where the boldness was coming from. Maybe it was the way his gaze made me feel like the only thing in the room.

Tim exhaled, long and slow, like he was trying to hold himself back. "A lot. Too much. I don't think I want anyone else seeing you in this."

I laughed out loud, "Isn't the whole point of going to the club to get people to see me?"

"I regret it." He mumbled.

"It's not too late to cancel," I said, slipping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. I didn't know what came over me, but I wasn't about to stop.

"It is," he replied, his breath hitching as his hands settled firmly on my waist. "I rented the place out for Saturday night."

"You're rich. You'll get over it," I whispered, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

His eyes went dark, the intensity in them making my stomach flutter. "You're dangerous," he murmured, his voice low enough to make my knees weak.

"I'm not doing anything," I said, smiling like I didn't know exactly what I was doing.

"Yes, you are," he said, his voice strained, like he was on the edge of something. "And it's working."

And just like that, he stepped back, breaking the moment as his hands fell from my waist. I dropped my arms, pouting in protest.

"We have to go to the club," he said, his tone low, almost regretful, like he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

I sighed dramatically, throwing my hands up. "I was so close."

"You're dangerous," Tim repeated, his eyes still locked on me, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. "I almost cracked."

"Well, why didn't you?" I whined.

His jaw tightened, and he looked at me like he was weighing every word before he said it. "Because, even though I really, really wanted to, your safety is more important to me. This plan will catch the stalker, and once he's gone, you'll be safe. That's why."

I pouted again, my lips tugging into a small frown. That was... a really good reason. A really sweet reason, too. Damn him.

Tim cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his joggers. "Go change out of that dress. We have more stuff to get," he said, his voice gruffer now, like he was trying to reestablish control over himself. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and sat back on the couch, his posture tense despite the casual way he sprawled out.

I let out another sigh, dragging my feet toward the dressing room. "Fine," I muttered, mostly to myself, but loud enough for him to hear.

I hate how Tim is always right. 

Chapter Text

The weekend came around way too fast. I was dreading Saturday night so bad I was starting to have nightmares. It’s not like I hated clubs; they could be fun when the vibe was right. But the idea of stepping into a room where Tim was certain my stalker would be? Yeah, that had my anxiety skyrocketing. Tim was rarely wrong, and I trusted his instincts too much to dismiss the possibility.

So far, other than some weird texts from unknown numbers and an unwelcome edible arrangement left at my apartment door that Joshua told me about—thank God I’m staying with Tim now—my stalker had gone radio silent since that creepy note. I wanted it to stay that way. Forever, preferably.

Sitting in class on Friday I was twirling my pen around my fingers not really paying attention to the work that was passed out in front of me. I was being a horrible partner to Lonnie but my mind was running a mile a minute.

“Lyric, I could use some help with question four.” My poor partner mumbled.

Snapping out of my daze, I blinked at him and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Lon. Got lost in my own head.” I grabbed the paper and skimmed it quickly. “It’s an E major scale, and the next one’s an A-flat major scale.”

Lonnie’s brows shot up like I’d just performed a magic trick. He scribbled down the answers, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you do this. I’m so lost.”

“Well, I don’t get all that computer stuff, but you seem pretty well-versed in that,” I said with a shrug. “We all have things we’re good at. Mine just happens to be music.”

He huffed a laugh. “Fair point. I guess if we merged our brains, we’d be unstoppable.”

I laughed, “Why are you taking this class if you’re a comp sci major anyway? Isn’t it just a waste of money?” I asked as I twirled my pen some more.

He shrugged, “Just wanted to try something new I guess.” I could understand that. It’s the whole reason I decided to come back to school in the first place. I needed something new.

“My boyfriend did Computer Science too,” I said with a grin. “He graduated early though.”

“I know,” Lonnie sighed dramatically. “You’ve told me like, a million times. You also mentioned he dual-majored with business and graduated summa cum laude. I swear, all you do is talk about your boyfriend, Lyric. I feel like I know the guy personally at this point.”

I smirked. “I think you two would get along.”

“There’s no way in hell I’d get along with a mafia boss like Tim Drake.”

“He’s not in the mafia! He’s just… a business owner.”

Lonnie snorted. “You don’t even believe that.”

Before I could fire back, Dr. Shonda called for everyone to turn in their work then head out. I hastily grabbed the paper from Lonnie, scribbling in the last answers, and gathered my things. “Bye, Lonnie!” I called as I rushed to hand in the assignment. I ran so fast I didn’t even hear his reply.

I handed Dr. Shonda the paper, ready to bolt, but her soft voice stopped me in my tracks. “Ms. Kane, a moment of your time, please.”

I swallowed a groan and turned back with my practiced, stage-ready smile. “Yes, Dr. Shonda?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in singing at the School of Music’s fundraiser next weekend. We’d love to have you. I think with you there, we’d meet our ticket goals and keep the school running for another year.” Her hopeful smile tugged at my heart.

Gosh, I’m such an asshole. “I’d love to,” I said sweetly. Or as sweetly as I could. “Just email me the details, and I’ll fit it into my schedule.”

She clapped and her grin widened, “How wonderful! The other professors said you wouldn’t do it, but I told them they’re wrong! Of course my girl Lyric would support the arts! I’ll email you the information right away. Enjoy your weekend!”

“Thanks, you too.” I walked out of the room and mentally added that to the laundry list of things I had to do. I pulled out my phone and called Joshua. I’d been ignoring him since I moved in with Tim. It seems my manager keeps forgetting I’m on a break the way he tries to add shit into my schedule.

"Lyric! How's my favorite client?" His voice was way too chipper. I could practically hear the grin on his face. That fake cheeriness made me pissed.

“I’m still mad at you, Josh.” I grumbled. “I’m only calling to tell you that I’m performing next weekend at a GU school of music fundraiser. Add it to my schedule.”

“I’ll add it to the G Cal as soon as I speak to Angie about it!” He loved that stupid Google Calendar.

Wait a second… speak to Angie about it?

“Why do you need to speak to Angie?”

"Everything you do has to go through her. I thought you knew that?"

I came to a dead stop. My rage was so thick I could taste it. Hot and bitter at the back of my throat. Joshua didn’t work for me — he worked for her. Angie. Always Angie. I was sick of her shadow looming over everything I did. And now Joshua too?

"Speak to her all you want," I spat as I marched toward Tim’s car, my shoes slapping hard against the pavement. "I'm doing the fucking show whether she likes it or not."

"Lyric, that's not how this works. Your contract states—"

"FUCK THE CONTRACT!" Heads turned as my voice rang out in the parking lot. I didn’t care. Let them stare. "If she wants to sue me, she can go right ahead! I know Chanel Pierce personally, and I’ll take her ass to court and ruin her!"

"Lyric, please—"

"Fuck you, Joshua! You’re fucking fired!" My thumb hit the end call button with way less drama than I wanted. God, I missed flip phones. Nothing beat slamming one shut when you were pissed.

Tim was standing outside his car watching my entire conversation with an amused expression on his face. I walked up to him huffing, I was so mad.

“What was that?” He asked with a chuckle. He was wearing casual clothes again today. A plain black T with a gold chain that had a bat on it and some cargo jeans. He looked good. Not good enough to quell my anger unfortunately.

“Nothing, just Joshua. He pissed me off.”

"What’d he do? Need me to take care of him?" Tim's playful tone faded into something deadly serious.

I huffed out a breath. "Nah. I fired him. Hopefully, he won’t be an issue anymore. But... now that he’s gone, does that end our agreement? Since he was the one who set it up?"

I wrung my hands together nervously, the anger fading into dread. I hadn’t thought this through. Joshua had orchestrated this whole arrangement between me and Tim. If he was out, maybe Tim would want to be out too.

Tim's gaze softened. "Do you want it to be over?"

"No." The word slipped out faster than I intended.

“Then it’s not.” Tim slipped his hand into mine, pulling me closer until the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around me. “The deal I made was with you, not him. If it ever ends, it’s because you ended it.”

“Or you.” I pointed out. “This is a two-person thing.”

“Nah.” He chuckled. “You.”

My chest tightened, and suddenly the dread I felt before was replaced by a whole symphony of butterflies deciding to throw a concert in my stomach. I hated how he was always able to do that—turn me inside out with just a few words and a touch. Clearing my throat, I tried to pull myself together. “So, you ready to head home?”

“I wish I was going home.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I gotta drop you off and then head to the manor. My brothers and I need to talk about some things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Some things?”

“Yeah, some things.” Aw man, guess he wasn’t going to spill. Typical Tim.

“By the way,” he added casually, “since when have you known Chanel personally?”

I flinched as I remembered the lie I shouted at Joshua. “Yeah... about that. Do you think you could set up a meeting between me and her? I think I’ll be needing her services very soon.”

Tim laughed, a soft, easy sound. “Of course.”

“You’re the best.” I leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“So I’ve been told.” He grinned.

+++

That night, sleep refused to come. I lay tangled in my sheets, staring at the ceiling, feeling like every shadow in the room was crawling closer.

There were two reasons for my insomnia.

First, the penthouse was empty, and it creeped me out. Tim still wasn’t back from his meeting with his brothers, and Conner had left hours ago after checking in on me. I hated being alone here—it was strange, too quiet, and way too big.

Second, and far more pressing, was the fact that I had less than 24 hours until D-Day. The club.

Tim had gone over the plan with me in meticulous detail. He rented the place out for the night but filled it with Gotham socialites to make it look legit. His brothers and their partners would be there, and he’d even invited me to bring friends. My list of friends wasn’t exactly extensive, so Sade was my only plus-one.

We’d arrive fashionably late because, of course, Tim wanted to make an entrance. We’d have our own private section with his brothers and my friend, complete with drinks and a perfect view of the dance floor.

Then came the nerve-wracking part: The idea was we were throwing this party to celebrate my album release, so all eyes, and more importantly all phones, would be on me. I needed to be seen out and about. After posting a few photos and videos to my story, I was supposed to go down to the dance floor and mingle. Maybe even sing a song if the vibe was right.

His logic was that the stalker would only approach me when I wasn’t glued to Tim’s side. As soon as someone creepy—or anyone not on the guest list—came near me, Tim assured me they'd be taken down immediately. The entire place would be crawling with Young Justice guys, blending into the crowd.

It sounded solid. A tactical masterpiece.

But no matter how airtight it was, my nerves were shot. I couldn’t shake the fear sitting heavy in my chest, like a weight pressing down on me.

I heard the front door open, followed by the clatter of keys landing in the catch-all by the entryway. Tim was back. The weight on my chest lightened just a bit at the sound. I listened as his footsteps shuffled down the hall, then the bathroom door clicked shut, and a second later the shower turned on.

I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I swear I wasn’t. But my phone was boring me to death, and okay, I was nosy. So when the shower finally shut off, my ears perked up. The door creaked open, his footsteps padded across the hall to his room, and then—nothing. I waited, hoping I’d hear something else, but I got nothing. Thick penthouse walls ruining my fun.

Still, now that he was home, I felt restless. That tug to go talk to him hit me hard. So I got up, tossed on a robe, and made my way to his door, ignoring the fact that it was 3 a.m. and bothering him at this hour was objectively kind of cruel.

I knocked, my knuckles echoing in the quiet.

A few moments later, the door opened, and I had to call on every shred of self-control to keep my eyes on his face.

No shirt. Just red plaid sleep pants riding low on his hips. Still damp from the shower, water glistening on his chest. His hair, messy and dark, clung to his forehead and framed those sleepy eyes of his in a way that should be illegal.

“Hi,” I managed to breathe out, remembering my voice at the last second.

“Hi.” His voice was thick with confusion, his brows furrowed.

“I heard you come home and just, um, wanted to go over the plans for tomorrow again—well, technically today, since it’s so late.” My hands fidgeted behind my back. “Just to make sure I’m 100 percent on it.”

“You knocked on my door at 3 a.m. to discuss the plan,” he repeated, disbelief lacing every word.

“Yeah.” Even I didn’t believe me.

Tim’s eyes roamed over my face slowly, before his lips quirked up into a lazy smile. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over that infuriatingly perfect chest. “Yeah, sure. We can talk about the plan more.” His head tilted toward his room. “Wanna come in and talk?”

That felt dangerous. The look in his eyes told me he knew I was reading it that way too.

“Um… is that a good idea?” I asked, my voice wobbling.

“Probably not.” His gaze pinned me in place, daring me to make a choice.

My head was turning. Do I go into his room at 3am and do something we’d probably both regret in the morning when we’re well rested and not drunk off lack of sleep? Or do I let him call my bluff and just walk away?

If his plan for the club really did work, and we caught the stalker once and for all, my ruse with Tim would be over. There’d be no reason for us to stay together. Maybe I should go into his room right now and make a memory I’ll never forget with a guy I know I’ll never forget. I mean, I gotta leave here with something.

“Yeah, sure.” I grinned, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’ll come in.”

He shifted to the side, just enough for me to slip past him. As I walked past him I could feel his eyes raking over my body and I suddenly regretted wearing my XXL sleep shirt and the world’s longest baggiest sweatpants. I should have put on something hot!

The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow from his bedside lamp. He closed the door behind us, the click loud in the quiet. I spun around to face him, only to be caught in the intensity of his hooded gaze.

“So, the plan, I just wanted to—”

I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before his lips were on mine, cutting me off entirely.

Oh, I guess we weren’t even going to pretend to talk.

The kiss was urgent, heated, and it stole the breath right out of my lungs. I kissed him back with fervor, trying to match his pace, but it was hard to keep up. His hands gripped my hips like they never wanted to let go, grounding me as the room seemed to tilt on its axis.

My fingers slid up his damp shoulders, finding their place in his still-wet hair, which was soft and wild under my touch. I tugged just slightly, and a low sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating against me. The sensation sent a rush through my entire body.

He walked me backward until my back met the wall, the solid surface a jarring contrast to the warmth of his body pressed against mine. I gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss until my head was spinning.

My hands drifted to his back, feeling the taut muscles shift under my fingertips as I tried to pull him even closer. There was no space left between us, but it still wasn’t enough.

His lips left mine only for a moment, just enough for me to take a shaky breath before he pressed featherlight kisses along my jaw, trailing down to that sensitive spot just below my ear. My knees went weak, and I clung to him to stay upright.

"Tim," I whispered, my voice unsteady.

He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just over mine, his breath hot against my skin. His eyes, dark and intense, searched my face as if looking for any sign of hesitation.

"Still wanna talk about the plan?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, though it came out breathless. "Not really."

"Good," he murmured, brushing his lips over mine again, softer this time but no less consuming.

+++

The music in the club was starting to give me a headache. I mean I get it, clubs are supposed to be loud, but this was a new level of loud. The club Tim rented out was called The Obsidian Lounge, and apparently he rented it out to smooth over some issue the club owner had with his brothers from a few months ago. Mafia problems, I guess. I tried to appreciate the aesthetic of the place, but my nerves were shot.

My legs were bouncing as I sat there trying to pretend I was enjoying myself. I smiled as Sade and her friends from college were chatting about old memories at GU, but my mind wasn’t really there. It was on whether or not the stalker was in the crowd.

I felt like I could sense him, his eyes crawling over my skin like phantom bugs.The feeling made my pulse spike. I was bouncing my leg trying to dissipate some of that nervous energy when Tim placed a hand on my knee, stopping it.

I glanced over at him. He was deep in conversation with his brothers and their right-hand men, his expression cool and unreadable. He didn’t even look at me, just kept his hand there like it was the most natural thing in the world. My nerves eased, just a fraction.

Turning back toward Sade and the girls, I tried not to think too much about the warmth of his hand lingering on my skin.

My thoughts wandered back to last night.

We didn’t have sex, much to my surprise. Tim stopped things before they got too hot and heavy. Instead, we cuddled—actually cuddled—and talked until we fell asleep. In the morning, I was bracing myself for awkwardness, expecting him to say something like, "This was a one-time thing," or, God forbid, "I regret it."

But he didn’t.

Instead, waking up next to him was… nice. Comfortable, even.

Then we made out in the bathroom after brushing our teeth.

And again after breakfast.

Then again in the afternoon.

And, because apparently we had zero self-control, again in the limo on the way here.

Not quite sure what all that made us, but whatever friendship we’d been building? Yeah, that was definitely knocked down and obliterated. Reduced to rubble. I didn’t mind it though, to be honest I didn’t want a friendship with Tim I wanted more. And the way things were going, it felt like maybe he did too.

His thumb traced slow, calming circles on my knee, grounding me even as my thoughts raced. Leaning down, he whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my skin, “Are you ready?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “As I’ll ever be.”

His grin was wide and almost boyish, a rare crack in that cool, calculating exterior. He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, the kind that sent warmth spreading through my chest. Then he straightened and turned back toward his brothers, slipping effortlessly back into serious mode.

I tried to refocus on the girls, who were knee-deep in a conversation about some Instagram account that had apparently been tormenting Chanel when she was in college about her relationship with Dick.

But their voices faded into background noise. My mind was glued to one thing.

The stalker.

I just knew he was here.

Chapter Text

“Sing a song! Sing a song! Sing a song!”

The crowd's chants echoed around me, growing louder by the second. I felt my face heat up, but I tried to play it off, shaking my head bashfully like the idea of singing was just too much. Like this was all just terribly embarrassing.

But inside, I knew better—this was part of the plan.

I needed a reason to step away from Tim that didn’t look suspicious, and the crowd practically gift-wrapped it for me. After a few more seconds of chanting I let them get their wish.

“Oh, alright!” I exclaimed with a grin that made the room erupt in cheers.

As I stood, brushing down my skirt, Tim rose with me, his hand resting lightly on my back. He leaned in, lips brushing my ear.

“I’ve got three guys stationed around the stage and three behind it. You’re safe,” he muttered, his voice reassuring.

He squeezed my hand once, and I nodded, steeling myself. Then he kissed my cheek like we were nothing more than a happy, carefree couple.

With a breath, I plastered on my best pop-star grin and sauntered toward the stage, heels clicking against the floor. The crowd's energy buoyed me, giving me a small but much-needed confidence boost.

I grabbed the mic and grinned out at them. “Any song suggestions?”

The response was immediate and chaotic.

“LOVE LIES!”

“SING SOME DESTINY’S CHILD!”

“MONICA! I WANT MONICA!”

“JON B!”

I laughed, holding up my hands. “Woah, woah,” I chuckled. “I think I heard Destiny’s Child in there somewhere. I’ll sing Cater 2 U.”

It was already drilled into my head for my upcoming BET performance, so it was an easy pick. Plus, I didn’t exactly feel like singing one of my own songs tonight. Stalkers sometimes think every lyric is a coded love letter to them, and the last thing I wanted was for that creep—wherever he was—to get any ideas.

The music swelled, smooth and intoxicating, and I closed my eyes, swaying instinctively to the beat. I let it wrap around me, grounding me even though my nerves buzzed beneath my skin. When it was time to sing, I opened my eyes and scanned the crowd, letting the lyrics spill out of me like second nature.

This song had always been a favorite of mine—long before it became a staple for the BET setlist. The number of times I belted it out in the shower was borderline embarrassing, but hey, repetition was key. The lyrics practically lived in my bones by now.

And tonight? I sang it better than I ever had. Nothing lights a fire under your vocals like singing for your life, I guess.

At one point, I made the rookie mistake of looking toward Tim.

His face was calm—neutral even—but his eyes? They blazed with something fierce and consuming.

It was enough to nearly knock me off my feet. My voice almost wavered as heat crept up my neck. Hastily, I looked away, willing myself to focus. No way I was getting tripped up by Tim Wayne and his face. It was just a face, after all.Granted he was unfairly handsome. But still as a famous musician I should be used to seeing handsome faces all over the place. It’s a part of the business. But for some reason, even after this month spent together, Tim still knocked me off my game with just his face.

And tonight, he also had to go and look stupidly good.

When the song wrapped, I grinned wide, letting my gaze sweep across the room again. Nothing seemed off. Everyone looked like they were supposed to be here, just vibing with the music. But I knew the stalker was out there, watching me. I could feel it—like eyes dragging over my skin, cold and unsettling.

The next track cued up, and I grinned as the opening beat of Ego by Beyoncé filled the room. Apparently, I was on a Beyoncé kick tonight, and honestly? I wasn't mad about it.

This time, I locked eyes with Tim from the very start, refusing to look away.

“It's on, baby, let's get lost. You don’t need to call into work 'cause you’re the boss~,” I sang, pointing directly at my fake boyfriend with all the sass I could muster.

The song wasn't serious—not even a little—but teasing Tim? Oh, that was serious business.

His face went from mildly composed to bright red in seconds, and I nearly cackled. The mortification was written all over him, especially when the chorus hit.

I made sure to be extra dramatic with the delivery.

“It’s too big, it’s too wide, it won’t fit~,” I sang with full energy, emphasizing every word with exaggerated hand gestures.

Poor Tim looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. Dick and Conner were losing their minds, doubled over laughing at his expense. Even I couldn’t suppress my grin. Okay, maybe I was pouring it on a little thick, but it was worth it to see Tim so flustered. Watching him squirm made all my anxiety about tonight fade into background noise. I couldn’t help it — I cackled as the song ended, tossing my braids over my shoulder like I hadn’t just ruined his night.

He was definitely going to get me back for this.

Dragging my eyes from Tim, I looked out at the crowd. Their energy was infectious — electric in a way that lifted me right out of my own nerves.

“Last song of the night, guys!” I announced with a wide smile.

A collective aww and a chorus of boos erupted, but I laughed, waving them off.

“I know, I know,” I said, chuckling. “But I gotta rest my vocal cords! I’ve got songs to record!”

That won them back — they cheered so loudly it rattled through my bones.

“Since we’re in a throwback mood,” I said thoughtfully, “I’ll end this impromptu concert with Love by Keyshia Cole. Seems fitting, right?”

The roar from the crowd was deafening, and it made me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.

The opening beat swirled through the club, and I started to sway, letting the familiar rhythm settle into me. This song? This song was everything. One of my shower karaoke staples.

I closed my eyes and let the first verse glide out of me.

“I used to think that I wasn’t fine enough. And I used to think that I wasn’t wild enough~.”

The crowd went insane, belting along with me and waving their hands in the air. I soaked it in, letting their energy fuel me.

When the chorus hit, the club practically transformed into a stadium.

“Looove! Never knew what I was missin’! But I knew once we start kissin’, I foooound looove!”

It was euphoric — like flying without ever leaving the ground. The sound of hundreds of voices singing along with me filled every inch of the space, wrapping around me like something tangible. This was it. This was what I was made for. I could feel it in my bones, my blood — performing was who I was.

I sang with my heart wide open, baring every emotion as if I were singing about love itself — not just romantic love, but love for music, love for the life I was chasing, love for this moment.

And it felt so good.

Somewhere in the middle of the song, my gaze drifted back to our section, seeking Tim like a compass naturally finds true north.

And God, what a mistake that was.

He looked devastating — leaning back in his seat, tie slightly loosened, eyes dark and locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. There was something raw and vulnerable about the way he looked at me, as if I was singing only for him.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I didn’t know if it was the song, the rush of performing, or just my heightened emotions, but in that moment, everything clicked.

The realization hit me like a freight train. The realization that…

“I found looove!” I sang, the words catching in my throat as the truth settled in my chest like a bomb.

Oh God.

I went and fell in love with a Wayne.

The song ended to the roar of the crowd, cheers shaking the walls like thunder. I should've been riding that high, basking in the praise and energy. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Tim.

It was like the world had narrowed down to just us, frozen in time. He was watching me intently, his sharp blue eyes scanning my face. His brow furrowed, and he cocked his head slightly, nodding toward the crowd. A silent What’s wrong?

The spell broke, and I snapped my gaze away, forcing a shaky smile as I waved at the audience. My chest felt tight, but I shoved it down, plastering on the grin they wanted to see. I returned the mic to its stand with trembling fingers and made my way off the stage.

People swarmed me immediately, their energy pressing in from all sides. Compliments flew at me like confetti.

“You were amazing!”

“When’s the album dropping?”

“Can I get a picture?”

I smiled, nodded, said thank you a million times. Signed posters and scraps of paper with hands that shook more with every second.

I was halfway back to our section, trying to push through the crowd without looking like I was panicking, when a hand clamped down on my arm, hard.

I whirled around, heart slamming into my ribs.

The man was tall, a bit taller than me, dressed entirely in black. Cargo pants, plain hoodie pulled low over his head, masking most of his face. The rest was hidden by a black cloth covering his mouth and nose.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

Oh God. Is this...?

“Um, yes?” I forced out, my voice sickly sweet, masking the ice-cold fear creeping up my spine.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice cracking as he whispered, “Was that for me?”

It felt like the floor dropped out from under me.

It’s him.

The stalker.

My vision tunneled, panic exploding through me like a bomb. Every bit of planning Tim and I had done flew out of my head. All I could think was he’s here. He’s right here.

The man lifted his head just enough for me to see his eyes — wild, crazed, and bright blue.

“That song was for me, wasn’t it?” he said, voice filled with delusional certainty.

My heart raced so hard it hurt. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

Then terror seized my throat, and I did the only thing I could. I screamed.

“TIM!”

Chaos erupted around us. The stalker’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with betrayal. He moved fast, faster than I expected, spinning on his heel and darting through the crowd.

I stood frozen, paralyzed by fear as people around me began to panic. Tim’s men surged forward, guns drawn, shoving through the chaos toward me.

“GO! GO! GO!” Tim’s voice cut through the chaos.

I turned toward him, legs finally working, and sprinted. He was running too, cutting through the crowd like a knife, and we met in the middle. I crashed into him, wrapping myself around him as sobs wracked my body.

Instantly, I felt safer, though my heart was still hammering wildly in my chest.

“I SWEAR IF YOU GUYS DON’T CATCH HIM, YOU’RE ALL FUCKING DEAD!” Tim roared at his men, his voice echoing over the pandemonium.

His arms tightened around me, one hand cradling the back of my head as he pulled me into his chest.

“It’s okay, Angel. He’s gone. I’m here,” he whispered into my hair, voice rough but steady.

I sobbed harder, the terror clawing its way out of me in ragged gasps. My arm burned where the stalker had grabbed me, the sensation slimy and unbearable. I wanted to scrub it off, rip my skin off if I had to.

He touched me. He touched me.

I gagged, bile rising in my throat.

Tim’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

“Back to the section,” he ordered firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His men formed a wall around us, weapons still drawn, eyes scanning the chaos.

“Don’t let anyone through until we find him,” Tim barked at them as we reached the relative safety of our section.

He guided me to sit down, never letting go of me. His presence was the only thing tethering me to reality.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again, softer this time. “I’ve got you.”

But all I could think was he was here. So close. And he touched me.

The girls surrounded me instantly, their voices full of concern and comfort, but it was all a blur. Their words dissolved into white noise against the pounding in my head. My body trembled uncontrollably, muscles tight with lingering fear. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Sade and Isis, Jason’s fiancée, sat on either side of me, once Tim got up. Chanel was nearby, yelling into her phone, her words fierce but distant in my mind. Nadia was leaning into Wally, her husband, trying to figure out what exactly was going on, while Isis’ cousin Safiya urged her boyfriend to help track down my stalker. The chaos felt overwhelming.

Through it all, Tim’s voice cut sharply above the fray.

“Damian.” His tone was sharp, commanding.

I looked over to see Tim’s youngest brother, taut with energy, practically vibrating in his seat. His jaw was clenched, his eyes glinting with barely restrained fury.

“Go get him.”

Damian grinned, a wild, feral expression that sent a shiver down my spine, then sprang up, sprinting toward the exit like a dog off its leash. Tim paced in front of me, barking orders into his phone, his expression grim and dangerous.

“You need to drink some water and try to calm down,” Isis said gently, her voice cutting through my haze. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Her soft, nurturing tone steadied me just enough to take the cup she offered. I brought it to my lips with trembling hands, managing a small sip.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” she instructed patiently, demonstrating the breathing exercise herself.

Her presence was comforting, like warm sunshine after a storm. The small bump at her stomach only made her nurturing nature more apparent. She was going to be an incredible mother.

Tim hung up his phone abruptly, glaring at it like it had personally betrayed him. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought he might break his teeth.

“He’s so fucking dead,” Tim growled, his voice low and lethal. “I’m going to fucking kill him. He’s a dead man walking.”

I’d never seen him this furious before. In this moment, I was reminded exactly what it meant for him to be a Wayne. Beneath the calm, calculating exterior lay something fierce and unrelenting.

“He fucked with all the cars,” Tim spat. “They couldn’t chase him when he drove away.”

My breath hitched, the implication sinking in. He escaped.

The terror hit me again like a freight train. My heart raced wildly, and I felt the walls closing in. He got away, and I had seen the look in his eyes before he fled. That crazed betrayal. He thought I had betrayed him.

He’s going to come back. He’s going to kill me.

The sobs came hard and fast, ripping out of me despite my attempts to hold them back. I doubled over, shaking as the panic took over.

“Tim,” I gasped between sobs. He turned sharply, his expression softening with concern before anger flickered back.

“Please take me home.”

He opened his mouth, his face torn with indecision. “I’ll call Conner to come drive yo—”

“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “You. Please. Take me home.”

“But Lyric, I can’t leave yet. I need to get reports on what happened, review the tapes, and—”

“Tim,” Isis cut in gently but firmly. “Take her home.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded, his resolve softening. He crouched in front of me, brushing a hand along my arm, his voice low.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

+++

The penthouse was eerily silent, shadows stretching across every corner like dark secrets waiting to pounce. My feet froze at the entrance, dread seizing my chest. Every instinct screamed that he was here, lurking in some unseen nook, waiting. My breaths came short and shallow, my body refusing to move forward.

Tim stepped in ahead of me without hesitation, flipping on every single light in the place. The sudden brightness chased away the shadows, illuminating the apartment until not a dark crevice remained.

“No one’s here, Angel.” he said softly, glancing back at me.

I exhaled shakily, forcing my legs to carry me inside. “I’m gonna go shower,” I muttered, though my voice wavered. My eyes flicked to Tim, hesitant to let him out of my sight.

“I’ll stand outside the door the entire time,” he promised without missing a beat.

Relief washed over me. “Thank you.”

He followed me to my room, keeping a steady, protective presence at my side. I grabbed my oversized sleep shirt and the baggiest, comfiest pants I owned, clutching them to my chest like armor. Tim lingered by the doorway, watching until I disappeared into the bathroom.

The water was scalding as I stepped in, blistering against my skin, but I needed it that way. I scrubbed furiously at my arm, desperate to erase the sensation of his hand on me. The spot felt contaminated, stained by his touch. My skin turned red and raw, but I kept going, the heat mingling with my growing frustration.

Why can't I get clean?

My chest heaved as I fought back tears, my arm aching from the abuse I was inflicting on it but I just kept scrubbing. When the water finally began to turn cold, and the steam threatened to suffocate me, I relented. No amount of showering would make me feel better tonight.

Avoiding the fogged-up mirror, I dressed quickly, unwilling to face my reflection. I couldn't bear to see myself looking this shattered, this broken.

Opening the bathroom door, I found Tim exactly where he'd promised to be, sitting right by the door. His phone rested in his hand, but his attention shifted to me the moment I stepped out. Concern etched itself into his features, deepening when his eyes fell on my reddened arm.

He looked sad. I made him sad.

“Ready for bed?” he asked softly, rising to his feet.

I nodded weakly. “I don’t want to be alone,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

“I know, Angel. I’ll stay with you. Just let me go change.”

He turned to leave, but panic erupted in my chest. My breath hitched, and I grabbed his arm, gripping tightly.

“No!” I pleaded. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Tim's eyes softened, his tone steady and calming. “Okay, okay. I won’t. Come with me to grab some clothes, and I’ll change in your walk-in closet, okay?”

“Okay.” I exhaled shakily, knowing I’d probably be mortified about this later. But right now, my fear-stricken brain clung to one simple truth—Tim made me feel safe. I couldn’t let him out of my sight.

We retrieved his clothes, and true to his word, he changed quickly in my closet. When he returned, we climbed into bed together, settling under the covers. He lay on his back, and I nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing me.

One lamp remained on; I couldn’t handle the dark yet. Tim’s fingers traced gentle patterns along my arm, up and down in soothing motions.

My body was heavy with exhaustion, but my mind refused to quiet. The encounter with my stalker played on a relentless loop. His eyes, the low rasp of his voice—it gnawed at me. Something about him felt unsettlingly familiar.

Had I met him at a fan event without realizing who he was? Or maybe on the street in passing? I’d read stories about how the smallest interaction could spark obsession.

My eyelids drooped, sleep threatening to claim me. I’ll figure out who those eyes belong to later, I thought. I’ll have plenty of time since I’m not going back to campus anytime soon. Not after this. No way.

Then guilt struck. That project for music theory. My poor partner would be stuck doing all the work alone and he’ll be—

My heart slammed against my ribcage as realization dawned. My eyes shot open, adrenaline surging through my veins.

I bolted upright, startling Tim, who immediately followed, his expression alert.

“What? What happened?” he asked urgently.

“It’s Lonnie.”

Chapter Text

As soon as I said his name, Tim's eyes narrowed, and in a single, fluid motion, he was out of bed. The calm, calculated Tim I'd grown used to was gone, replaced by a version of him so full of anger it radiated off his body.

"Where are you going?" I asked as I hurried to follow him. He didn't even glance back as he headed toward his room.

"Where am I going?" He let out a laugh devoid of humor. "I'm going to kill him, that's where I'm going. I knew I should've done it the first time he talked to you."

I stood frozen in the doorway as he grabbed a hoodie off the floor and threw it on over his shirt.

"Wait," I stammered, my stomach twisting. "Now that we know who it is, shouldn't we call the cops?" My voice sounded small, unsure, even to me.

Tim paused, one foot halfway into his shoe. He looked up at me, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in his expression—an attempt to soften the edge of what he was about to say. "You know," he began, his tone deceptively calm, "I was actually thinking, after everything is said and done tonight, that I'd turn him over to the police. Half of them work for me anyway, and the other half work for my father. He'd get his punishment. Justice. Plus you wanted it."

His lips pressed into a tight line, and the softness in his expression was replaced by anger. "But then he made me go and break my promise." He glared down at the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. "He touched you when I said he wouldn't. So now, he has to die."

My breath caught in my throat as I watched him tie the laces on his last shoe. His words felt like a punch to the chest. "Y-you're not serious, right?"

"I am very serious." His voice was low, almost a growl, and there was no trace of hesitation. Tim walked over to his nightstand, pulled out a gun, and stuffed it into the waistband of his pants with the kind of ease that made me realize this wasn't new to him. I keep forgetting that he's a Wayne. This is his life and his job.

"You're really about to go and kill a man because of me?" My voice cracked as I tried to keep my panic in check. "Isn't this just a job for you? Why go through all the effort of murde—"

"Lyric." My name snapped out of him like a whip, cutting me off. His tone was sharp, but the look in his eyes—blazing and unwavering—made my chest tighten. "You have never and will never be just a job for me."

Before I could process what he'd said, he was standing in front of me, his hands gently cupping my face. The contrast between his touch and the fury radiating from him was dizzying.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Lyric," he said, "but you're mine now. And I don't like it when people touch what's mine."

"What?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"This relationship has never been fake." His words came out fast, like he'd been holding them in for too long. "Since the day I first met you, you've been mine. I was trying to go slow, to give you time to acclimate to that fact, but time isn't on my side right now, so I just need to come out and say it. Even before Joshua reached out to Conner and set this up, I knew in my heart that one day, I'd get you."

I felt my cheeks flush, and without thinking, I reached up and held his hand against my face, leaning into his touch. My heart was pounding, and not just from the fear that had been clawing at me minutes ago. "That's... kind of creepy, Tim."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged, his lips quirking into something resembling a smile. "I gotta be honest. You were never going to leave me. Even after we caught that freak, you were going to stay here and be with me."

"What if I said no?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.

"Then I still had that favor you owe me." He leaned his forehead against mine, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "I was going to cash it out and ask you to give me a chance. But I guess I don't have to now."

"And what makes you so sure?"

"Because I love you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like the sky was blue, like the sun would rise, like this—us—had always been inevitable. His voice softened, but there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just certainty. "And I know you love me too."

Before I could respond his phone rang, snapping us out of our moment. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered, "Damian, what did you find?"

"Him!" His brother's voice came through the speaker, filled with pure, unhinged amusement. I could hear the low, menacing growl of an engine in the background. "He didn't touch my car. Probably didn't know it was mine. This guy drives like a fucking loser, so I've been playing with him for the past fifteen minutes. But I'm bored now. Want me to kill him or capture him?"

The question was thrown out so casually, like he was asking if Tim wanted takeout or home-cooked.

Kill him?

My stomach twisted, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through my ribs. This wasn't just some vague knowledge I could push to the back of my mind anymore. Tim was really in the mafia. He was really a Wayne.

"Capture," Tim ordered, his voice clipped, firm. "I have some shit to say to him."

"Ugh. Lame," Damian groaned, as if Tim had just told him he couldn't stay up past bedtime. "You guys never let me have any fun."

My eyes widened. So that nickname wasn't just for show. Damian really was the devil.

"I didn't say you couldn't maim," Tim added, his lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile, but close enough to send a chill down my spine. Then, like a complete psycho, he turned back to me, grabbed my face, and kissed my cheek like we were having a normal, not murder-related conversation. Before I could even react, he was already moving toward the door. I followed him without thinking, too stunned to do anything else.

"Say less," Damian cackled. Then, a second later, I heard the screech of tires and the unmistakable crunch of metal slamming into metal. A low, satisfied laugh echoed through the phone. "That was nice. Where do you want him?"

Tim rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off the last bit of restraint he had left. Then, with an eerie calm, he cracked his neck. "Manor."

"Got it. See you in ten."

"See you."

The line went dead.

I stared at Tim as he grabbed his jacket and slid it on. The rage that had been boiling under his skin was still there, but it had shifted—sharper now, more focused. Like now that he had a plan, he could breathe again.

"Conner will be here to watch you," he said, finally looking at me.

I leaned against the couch, watching him cross the room toward me. When he reached me, his fingers brushed against my cheek, tucking a braid behind my ear with an unexpected gentleness. Then he sighed.

"Sorry I have to do this when you're not feeling your best."

"You don't have to," I said, grasping onto the last sliver of logic left in this conversation. "We can always go to the police." I knew it was pointless, but I had to try. One last time.

He exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching. "No, I can't. I physically can't, Angel." His thumb brushed over my cheek, but his eyes had that same stormy intensity from before, like he was barely keeping himself together. "He hurt you. He's been hurting you for months. Then he had the nerve to pretend to be your friend." His voice dropped lower, quieter. "He has to go. It's like a switch in my brain flipped, and now it's screaming that he has to die—and that I need to be the one who does it."

He cupped my face fully now, his brows pulling together in a deep frown. "I guess I understand Dick and Jason now," he murmured, mostly to himself. His thumb traced slow circles over my skin, his grip firm but warm. "I get why they did what they did." His eyes flickered back to mine, and suddenly, I couldn't breathe.

"I would burn the world down for you, Lyric." His voice was raw, steady, and final. "I love you so fucking much."

A tear slipped down my cheek before I even realized I was crying.

"I love you too," I whispered.

Tim's eyes softened, the hard lines of his face easing as he looked at me. There was a tenderness there that made my chest tighten. Without another word, he leaned down and kissed me.

It was devastating.

His lips were warm and steady, but the emotion behind them was enough to shatter me. It wasn't like the other times—the hurried, heated kisses where we were just lost in each other, letting the pull of attraction take over. This was different. This was him giving me a piece of himself, laying it bare between us without holding back.

His hands cupped my face, fingers curling gently at the base of my skull, anchoring me to him. He kissed me slowly, deliberately, like he was trying to tell me all the things he couldn't say out loud. I love you. I need you. I'd do anything to keep you safe. Every soft press of his lips was a promise, each tilt of his head a reassurance that this was real. That we were real.

And I kissed him back just as desperately, letting my hands cling to his jacket as my heart spilled over. I was terrified and overwhelmed, but I loved him. God, I loved him. More than I knew was possible. I poured all of it into that kiss, hoping he could feel the way he'd worked his way into every corner of my heart. That no matter how complicated and terrifying this all was, he was it for me.

The world fell away around us, the only thing grounding me was him. The soft scratch of his stubble against my skin, the way his thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn't even realize were falling. It was raw and vulnerable, and it made me feel so exposed I almost pulled away—but his grip tightened, keeping me close, like he could sense my fear. Like he needed this as much as I did.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm and uneven. His eyes traced my face, lingering on my tear-streaked cheeks before his thumb moved to wipe them away. There was a softness in his gaze that made my heart ache.

"Try and sleep," he whispered, his voice was soft and gentle and warm. "Conner should be here soon. He'll stay in my room for tonight." His fingers lingered on my face for a second longer before he let go, his expression hardening as he turned toward the door.

Then he was gone, leaving behind the faintest trace of his cologne and the lingering warmth of his lips.

I stood there, frozen, my heart still pounding and my mind spinning. A part of me felt like I could float, like happiness was swelling inside me in a way that threatened to burst out. But underneath that joy was a knot of dread so heavy it made my stomach turn. I loved him, and that was the most terrifying thing in the world.

Tim's POV

Driving to the manor was a silent affair. No music, no calls—just the steady hum of the engine and the road stretching out in front of me. I needed the quiet, needed space in my head to plan out all the ways I could make Lonnie suffer. There was a cold, methodical rage simmering just beneath my skin, and I needed it to stay controlled. Precise. I couldn't let it consume me—not yet.

Usually, I was strategic about these things. I didn't like getting my hands dirty if I didn't have to. I was good at ruining people without lifting a finger. Make up a rumor, plant a false trail, make them look like a rat, and let their own people tear them apart. Easy, clean, effective. I liked clean.

But this time was different.

This time, he had to die.

I wasn't opposed to killing. It was just... inefficient most of the time. But I grew up with death. I understood it—maybe too well. When your father is Bruce Wayne, death isn't just a possibility. It's a guarantee. He made sure we understood that before we even hit our teens. Made sure we each took our first life before sixteen, just so we'd understand the weight of it. How permanent it was.

I guess I was the only one who learned that lesson.

I didn't like killing because it was too final. No room for manipulation, no opportunity to use the person again in the future. Dead was dead. But every time I thought of Lonnie, my vision went red. All I could see was him laughing behind Lyric's back, pretending to be her friend while he tormented her. While he hurt her.

My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. No, this was different. There was no strategy here. No manipulation. The only solution my mind would accept was that Lonnie had to die.

I pulled into the manor's long driveway but I didn't get out right away. I sat there, breathing deeply, trying to wrestle my emotions back under control. If I went in like this, I'd put a bullet in his head the second I saw him, and that would be too quick. Too easy. I needed answers first.

I exhaled slowly, letting the rage settle into something more manageable. Then I stepped out of the car, the cold night air biting at my skin, waking me up. I needed to be sharp. Precise.

Alfred was waiting for me at the door. "They're in the cave, Master Tim."

"Thanks, Alfred."

He gave me a small nod. "My pleasure."

I headed toward the cave—my father's underground office. The only place in Gotham that was truly safe from prying eyes. Bruce had hollowed out the natural cave beneath the house, turning it into a fortress where we could plan, strategize, and do whatever the hell we needed to without anyone hearing a whisper of it. It was overkill, but that was Bruce Wayne for you.

Not that anyone would be stupid enough to break into the manor, but if they did... well, they'd never make it back out.

My footsteps echoed as I descended into the darkness, the air growing colder as the walls closed in around me. I welcomed it. The chill, the quiet, the isolation. It helped me center myself, to prepare for what was coming next.

I would get the answers I needed. And then, I would kill him.

I didn't feel any hesitation.

No doubt.

Just a cold, methodical certainty.

He had to die.

Inside the torture room of the cave was Damian and Dick standing over a pissed stained Lonnie. He was tied to a chair shaking like a leaf with a head wound that was leaking blood down his face like a faucet. I also noticed a finger nail on the floor that wasn't there before, since father has this place cleaned pretty regularly. I knew he wouldn't have left it there. I glanced at Damian who was staring at Lonnie with so much malice it almost made me shiver.

"You're late." Dick muttered as he leaned lazily against the wall. "Damian told me you said you'd be here in ten."

"He said I'd be here in ten. All I said was I'd see him." I grinned as I shrugged off my coat, tossing it into the corner. I rolled my neck, the joints cracking as I tried to ease the tension building in my shoulders. Then I moved to the cart that held Dad's tools—neatly organized, glistening under the dim light. I ran my fingers over the various implements, considering my options. I opted for the drill.

"Oh he got jokes now after making us wait 15 minutes for him." Damian grumbled annoyed.

"Why is he pissed?" I asked, letting my eyes wander over the rest of the cart.

Dick chuckled, his eyes flicking to Damian before looking back at me. "Uh, this guy tried to kidnap Isis' favorite artist, and you didn't let him kill him. Of course, he's mad."

I rolled my eyes, turning to look at Damian with an unimpressed stare. "You know Isis is about to marry Jason, right? And she's also way too old for you. She used to change your diapers, man."

"Shut up!" Damian's face turned red, his eyes narrowing into a scowl. "I know. I don't like her anymore. And she never changed my fucking diapers!"

"Right." Dick snorted, pushing off the wall and shoving his hands in his pockets. "So then why did you just kidnap this guy?"

"Because Tim told me to go get him," Damian said defensively, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

"You never listen to Tim."

"Yes I do!"

"No you don't." I chuckled as I picked up a pair of pliers as well as my drill.

"If you didn't want my help then next time don–"

Damian's words were cut off by a gut-wrenching wail. We all turned to look at Lonnie as he sobbed uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving as tears mixed with the blood on his face. His body shook violently, and the smell of urine grew stronger as he wet himself even more. Pathetic.

"How can you sit there and chat as if you're not about to torture me?!" Lonnie wailed, his voice cracking.

"And kill. Don't forget kill," Dick added with a grin, his eyes gleaming with a cruel sort of amusement.

Lonnie's sobs grew louder, his head shaking back and forth as if he could somehow deny the reality of his situation. It was pitiful. He had spent months stalking Lyric, terrorizing her, and he wanted us to feel sorry for him now? I felt nothing but contempt. If anything, I pitied his mother for giving birth to such a useless coward.

"Please... Please... It wasn't only me. He told me to do it. I didn't want to do it," Lonnie muttered between sobs, his voice barely audible.

I paused, my grip tightening on the drill. "What did you just say? Who is he?" I asked, finally giving him my full attention.

"The man who hired me. He said he k-knew I was a fan and that he needed my help to g-get Lyric away from you." His bloodshot eyes met mine, wide and pleading. "I-I was only supposed to befriend her so I could g-give her a tracker device and audio recorder. H-he said it was to make sure she was safe."

"Who?" I demanded, my voice cold and steady.

Lonnie swallowed hard, his whole body trembling. "I only went t-to that club because he said you were abusive. I thought if she saw me and we t-talked, I could get her out. But then she sang that song, and I t-thought it was for me. I thought it was a-about me."

"Why would she love you?" Damian scoffed, crossing his arms. Dick burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

"I was only trying to save h-her. He said you were hitting her," Lonnie cried, his voice breaking.

"WHO?!" I yelled, the sound bouncing around the room, making him flinch.

"H-her manager. Joshua."

Rage. Red-hot rage burned through me, white-hot and blinding. I could feel my heart pounding, my pulse roaring in my ears. Joshua. It all clicked into place.

"How did you two communicate?" I asked, my voice cold and measured, even as the fury threatened to break through. I turned back to the cart, placing the drill and pliers down, forcing myself to stay calm.

Lonnie's shoulders sagged with relief as he saw me put the tools away. "He found me on a Lyric Kane fan discord server. I was talking about how I was a hacker. I liked to hack her label's server so that I could hear snippets of her unreleased songs. That's when he explained to me how she met you at a party and how at first you were kind and charming to her but then you became abusive. How you promised you'd get rid of her stalker so she trusted you. He knew I went to GU and paid for me to go to her class and befriend her. Then he asked me to slip her a GPS tracking device and an audio recorder. So I gave her this spy pen I created when I was in highschool. It's an audio visual device but I put a GPS in it." He sniffed and started to sound a bit brighter. "After that I'd send him the recordings of everything you guys did. After he heard you two kissing or something he went ape shit and said I needed to get to that club and get her out. Then you know the rest."

"Does he know you got caught by us?" I asked calmly.

He shook his head no, "I didn't get a chance to message him any updates before your brother ran me off the road."

"What's the name of your discord account and what's the password?"

"My Discord username is Anarky and my password is lyric lover one two three hashtag with lover spelled like L-U-V-R and Lyric has a capital L." He rattled off.

I nodded at him, committed that to memory, smiled, then pulled out my gun and unloaded the clip in his head.

Chapter Text

It took Tim forever to come back to the apartment. I stayed up the entire time waiting for him. Even when Conner begged me to go to sleep and try to relax the day away I just couldn’t. I needed to know for sure if he really killed a man for me.

I sat on the couch, my knees pulled to my chest, eyes glazed over as the TV droned on when he walked in. I jumped to my feet, ready to greet him, ready to... I didn’t even know. Yell at him? Hug him? Thank him? But the words died in my throat the moment I saw him. Tim stood in the doorway, blood splattered across his shirt, staining his hands, streaked along his jaw like war paint. It wasn’t just a little, either—it was everywhere, deep red and drying to a dark brown.

He froze when he saw me, his shoulders sagging as his eyes flicked away. “I told you to go to sleep,” he mumbled, his voice hollow, defeated. He didn’t look at me. He just stood there, looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep until I saw you. I needed to know if…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I mean I got my answer. The evidence was right there. No man could survive losing all that blood.

“He didn’t suffer. It was clean.” Tim shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the back of an arm chair before rolling his neck.

The knowledge that Lonnie was gone filled me with relief and dread all at once. The sick part of me was glad I no longer had to deal with a man stalking me everywhere I went. He was finally dealt with, permanently. There was no fear of him breaking out of prison or ever getting parole. He was gone and I was free. But at the same time a man is dead and it’s because of me. I was the reason someone died.

Tim didn’t look me in the eyes as he stood there. We sat in silence for a second before I spoke up. “Thank you for protecting me. I know it’s not exactly the way I wanted, but I understand. I think if someone was tormenting you the way he was tormenting me, I’d probably do the same thing.” I admitted.

He let out a dry laugh, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Glad to know you have my back.”

“I can’t fight but I do have sugarpop.”

That got him to look at me. “What is a sugarpop?”

“My gun.”

He bursted out laughing. His laughter broke the tension. It was raw and real, the first sign of life I’d seen from him since he walked through that door. I watched as his shoulders relaxed, some of the darkness lifting from his eyes.

“Why didn’t I know you had a gun?” He grinned.

“I keep her hidden pretty well on me at most times. If she’s not on my person she’s in my purse.” I shrugged.

“Noted.” His posture straightened, the humor fading from his face. His eyes went cold, serious. “I have something to tell you, and... I don’t think you’ll like it.”

My stomach twisted painfully, a cold chill creeping up my spine. “What?”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he steeled himself. “Lonnie wasn’t your stalker.”

My world shattered, the illusion of safety crumbling to dust. My chest tightened, the air suddenly feeling too thick to breathe. I wasn’t free. He was still out there. The fear that had gripped me for months came rushing back, squeezing my heart in its icy fist.

Before panic could fully consume me, Tim’s voice cut through. “Before you start to panic, hear me out. Lonnie wasn’t your stalker because I don’t think there ever was one.” He took a half-step toward me, his hand lifting like he wanted to comfort me, but he stopped short, his gaze dropping to his blood-stained fingers. He curled them into a fist and let his hand fall to his side.

“What do you mean there never was one?” I whispered, my voice barely holding steady.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes hardening. “Every time you got a package or a letter, who showed it to you?”

I frowned, my mind racing as I tried to piece together the memories. “I would find them in my house or in dressing rooms mostly. If not, then Joshua would find them and tell me about it.”

“And whose idea was it to tell the public about the fact that you even had a stalker?” Tim’s jaw was clenched, his words clipped.

“Joshua said it would help to discourage the stalker from contacting me if the public knew and shamed him.” My hands were shaking, so I gripped them together, digging my nails into my palms to keep steady.

“And who introduced you to me?” His voice was low, deadly serious.

“Joshua.” My heart sank, the pieces finally clicking together. The truth hit me like a slap to the face. It was all fake. It was a ruse. But why?

Tim’s eyes flashed with anger. “All your ex-manager cared about was publicity. Yes, you blew up because of that viral video, but that wasn’t enough to sustain your popularity. Virality is fickle. It comes and goes. The only way to make you stay relevant, to keep people talking, was to create a story that never stopped. That’s why he created the stalker.” His voice was bitter, the words dripping with contempt. “But when people stopped caring about you and your ‘stalker,’ he added me into the mix. Knowing that having you be seen with me would boost your popularity by a lot. Not realizing that I would take my job of protecting you seriously and figure out his whole scheme.”

He pulled out his phone, his fingers moving quickly over the screen. “I didn’t think of this earlier, too busy thinking of other things, but the voice from the car that day—the day the note was left—doesn’t it sound familiar?”

He hit play on a recording. “Um, excuse me, miss? Could you put this note on that car? It’s Lyric Kane’s, and I’m too nervous to do it myself.” The voice was different, an exaggerated accent, but the tone, the cadence... I knew that voice.

“That’s him.” My voice wavered. “Granted, that’s him doing a really bad New York accent, but that’s Joshua. How didn’t I realize this before?” A lump formed in my throat. He did all of this... for clout? For attention?

“We weren’t searching for someone you knew, we were searching for a complete stranger. I never would have expected him to pull some shit like this.” Tim grit his teeth in anger.

I sniffed, holding back tears. “What should we do now? Since I fired him he should leave me alone, right?”

Tim shook his head no. “He hired Lonnie to keep tabs on you. To try and pull you away from me before I got too close. He made him go to that club and try to get you out. Even after you fired him. He still thinks he has a claim on you. He needs to go.” The look in his eyes was the same as when I told him about Lonnie. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Tim was going to kill again. For me.

I felt dizzy, the room spinning around me. “Is there another way to handle this that doesn’t involve death? Maybe we ruin his career? Make it so that he can’t ever work in this industry again?”

“No.” His answer was instant, absolute. “He has to die.” The finality in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. He was completely calm, completely sure. “But not tonight. Tonight we sleep.”

“There's no way I can sleep now.”

“Try, Angel.” His voice was gentle, tired, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked down at himself, grimacing at the dark, dried blood staining his shirt and hands. “I need to go shower and burn my clothes. If you want, I’ll stay with you tonight.” He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, uncertainty flashing across his face. “Only If you want me to.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside me. The way he looked at me, like he was bracing himself for rejection, made my chest ache. He was scared. Not of what he’d done, but of me turning him away. Of me seeing him as a monster.

“Of course I want you there.” I hated the way my voice wavered, the way my throat tightened. “You make me feel safe.”

His face twisted like he’d just taken a punch. “Don’t say shit that makes me want to kiss you when I’m covered in blood and can’t touch you.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out weak. “Sorry. I’ll refrain from being sappy.”

“I appreciate that.” He gave me a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Go to the room. I’ll be there soon. I promise.” His voice softened, his gaze lingering for just a moment before he turned away, his shoulders slumping as he walked down the hall. I watched him go, my chest tightening with every step he took. The bathroom door closed behind him with a soft click, and a moment later, the water started running.

I followed his directions and made my way to the bedroom. Now that Tim was home, the idea of sleeping didn’t seem too bad. My eyes started to flutter slightly and the warmth of the blanket lulled me into a sense of comfort. But my mind was still running.

He was going to kill Joshua.

The thought bounced around my head, over and over, refusing to settle. Tim was going to kill someone. For me. Again. And the worst part? I wasn’t horrified. I wasn’t even surprised. I was relieved.

Relieved that it would be over. That Joshua would never hurt me again. That Tim would protect me, no matter what. No matter how far he had to go.

I heard the water shut off, then a few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Tim walked in. His hair was damp and messy, his face freshly washed, and he looked strangely normal in a white t-shirt and red sleep pants, even though his shoulders were hunched, and his movements were slow, weighed down by everything he wasn’t saying.

He didn’t look at me as he crawled into bed, his body warm and solid beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a moment, he hesitated, his arm hovering before he finally wrapped it around me, pulling me close. It was like he was scared I’d push him away, like he still thought I’d see him as a monster. As if I could.

I sank into his hold, his body heat seeping into me, his heartbeat steady against my back. His grip tightened, his face pressing into the crook of my neck as he breathed me in, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. It felt safe. Like home.

“Goodnight,” I muttered, my eyes growing heavy as sleep started to pull me under. “I love you.”

He went rigid behind me, his arm tightening around my waist before he buried his face deeper into my neck. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Thanks for loving me even though I'm… me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I murmured, already half-asleep. His grip tightened just a little more, his chest pressing against my back, his breath steady and soothing.

I didn’t hear his answer. I was already drifting off, safe in his arms.

+++

The rest of the week was a blur of rehearsals for the music program fundraiser performance and Tim hovering over me like I was made of glass. He kept watching me out of the corner of his eye, his shoulders tense every time I so much as sighed too hard. I think he thought I was traumatized, and I guess by all accounts, I should be. I mean, my manager and ex-friend orchestrated an entire stalker situation just to mess with my head. Who does that? But weirdly enough, I wasn’t shaken. I was relieved.

Now that I knew it was all fake, it was like a switch flipped in my brain. Every creepy text from an unknown number just made me roll my eyes. The guy was really trying to scare me, like a villain in some low-budget horror movie. It wasn’t working anymore. In fact, I was starting to find it corny. Tim, on the other hand? Not so much. Every time my phone buzzed, his jaw would clench, and his eyes would get this dangerous glint.

He was getting angrier by the day, and I was half convinced he was going to snap and fly to LA to kill Joshua before we even got a chance to set our plan in motion. Which would be bad for a lot of reasons, mainly because the plan was actually pretty smart.

The day of the concert, Tim was sure Joshua would show up. Apparently, Tim hacked into Lonnie’s Discord account and found out that was where they did most of their scheming. He used the account to back out of the deal, making Joshua panic. Tim figured with Lonnie seemingly out of the picture, Joshua would have no choice but to come to New Jersey and try to smooth things over, not just with Lonnie but with me too. He needed me to take him back as my manager.

And boy, has he been trying. I’ve gotten texts, calls, and even a handwritten letter in the mail. Who even sends letters anymore? Tim told me to play along, to make Joshua think he was winning me over, that I was close to changing my mind. It’s been hard, I won’t lie. Every message makes my skin crawl, but I keep at it for the sake of the plan.

The endgame was simple. After my performance, I was supposed to invite Joshua backstage to ‘talk things out.’ Only, I wouldn’t be the one waiting for him. Tim would. What happened after that was none of my business. As long as Joshua was out of my life for good, I didn’t care how Tim handled it.

“Are you ready to go on?” Dr. Shonda’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She was practically bouncing on her heels, excitement radiating off her.

I tightened my grip on my guitar and nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Great, I’ll go announce you!” She grinned before hurrying onstage just as the small violin quartet was taking their final bow. “Thank you so much for that gorgeous rendition of ‘Spring’ from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons,” she gushed. “Makes me want to watch Bridgerton!”

The audience laughed, the sound echoing through the auditorium before dying down. Dr. Shonda’s smile widened. “Now, onto the main reason I’m sure most of you bought tickets tonight. We here at Gotham U are so very lucky to have one of the world’s biggest singers attending our University.”

Okay, that was a little dramatic, but hey, she sure knew how to make a girl feel good about herself.

“Without further ado, I’d like to welcome Lyric Kane to the stage!” She stepped aside, beaming at me as she gestured for me to come out.

That was my cue. I took a deep breath and plastered on my popstar smile before walking out onto the stage, my heels clicking against the hardwood. The lights were blinding, but I could see the audience silhouetted against them, and the second they saw me, the place erupted.

My fake smile melted into a real one. I loved performing, always had. But nothing beat the rush of performing for a live, interactive crowd. This crowd was definitely here to hype me up, and I was ready to give them a show they’d never forget.

I thanked Dr. Shonda, pulling her into a quick hug as she beamed at me. Her excitement was contagious, and I felt a rush of gratitude for how supportive she’d been throughout this whole mess. I gave her a little squeeze before letting go and making my way to the stool at center stage.

The lights were bright and warm, almost blinding, but I’d gotten used to that by now. I settled onto the stool, adjusting the mic stand until it was just right. The crowd was still buzzing, a mix of cheers and applause echoing off the auditorium walls. I gripped the mic, waiting for the noise to die down before leaning in. “Hello, Gotham U.”

That just got them riled up again. The roar of applause and cheering was almost deafening, and I couldn’t help but laugh. A real, genuine laugh that bubbled out of my chest. “Wow, you guys sure know how to make a girl feel special,” I said, grinning as the noise finally started to settle.

I adjusted my guitar on my lap, fingers lightly grazing the strings as I took a deep breath. “I thought it would be nice to start off this performance with a slow, cute romantic song, considering Valentine’s Day was just a few weeks ago.”

I smirked while looking at the front row at Tim, Conner and a girl from Young Justice who I just met today named Cassie. “Plus, I have a boyfriend now and everything so I’m in the romantic mood.”

The crowd awwed and Tim’s head fell in embarrassment. His ears were red and everything. If he’s embarrassed by the spotlight, maybe he shouldn’t have fallen in love with a pop star.

“I’m starting this off cute and slow with Valentine by Laufey. It fits the mood right?” I said as I strummed my guitar. I can’t really play the guitar well, but I can strum a few chords here and there to help make it seem like I know what I’m doing even though I really don’t.

“Sing along if you know the words,” I encouraged, giving them one last smile before starting the song.

“I’ve rejected affection, for years and years.” I started off singing. The crowd joined in soon after. “Now I have it. And damn it, it’s kind of weird. He tells me I’m pretty, don’t know how to respond. I tell him that he’s pretty too. Can I say that? Don’t have a clue.”

“With every passing moment, I surprise myself. I'm scared of flies. I'm scared of guys. Someone please help, 'Cause I think I've fallen In love this time. I blinked and suddenly, I had a valentine.” I let my eyes flicker back to Tim, watching his shoulders relax as he listened. Conner nudged him, grinning, and Tim shot him a half-hearted glare before turning his attention back to me. I could see the way his lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

For the next part of the song the audience’s voices grew louder, more confident, and I let them take over for a moment, just listening to the way they sang along. This was my favorite part of performing—feeling that connection, hearing them echo my words back to me.

I sang with them until the final note hung in the air, the sound of the crowd’s applause crashing over me like a tidal wave. It was loud and thunderous, rattling the stage beneath my feet. I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my face, my heart pounding with adrenaline and joy. Performing never got old.

I set my guitar on the ground, leaning it carefully against the mic stand before straightening up. “Now we can get to the fun stuff,” I said, winking at the crowd. That got a few whistles and excited shouts, and I laughed, my chest buzzing with excitement.

A stagehand rushed out, quick and efficient as they whisked away the stool and my guitar, clearing the space for me to move. Right on cue, three backup singers appeared from the wings, joining me at center stage. We were all wearing matching pink skirts decorated with tiny, glittering hearts—a nod to Valentine’s Day.

As the first notes of the backtrack started up, the crowd erupted. The bass vibrated through the floor, rattling my bones as the beat dropped. They knew exactly what song was coming. My first number one single, On My Terms.

The screaming grew louder, some people even jumping out of their seats. I bit back a laugh. On My Terms was a fan favorite, but the real reason I’d put it on the setlist was standing in the front row. This was the song that Isis said got Tim interested in me, which I found hilarious and it was one of the reasons I added it to my set list tonight.

I’d also picked this song because I knew it like the back of my hand. I’d performed it so many times I could do it in my sleep. Tonight, I needed something easy, something that would let me sing and dance while I scanned the crowd for Joshua.

The beat picked up, and I moved with it, my body falling into the familiar choreography. My backup singers harmonized perfectly, our voices blending as we danced across the stage. The crowd was electric, singing every word back to me, their energy feeding my own.

I smiled and waved, spinning and twirling under the stage lights as I scanned the audience. Rows and rows of faces blurred together, some holding up their phones, recording me as I moved. I sang my heart out, hitting every note, keeping the crowd hyped as my eyes darted over the sea of people.

Nothing. No sign of him.

By the end of the song, I was starting to feel the first prickle of doubt. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t as desperate as Tim thought. But then, just as I was about to give up, I caught a glimpse of someone lurking in the back corner of the auditorium. He was half-hidden in the shadows, leaning against the wall. His hood was pulled up, shielding his face, and he was wearing sunglasses—inside, at night. That alone should’ve been a dead giveaway.

But it was the phone case that confirmed it. It was custom-made, one I’d bought him for his birthday, printed with a photo of the two of us on the day I got signed to my label. It was supposed to be a keepsake, a reminder of how far we’d come together. Now it just felt like a bitter joke.

A pang of sadness hit me, sharp and sudden. Once upon a time, he was my biggest supporter, my best friend. He was there for every late-night practice, every small gig, cheering me on even when no one else did. How did we get from that to... this?

I felt a lump form in my throat, but I swallowed it down, refusing to let him ruin this for me. I flicked my eyes away, my fingers brushing against my ear—a signal Tim and I had agreed on. I didn’t have to look to know his head snapped in that direction, his entire body tensing as he locked onto Joshua.

Conner’s demeanor changed, too. He went from casually laid-back to laser-focused, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed on the figure in the back. Cassie pulled out her phone and made a call. My guess is it was to the other guys hidden in the audience. Tim turned back to me, his eyes hard and he nodded. The plan was proceeding.

I turned my attention back to the crowd, smiling wide as I waved. “You guys have been amazing tonight! Are you ready for the next song?” The applause was deafening, and I let it wash over me.

I launched into the next song, the beat kicking up as my backup singers joined in. We moved as one, perfectly synchronized, our pink skirts twirling under the stage lights. I sang my heart out, my voice carrying over the crowd as they sang along, word for word. It was electric, the energy buzzing in the air as we danced, feeding off the audience's excitement.

Song after song, I kept the momentum going, barely giving myself a chance to breathe. I went through my hits, the ones everyone knew by heart, letting the choreography take over when my legs started to burn. I pushed through it, adrenaline surging with every beat drop, every cheer.

Dr. Shonda was so lucky I loved her class. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be performing this hard. My lungs burned, my voice felt worn out, and my thighs ached from dancing, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not with how important tonight was.

The whole time I was on stage I made sure to always know where Joshua was. He never moved from his spot on the wall. Not until I announced the last song of the night. “Alright guys.” I panted into the mic. “For my last song–” the crowd booed.

“I know I know. I wish I could keep singing too but we all gotta go home at some point right?” I grinned. “Now, for the last song of the night I decided to slow it back down again with one of my personal favorites, If I Ain’t Got You by Alicia Keys. The song that started it all for me.”

That was the song I was singing on the subway when I went viral all those years ago. I still remembered that day so clearly, like it was yesterday. It was just an ordinary afternoon in Gotham, and I was on my way home from school. Senior year was brutal, and I was exhausted, my backpack weighing me down as I trudged onto the subway. I didn’t think much of it when a street musician pulled out his saxophone, setting up in the middle of the subway car. Just another day in the city.

But then he began to play If I Ain’t Got You, and something about the way he played pulled me in. I started singing along, softly at first, just for myself.

I thought I was quiet, but the sax player must have heard me because he walked closer, playing louder, egging me on. So, I went for it, singing my heart out right there on the platform. What I didn’t know was that his friend was recording the whole thing. They posted it on social media, and before I even made it home, my phone was blowing up with notifications. Everything changed after that.

I took a deep breath, my fingers brushing the mic stand as I started, my voice soft but steady. “Some people live for the fortune. Some people live just for the fame. Some people live for the power, yeah. Some people live just to play the game.”

I closed my eyes, letting the lyrics wash over me, letting myself feel every word. “Some people think that the physical things define what's within. And I've been there before, but that life's a bore, so full of the superficial.”

I heard the audience start to sing along, their voices blending with mine, and it made my heart swell. This song always did that to me—connected me to people in a way nothing else could.

“Some people want it all! But I don’t want nothin’ at all, if it ain’t you, baby, if I ain’t got you, baby! Some people want diamond rings! Some just want everything! But everything means nothin’ if I ain’t got you!”

With every note, I poured my heart out, letting the song take me over. My legs didn’t hurt anymore, and the exhaustion that had been weighing me down all night was gone. I was floating, my voice carrying me, pushing past every limit. That’s what this song did for me—it let me be my most vulnerable, my most powerful. It was freedom, pure and simple.

As the last note hung in the air, the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers shaking me out of the trance I’d been in. I opened my eyes, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. This was why I did it—why I sang, why I performed. Moments like this, where everything felt right. Where I felt invincible.

I looked back towards where Joshua had been standing all night, pressed against the wall like he was trying to disappear. My smile fell. He was gone. Just like that. I scanned the crowd, hoping maybe he just moved to get a better view, but there was no sign of him. My chest tightened.

I turned towards Tim, who was still seated in the front row, his face a hardened mask. He caught my eye, his jaw clenching as he motioned towards the side of the stage. Then he stood up, moving swiftly. Conner and Cassie followed close behind, their faces serious, eyes sharp. It was time.

I took a deep breath, forcing a bright smile back onto my face. “Thank you, Gotham U!” I shouted into the mic, putting every ounce of energy I had left into my voice. The crowd cheered, a wall of sound that vibrated through my chest, and I waved as I walked off the stage.

Dr. Shonda crossed my path, her face lit up with pride as she gave me two enthusiastic thumbs up. It pulled a genuine laugh from me, a small burst of joy before the reality of the situation set back in. She walked up to the mic to thank everyone for coming, her voice carrying over the applause as I slipped behind the curtain.

My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I kept my head high, thanking the stagehands and hugging my backup singers—girls from my major who volunteered to help make tonight perfect. They were all smiles, chattering excitedly, none of them having any idea what was about to happen. Then I walked towards my ‘dressing room’ which was just an empty classroom they cleared out for me but I appreciated anyway. Once I got there I wasn’t surprised to see Joshua leaning next to the wall next to the door, waiting for me.

He pushed off the wall as soon as he saw me, pulling his sunglasses off. His eyes were bloodshot, dark bags hanging under them. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Guilt flickered across his face, making him look smaller, less confident than I’d ever seen him. “Lyric,” he breathed out, his voice breaking. “Hi.”

I kept my posture stiff, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected me. “Josh.” I forced my voice to stay steady. “What are you doing here?”

His shoulders sagged, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I—I wanted to apologize in person. I felt like over the phone, I wasn’t getting my point across.” He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. “Can we talk? Please?”

I looked him up and down, my face carefully blank. Tim told me not to act too eager, not to give anything away, so I let the silence hang, watched him squirm. When his shoulders started to curl inward, I crossed my arms. “Fine. In my dressing room though.”

He looked like he was about to collapse with relief, his face softening into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lyric. Thank you for hearing me out.”

He turned and opened the door, stepping inside without hesitation. I followed him in, closing the door behind me. The second he looked around, his body went rigid. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight before him.

Tim was sitting in one of the chairs, legs crossed casually like he was waiting for a meeting. Conner stood on his right, his arms crossed, looking like he was ready for a fight. Cassie leaned against the desk, her expression smug.

Tim’s lips curved into a smile, but his eyes were cold. “Hello, Joshua. Remember me?”

Joshua’s face drained of color, and he whirled around to face me, his eyes blazing with betrayal. “You… you set me up? You bitch!” He moved fast, his body lunging toward me.

My reflexes kicked in, and my hand shot to my skirt, pulling out Sugarpop before I even realized what I was doing. Joshua froze, his eyes locked on the pink handgun aimed right at his chest.

“Josh,” I said, my voice steady. “Meet Sugarpop, my gun. The one I told you about months ago. Thought I was joking, huh?”

Conner let out a bark of laughter. “It’s pink!”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course, it’s pink.”

Tim’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He stalked toward Joshua, who was rooted in place, his hands trembling as he stared at my gun, then at Tim.

“You were going to touch her?” Tim’s voice was low, dripping with venom.

Joshua’s mouth opened and closed, his face paling. “N-no, I was just—”

Tim’s fist shot out, slamming into Joshua’s stomach. The impact was brutal, knocking the air out of him as he doubled over, clutching his abdomen. I winced, quickly tucking Sugarpop back into its hidden holster.

“You called her a bitch, then tried to lay a hand on her? In front of me?” Tim grabbed Joshua by his hair, yanking his head up to force him to look him in the eyes. “Do you want to die?”

Joshua’s face crumpled in fear. “I-I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me!” His voice was high-pitched, shaking with terror.

“Too late,” Cassie said, her voice almost cheerful as she watched the scene unfold.

Tim didn’t look away from Joshua. “Cassie, take him to the truck. Put him in the trunk.”

Cassie’s eyes lit up with excitement, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “My pleasure, boss.” She pushed off the desk and strode over, grabbing Joshua by the collar. “If you make a scene on our way out, I will shoot you right here.” She tapped his chest, right over his heart. “So be a good little snake and stay quiet.”

Joshua’s face turned a sickly shade of green as he looked at her, then at me. His eyes filled with tears. “Please, Lyric! I’m sorry! I just wanted to help your career! Please don’t let them hurt me!” His voice broke, a sob catching in his throat.

My chest tightened, my eyes burning. I looked away, my fists clenching at my sides.

“PLEASE, LYRIC! PLEASE!” His screams echoed down the hallway as Cassie dragged him away, his voice desperate, raw.

I kept my back to him, forcing myself not to look. Not to care.

Tim walked over, his hands gentle as he cupped my face, his thumbs brushing along my cheekbones. “Don’t listen to him, Angel,” he said softly, his voice tender. “He hurt you. He tried to ruin you for his own gain. He never believed in you or your talent. Don’t feel bad for someone who never once felt bad for hurting you.”

I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in, letting his touch ground me. I took a shaky breath, then another. When I opened my eyes again, Tim’s face was filled with concern, his blue eyes watching me carefully.

I managed a small nod, leaning into his palm. “You’re right,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You’re right.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Now I gotta go deal with Joshua so Conner will take you home. But I promise I’ll be quick.” He caressed my face softly as he spoke.

“Make it painless,” I whispered, my throat tightening. A part of me still remembered who Joshua used to be—the friend who helped me write my first song, who believed in me when no one else did. But that version of him was gone, replaced by someone who saw me as a stepping stone, nothing more.

“That’s up to him, not me.” Tim sighed, his shoulders dropping. There was no hesitation in his voice, only resolve. “I love you. I’ll see you at home.”

“I love you too.” I said. He leaned down and pecked my lips before turning and following after Cassie. Leaving just me and Conner alone in the room.

A heavy silence settled between Conner and me. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the tension hanging in the air. After a moment, he looked at me, his face breaking into an amused grin. “I didn’t realize you could sing, Lyric.”

I blinked, his words catching me off guard. “What? Con, I’m a famous singer. That’s literally how this whole thing started.”

“Yeah, but you can sing sing. Like actually really well.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I just thought you were mostly autotune or something.”

I gaped at him, too stunned to speak for a second. “Oh my god, just take me home.” I said, rolling my eyes.

Conner laughed then gestured for me to follow him. The opposite direction of where Tim and Cassie went. I followed closely behind him, smiling slightly to myself. It was over. It was all over.

I was free.

Chapter Text

Whenever I found myself in Angie's office in LA, all I felt was dread. I hated it here. It was too white, too pristine—like a hospital lobby where bad news always waited. The walls were a crisp, sterile ivory, the furniture sleek and impersonal, and the whole place reeked of roses. The scent was overwhelming, thick in the air like a trap, curling around me and making my stomach churn.

But today, it wasn't just dread sitting heavy in my chest. It was fear.

"Calm down, girl. I have never lost a case, and I don't plan on starting now," Chanel Pierce said beside me, flipping through the thick stack of documents in her hands. She was the picture of calm, legs crossed, one manicured nail tapping rhythmically against the pages as she read. Not a single trace of concern on her face, like this was just another routine Tuesday.

"But you're in criminal law, not entertainment law. Isn't it different?" My voice was tight as I wrung my hands together, my fingers twisting over each other. I hated how small I sounded, how desperate. "What if she gets one over on you? Every other lawyer I've hired said my contract was ironclad."

Chanel snorted, shaking her head. "I never lose. Doesn't matter what kind of law it is." She didn't even look up as she spoke, her eyes scanning the contract like she was searching for a flaw in an opponent's defense. "Trust me, Lyric. I got this. And there's no such thing as an ironclad contract. Not unless I wrote it."

She flipped another page, then suddenly grinned. "Ah-ha! Gotchaaa."

My heart skipped a beat. "What—"

Before I could ask what she found, Angie's assistant appeared at the doorway, her voice sickly sweet. "Ms. Fields will see you now."

My stomach bottomed out. Oh boy. This is it.

Chanel stood smoothly, tucking the papers under her arm. I forced myself to follow her lead, my legs feeling unsteady as we stepped into the office. And it was exactly like I remembered.

The walls? Stark white.

The furniture? Too clean, too perfect.

The smell? That damn rose perfume, cloying and nauseating.

Angie sat behind her massive glass desk, her red-painted nails tapping idly against the surface. She didn't acknowledge us when we walked in. That was part of her game—never be the first to speak. Let people squirm in the silence, let the discomfort set in before she made her move.

Chanel, however, wasn't having it. She stopped mid-stride, tilting her head as she stared Angie down, a slow, assessing glare that made the air feel even heavier. I didn't think she liked the power play.

I stayed by her side, the tension thick between us and Angie. One second. Two. A full minute passed in silence, and I swore I could hear my own heartbeat thudding against my ribs.

Then, finally, Angie looked up.

I could tell she had expected just me, because her brows lifted slightly when her eyes landed on Chanel. Her mouth twitched, trying to recover, but it was too late. I caught it—the briefest flicker of surprise.

Guess Chanel's reputation reached beyond the East Coast.

"Wow. Chanel Pierce. What a lovely surprise," Angie said, her voice syrupy smooth. "I never would've expected to see one of the country's best criminal lawyers in my office." She gestured toward the two sleek chairs in front of her desk. "Please, have a seat."

I took half a step forward, but Chanel's hand shot out, pressing lightly against my arm. I froze.

"No thanks," Chanel said coolly. "This won't take long."

And then she smiled. Not a friendly smile. Not even a smug one. No, this was the kind of smile that made people nervous. The kind that promised destruction. The kind of smile a shark gives right before it bites.

God, I was so glad it wasn't directed at me.

Angie leaned back in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Oh really?"

"Yeah," Chanel said, her voice breezy. "We just came for one thing. Let Lyric out of her contract."

For half a second, there was silence. Then Angie threw her head back and laughed. Full-bodied, hand-on-her-stomach laughter, like Chanel had just told the funniest joke in the world.

I glanced at Chanel, expecting her to react, but she just stood there, still smiling, waiting patiently for Angie to finish.

After a few more chuckles, Angie wiped at the corner of her eye, exhaling like she had just had a good, long laugh. "Oh, that was funny," she said, shaking her head. "If Lyric wants out of her contract, all she has to do is pay me fifteen million dollars in damages, and she's free to go."

I swallowed hard. My chest tightened.

Chanel, however, didn't even flinch. If anything, her smile sharpened.

And that's when I knew—this wasn't just a fight. This was a slaughter.

Chanel sighed dramatically, shaking her head like she was genuinely disappointed. "I just knew you were gonna say that," she murmured, almost pitying. "I wanted to make this easy, Angie, I really did. But if you wanna fight?" She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. "Then we can fight."

She reached into the folder she had been holding and slammed a stack of papers onto Angie's desk with a sharp thud. The contract.

"In Article Two, Section Seven of this agreement, it explicitly states that this contract may be terminated under two conditions: one, the expiration of its natural term; or two, if any party involved is engaged in criminal activity that could damage the reputation of the other party," Chanel said, her tone cool and precise.

Angie didn't blink. "Right. And last time I checked, Ms. Golden Girl Lyric Kane hasn't committed any crimes. So, I have no grounds to terminate the contract." Her voice was smug.

Chanel smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "See, that's where you messed up."

Angie frowned.

"You never specified which party has the right to terminate. You simply stated that a party involved in the contract may do so." Chanel tapped the page with her manicured nail. "Legally speaking, that ambiguity leaves room for interpretation. And in court, that means I can argue that any party affected by criminal activity—say, my client, who has been directly harmed by an individual involved in this contract—has the right to invoke that clause."

The room shifted. Angie's posture stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"So?" she said, trying to sound dismissive. "I have done nothing illegal."

Chanel leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make Angie sweat. "Is that right? So, if I did some digging—real digging—I wouldn't find anything? No financial irregularities? No shell companies funneling money? No exploitation of artists through predatory contracts that might not hold up under scrutiny?"

Angie swallowed, just barely.

"I have a lot of resources at my disposal," Chanel continued, her voice smooth but razor-sharp. "I can and will find something to end you. If you've ever so much as fudged a number on a tax return, I will know."

Angie's jaw clenched. "W-what?"

Chanel exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "See, here's the thing, Angie. I don't like you. I don't like your business, your ethics, or your disgusting practice of locking young artists into predatory contracts where you siphon seventy percent of their earnings." Her voice turned cold. "It's repulsive."

The air in the room had thickened, suffocating, like Chanel had sucked the oxygen out of it. Even I felt like I was holding my breath.

"I will destroy you, if you don't release Lyric from this contract right now."

Angie's eyes flickered toward me, like she was looking for backup, but I stayed silent. I wasn't about to save her.

Chanel's gaze never wavered. "And let's not pretend you didn't know about Joshua. There's no way he was acting alone." She leaned forward, her hands resting on the desk as she stared Angie down. "All I have to do is find him. Get him to talk. And if he's not enough? I'll find someone else. Someone who's been waiting for the perfect opportunity to flip on you. Because trust me, there's always someone."

The silence stretched. Angie's nails dug into the armrests of her chair.

"So go ahead," Chanel challenged. "Try me. Keep Lyric in this contract. Just see what happens next."

The room felt smaller, the air tighter, like all the power had shifted to the other side of the desk. Angie, the woman who had once made me feel so powerless, suddenly looked small. Her carefully curated mask of control cracked right in front of me.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, hands trembling slightly as she reached for her intercom. "Stacy," she said, voice strained, "call my lawyer. And bring me a pen."

Chanel stepped back, her cruel smile fading into something bright and cheerful, like she hadn't just eviscerated one of the most powerful women in the industry. "So glad we reached an understanding," she chirped.

I stared at her, wide-eyed, barely able to process what had just happened. Chanel had waltzed into the same office that had once made me feel trapped, and in less than fifteen minutes, she tore down the entire empire Angie had built around me.

Yeah. I think I want to be her when I grow up.

+++

The best way to end a world tour after escaping a predatory contract? End it in your hometown. On your birthday.

So that's exactly what I did.

When Chanel got me out of my contract—not just out, but with everything I was owed—I could barely believe it. She didn't just free me; she made sure I walked away with my masters, the copyright to my name, my songs, and every single dollar Angie had stolen from me.

It should've taken years of legal battles. Endless court dates. Millions in lawyer fees.

She did it in weeks. For free.

Just because Tim asked her to.

When the final papers were signed, when the last chain had been cut, I sobbed into Tim's chest so hard I thought I'd never stop. He just held me, rubbing my back, whispering, You're free, Angel. You're finally free.

And for the first time in years, I actually felt it.

No stalker. No record label breathing down my neck. No Angie controlling my every move.

Just me.

Tim and Chanel helped me rebuild from the ground up, vetting every single person who wanted to be a part of my team. No more snakes. No more wolves in sheep's clothing. Just people who actually cared. People I could trust.

I breathed easier at night just knowing they were on my side.

I could finally do what I loved without fear of someone watching my every move, waiting for the perfect moment to ruin me.

And it was all because I met him.

Tim calls me Angel, but honestly? He's my guardian angel. He's saved me from more than I can ever repay him for.

I love him to death.

"Lyric, you're on in five!"

Bella's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see my new manager grinning at me like she could feel the excitement in the air.

I exhaled and smiled back. "Got it. I'm ready." I stood up and flicked my hair over my shoulder as I stared at myself in the mirror. Sade made me look fantastic tonight. I was glowing, literally. She made my body shine with body glitter and oil and made my face shine with shimmery eyeshadows and blush. My outfit was a silver bodysuit decorated in rhinestones that shimmered everytime they hit the light.

I didn't just look like a star. I felt like one.

Bella led me through the backstage corridors of Gotham City Stadium, the sound of thousands of fans chanting my name vibrating through the walls. It was surreal. I sold out Gotham City Stadium. Me. The girl who used to sing in subway stations and post covers on YouTube. We sold so many tickets, I had to add another night just to meet demand.

I grinned.

"Stand right here," Bella shouted over the noise, pointing at a black square on the ground. "The platform will lift you up for your entrance."

I nodded and stepped onto it. She handed me my signature silver sparkly mic, her eyes twinkling. "Break a leg! And happy birthday!" Then she was gone, rushing off to bark orders at the tech crew.

I tightened my grip on the mic, heart pounding. I lived for this—being on stage, feeling the crowd's energy, singing my heart out—but I still got nervous every time. It never went away.

The platform beneath me jerked, then started rising. The higher I went, the more of the stadium came into view, and with it, the deafening screams of the crowd. The lights burst to life, dazzling and bright, and the biggest one above me flickered on, illuminating my name in glowing pink neon.

I raised the mic to my lips, my smile stretching wide.

"Gotham! Are you happy to see me?"

The response was instant—a wave of sound crashing over me.

"I can't hear you! Are! You! Happy! To! See! Me!"

The stadium roared, a noise so loud it rattled in my chest. The energy was electric, my nerves burning away in an instant.

"That's what I like to hear!" I shouted, cueing the music to start.

Except... nothing happened.

I frowned.

The band wasn't playing. The screens weren't moving. The lights weren't shifting into position.

My stomach flipped. The entire tour had been flawless—not a single mistake. Please do not tell me we're screwing it up on the last night.

I turned to the side where Bella usually stood, expecting to see her scrambling to fix the issue.

But she wasn't there.

Instead, Tim was.

Walking on stage.

My jaw dropped.

He was carrying the biggest bouquet of cash roses I had ever seen.

The crowd lost their minds at the sight of him, the noise somehow getting even louder.

"Tim?" I whispered, stunned.

The tips of his ears were bright red, but he kept walking, steady and sure, straight toward me.

The closer he got, the harder my heart pounded. I hadn't seen him since he surprised me at my Florida show almost three weeks ago. He'd been stuck in Gotham, buried under work, and it had been rough—three weeks was the longest we'd ever gone without seeing each other.

But now he was here.

On my stage.

With that bouquet.

"Happy birthday, Angel," he murmured, holding it out to me.

I dropped my mic and ran into his arms, squeezing him so tightly I probably knocked the breath out of him.

I felt his chuckle rumble through his chest. "This isn't very popstar-like," he teased.

I pulled back just enough to glare at him, tears welling in my eyes. "Shut up," I sniffed, wiping at my face. "What are you even doing here?"

"Did you really think I wasn't gonna see you on your birthday? Especially when you're finally back in Gotham?"

"You said you were busy."

"Yeah. Busy planning this." He grinned, and the entire stadium let out an aww.

His face went even redder. Like he just remembered where we were.

I laughed, still crying a little, overwhelmed in the best way. "I cannot believe you walked on stage in front of all these people when you hate the spotlight."

"Well the stage is your favorite place on earth. And I wanted to surprise you on your favorite place on earth, in your favorite place on earth." He shrugged.

"Gotham is not my favorite place on earth." I laughed.

"No, but it's home and you love home."

I stared up at him, heart melting.

"No," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I love you."

I hugged him again, even tighter this time, my eyes burning with fresh tears.

"You're my home."

Fireworks exploded overhead, painting the night sky in dazzling bursts of gold, pink, and silver. The entire stadium vibrated with the sound, the flashes reflecting off my rhinestone-covered bodysuit like it was part of the show.

And then—because apparently, that wasn't enough—a jet flew right over us, dragging a massive banner that read:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LYRIC!

I tilted my head back and laughed, the sheer ridiculousness of it sending a rush of warmth through my chest. "That's a lot."

Tim sighed, looking like he regretted his life choices. "That wasn't me."

He tilted his head toward the side of the stage, where Conner stood, grinning like he'd just pulled off the greatest surprise ever.

I snorted. "Of course it was Conner."

Conner waved at me, looking way too proud of himself. I waved back, shaking my head. "You guys are insane."

Tim exhaled, but there was a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "Comes with the job."

Before I could say anything else, he pulled back and knelt down to pick up my mic, brushing off a few stray pieces of confetti before holding it out to me.

"Go finish your show," he said, voice soft but firm. "I'll see you afterward."

I took the mic, but before he could walk away, I called out, "I love you!"

Tim turned back just enough to shoot me a look. "I love you too."

The crowd melted, letting out another collective aww, but I barely heard it. I was too busy feeling like my heart was about to burst.

I turned back toward the audience, my energy completely renewed. The music finally kicked in, the heavy bass vibrating through my bones, and I grinned.

I was ready.

With one last deep breath, I launched into the best performance of my life.

Chapter Text

The Wayne family has run Gothams seedy underground since before Gotham was Gotham. They are the founders of the city and sit on top of a dark throne. Most of the civilians know that when you see a Wayne, you avoid them at all costs. Especially the main five, Bruce and his sons.

Bruce Wayne commands the Justice Society, the heart of the city's criminal empire, with his two trusted lieutenants. Diana Prince is the muscle, an unstoppable force, while Clark Kent is the brains, always two steps ahead. It was Clark's idea to send the Wayne boys to university. He thought it would polish the family's image, make them seem like respectable members of society. They still have to pretend to be normal, after all.

I've spent most of my life in Gotham, but always in the background—unnoticed, unseen, and perfectly fine with that. Blending in was easy, especially when you knew how to move without drawing attention. When I started at Gotham U, I knew Damian Wayne would be there too. We had gone to the same schools for years, though our worlds never really touched.

I never expected that to change.

But then there was that party—the one I never should've gone to. The one that set everything in motion. Somehow, in a city of millions, our paths finally crossed. And now? Now, he won't leave me alone.

And, if I'm being honest, I don't mind it one bit.

+++

I don't know why I came to this stupid party. It was open-invite—anyone could show up—and my therapist did say I needed to get out more. Something about "social exposure" and "new experiences." I figured a party was an easy way to check that box. But now I regret it.

Having zero friends, not drinking, and possessing exactly no dance moves has effectively turned me into a wallflower. A very sober, very uncomfortable wallflower. And to make matters worse, I somehow missed the memo that all the girls were supposed to show up in hot costumes. So while everyone else is strutting around in tiny skirts and low-cut tops, I'm standing here in my very PG-rated, very handmade Princess Tiana outfit. Complete with a green cardigan because it's Gotham in March, and I refuse to freeze to death for the sake of aesthetics. Who even throws a costume party in March? Frat boys are so dumb. I wish I was dressed hot too.

I stood by the wall in the corner of the room, people watching for fun. I knew who a lot of the people here were. I was quiet and nosy so I always heard things. But I knew them through the lens of highschool classes or lunch room gossip I overheard. Now that we were all in college and they were apparently getting drunk on the weekends for fun, I was seeing them in a whole new light.

Like seeing Maps Mizoguchi drunk dancing in the middle of the dance floor was never on my bingo card. Who could've guessed that the senior class president would turn into a party girl as soon as she left Gotham Academy.

Or seeing Racheal Roth making out with Garfeild Logan when she rejected him all throughout high school. That was a crazy sight to see. Maybe persistence really did pay off. Or maybe alcohol did. Either way, the sight was a plot twist.

I sighed and sipped my lemonade. When I was by the makeshift bar earlier, a drunk sorority girl looked at me strangely when I grabbed the bottle of lemonade and didn't mix it with any liquor. "You know that's for mixing drinks, right? It's not just for drinking." She said, looking at me as if I was stupid.

"Oh, yeah, I know," I said with a small smile. "I just don't drink."

"Then why are you here?" She asked, slurring her words a bit. I wasn't sure how to answer that question. Luckily I didn't have to since she was then swept away by her sisters and I was left alone. That's how I found myself on the wall.

I kept looking around at all the familiar faces and some new ones too when a hush went over the crowd. It was a reaction I had seen before—subtle but immediate. Like everyone had just realized they were in the presence of something dangerous.

I felt the chill crawl down my spine before I even saw him.

Damian Wayne had arrived.

He walked in like he owned the place, which, knowing him, he probably did. He was flanked by his number two and best friend Jon Kent and his number three Jaime Reyes.

God, he was gorgeous. I mean, all the Waynes were—it must've been a requirement to be adopted by Bruce Wayne. But Damian? There was something different about him.

Maybe it was his eyes, that piercing green that looked like they could see straight through you. Or maybe it was his jet-black hair, always sharp, always perfectly in place. No, I knew what it was. It was the way he always looked bored and annoyed—like the entire world was a waste of his time—until he was fighting. The way his eyes lit up with something close to excitement when his fists connected with someone's face.

It was like violence was the only thing that made him feel alive.

And I loved to watch it.

Was it morbid? Maybe. Did I care? Not in the slightest.

His gaze swept over the room, mild irritation flashing across his face as he took in the crowd. Then his expression shifted, his eyes zeroing in on someone with unsettling precision. I followed his line of sight to a frat guy I didn't recognize—one of the few unfamiliar faces here. Which meant he didn't grow up in Gotham. Which meant he didn't know the unspoken rules.

Poor bastard.

Damian's lips curled into something almost amused before he stalked forward, closing the distance with the kind of slow, deliberate steps that sent a thrill down my spine.

The frat guy had no idea what was coming. He was too busy flirting with some girl, completely oblivious to the way she stiffened as her eyes flicked over his shoulder. By the time he realized something was wrong, it was already too late.

He turned.

And met Damian's fist.

The crack of impact was audible even over the music. The guy went down hard, and before he could even think about recovering, Damian was on top of him, fists flying in rapid succession. Each hit was more devastating than the last.

People screamed. Some fled. Others just stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

And then there were the ones like me—the ones who knew better than to react. Or people who were directly involved in the mafia life. People like Garfeild and Rachel who were a part of the League of Assassins and didn't give a shit about what Damian was doing.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my cup to my lips, and watched.

Jaime and Jon held off any of the guy's frat bros who thought they might be able to help. Not like they could, even if they had the guts to try. Damian was a force of nature. precision and power wrapped up in an almost unfairly pretty package. I'd seen him fight five guys at once my freshman year of high school. And he was only fifteen then. Now he was twenty, fully grown, and much, much stronger.

My gaze dragged down the length of him, zeroing in on the way his muscles bunched under that tight black shirt, his forearms flexing with every calculated movement. Lord, he was fine. If I didn't get some air, I was going to start embarrassing myself.

Without drawing attention to myself, I slipped out of the house and into the backyard. Cold air hit me like a slap, but I welcomed it. No one else was out here, thank God. Probably because it was close to twenty degrees, and no sane person was willingly standing outside unless they had to.

Good thing I wasn't exactly in my right mind.

I sank into a lawn chair and pulled out my phone, debating my next move. I could walk back to my dorm, but that meant braving the Gotham streets alone at night, which wasn't exactly the smartest move. Or I could spend money I didn't have on an Uber. Tough call.

Before I could decide, the door to the backyard swung open harshly, slamming against the frame with a loud bang. My head snapped up just as Damian stormed outside, looking pissed.

I quickly turned off my phone and shoved it into my pocket, staying perfectly still.

He pulled out his own phone—now ringing—and answered with a bite to his tone.

"What?"

He was silent for a few seconds, his jaw tightening.

"Who told you where I was?" His voice dropped, sharp and cold.

I stayed quiet, barely breathing as I put the pieces together. Whoever was on the other end had caught him off guard. And if someone managed to do that to Damian Wayne, they were either very close to him or very, very stupid.

"I don't care, Jason. I can do whatever the fuck I want."

Ah. One of his brothers.

His shoulders were still tight with anger, but whatever Jason said next wiped the frustration clean off his face. The shift was instant. His whole body deflated, tension bleeding out of him as something new took its place.

"Isis is mad at me?"

His voice wasn't sharp anymore. It wasn't cold. It wasn't even annoyed.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he sounded... troubled. Almost hesitant. Like the idea of this Isis person being upset with him actually mattered.

And that was interesting.

Because Damian Wayne didn't give a damn what people thought of him. Or at least, I thought he didn't.

"Okay. Okay. I'll fix it," he muttered, pacing a tight line in the frozen grass. "Okay, Jason, I get it. Tell Isis I'm sorry."

And just like that, he hung up, shoving his phone into his sweatpants pocket.

"Shit!"

The word tore from him as he kicked a rock across the yard with all the force in his body. It skidded across the frozen ground, stopping just short of my foot.

I stared at it for a second, then looked up to find Damian already looking at me.

I expected more anger—another storm of frustration ready to snap—but all I saw was mild annoyance. And a bit of confusion.

"Do you make it a habit of listening in on people's private conversations, Tink?"

My breath hitched. He was talking to me.

Damian Wayne was talking to me.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to act like a normal human being. "I wasn't doing it on purpose. You came out here and didn't check your surroundings. And my name is not Tink."

"You're dressed like Tinkerbell." His expression remained completely deadpan.

I blinked. "I'm Princess Tiana. From Princess and the Frog."

His gaze flicked over my homemade costume, and then back up to my face.

"You look like Tinkerbell."

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, he sauntered over and dropped into the lawn chair right next to me. I tensed—not out of fear, but out of confusion.

Why was he sitting here?

"You could've announced that you were here, Tink," he said, stretching his arms behind his head. "Then I wouldn't have taken that phone call."

I scoffed. "I didn't exactly have time to make a grand announcement, Toji. You just burst out here and started yelling."

His head turned toward me, interest flickering behind those sharp green eyes. "Toji?"

"Uh, the anime character. Because you look like him right now." I gestured toward his outfit. "Black compression shirt, gray sweats. Toji's fit."

He fully shifted this time, giving me his full attention. "Are you a nerd or something?"

"I guess... technically speaking, my interests could be considered nerdy."

A slow smirk—no, not a smirk, just the barest twitch of amusement—tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Interesting." His voice was low, considering. "Why are you out here when it's fucking freezing?"

"I needed some air," I admitted, tucking my hands under my arms for warmth.

"From?"

I exhaled through my nose, my breath fogging up in the cold. "You, to be honest."

His head tilted slightly, the way a cat's might when it spots something curious but not quite worth its full attention yet.

I shrugged, deciding that honesty was my best bet. I'd never heard of him putting his hands on a girl, so what was the harm?

"Hmm." He leaned back in his chair, legs spread out like he owned the place. "Makes sense. I guess watching me beat the shit out of that guy was too much for your little heart to handle, huh?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm used to seeing you fight." I shifted slightly, the metal armrests of the chair biting into my elbows. "We went to Gotham Academy together."

That got his attention. His eyes flicked over my face, like he was scanning for something familiar.

"I don't recognize you."

"Not surprising. I was a grade below, and I don't stand out much."

Damian hummed at that, his gaze lingering just a second longer before he spoke again.

"So, if you're used to seeing me fight, why did you need air?"

How do I say because you looked hot as fuck beating that guy up without sounding like a complete lunatic?

Luckily, I didn't have to come up with an answer, because right then, the backyard door swung open, slamming against the frame again.

Jon Kent burst outside, his cheeks red from the cold—or maybe from running. Do these guys know how to open doors without bursting through them?

"We gotta go, Dami. Cops are on their wa—" He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed me sitting there. His eyes flickered between me and Damian, his brows pulling together in open confusion.

"What the fuck is happening right now?" he muttered.

Damian didn't seem the least bit fazed. He stood up, gesturing lazily between us. "Jon, meet Tink. Tink, meet Jon."

I sighed. "My name is not Tink."

Jon blinked, then shook off whatever shock was running through his system. "Um, we'll talk about the fact that you're talking to a girl later." He turned back to Damian. "We have to go. Now. Cops."

"Fine." Damian's voice was completely unbothered, like the concept of law enforcement was just another mild inconvenience in his night. Then he turned to me. "C'mon."

"Huh?"

He was already moving toward the back fence. "I said come. On. Let's go." His tone was flat, like I was stupid for even asking.

I scrambled to my feet, catching up with him. "Um, why am I going too?"

"Because you're weird, and I like it." He shot me a glance over his shoulder, eyes gleaming in the dim backyard lighting. "So you're coming with me."

I scoffed. "I'm really not all that weird."

"Whatever you say, Tink."

+++

I somehow found myself at Damian Wayne's apartment, surrounded by his crew—the same ones from the party and a few extras who had just shown up like they had some kind of sixth sense for when things were happening. I wasn't sure how it had all unfolded. One minute, I was minding my business, sipping lemonade in the corner of a grimy frat house, and the next, I was wedged between Damian Wayne and Jon Kent on a couch that was probably worth more than my tuition.

I took a sip of the drink Rachel handed me and had to fight the grimace threatening to take over my face. It burned just enough to be unpleasant, but not enough to be impressive. I really could not do alcohol.

"Pussy," Damian muttered next to me, his voice carrying the barest hint of amusement.

I turned my head, pouting at him like that would make a difference. "I'm just not used to drinking."

"It's Mike's Hard Lemonade. This barely counts as alcohol," he deadpanned.

I shrugged. "It's all the same to me. I hate the taste."

He gave me a look like I'd just told him I hated breathing. "Then what do you drink at parties?"

"I don't go to parties."

"Nerd." He snatched the cup from my hand and downed the rest of it in one go before handing the empty thing back to me like he had done me a favor.

I stared at it, then at him. "Why hand me back an empty cup?"

He ignored me completely, his attention shifting back to the group sprawled out across the apartment.

From an outside perspective, they looked normal—just a bunch of college kids hanging out, talking, and unwinding after a party. But I knew better. I knew that if someone crossed them, things could get ugly. They weren't normal. They weren't safe.

And yet, here I was.

My mother was going to kill me.

Damian exhaled, looking around like he was already bored. I followed his lead, letting my gaze wander as I indulged in one of my favorite pastimes: people-watching.

Jon was doing the worst job at pretending not to eavesdrop on the two of us, scrolling through the weather app on his phone like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. I wonder what the big deal is with me and Damian talking. He's hot as fuck, I'm sure he's with girls all the time.

Rachel, who had definitely been dunk earlier, now looked completely sober and was effortlessly dodging every one of Garfield's advances. He was persistent, though, leaning in with a confident grin every time she shut him down. I let out a quiet laugh.

Damian shot me a puzzled glance, but I ignored him and kept observing.

Jaime was talking to Karen Beecher in the kitchen, his body language screaming crushing hard, while she seemed to think she was just catching up with an old friend. Poor guy. He was going to be in the trenches for a while.

Then, suddenly, Jon's phone rang. The casual energy in the room shifted the moment he picked up.

"What's up?" His voice was easy, but there was an edge of alertness beneath it. A beat passed. Then his expression sharpened. "We're coming."

He lowered the phone, turning toward me and Damian. "H.I.V.E guys were spotted in our territory. They were shaking down some of our guys. Wallace is calling for help."

Damian's entire demeanor shifted—like someone had flipped a switch inside him. That same excitement from earlier flickered across his face, but this time, it was even stronger.

"Finally! Some fucking fun!" He clapped his hands once, then stood, stretching like he was preparing for a warm-up rather than a potential brawl. "Let's go."

The entire room erupted into motion. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Everyone was on their feet, moving with the kind of coordination that came from years of working together.

I, however, stayed seated. Because, unlike them, I had no business attending a gang altercation.

Damian turned, standing over me with that same expectant look he'd had back at the party. "You're coming with me."

I exhaled slowly, I should've known. I pressed my lips together before speaking. "After you're done fighting, can you drop me off at my dorm?"

His mouth twitched like he found something about that amusing. 

"Sure, Tink." He reached down, grabbing my wrist and pulling me up before I could argue. "Now, let's go."

I followed him, mostly because I didn't have a better option. "My name is not Tink. It's Samaira."

"I like Tink better." He turned his head just enough to shoot me a grin before continuing toward the parking lot. A reckless, dangerous grin. One that made my stomach dip in a way I did not want to analyze.

Yeah, my mom was going to end me when she found out about this.

For the second time that night, I found myself inside his sleek black sports car. The moment my ass hit the seat, he was off—flying out of the parking lot like he had stolen the damn thing.

I barely managed to get my seatbelt on before he took a sharp turn, tires screeching against the asphalt. "Damian!" I yelped, bracing myself against the door.

He didn't acknowledge me. His eyes were locked on the road, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned bone-white. That wide, wild grin was still plastered across his face, all sharp teeth and unfiltered glee.

He loved this. The thrill, the violence, the promise of blood on his hands. And he wasn't hiding it.

By the time we screeched into the parking lot of some dingy burger joint, fists were already flying. The fight was in full swing, bodies colliding under the harsh glow of the streetlights. Damian didn't even park properly—just swerved haphazardly into a spot and threw the car in park.

"You can stay in the car or come out and watch. I don't care," he said, eyes gleaming as he reached for the door handle. "But if you do, just know I'm protecting you if someone tries to come at you."

"Yeah, I'll stay in the car. Thanks."

He just scoffed. "Less fun for you."

Then he was out, launching himself straight into the chaos like he had been waiting all night for it.

The others pulled up seconds later, spilling out of their cars with the same ease and confidence as someone showing up for a casual meetup. It was almost funny—how unbothered they were, like this was just another Tuesday night. And maybe for them, it was.

And then? Pure carnage.

Jaime moved like he was built for this. Like his body was made of muscle memory and instinct, his every movement was calculated yet brutal. His first punch landed square against some guy's jaw with a sickening crack, sending him stumbling back before he followed up with a knee to the gut. The guy folded like wet paper.

Jon, despite his boy-next-door charm, was ruthless. He caught one of the H.I.V.E guys mid-swing, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him against the hood of a car hard enough to dent it.

Rachel was calm, almost uninterested, dodging a wild punch before somehow using his own momentum against him and sending her attacker sprawling with minimal effort. Garfield, on the other hand, was grinning ear to ear as he traded blows, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

And Damian?

He was in his element.

His movements were precise, vicious, and efficient. He didn't waste energy. Every hit landed with purpose, every dodge just a fraction of a second faster than his opponent could keep up with. He wanted the fight to last longer, that much was obvious. But the H.I.V.E guys were already falling apart. They were outmatched from the start, and it was almost embarrassing to watch.

One of them tried to grab Damian from behind.

Big mistake.

Damian pivoted, twisting the guy's arm at an angle it definitely wasn't meant to bend. A strangled cry tore from his throat, but Damian wasn't feeling generous. He slammed his elbow into the guy's face, knocking him out cold before shoving his body to the pavement like discarded trash.

I exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of my seat.

This was insane.

Why even start a fight with them? Damian and his crew weren't just brawlers. They weren't some street gang looking to flex.

They were trained. Deadly. Ruthless.

And it was in their damn name. The League of Assassins.

H.I.V.E never stood a chance.

The fight ended as quickly as it had started. The H.I.V.E guys scattered, some limping, some dragging their knocked-out friends, all of them smart enough to realize they never stood a chance. The League barely looked winded. They whooped and laughed, high-fiving each other.

Damian didn't celebrate. He just turned and made his way back to the car, moving with that same effortless confidence, blood dripping from his knuckles.

I watched him approach, heart hammering. He reached the passenger side, yanking the door open and leaning in, bracing one bloodied hand against the roof. His chest was rising and falling fast, his eyes still wild with adrenaline, pupils blown like he was starved for something.

"Where's your dorm?" His voice was rough, breathless.

I gave him the address without thinking.

"Do you have roommates?"

I shook my head no.

"Good. I'm coming over."

My stomach flipped. "To do what?"

He didn't answer. He just grabbed my face, his fingers curling against my jaw, and crashed his lips onto mine.

I melted instantly.

Oh my God.

Mom is going to murder me when she finds out I kissed her enemy's son.

Chapter Text

This guy doesn't know how to drive slowly. Like at all. I was gripping the seat of the car like my life depended on it, because I think it did.

"Could you slow down a bit?" I asked as Damian took a sharp turn.

"I thought you wanted to get to your dorm fast?"

"I want to get there in one piece."

"I'll get you there in one piece." He swerved again and my whole body hit the door. I really don't believe him.

I snuck a glance at him and—wow. He looked feral. Eyes still burning from the fight, mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but still somehow too much of one. He had the energy of a guy who needed another hit of chaos, and honestly? I liked it.

Which was concerning.

I bit my lip to hide my grin. This whole situation was weird as hell. We just met, why would he kiss me? I mean, I knew why I kissed him—because he's hot, and I liked how much he enjoyed fighting. But what reason did he have?

We arrived at my dorm and Damian swerved into a parking spot haphazardly. I was just so happy to arrive there alive to care about his shit parking job. I exited his car and suddenly felt shy. He got out of the car and stood next to me as I froze in place. What now?

"Let's go." He muttered from behind me.

"Oh uhhh. You don't gotta walk me to my door or nothing. I'm good from here." I said.

"I'm not walking you to your door Tink, I'm coming inside."

I sighed. "Right."

The walk from the lot to my building felt shorter than usual, mostly because I was hyper-aware of Damian right behind me. He was too close, and my brain couldn't settle on whether that was exciting or terrifying.

I wasn't used to people paying attention to me. Real attention. I blended in, always had. My mother drilled that into me from the moment I was old enough to understand what she did, why I had to stay hidden.

And shit—my mother.

I glanced around the dimly lit campus, suddenly uneasy. I knew she had people watching me. She was a worrier to her core. Even after I told her I'd be fine, she still had her people tail me to class, just in case. And I'd told her about this party. She'd be expecting me back by now.

I peeked back at Damian and grimaced. The second my mom found out we'd been seen together, she'd pull me out of school so fast my head would spin. Probably lock me in her greenhouse or something.

I sighed inwardly. Sometimes I wished I had been adopted by someone less loving.

No, that was a lie.

I loved that she loved me. I just wished it didn't feel so suffocating.

We entered my dorm building without any hassle at all. The RA at the front desk took one look at my guest and just waved us in. I didn't have to check him in or anything.

The elevator ride up was thick with tension. I kept my eyes glued to anything that wasn't him—the floor, the ceiling, the little flickering panel displaying the floor numbers. Meanwhile, Damian didn't bother with subtlety. He was staring straight at me, his gaze pressing into me like a physical weight.

We stood on opposite sides of the small metal box, but with the way he was looking at me, it felt like there was no space between us at all.

I held my breath the entire way up, my stomach knotting tighter with every second. The moment the doors slid open, I all but bolted out, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I should not have let him come here.

I knew it the second we stepped inside the building, and I knew it even more now. What if he figured out who my mother was? What if he saw something—a plant, a letter, a tiny bird insignia somewhere in my dorm—and put the pieces together?

Before I could spiral any further, we reached my door. My hands weren't exactly steady as I unlocked it, but I managed to get the key in and push the door open.

"Welcome to my humble abode," I said, gesturing vaguely at the small space.

Damian stepped inside, barely sparing my dorm a glance before muttering, "You're so weird."

I followed quickly after him, kicking off my shoes and tossing my green sweater into my closet. I was dying to get out of this costume and into my comfiest pajamas, but with Damian in my room, I was not taking any clothes off.

At least... not unless I was persuaded otherwise.

Which I wouldn't be.

Hopefully.

My room was mostly bare—just a few anime posters on the walls and a single framed photo of me and my mom on my desk. My stomach twisted when I noticed it. Please don't look over there.

Trying to push my nerves down, I turned to him. "So... what now? Do you wanna watch a movie or something?" I asked, shifting on my feet.

"I had something else in mind, but you look like you'll shit yourself if I so much as touch you right now. So yeah, put on a fucking movie, I guess."

Heat flooded my face at the implication. Jesus. Was this what college was like? Was everyone this blunt? Shiva had warned me that guys in college were more... forward, but I didn't think she meant this.

Shaking it off, I hopped onto the edge of my bed and turned on my TV. "I have most of the streaming apps. Whatever you wanna watch, I can put on."

"I don't give a shit about the movie," he said, sitting down next to me.

Close.

Too close.

His thigh was barely an inch away from mine, the heat from his body sinking into my skin. I swallowed, suddenly aware of how small the space between us was. The space between us was barely there, and every time I shifted, even slightly, I swore I could feel his thigh flex against mine. I busied myself with scrolling through Netflix, acting like I wasn't hyperaware of how close we were.

Finally, I landed on Barely Lethal. It was a terrible movie, but younger me had latched onto it hard. A trained assassin trying to live a normal high school life? Yeah, I got that. It was ridiculous, but it was my kind of ridiculous.

I hit play and immediately scooted back until my spine hit the wall. Then I reached down to my snack bin—the holy grail of all things unhealthy. Back home, junk food was banned. Mom was a strict vegan, the "if it's not organic, it's poison" kind. Which meant my entire childhood had been filled with kale, quinoa, and things that tasted like the ground. So now, given my newfound freedom, I ate like a complete menace.

I tore open a bag of potato chips and shoved a handful into my mouth. "Want some?" I mumbled through a mouthful, holding the bag out to Damian.

He glanced over, smirked, and slid back until his back also hit the wall. "You're so weird, Samaira."

I frowned. "Stop saying that."

"I can't if it's true." He took a handful of chips, completely unbothered, and turned his attention to the movie.

"I'm not weird," I muttered, stuffing another chip into my mouth. He didn't reply, just kept watching, which meant I did too. The movie was just as bad as I remembered—cringey dialogue, plot holes the size of Gotham itself—but I was hooked anyway.

So hooked, in fact, that I didn't notice the shift in weight.

Didn't notice when his arm snuck around my waist, the slow, casual way his fingers settled against my side like they belonged there. Not until the bag of chips was empty and I tried to reach down and get another one and realized I couldn't because of the iron grip on me.

Holy shit. When did that get there?

I froze. Then I forced myself to relax. This was normal, right? College kids did this all the time. This was just—casual. No big deal. Totally not making my heart beat stupidly fast. I kept my eyes locked on the screen, my hands planted in my lap like I hadn't just forgotten how to breathe.

"Tink," Damian said, low and expectant.

His voice curled around me like a hook, reeling me in before I even realized it. I could feel his eyes on me, burning, branding.

"Hm?" I murmured, refusing to look at him.

"Look at me."

I'm a goner.

The moment I looked up at Damian, the air in the room shifted. My stomach twisted into a nervous knot as I stared into those sharp green eyes. Well, this is it. He was going to kiss me. That intensity had to mean something, right? And then I'd be having my first random hookup, just like that. Totally normal college experience.

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. "Uh, what's up?"

His jaw clenched. "Why the fuck do you have a Birds of Prey tattoo on your ankle?"

Oh.

Ohhh.

The fire in his eyes wasn't lust—it was rage.

My stomach dropped as my eyes went wide. Shit. "I can explain—"

"Did someone send you to that party tonight to try and lure me in? Does Pamela think I'm stupid?" His grip around my waist tightened, locking me in place like a vice.

"What? No! I didn't even know you'd be there—"

"Honey trapping." He all but spat the words. "I should've fucking known. It has her MO all over it."

"I am not honey trapping y—" I started, then paused, considering. A grin tugged at my lips. "Wait... you think I'm pretty enough for a honey trap?"

Damian's scowl wavered. For the first time since I met him, he actually looked caught off guard. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something back, but before he could say anything—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sharp pounding at my door cut through the tension like a knife.

His arms caged around me even tighter. "Who is that?" His voice was low, edged with suspicion. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No," I answered, frowning at the door. "I have no friends."

His brows pulled together. "Then who the fuck is that?"

"I don't know. But I could go check if you'd let me go."

The knocking grew more insistent.

Damian hesitated, then finally released me. "Fine. But no funny business. I'm armed."

I rolled my eyes. As if that scares me.

Shaking off my nerves, I walked toward the door. I peered through the peephole—

And saw nothing.

My stomach sank.

Not an empty hallway. Not a shadow in the distance. Just pure, pitch-black nothingness. Someone was blocking the peephole.

Which meant they didn't want me to see them.

Which meant they were here to kill me.

Great. Just great. Why couldn't I catch a damn break tonight?

I took a slow step back, exhaling through my nose. "Um," I said, turning toward Damian. "It's about to get a bit ugly right now. But I promise this was not planned, and I am not trying to kill you."

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I yanked open the door—

And immediately found myself staring down the barrel of a silenced handgun.

I ducked swiftly as the assailant fired, the bullet whizzing past my ear before it tore into the drywall behind me. The muffled pop of the silenced gun wasn't as ear-shattering as an unsuppressed shot, but it was still loud enough to send my ears ringing.

I winced. Great. That was definitely loud enough for my neighbors to hear and I was getting fined for that hole for sure. Maybe I can blame it on a faulty pipe bursting?

Damian cursed under his breath, his hand darting to his waist as he scrambled off the bed, dropping low to the floor. I caught the glint of his gun as he pulled it free, his movements sharp and controlled despite the sudden attack.

The masked man laughed, his voice dripping with amusement. "Two heirs in one room? What a lucky score for me tonight!"

Idiot.

While he was too busy gloating, I rolled behind him, moving fast and low. Before he could react, I sprang up, hooking my legs around his neck and using the momentum to yank him backward. His body slammed against the floor with a brutal thud, the impact forcing a sharp grunt from his lungs.

I didn't waste the opportunity. As he gasped for air, I lashed out with my foot, sending his gun skidding across the floor—straight toward Damian, who was still kneeling by the bed, wide-eyed.

The assailant coughed, rolling onto his side, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tried to recover. I exhaled, crossing the room in two strides to the door, locking it with a firm click.

No interruptions.

I turned back to my unwelcome guest, walking over with measured steps. He barely had time to react before I pressed my foot against his throat, pinning him to the ground. Not enough pressure to kill him—not yet—but enough to make his breathing labored. There was a delicate balance to it, a technique Cass drilled into me over and over. Enough to make them panic, to weaken their resistance, but not enough to render them unconscious before they could talk.

"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice calm.

The masked man's lips curled into a breathless, rasping smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?" His voice was strained, but his arrogance hadn't faded. "I'm going to end you, bitch."

I sighed, tilting my head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's what they all say. Just tell me who you're with so I don't have to kill you."

He scoffed, a rough, grating sound. "Do you think your measly little foot can keep me down? When I get up, just know I'm going to make your death hurt. I'm going to ruin you. This carpet will be soaked with your bloo—"

Ugh. Boring.

I rolled my eyes and stomped down hard, my heel crushing his windpipe with a sickening crack. His breath hitched—no more words now, just a strangled wheeze. His hands flew to his throat, fingers clawing at empty air as his body spasmed beneath me.

I watched, unimpressed.

"If you had just told me who you were with, I wouldn't have had to do that."

His body jerked, struggling.

Damian's voice cut through the moment."What the fuck?" I glanced up, suddenly remembering he was still in the room. He was staring, his expression unreadable, his gun hanging loosely from his fingers. "Who are you?"

I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. Well. Guess now was as good a time as any to come clean. He would've put the pieces together eventually.

"I'm a Bird of Prey. Well... technically, the heir to the Birds of Prey. I'm not officially a member yet—Mom's trying to keep me out of the mafia life until she deems me 'ready,' or whatever."

Damian's eyes flicked over me, his grip tightening on his gun before he tucked it back into his waistband. "Mom?"

"Pamela. Aka Poison Ivy. Aka your dad's arch-nemesis." I wrung my hands together, waiting for a reaction. Damian's face didn't change. I let out an awkward laugh. "Surprise!"

He looked unimpressed.

"I, uh, promise I wasn't trying to kill you," I added quickly. "I really didn't go to that frat house looking for you. I didn't even know you'd show up."

He studied me for a long second, "You're telling me you just happened to show up at the same frat house as the guy who owed me money?"

"Yes."

Behind us, the dying man let out a wet, gurgling sound, his body twitching weakly.

I sighed, glancing over my shoulder.

"Excuse me one second."

I crouched down, grabbing the discarded gun from the floor. Then I picked up one of my extra pillows and turned back to the squirming man. He must've still had some air left—his eyes darted to the weapon in my hands, and he began trying to crawl away.

Where the hell does he think he's going? The door's locked.

I strode toward him and straddled his torso, pinning his arms down with my knees. He writhed, trying to buck me off, but he was weak now—his struggles sluggish and uncoordinated.

I settled the pillow over his chest, centering it over his heart.

"You should've just told me," I murmured.

Then I pressed the gun against the fabric and pulled the trigger.

Twice.

He stopped fighting and the life drained from his eyes. Number 10. I finally hit double numbers.

I sighed and tossed the pillow and the gun aside, rubbing a hand down my face. This was going to be a nightmare to clean up. The blood was already starting to pool heavily on the floor and the smell of it was thick in the air.

I crouched down and shoved the pillow beneath the guy's body, hoping it would absorb at least some of the mess. Not that it would help much. The damage was done. This was definitely going to stain. I was going to need bleach, maybe some hydrogen peroxide. Shaking off the thought, I stood up and turned to Damian.

He was watching me. Unmoving.

The silence stretched between us, heavy, charged. His gaze was unreadable, but his posture was loose, almost casual. We just stared at each other. Then he grinned.

"My dad is going to fucking kill me."

A spike of unease crawled up my spine. "...Why?"

His grin widened, and his eyes gleamed like he just found something really entertaining.

"Because I like you."

My heart did a weird, violent thing in my chest. My pulse jumped, but I wasn't sure if it was from lingering adrenaline or something much worse. "...In what way?"

"Sexually. Duh."

And just like that, he strode toward me, closing the space between us like he had no doubts, no hesitation—like he hadn't just witnessed me execute a man in cold blood.

I gasped and instinctively took a half-step back. "You don't even know me! We just met!"

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "I don't care. That was hot."

I blinked. What.

I had to make sure I was hearing this correctly. "You—you're attracted to that?" I gestured to the still-bleeding corpse. "That is not normal, Damian."

He tilted his head, considering. "Maybe not."

"I have a therapist if you need one. She's totally secure and knows all about mafia life."

Damian snorted, amusement flickering across his face. "Why would I need a therapist?"

I threw my hands up. "I can think of a million reasons, but the main one right now is the fact that you finding that hot is not okay." I should know. Me and my therapist had an entire discussion about my weird infatuation with men fighting. Something I am actively working on.

He arched a brow. "Says the girl who just killed a man."

"He was trying to kill me first!"

"Doesn't change the facts."

I groaned. "Your shit is way more concerning, to be honest."

He smirked, like he was enjoying this way too much. "Calm down. I'm not in love with you or anything." His voice dipped, smooth and confident, as he took another step forward. "I just... want you."

My breath hitched.

He was right there now, his body heat radiating against me, his presence overwhelming in a way that made my nerves scream. His forehead dropped to mine, and his eyes flicked down—to my lips.

I swallowed hard.

"I'm not an object," I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.

He ignored me, leaning in.

I snapped a hand up, blocking his mouth with my palm before he could do something stupid. And I would do something stupid with him.

"Before we do anything—" I nodded toward the corpse. "Can you help me clean that up?"

Damian let out a long-suffering sigh, like I just asked him to do chores. Then he rolled his eyes, gave a small nod—

—and bit my pinky.

"Ow—what the hell?!" I yanked my hand back, glaring at him.

He just grinned. Completely unrepentant.

And despite everything, my heart was still racing a thousand miles a minute.

Damian Wayne likes me.

Chapter Text

Cleaning up after a dead body is a pain in the ass.

Damian, of course, wanted to make it easy—call one of his guys, have them swoop in and handle everything while we kicked back and relaxed. But that was a horrible idea. My mom had people stationed all over campus, and if she got word that League operatives were skulking around my dorm, she'd absolutely lose her mind. And then? Then we'd have a much bigger problem than just the corpse bleeding out on my floor.

So, we did it ourselves.

I put on some music—something with a good beat to keep my adrenaline from crashing too soon—and got to work.

Step one: Stop the bleeding. Damian grabbed one of my towels and, with zero effort, tore it into strips like it was made of tissue paper. Seeing him do that? With his bare hands? Yeah. I had to drink an entire bottle of water immediately after.

Step two: Find a way to move the body. I snuck down to the dorm kitchen—no one used it anyway, thanks to the halfway-decent dining halls—and stole a large black garbage bag. Grabbed it. Dipped before anyone could see me or ask questions.

Step three: Get him in the bag. I took the legs, Damian grabbed the front, and we counted down to lift.

And that's when my dorm door swung open.

I knew I locked it. But my door was finicky—only locking when it felt like it, which was usually an inconvenience. Right now it was a disaster.

Because standing in the doorway, frozen like a deer in headlights, was another masked assailant.

The partner. Had to be.

For a beat, we all just... stared at each other.

Then he turned on his heel and bolted.

"Shit," I hissed, dropping the body immediately. Damian barely had time to curse before I was already moving, grabbing the gun and sprinting after the masked man.

The masked man flew down the stairwell, clearing four steps at a time. I didn't bother with the steps—I hopped onto the railing and slid down like a ramp, balancing on my ass.

Damian just jumped.

We tore through the dorm hallways, barreling past startled students who barely had time to react before we were gone. The masked guy shoved through an emergency exit, the alarm blaring as he kicked it open.

"I'm cutting him off at the front!" Damian shouted before veering left. He didn't even hesitate. Just turned and disappeared, leaving me to stay hot on the guy's trail.

I silently thanked my mom for forcing me into track back in the day—because damn, I was keeping up.

The chase spilled out into the parking lot. There, just ahead, a red car sat idling, waiting. The guy didn't stop—he threw himself inside, slamming the door shut, and the car peeled out.

I yanked up the gun and fired at the tires—missed.

"Fuck!" I snarled, fury curling through me like fire. He was going to get away—

Roaring into the lot came a familiar sports car, sleek and fast, skidding right up beside me.

Damian threw the door open. "Get in!"

I didn't hesitate. Barely had one foot in the car before he gunned it, tires screeching, my door slamming shut from the momentum.

"God, this is the best night of my life!" Damian laughed as he slammed his foot onto the gas, weaving through traffic like it was a game.

I ignored the way his reckless driving made my stomach flip. Instead, I cocked the gun back. "Open the sunroof."

His grin was sharp, wicked. "Yes, ma'am."

The roof slid open. Wind rushed in. I pulled myself up through the opening, bracing against the speed, heart pounding as I locked my sights on the red car ahead. We were close now. If I could just get a good angle—

But Damian's driving was insane. The car swerved, sharp and aggressive, making it nearly impossible to aim straight.

"Grab my leg," I ordered. "Steady me."

"Don't gotta ask me twice."

And then his hand palmed my ass.

I choked. "My leg, you perv!"

He chuckled, completely unapologetic, but his hand slid lower, gripping firmly around my thigh.

That was better. Now I was steady.

I took aim—exhaled—squeezed the trigger.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots.

All straight into the back right tire.

"Got him!" I squealed, my voice barely audible over the wind roaring past. The masked man's car jerked violently to the side, tires screeching as the back end fishtailed, but somehow, he managed to keep it moving—just barely. His speed had dropped significantly.

I climbed back down into my seat, breathless, adrenaline pumping like jet fuel in my veins.

"Ram him." I barked, snapping my seatbelt into place.

Damian took a deep breath, like he was savoring the moment. Then he let out a low, pleased chuckle. "I knew I liked you, Tink."

And then he floored it.

The engine roared as we surged forward, the world blurring past in streaks of neon and headlights. The moment we connected, it was impact without hesitation—a bone-rattling crash of steel against steel.

Damian's car barely even shuddered. His vehicle was definitely reinforced, because I felt nothing. The other car? Not so lucky.

It spun out in a brutal, uncontrolled skid, tires screaming against the asphalt before slamming headfirst into a thick roadside tree. The hood crumpled like a tin can, the windshield spiderwebbed with cracks. Smoke billowed from under the hood, the scent of burning rubber thick in the air.

I let out a low whistle. "Ouch."

Damian pulled us up alongside the wreck, cutting the engine. "Ten bucks says he's dead." He said as we got out of his car.

I would've taken that bet but then the car door suddenly kicked open.

The masked man tumbled out, alive.

Barely.

Blood poured from a gash on his forehead and his right arm twisted at an angle that should've been physically impossible. His mask was gone, probably lost somewhere in the wreck, and without it, I could see the raw panic in his eyes.

He looked like absolute shit.

I tightened my grip on the gun and stalked forward, feet crunching against gravel. My pulse was a steady, furious drumbeat in my ears. I was so tired of this. These assholes constantly trying to kill me for shit that had nothing to do with me. I wasn't even in the life for real. I had no standing. And yet, they still came for me.

Not tonight.

I kicked him in the back.

He collapsed forward with a strangled howl, landing right onto his already mangled arm. The crack it made was absolutely disgusting, and the noise made Damian laugh behind me.

"Who sent you?" I asked, holding the gun over his head.

He whimpered, flinching away. "I—I'm just the driver! Please, don't kill me—"

"I didn't ask that." My voice was steady, controlled, even as fury simmered beneath the surface. "I asked who sent you."

He looked at me like a rabbit caught in a trap. "If I tell you, he'll kill me."

A heavy silence stretched.

Then Damian, casual as hell, leaned in close and murmured, "If you don't tell her, I'll kill you."

That seemed to do the trick.

His whole body trembled as he finally choked out a pitiful, "Falcone."

Bang.

I shot him in the head.

Number 11.

Damian let out a sharp bark of laughter, slinging an arm around my shoulder as I lowered the gun. "Damn. Didn't even hesitate, huh? Didn't even think about letting him go?"

"What's the point?" I scoffed, turning back toward the car. "If I let him live, he'd just run straight to Falcone, and then I'd have even more problems. My mom would pull me out of school, and I like school. I like being able to eat whatever I want."

Damian hummed like he was actually impressed. "Smart. To be honest, if you let him go, I was just gonna take the gun and kill him anyway."

I rolled my eyes. "Psycho."

"I'm not the one who killed two men tonight."

...He got me there.

We climbed back into the car, Damian shifting gears before pulling off. This time at a much more reasonable speed.

"So, what now?" he asked after a moment.

I frowned. "What do you mean, what now? I'm going to bed. I've been in this outfit for too long, my feet are cut up from running in socks, and I need a shower. Then I'm putting on my fluffy PJs and passing the hell out."

Damian shot me an incredulous look. "You're just gonna let Falcone get away with this?"

I sighed. "No. I'll tell my mom. She'll handle it."

He scoffed. "You make it a habit of having mommy clean up your messes?"

I turned to glare at him. "I don't like your tone. And yes, I do. What's wrong with that? It usually has nothing to do with me, so why should I bother?"

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Because it does have something to do with you. They're trying to kill you, not her. And you have the resources and the skills to stop them. Hell, you just took out two men tonight without even blinking. So why let your mom handle it when you're more than capable of doing it yourself?"

I didn't answer.

Because for once?

I didn't have a response.

The ride back to my dorm was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the car engine and the occasional tap of Damian's fingers against the steering wheel. The night's chaos had finally started catching up to me, pressing heavy against my limbs, making my head feel just a little too light. I expected him to drop me off and drive away without another word, leaving us both to shove this night deep into the backs of our minds like it never happened.

Instead, he got out and followed me.

It wasn't until I swung open my dorm room door and saw the dead body still sprawled across the floor that I realized why.

I groaned, tipping my head back against the doorframe. "I'm too tired to deal with this."

"Told you I could call my guys," Damian muttered, standing just behind me.

I tossed the gun onto my desk and sighed. "And I would usually take you up on that offer, but my mom has people patrolling the area. If your guys show up, she'll get wind of it, and it'll start a whole thing." I turned. "She hates your dad."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Why does she hate Father so much? What could they have possibly done to each other to make this hatred last for decades?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. He probably stole her girlfriend or something."

Damian let out a quiet snicker. "Yeah, sounds like him."

"She also just hates most men. Especially most made men. Like your father. Falcone. Cobblepot." I stepped around the body and crouched down. "Come on, help me move this."

He exhaled through his nose but grabbed the dead man's shoulders. "My father is nothing like those two," he muttered as we lifted the body between us.

"Oh yeah? Those two deal in drugs and women. You guys just bleed the desperate dry with loan sharking and casinos. What's the difference?" I grunted, shifting my grip so we could drop him in the bag. I tied the end tightly to make sure he couldn't slip out.

"Says the girl whose mom is a mercenary for hire."

I sighed. "Well, we're all bad, I guess."

"Some are worse than others." His voice came out sharp, and when I glanced at him, he was glaring at the dead man in the garbage bag.

Falcone was worse than any other made man in Gotham, well maybe Cobblepot had him beat by a little. If you could think of the crime, Falcone had done it. Women, drugs, money laundering, racketeering, and the most sickening of all—children. My mom had been working tirelessly to dismantle his regime without triggering an all-out war, which was probably why he was targeting me. The Birds were mighty, but small. If we went to war with Falcone, we wouldn't survive. We'd cripple him, but we'd be wiped out in the process.

Damian grabbed the front of the garbage bag. "Help me carry him to my car?"

I smirked and I grabbed the back. "I'm surprised you're asking instead of telling."

"I'm tired," he grumbled, lifting the body higher. "Don't get used to me being nice."

"Trust me, I won't."

We moved through the dorm halls, keeping our footsteps light. The RA at the front desk was slumped over, dead asleep, so we slipped past him and out into the crisp night air. The quad was empty—thank God—and we made it to Damian's car without incident.

Stuffing the body into his trunk was another story. Sports cars had no space. I had to climb on top and press down hard just to get the damn thing to latch shut. When it finally clicked, I let out a relieved sigh and hopped down, leaning against the side of his car.

"So, where are you taking him?"

"The docks," he said, standing in front of me. "I'm throwing him into the river."

"Classic."

"The classics work." He lifted his hand, resting it on the car beside my head. "What are you going to do about Falcone?"

"Nothing." I crossed my arms. "I am not in this life. It has nothing to do with me."

"Hm." He tilted his head slightly, his eyes dragging over my face like he was looking for something hidden. "Keep believing that."

Then he leaned in.

I barely had time to process before his lips brushed against mine, light at first, testing. He lingered just long enough for me to realize what was happening, for my breath to hitch, and then he pressed in deeper. His fingers slid along the side of my neck, tilting my head just enough to let him steal another kiss, firmer this time, slower.

His mouth was warm, his movements unhurried, and for a second, just a second, I let myself sink into it. The adrenaline from the night still hummed in my veins, mixing with something else—something hot and electric under my skin. When his teeth barely grazed my bottom lip, a shiver curled down my spine, and I realized just how much control he had over this.

Which was why I pulled back first.

He stayed close, his breath warm against my cheek as he leaned in again, lips grazing my ear. "Once you decide to stop being a pussy and do something with your skills, hit me up."

Then he slipped a small piece of paper into my palm.

Asshole.

I glared as he straightened up and walked around the car, slipping into the driver's seat. He rolled down the window, flashing me a smirk.

"Bye, Samaira." He peeled off before giving me a chance to reply.

I stayed there, watching his car disappear into the night, the slip of paper still warm in my palm.

Then I turned and went inside.

+++

I stared at that slip of paper with Damian's name on it for two weeks before I ever picked up my phone to call him. But it was for a good reason and not just because I wanted an excuse to speak to him again.

I was walking home from the fashion building late. Too late.

My midterm deadline was creeping up fast, and staying behind to work on my sketches felt like the only logical choice. The alternative—doing them in my dorm, surrounded by distractions—was unacceptable. But now, as I walked across the eerily empty campus, I was starting to regret my decision.

For the first time ever on a Friday night, it was quiet. No drunken laughter, no thumping basslines bleeding from dorm room speakers, no couples pressed against buildings making out like the world was ending. The campus had emptied out for spring break, most students already en route to their beach vacations or rented party houses, or whatever it is people with friends did during spring break.

The walk was peaceful at first. I liked the solitude, the cool air nipping at my skin, the rhythmic sound of my shoes against the pavement. But then, I felt it. That prickle at the back of my neck. The weight of eyes on me.

I sighed. Why do enemies never attack during the day? When I'm not exhausted?

Today was one of the rare days I had chosen pants over a skirt. Thank God. Running in a skirt was a nightmare. Fighting in one? Worse.

I was an earthy Black girl type. Of course I was—I was raised by Poison Ivy herself. My wardrobe reflected that: deep greens, warm browns, gold accents. My jewelry? Always stacked. Thick bangles, layered rings, necklaces that clinked softly when I moved. They weren't just for aesthetics, though. Some of them were weapons in disguise.

I palmed one of my larger bangles and slipped it off my wrist as I walked. The cool metal warmed quickly against my skin. With a practiced flick, I twisted it, disengaging the hidden mechanism until the top popped off, exposing the dagger inside.

Dinah had given it to me on my eighteenth birthday. Custom-made. Beautiful craftsmanship. Deadly.

As soon as the blade was free, I whirled around and threw it.

A sharp, wet thunk.

A man staggered back, my dagger buried in his palm. He let out a strangled scream, clutching his impaled hand, dropping to his knees. Which only exposed the two other men behind him.

I groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me? It's midterms. Give me a break!"

The injured man was still on the ground, hunched over, panting through the pain. I sprinted forward before he could recover. In one swift motion, I yanked the dagger from his hand, twisting it free with a sickening squelch. His howl of pain barely had time to escape before I grabbed his head and dragged the blade across his throat.

Warm blood sprayed across my hands, he collapsed, gurgling.

Number 12.

The two remaining men stopped running at me.

"PETER!" The one on the left screamed. He was in a black sweatsuit with bright red tennis shoes. Rookie mistake—made him easy to track in the dark. The one next to him went pale green, like he might throw up. His sweatsuit was gray and black.

"He said she was weak," Gray and Black muttered. "Didn't know how to fight."

Red Tennis Shoes swallowed hard. "Yeah, well—he was wrong."

I smirked and hurled my dagger at him. He barely dodged. The blade lodged itself in a tree behind him.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. Guess it's fists, then.

Red Tennis Shoes scrambled backward, pulling out a gun with shaky hands.

Oh. Now that was interesting.

Judging by his grip—too tight, index finger hovering over the trigger like he was afraid of it—he didn't know how to use it.

I dropped my tote bag on the grass and tied my hair up into a quick bun. Some curls escaped, but whatever. I mourned my perfectly styled twist-out for all of two seconds before reality kicked in.

"H-hands up!" Red Tennis Shoes stammered, his voice cracking.

I rolled my shoulders, my bracelets jingling. Then, I lifted my hands. "Happy?"

"O-on the ground! Bitch!"

That bitch felt tacked on. Like he was trying to convince himself he had control.

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you want my hands up or do you want me on the ground? Make up your mind."

"Both!"

I scoffed. "Wow. You guys are stupid." Then I pointed behind them. "What's that?"

And like actual morons, they looked.

I was on them in seconds.

Red Tennis Shoes yelped and fired off a shot, but his panic ruined his aim. The bullet went wide, useless. I snatched his wrist, twisted hard, and he screamed as his fingers spasmed open. The gun fell.

I brought my elbow up—slammed it into his face.

Cartilage cracked. He dropped like a stone.

Before he could even hit the ground, I caught the falling gun, flipped it, and pulled the trigger twice.

Two shots. Right in the chest.

Number 13. I was in the teens now. Neat.

Gray and Black was frozen. I turned the gun on him, my stance easy, casual. His hands shot up. He was already babbling before I could speak. "We were sent by Falcone! He—he wants to kidnap you for ransom! He said he'd kill you or sell you once your mom sent the money! Please don't kill me!"

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. "Yeah, sure. Run before I change my mind."

"Thank you—thank you!" He turned and took off sprinting.

I let him get ten feet away. Then I raised the gun again and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the back of his skull.

Number 14.

I exhaled slowly. The exhaustion was finally settling in. My hands were slick with blood, my heart pounding against my ribs, my pulse steady despite the mess around me.

I walked over to the tree, yanked my dagger free, then bent down to pick up my tote bag. The gun went inside. I did a quick scan for cameras—none.

Good.

Then I made my way back to my dorm.

The second I stepped inside, I went straight to my sink. The water ran red as I scrubbed my hands, my brain still buzzing. The fight had woken something in me—something sharp, something restless.

I turned toward my desk. Damian's note sat there, exactly where it had been for the past two weeks. His name and number were scrawled across it, haphazard, like he'd been in a rush.

My stomach flipped.

Before I could overthink it, I picked up my phone and punched in the number. Checked it twice then I pressed call. It rang three times.

"Hi, Tink."

That cocky drawl. I hated it.

"Please come pick me up," I said flatly.

There was a beat of silence. Then, amusement curling in his voice. "On the way."

Less than ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text.

Outside. Pack a bag.

Jerk. Why would he just assume I didn't have plans? Maybe I had a life outside of dodging assassination attempts. Maybe I was going on vacation like everyone else. Maybe I had friends.

...Okay, maybe not, but that wasn't the point. I should ignore him just for the audacity. But instead, I sighed and grabbed a small bag, stuffing it with the essentials—fresh clothes, my charger, a knife I kept for extra security, and the gun from earlier, which felt heavier than it had before.

When I stepped outside, Damian was already leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. His hoodie was up, casting a shadow over his sharp eyes. The streetlight flickered above him, making the gold glint on his watch catch the light.

His stare made my pulse quicken.

I don't know why, but I guess I chalked our night together up as something that would never happen again. I thought that was it. So seeing him here, in the flesh, waiting for me like this—it made something in my chest feel unsteady.

"Hi," I muttered when I got close enough.

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he reached for my bag, sliding it off my shoulders wordlessly. His fingers brushed against my arm—barely, but enough to make my skin tingle.

"So, you decided to not be a pussy."

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw the back of my skull. "Shut the fuck up." Crossing my arms, I shifted my weight. "I'm just tired of being attacked all the time."

His expression shifted instantly. His casual stance stiffened as his focus sharpened. "You got attacked again?"

"Why else would I call?"

He ignored my sarcasm. "Whose men?"

I exhaled. "Guess."

His jaw ticked. "Falcone again, huh?" He shook his head slightly. "You'd think after the first time it failed, he'd leave you alone."

"First time?" I scoffed. "I've killed fourteen of his guys this year alone."

That made him pause. Then, his lips curled slightly in amusement. "Wow. That's more than me."

I smirked. "Get your count up, loser."

Damian actually grinned. A real one. It made something flip in my stomach, so I cleared my throat and quickly changed the subject. "So, what's the plan, genius?"

He sighed, tilting his head back against the car like the weight of the situation had finally caught up to him. "I have a brother we could ask for help."

The way he said it made me frown. "Could?" I repeated. "So, what? He might help, or he might tell us to fuck off?"

Damian glanced at me, his gaze unreadable. Then he opened the passenger door. "Something like that."

I stared at him for a second before shaking my head and sliding inside. Whatever. This night was already insane. Might as well see how much worse it could get.

Chapter Text

Damian's apartment was packed with League of Assassins members, their conversation dying the second he opened the door. Every single pair of eyes landed on us. The air felt thick with the weight of their stares, as if I had just walked into a den of wolves who weren't sure if I was one of them or prey.

Damian barely reacted. He rolled his eyes and pulled me inside without hesitation. "Why are you motherfuckers in my apartment?"

"Because you're never here," Garfield said, sprawled on the couch between Jon and Jaime. A controller dangled loosely from his fingers, forgotten as he continued to stare at me with open curiosity.

Jon, on the other hand, looked like he'd seen a ghost. His face lost all color, his eyes wide and almost comically horrified. His grip slipped, and his controller clattered to the floor.

I tilted my head, fighting back a laugh. Dramatic much?

Garfield's eyes flicked between me and Damian, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Wait a minute—is that the Tiana girl from a couple weeks ago?"

Damian ignored him completely. "Get out."

No one moved.

Instead, Karen stepped forward, beaming. "Hi, I'm Karen."

I smiled, shaking her hand. "I know. We went to school together."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "Oh really? I don't remember you."

I shrugged. "I know. I was sort of invisible on purpose."

Before Karen could respond, Damian snatched my hand away from hers with a sharp tug, clearly fed up. "Stop talking to her." Then, louder: "Everyone. Out."

Naturally, they all ignored him.

Jaime leaned forward with interest. "What's your name?"

Damian let out a frustrated sigh. "Don't tell him your name."

I grinned. "Samaira."

Jaime nodded approvingly. Karen smiled.

But Garfield? He looked downright delighted. He leaned back against the couch with an infuriating smirk, eyes full of mischief. "Ohhh. Damian's trying to kick us out so he can have alone time with his Tiiiiiink."

The way he dragged out the word made everyone snicker. My face instantly heated.

Damian sighed like he was debating murder. Then, without another word, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me deeper into the apartment, away from the laughter and knowing looks.

As we turned the corner, I barely caught Karen's voice calling out, "Bye, Samaira!"

"Bye!" I shouted back just as Damian grabbed my wrist and shoved me into a room, slamming the door shut behind us.

I turned around, blinking at my surroundings. A bedroom. His bedroom. And it was... surprisingly neat. No mess, no clutter, just clean lines and cool tones. A perfectly made bed, dark furniture, and not a single sock on the floor. If I didn't know him, I'd think no one lived here.

Damian flicked on the light, exhaling sharply like the whole situation was already testing his patience. He reached for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion. His shirt lifted slightly with the movement, exposing just a glimpse of skin.

I looked away fast, forcing my face to stay neutral. Not the time to be staring.

"So," I said, shifting on my heels. "What are we doing here?"

"I wanted to talk, go over a plan, maybe call my brother Tim." He tossed his hoodie into an open closet without looking. "But now that these motherfuckers are here, we can't."

I hummed, toeing off my shoes before walking over to his bed. The mattress barely dipped as I climbed up, settling into a criss-cross position. It was firmer than I expected, like he barely used it.

"Well, we could still talk," I pointed out, patting the space next to me. "C'mon, let's strategize."

Damian paused, watching me with that sharp, assessing stare of his. Then, with a shrug, he walked over and sank down beside me.

I wrapped my hands around my ankles. "Okay, so what's your main idea?"

"You hurt Falcone where it matters most—his income."

"His casinos?"

"No, his club." Damian leaned back on his palms. "Falcone and Penguin jointly own The Iceberg Lounge. But, as you can tell by the name, it's more Penguin's than Falcone's."

"Then how is it Falcone's biggest source of money?"

Damian shot me a glare. "I was getting to that. If you'd let me finish talking."

I held up my hands. "Oop. My bad. Continue."

"Falcone uses the club to push drugs to high-end clients. He keeps the purest stuff for the rich Iceberg crowd and up-charges them for it." His tone darkened. "He also moves girls through the club."

I frowned. "And Cobblepot is just... okay with that?"

"He doesn't know about it."

That made me sit up straighter. "The drama. How doesn't he know? And how do you know?"

"Falcone keeps it under wraps." Damian's voice was calm, but I noticed the way his fingers curled into his palms. "And I know because the Justice Society knows everything that happens in Gotham. It's our city."

I raised a brow. "Then why hasn't your father stopped it? Doesn't he hate people who deal in girls and drugs?"

"Yeah," Damian admitted. "But it also has nothing to do with us. Falcone pays his dues and stays out of our way. Starting a war over this would be messy. We'd win, but the casualties—" He shook his head. "Not worth it."

I pressed my lips together, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. "What about the children?"

Damian stilled. His expression didn't change, but I could feel the shift in the air. "What children?"

"Falcone deals with women and children," I said, watching his face carefully. "That has to be enough for Bruce to step in."

Damian's silence was all the confirmation I needed—he hadn't known.

His jaw tightened. "Where did you hear that?"

I inhaled deeply before answering. "Cass saw one of his guys snatch a girl off the street. She stopped him, and when she opened the van to get her out, she found ten more girls stuffed inside." My fingers dug into the blanket beneath me. "The guy told her Falcone is moving kids now. They're easier to control. Less likely to run."

Damian's entire body went rigid. His hands clenched into fists, and for a second, I swore I could hear his teeth grind together.

"We need proof." His voice was low, measured. "Did Cass record anything?"

"No. She was so pissed, she killed him on the spot."

He let out a slow breath. "But she got the girls to safety?"

"She did." I turned to fully face him. "Maybe we could find one of them—get a confession on record and send it to Bruce."

Damian shook his head. "No, we need more."

"Like?"

His eyes flickered with something dangerous. "Falcone saying it himself."

I groaned and collapsed backward onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "That's impossible. Can't we just kill him? Catch him outside a restaurant or something and gun him down?"

Damian leaned over me, his shadow stretching across my body as he smirked. "Sure, we could—if you're okay with starting a war. But I'm always down to gun someone down."

"Of course you are," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "What if your dad does it?"

"Again, unless we have proof, he won't do shit."

Damian's voice had lowered, his gaze dragging over my face in a way that made me suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. My breath caught for just a second, but I played it off, shifting beneath him.

I exhaled through my nose, thinking. "Okay, here's an idea. What if I sneak into one of his clubs or restaurants and slip some poison into his drink? No one would know who did it, and he'd be out of our hair."

Damian hummed, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip in thought. "We'd have to free those kids first. If he dies before we know where they are, they die with him."

His hand came up, cupping my cheek, tilting my face toward his. His fingers were warm, rough from years of training, but his touch was surprisingly gentle.

"This is getting more complicated by the minute," I sighed. His thumb traced along my jaw, featherlight, and suddenly, talking about murder wasn't the most interesting thing in the room anymore.

"Mmhmm," he murmured distractedly, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips. "We can brainstorm more ideas later."

I guess discussing the ways we could kill a guy really turned him on because I barely had a second to brace before he closed the distance between us, his mouth slanting over mine in a kiss.

It was firm, demanding, like he had been waiting for this—for me—and now that he had me, he wasn't going to waste a single second. The heat of it hit me immediately, sparking through my veins, and I didn't hesitate to kiss him back.

My arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. He followed without resistance, pressing me into the mattress as his weight settled over me, solid and warm. His other hand slid to my waist, fingers gripping just enough to make me feel it. Then, slowly, he moved higher, fingertips grazing the bare skin under my shirt.

I shivered.

Damian must've liked that reaction because the next thing I knew, he was deepening the kiss. His tongue flicked against my bottom lip, coaxing, teasing, until I parted my mouth just enough for him to take control.

And damn.

If I thought his kisses would be good, I wasn't prepared for this. He kissed like he fought—sharp, focused, relentless. His tongue swept against mine, stealing every last bit of air from my lungs, and I barely had the presence of mind to cling to him as he took exactly what he wanted.

I wasn't sure when my hands moved, but suddenly my fingers were threading through his hair, tugging slightly. The groan he let out against my mouth sent a thrill down my spine, heat pooling low in my stomach.

His lips broke away just long enough for him to murmur, "You taste good."

I barely had time to process that before his mouth was on my neck. I gasped as his lips brushed over sensitive skin, moving lower, kissing, sucking, leaving trails of heat wherever he went. I felt his teeth graze my skin, just barely, and my breath hitched.

"Damian..." My voice was embarrassingly breathy, but I didn't care.

He hummed, satisfied, his hands wandering higher beneath my shirt, his thumbs rubbing slow, dizzying circles into my ribs.

And then—

Knock knock.

"Boss?" Jon's voice sounded hesitant from the other side of the door.

Damian ignored him completely, his mouth still pressed against my skin, hot and unbothered.

"But what if it's important?" I asked, barely able to string together a full thought.

"I literally don't give a shit," he muttered against my neck before kissing me again, like he could make the interruption disappear if he just ignored it hard enough.

Jon knocked again, a little louder this time. "Boss? Is everything okay?"

I pulled away. "He's going to come in here," I warned.

"No, he's not," Damian grumbled, but he didn't sound too sure.

A brief pause. Then Jon said, more firmly this time. "I'm going to come in and see if you're okay."

Damian let out a growl of pure frustration before finally pulling away from me. His lips were flushed, his breathing uneven, and his eyes burned with a murderous glare that promised violence against the person who had just interrupted us.

I bit back a laugh, not because I found it funny, but because if I didn't, I might actually go feral from how thoroughly he had just ruined me. My pulse was still hammering in my ears, my body still humming from where his hands had been. And now? Now I was left with nothing but the lingering heat of his touch and the urge to kill Jon myself.

With one last exasperated groan, Damian rolled off me, stomped over to the door, and yanked it open with enough force to make the hinges protest.

"What, Jon?"

Jon, who was standing there looking entirely unbothered, raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Damian snapped, his voice still rough.

I sat up on the bed, adjusting my shirt and smoothing my hair as I peered at the two of them. Jon's eyes flickered toward me, his expression twisting slightly like he had just seen something he wished he could unsee.

"You didn't answer when I called. I was worried the bird poisoned you or something."

Oh. So Damian told him who I was. I guessed that explained the way Jon had practically short-circuited when I walked in earlier.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms. "Do you think I'd let myself get poisoned?"

The question was obviously rhetorical, but it made me think. I mean... how could he stop me if I wanted to? My mom was known for having lipsticks that could make men fall to their knees—either in submission or in death. Why would he assume I wouldn't have something just as deadly?

"You never know," Jon said. "The birds are sneaky."

"Her name is Samaira."

Jon rolled his eyes. "I know her name. I'm just hoping you're not stupid enough to have her stay around so I have to remember it."

I frowned. Asshole.

"You better watch your mouth, Kent. I know at least ten ways to kill you with just the shit in this room," I snapped.

Jon narrowed his eyes. "You wish you could even touch me."

"Oh okay, so you wanna die," I said, shifting onto my knees on the bed, ready to lunge if necessary.

Damian sighed and held up a hand. "Girls, calm down." His voice had that irritated edge, like he was dealing with children bickering over a toy. "Jon, this could not possibly be the reason you were bothering me."

Jon bristled, his jaw clenching like he was still pissed at my comment. "No," he admitted. Then, with the smuggest look I'd ever seen, he said, "Your fiancée is on her way up."

I stilled.

My brain short-circuited for half a second before a tidal wave of rage flooded through me.

His what?

My entire body went rigid, my fists clenching so hard I felt the sting of my nails digging into my palms. And at the way Jon's smirk deepened, I knew he did that on purpose.

I was going to kill him. If not kill, then maim horrendously.

Damian scowled and smacked Jon on the back of the head, hard enough to make the taller boy wince. "Don't say it like that." Then, turning to me, his voice softened—just slightly. "I don't have a fiancée. My dad and her brother are close friends, and they want us to get together, but it's not gonna happen. He's kidding, Tink, calm down."

I exhaled sharply through my nose and forced my fingers to uncurl, looking down at my palm to see crescent-shaped indents from my nails. Damian calling me Tink should've helped settle me, but I wasn't quite ready to let this go. I hopped off the bed, my feet hitting the floor with purpose, and stalked toward Jon.

By the time I was toe-to-toe with him, my voice had dropped to something lethal. "By the end of the night, I will kill you."

Jon's expression darkened, and for a second, I thought he might actually take the bait and fight me.

But before anything could happen, Damian chuckled behind me, then wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me back against him.

"I think you two are gonna get along by the end of the week," he mused, sounding far too amused for my liking.

Jon's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean the end of the week?"

"She's staying for spring break," Damian said casually, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb.

Jon scowled deeper, his entire face screaming you have got to be kidding me. But before he could argue, someone knocked on the front door.

"Not it!" the entire living room called out in unison.

I smirked, still feeling petty. "Better go get it, Kent."

Jon shot me a glare so sharp it could cut steel, but he still turned on his heel and stalked off toward the door.

Damian sighed dramatically from above me, his arm still snug around my waist. "Can't you be nice?"

I shrugged. "I would say sorry, but I'm no sorry-ass bitch."

He laughed, the sound low and warm against my ear.

"Plus, his stupid ass started it," I added.

Damian hummed, dropping his head slightly so his lips brushed against my temple. "Be nice. To everyone. Even Emiko."

At that, I stiffened.

Even Emiko?

My eyes snapped up to his. "Wait. Damian—who's at the door?"

Emiko Queen was at the door.

Walking into the living room with Damian, I barely noticed the people around me because my attention locked onto her.

She was laughing with Karen, looking as cool as ever. Her jet-black hair framed her face perfectly, and her whole vibe screamed effortlessly dangerous. She had that kind of presence that made you assume she could kill you and look good doing it. And suddenly, I felt a little self-conscious.

But that barely even registered, because standing in front of me was the only person in the world I could actually call a friend.

"Emi?" My voice came out softer than I meant.

She turned, eyes scanning the room before landing on me—and then she gasped.

"No way—Sam-Sam?!"

We closed the distance in seconds, colliding in a hug so tight I nearly lost my breath. I squeezed her like I was afraid she'd disappear, my throat tightening. Her arms wrapped around me just as fiercely, and for a second, I almost lost my grip on my emotions.

I didn't even realize how much I missed her until now.

When we pulled apart, I wiped at my eyes quickly, and she did the same, shaking her head like she couldn't believe this was happening.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, still catching my breath. "I thought you were in Central City for school?"

"I was," she said, still smiling. "But I came back for spring break to catch up with some old friends." Then her eyes flicked to Damian, and just like that, suspicion settled on her face. "What are you doing here? Does your mom know you're hanging out with Waynes?"

I grinned and shook my head. "Nah. She doesn't. And I'd like it to stay that way."

Emiko smirked. "My lips are sealed."

"Wait, wait—" Garfield cut in, waving his hands. "How do you two know each other?"

I rolled my eyes. "When I was a kid, my mom thought I needed friends my age. I spent all my time training with the older women or following Cass around like a lost puppy. So she hit up the one man she can kind of tolerate—Oliver Queen—and asked if me and Emiko could hang out. And the rest is history."

Karen made a little ohhh sound like it all suddenly made sense.

Jaime, however, leaned toward Damian—like that made his whisper any less obvious—and said, "How weird is this for you?"

I turned just in time to see Damian grimacing like he'd just bitten into something rotten. "It's... strange," he admitted.Next to him, Jon stood stiff as a board, looking mad as hell. Clearly, his little scheme to make things awkward for me had spectacularly backfired.

Emiko and I slowly turned toward each other, exchanging a look.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then flicked her gaze to Damian—up and down—then back to me. And then, with complete finality, she said, "No."

I threw my hands up. "What?!"

She shook her head, arms crossed tight. "Nope. Not happening."

"I could say the same thing to you!" I shot back.

"No, you couldn't." She jabbed a finger in Damian's direction. "Because I don't like him."

"I'm right here." He said as Garfeild and Jaime laughed.

I crossed my arms. "And who says I do?"

She gave me a slow, deadpan stare, then—like a predator locking in on its target—her eyes dragged down to my neck.

Ah, shit.

I clapped a hand over the still-warm skin, grinning sheepishly as I held my other hand up in surrender. "You caught me."

Emiko groaned like I'd personally betrayed her. "Why, Sam-Sam?"

I shrugged. "He's helping me get Falcone to leave me alone."

Her irritation evaporated instantly. "Ouuuu." She perked up, eyes gleaming with interest. "I wanna help!"

I grinned wider. "I thought you might."

With that, we plopped down on the couch and immediately started brainstorming. Because, honestly? If Emiko Queen was involved, this was about to get so much better.

Chapter Text

The only solid plan we managed to scrape together was sneaking into the Iceberg Lounge and somehow getting Falcone to admit what he did. The problem? We could not agree on who should do it. The debate had stretched so long that every League member had bailed, leaving only Jon—who had finally given up twenty minutes after and crashed in one of Damian’s guest rooms.

“I can do it!” I grumbled, throwing my hands in the air. I was sandwiched between Damian and Emiko on his ridiculously comfortable couch, and honestly? I might just sleep here tonight.

“No!”

“No.”

They both shot me down at the same time.

I groaned, slumping against the cushions. “I could do it. I’m the only one here who’s well-versed in poisons and assassinations, so if anything went wrong he’d be dead. I could make him talk, slip out before anyone knew I was there, and be home in time for dinner.”

Damian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, shaking his head. “He also knows exactly what you look like. If he knows, then so do his men. You’d never even make it inside the club. I’ll do it.”

I barked out a laugh. “Please. Everyone in Gotham knows what you look like. You’d be spotted a mile away. They’d have reinforcements waiting before you even stepped on the block.”

“Hello?” Emiko cut in, pointing to herself. “Are we all just going to gloss over the fact that no one knows me? I could sneak into the club, get a confession, and get out before he even realizes what happened.”

She had a point. Oliver Queen had done an exceptional job keeping his little sister out of the public eye. Most people knew he had a sister, sure—but did they know what she looked like? No. And absolutely no one would expect that his half-sister would be a black-haired Asian girl when his entire known family are blond-haired white people. So yeah, her plan did sound solid.

There was just one little problem.

“Emi, you have zero close combat experience,” I reminded her. “You’re better suited for the outside. If something goes sideways, you’re the best shot I know.”

Which was true. Emiko could shoot a target straight through the heart from over 150 feet away. Her brother had trained her in long-range combat, grooming her to take over the Ninth Circle one day. But sneaking into a crime boss’s club and getting in his face? Not her strong suit.

“The best bet is me,” I continued. “Yeah, he knows what I look like, but with some makeup, a wig, maybe even colored contacts, I’d be unrecognizable. Trust me, I used to sneak out of the greenhouse all the time when my mom had me on lockdown. She never knew.”

Damian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “That… does make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t! Don’t encourage her!” Emiko snapped. “You can’t do this. He’d kill you.”

I scoffed. “Falcone is old and slow. He couldn’t kill me if I had both hands tied behind my back and one leg cut off. Trust.”

Damian stood, stretching. “Let’s sleep on it. We need fresh heads and fresh eyes on this.” He gestured toward the hall. “Emiko, you know where the guest room is. Tink, let’s go.” I was about to push myself up from the couch when Emi’s voice cut through the room stopping me in my tracks.

“Don’t even think about it.”

I blinked at her, confused. “Um, what?”

She turned fully toward me, crossing her arms. “You are not staying in his room.”

I frowned, mirroring her stance. “Why not?”

“Because he’s a man with… ulterior motives.”

I snorted. “I also have ulterior motives.”

Emi groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “He’s corrupted you already.”

Behind me, Damian let out a long-suffering sigh, clearly over the both of us. “Okay. Where is she supposed to sleep, then, if you’re not willing to let her share a bed with me?”

“With me! Obviously.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, so let me get this straight—if the roles were reversed and Wallace was sitting here instead of me, you’d be totally fine with me stopping you?” Wallace was her longtime crush. He was a part of The Titans with his cousin, who was also named Wallace but who everyone called Wally.

Her face immediately went red. “That’s different! Wallace is a sweetheart, not the devil incarnate. He wouldn’t try anything. Damian one hundred percent will.”

I turned to look at Damian, who didn’t even bother denying it. He just shrugged, like yeah, and? I sighed and turned back to Emi. “I’m grown.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“That’s grown.”

“If you don’t come with me right now, I’m telling Cass.”

I froze, eyes widening.

Cassandra Cain wasn’t officially part of the Birds of Prey, but she was considered one by legacy. Her mom had co-founded the group with mine, and Cass had been raised in it. She was a lot older than me, so I’d always seen her as a big sister. And, unfortunately for me, she saw me as a little one.

And she was intense when it came to protecting me.

The first time I’d had a crush on a boy and told her about it, she ran a full background check on him and his entire family, then threatened to fight his mom if he ever broke my heart.

I never spoke to that boy again.

So if she were to ever find out me and Damian Wayne were involved she’d go fucking balastic. Especially since she’s friends with his older brothers and knows just how crazy the Waynes can be.

I squinted at Emi, trying to gauge how serious she was. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She held eye contact as she slowly pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Try me, bitch.”

…I slept in the guest room with Emi that night.

+++

The next day was all about locking down the plan. Emi eventually caved and agreed to let me go in—as long as she got to come with me. I didn’t argue. Two heads were better than one, and if things went south, I’d rather have her at my side than sitting outside with a sniper rifle.

At first, I suggested we go in as bottle girls. It made the most sense—employees always had easier access to restricted areas. But Damian shut that down immediately. Apparently, the bottle girls at the Iceberg Lounge weren’t just bottle girls; they were also the women Falcone personally trafficked through the club. Meaning, if we walked in pretending to be part of his operation, he’d clock us instantly.

That left us with one option: we’d have to sell ourselves as high rollers, someone important enough to get invited into Falcone’s VIP lounge.

That part was easy. Emi was the sister of a multi-millionaire, and Damian was the heir to a billion-dollar empire. They had enough money to make anyone believe we were worth paying attention to.

It also helped that, on the same night we planned to sneak in, Tim Drake’s superstar girlfriend was set to make an appearance. The club was going to be swarming with new faces—partygoers who wouldn’t normally be there, all trying to get a glimpse of Lyric Kane. We could blend into that crowd without raising suspicion.

The only hiccup? Tim initially refused to help. He didn’t want to put Lyric in danger, especially since she’d just gotten out of her stalker situation. But after talking to her, he changed his mind. Apparently, she was bored and looking for an excuse to bring out “Sugar Pop” again.

Whatever the hell a Sugar Pop was.

But Lyric’s presence worked in our favor in more ways than one. Because of her, the Iceberg Lounge would be crawling with Young Justice operatives. Tim had already worked it out with Cobblepot—his guys would be allowed in the club as long as they didn’t start trouble. So, if me and Emi ran into any problems, we’d have layers of backup waiting in the wings.

The only downside? Cobblepot himself was going to be in attendance that night. Meaning Falcone would be on his best behavior. But Damian and Tim assured us that if one of us could distract Cobblepot, Falcone wouldn’t be able to help himself.

The man lived to run his mouth. All we had to do was give him the right push.

“Don’t let Lyric get involved at all,” Tim warned over the phone.

Me, Emi, Jon, Jamie, and Damian were all crowded around Damian’s phone, which was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, blasting Tim’s voice through the speaker.

“We won’t,” Damian assured him, arms crossed like he was already getting irritated by the questioning.

“She’s gonna try and get involved. Ignore her. She thinks that mafia life is exciting and fun. I’m trying to convince her otherwise but it’s slow going right now. I’m letting you know right here and now, If anything happens to Lyric because of you guys, you’re all dead. And I mean that literally. I will personally kill you.”

A shudder ran up my spine. I’d never heard a threat so heavy before. It wasn’t empty, it wasn't something said just to scare someone into obedience. He meant it.

I glanced at Damian, expecting at least a flicker of unease, but he didn’t even look fazed. If anything, he seemed bored.

“She’ll be fine,” he repeated, sounding done with the conversation.

“She better be,” Tim muttered. There was some shuffling on his end before he added, “Oh, and since she’s performing in Gotham, the other girls are coming too. Watch out for them.”

“Isis?” Damian asked immediately, his posture straightening.

Something sharp twisted in my chest. Who the fuck is Isis? And why did he sound so happy about her showing up?

“All of them,” Tim confirmed, and I swore I heard the smirk in his voice. “Including Isis, yes.”

Damian didn’t respond fast enough before Tim chuckled and added, “She’s married, you know.”

“Die,” Damian muttered before hanging up the phone without another word.

I didn’t move. Even as everyone else started dispersing, talking about logistics, I stayed right where I was, staring at Damian while he pocketed his phone like nothing just happened.

His eyes flicked to me. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he murmured, narrowing his gaze.

Arms crossed, I tilted my head. “Who the fuck is Isis?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t take it back. Why was I so mad? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend.

Damian’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“I hope you’re not trying to hook up with me while you already have a bitch,” I snapped.

“She’s not a bitch watch your mouth,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “She’s my sister-in-law. She practically helped raise me when I first got to Gotham. Calm the fuck down.”

“Oh.” My arms dropped. That was… embarrassing. I definitely just overreacted for no reason.

“Also, did you not hear Tim say she’s fucking married?”

I shrugged, grasping at any excuse to defend my misplaced anger. “So? Your dad was known to go after married women sometimes. I assumed you took after him in that regard.”

Damian’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing like I’d just spat in his face. “Tink, what the fu—”

“Boss! Can we go over the plan one last time?” Jaime’s voice rang out from the living room, cutting him off before he could really get into it.

Damian sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he called back. “One second.”

Then he turned to me, eyes still sharp but now laced with something calmer, steadier. “You need to calm down. The past two days, you’ve been flying off the handle. First, you almost gut Jon for implying I had a fiancée, then you almost gut me for just imagining I’m seeing someone. The only person I am involved with right now is you. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

I frowned, my arms crossing tighter. “Sorry. I’m a bit crazy. My mom says I get it from her.”

“It’s fine.” He smirked, the frustration melting off him. “I can handle a bit of crazy.” Then, without another word, he steered us toward the living room where everyone else was waiting.

I sank into the couch next to Emi, still trying to shake off the weird embarrassment bubbling in my chest. Meanwhile, Damian stayed standing, his presence naturally commanding attention.

“What exactly do you need help with, Jaime?” he asked, looking down at his number three.

Jaime let out a heavy sigh. “Like… all of it.”

Damian rolled his eyes but still ran through the plan again. “This Friday night, Lyric is performing at the Iceberg Lounge. Her set starts at 8:30. Emiko and Samaira are going in at 8:00 to get the lay of the land beforehand. You and Jon are going in at 8:15 with my brother’s girls, acting as bodyguards. Which you sort of will be. But you’re also there to help out with anything Emiko and Samaira need. Roy will be there too since it’s not just Chanel and Isis, but also their friends.”

Jaime nodded, absorbing the information as Damian continued.

“Emiko and Samaira will buy out one of the most expensive sections to watch the show—the priciest one before it becomes VIP. Then they’ll order every expensive bottle, every overpriced dish, anything that’ll make them stand out. That should get Falcone’s and Cobblepot’s attention. Once we have their interest, Emiko will use that opportunity to distract Cobblepot while Samaira goes to the VIP section with Falcone.”

“I still think it should be me,” Emi grumbled beside me.

I smirked, but we both knew why I was going in instead. The main reason was the truth poison. My mom taught me about all sorts of poisons and concoctions, including a serum that functioned like truth serum. It didn’t actually force people to tell the truth—because that was impossible—but it did induce a hypnotic, trance-like state that made people more likely to answer questions honestly. The stronger the mind, the easier it was to resist, but it still gave me an edge. Plus, if something went wrong, I could defend myself.

“Okay, okay, I got all that,” Jaime said, nodding along. “But what I don’t get is how you guys are sneaking the weapons, poisons, and all that other shit through security.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, stretching out. “It’s coming in with us.”

Jaime blinked. “What?”

“Cobblepot knows that Tim’s guys will be armed, so we’ll get a free pass,” Jon explained. “We’re the only people all night who won’t get patted down. And if things go really sideways, I know a guy inside who can help us out.”

Jaime still looked skeptical. “And if something does go wrong?”

“That’s where I come in,” Damian said.

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up. “Meaning?”

Damian’s lips curled into something that definitely wasn’t a smile. “I’m gonna blow shit up.”

+++

Later that night, we all ended up at the beach. It was my idea—mostly because if we were going to risk our lives infiltrating the Iceberg Lounge, I at least wanted one night to pretend we were just normal college kids on spring break. I wasn’t ready to think about the fact that I’d have to sneak home, gather the materials for my truth potion without my mom noticing, and then get back out without raising suspicion. That was tomorrow’s problem.

Right now? Beach.

Me and Emi had made a last-minute Target run for swimsuits. Nothing fancy—just simple two-pieces that did the job. Mine was black with a halter neck, and Emi’s was deep green, which looked unfairly good on her. If we had more time, we probably could’ve found something better, but for something that cost twenty bucks, they were cute.

The beach was mostly empty, thanks to it being nearly ten at night, but that just made it better. No loud tourists. No screaming kids. Just us, the ocean, and the distant hum of the city behind us. Garfield got a bonfire going, Jaime set up a speaker, and Karen—bless her—showed up with an obscene amount of snacks. The whole thing had that classic coming-of-age movie feel, like the kind of night people reminisce about years later.

I was sitting on a towel with Emi, Rachel, and Karen while the boys ran up and down the shore, tossing a ball around. The conversation was easy, casual, the kind of thing I should have been paying attention to—except Damian was shirtless, and my brain was not that strong.

His skin was golden under the firelight, muscles shifting effortlessly as he moved. He was fast, too—dipping and weaving between Jaime and Jon, dodging tackles with this infuriating ease, his smirk sharp every time he got the upper hand. It wasn’t fair. How was he that good-looking and that irritating at the same time?

“Sami!”

I jumped at the sound of my name and snapped my head toward Emiko, who was eyeing me with something between amusement and exasperation.

“Huh? Yes?”

“Did you hear me?” she asked. “I was asking how classes were going.”

“Oh!” My face burned as I scrambled to cover my obvious distraction. “Uh, yeah, they’re good! I have a final due soon—designing a dress that could fit in any era. It’s hard, but fun.”

Emiko squinted at me, unimpressed. “Mhm. Cool story about your final, but let’s not skip past the fact that you were ogling Damian so hard you weren’t even present in this conversation.”

Rachel snorted. Karen shook her head.

I groaned, flopping back onto my towel. “Okay, sorry. But he’s fine as hell.”

A collective ugh rose from the group.

“What?!” I yelled, laughing as I sat up again. “You mean to tell me he’s not cute?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “He’s Damian. That negates any attractiveness.”

“Exactly.” Karen took a sip of her soda, unimpressed. “It’s like finding a really nice-looking dress and then realizing it’s cursed.”

I gasped, grinning. “So you do think he’s nice-looking.”

“I’m saying theoretically,” Karen corrected, side-eyeing me. “Like, if he weren’t him. But he is, so it cancels out.”

Emiko laughed. “You don’t notice because you’re down so bad it’s fucking blinding you.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged, unapologetic. My eyes drifted back to Damian, who was now sitting in the sand, catching his breath as Jon talked animatedly beside him. His hair was tousled from the wind, and even from here, I could see the way his chest rose and fell steadily.

Yeah. I was in trouble.

Chapter Text

Laying in bed that night, I was wide awake, my brain running a million miles a minute as I tried to map out how I could steal all the ingredients I needed from my mom without getting caught. It had to be perfect—quick, quiet, and subtle enough that she wouldn't even realize anything was missing. If she did, it'd be over. She'd know exactly who took them, and I'd be in for the kind of lecture that made a person rethink all their life choices.

I was so deep in my scheming that the sudden ding of my phone nearly made me jump out of my skin. My heart hammered. It was definitely past 2 AM, so unless something was on fire or someone was dying, there was no reason for anyone to be texting me right now.

I reached blindly over the side of the bed, fumbling around for my phone on the floor. I was careful not to wake Emiko—she was a heavy sleeper, but I wasn't about to risk it. Finally, my fingers closed around my phone, and I pulled it up to my face, squinting at the screen.

It was Damian.

U up?

I sat up immediately, suddenly very awake.

Yeah, I typed back, hitting send before I could second-guess myself.

Was that too fast? Did I look desperate? Whatever. Too late now.

A few seconds later, another message popped up.

Door's unlocked.

I was out of bed so fast I nearly took myself out. I tossed off my oversized sweatshirt and baggy sleep pants, yanking on a pair of shorts and a fitted tank top instead. There was no way in hell I was letting Damian see me looking like someone's grandma.

Then I bolted to the bathroom, grabbed the mouthwash, and gargled a shit ton of it. I hadn't been asleep, but sleep breath was a thing I was terrified of, and I was not taking any chances. Once I was satisfied my mouth didn't smell like the inside of a grave, I ran damp fingers over my hair, adjusting the boho pieces of my braids until they looked decent. Cute, but not like I tried too hard.

Satisfied, I slipped out of the bedroom, moving as quietly as possible. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I speed-walked down the hall to Damian's room, only stopping when I reached his door.

Do I knock?

I hovered there, debating my next move like an idiot. He did say the door was unlocked, which probably meant just to walk in, right? If he wanted me to knock, he would've said so.

After a second of hesitation, I just went for it, cracking the door open and slipping inside.

Damian was sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, one leg bent while the other stretched out in front of him. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp jawline, the faint crease in his brow, the way his dark hair fell just slightly over his forehead.

For a second, he didn't look at me—his gaze was fixed out the window, lost in thought. It gave me way too much time to stare at him, to take in the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his forearm flexed as he absentmindedly drummed his fingers against his knee.

Then he turned his head, catching me in the doorway.

His eyes flicked over me once, dark and unreadable, before settling on my face.

"You gonna stand there all night?" he asked, voice low and even.

I swallowed, forcing my feet to move. "Shut up," I muttered, closing the door behind me.

I walked over to the bed, my nerves wound so tight it felt like they might snap at any moment. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I had faced danger before—actual life-or-death situations—but this? Being alone with Damian, being close to him? It made my heart race in a way I wasn't sure I'd survive.

The room felt smaller somehow, the air heavier as I stopped beside the bed where he was sitting. The glow of the bedside lamp cast deep shadows over his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes. I was barely standing there for a second before he hooked an arm around my waist and hauled me onto the bed with zero warning.

A startled squeal left my lips as my feet left the ground, my hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. In a blink, I was straddling him, his hands steady on my waist.

I blinked down at him, breath catching. This man does not play fair.

"Relax," he murmured, voice low and smooth, like he wasn't the reason my heart was currently trying to break the sound barrier.

I shot him a glare, trying to will away the heat creeping up my neck. "Next time, warn me before you literally scoop me off the ground," I grumbled.

He had the nerve to grin, pressing his forehead against mine. "Sorry, pussy."

I smacked his arm. "Shut up."

His laugh was soft, amused—but then his expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes cooling into something sharper. "On Friday, when you get to that club, I don't want you flirting with anyone. Don't talk to anyone unless it's a waiter or Falcone. Don't dance with anyone. Don't do anything with anyone unless it directly relates to the plan."

His voice wasn't loud, wasn't angry, but there was something in it. Something final. Something possessive. I liked it.

I raised a brow, tilting my head slightly. "Why not? What if it helps with the mission?"

His fingers flexed against my waist, grip tightening slightly. "Unless you want me to come in there and kill whoever the fuck you're talking to, you better not."

A shiver ran down my spine. Ugh, am I sick for finding that hot?

I smirked. "You're a bit possessive."

He arched a brow, gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes. "You're one to talk, Ms. 'you better not be trying to hook up with me if you already have a bitch.'"

My smirk dropped as I narrowed my eyes. "Maybe I will flirt at that club. Just so you know how it feels."

His expression darkened, something dangerous flickering in those green eyes. His grip on my waist tightened. "I dare you."

The tension between us stretched taut, thick enough to choke on. I didn't answer him. I just grinned, leaning in, letting the space between us vanish—

But just before our lips could touch, a thought yanked me back to reality.

"I have to be back in the room before morning," I murmured, reluctantly pulling back just enough to see his face clearly. "If Emi wakes up and I'm not there, she's going to kill me."

Damian barely reacted. He just stared at me, completely unbothered.

"That's not gonna happen," he said, voice steady.

It took me a second to catch his meaning, and when I did, my cheeks burned.

"It has to," I insisted. "She'll call Cass."

Damian shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "Then she'll call Cass. I'm not scared of her."

I scoffed. "First off, that's a damn lie. Second off, you might not be scared of her, but I sure am. So..." I trailed off, torn between self-preservation and the magnetic pull of him sitting beneath me. My heart was still pounding from how close we'd been, from the way his hands felt on my waist, from the heat rolling off him in waves.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, studying me. His jaw ticked, like he was debating something, "Fine." he murmured.

I should have climbed off him. I should have taken the out and gone back to my room like a responsible, self-preserving person. But I didn't. Because I'm an idiot. So I leaned in.

And finally—after what felt like an eternity—I kissed Damian Wayne again.

It was instant. That rush, that hit of euphoria, like I'd just taken a breath after being underwater for too long. I needed this. Needed him. And from the way his grip on my waist tightened, fingers digging into my skin just enough to make me feel it, I knew he felt it too.

His lips moved against mine, slow at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment. But then I sighed into him, tilting my head to get closer, and that was all it took.

The shift was seamless—suddenly, he wasn't just kissing me, he was claiming me. One hand slid up my spine, fingers curling around the back of my neck, while the other gripped my waist like he was keeping me right there, exactly where he wanted me. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like I was afraid he'd disappear if I let go.

His lips parted just enough for his teeth to scrape against my lower lip, and god—I felt that everywhere. My stomach tightened, heat rushing through me like a live wire.

I gasped softly, and he felt that too.

Damian groaned low in his throat, and in one swift motion, he flipped us—pressing me down against the mattress, caging me beneath him. His body was warm, solid, his weight perfect on top of mine.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his green eyes dark and sharp, like he was daring me to tell him to stop.

I didn't.

Instead, I pulled him back down, and he met me halfway, crashing his lips into mine again, like he couldn't stand the space between us. I'm so glad I went to that fucking party.

+++

I snuck out of Damian's room at exactly 8 a.m. on the dot. The last thing I needed was Emiko waking up and realizing I'd been gone all night. Luckily, I managed to slip back into our shared room just as she stirred, stretching with a sleepy groan.

"Morning," I mumbled, crawling into bed and pulling the covers up, pretending I'd been there the whole time.

"Mm," she hummed, still half-asleep. "Where'd you go?"

I faked a yawn. "Bathroom."

She didn't question it, just rolled over and went back to sleep. Mission accomplished.

+++

Now, standing at my front door, I was filled to the brim with nerves.

Reason number one: I had a shit ton of hickeys, very badly hidden under layers of makeup. I told Damian not to do it. I specifically said, don't leave marks where I can't cover them. And what did he do? The exact opposite. My neck was a disaster zone, and I was wearing a ridiculously long skirt to hide the one he left on my inner thigh. Because how the fuck was I supposed to explain that if my mom saw it?

Reason number two: I was here to rob my mother.

The same mother who took me in after I was abandoned on her doorstep. The mother who raised me, cared for me, and shielded me from the dangers of her own world. The mother who, despite being overly protective, had only ever done so out of love.

And now I was about to break into her stash and steal from her like a criminal.

I am going to hell.

I took a deep breath, forcing the guilt deep, deep down, and knocked on the door.

It took a second, but eventually, it swung open.

My mom was a gorgeous woman—always had been. The kind of beauty that turned heads in every room she walked into. The hair, the body, the presence—it was obvious. But to me, she was just... Mom. And every time I saw her, I didn't just see beauty. I saw love.

"Sami!" She grinned wide, barely giving me a second before pulling me into a tight hug.

I melted instantly.

"My baby! I thought you said you wanted to stay on campus for spring break?" She ran a hand over my hair, the same way she had when I was little. That soft, rhythmic motion that always made me feel small and safe.

I laughed, hugging her back just as tightly. "Hi, Momma. Surprise! I decided to take a little day off from midterms to visit."

I am so going to hell.

She led me inside, and we made our way to the plant-infested living room. Every room in the house had at least two plants—some hanging from the ceiling, others resting on windowsills, and a few in massive pots that were practically furniture at this point. But the living room? That was my mom's sanctuary.

The air was thick with the scent of soil and fresh leaves, the space buzzing softly with the sound of a small, decorative water fountain in the corner. Sunlight filtered in through sheer curtains, casting warm, golden rays over a monstera with leaves the size of my head. A massive fiddle-leaf fig stretched toward the ceiling, and ivy curled around the bookshelves like nature was slowly trying to reclaim the house.

But as much as she loved this room, her true sanctuary was the greenhouse.

And that was exactly where I needed to go.

We sat on the couch, facing each other, her gaze sharp but affectionate as she studied me.

"So," she started, settling into the cushions, "how's your spring semester going? I feel like I've barely heard from you since you went to that party all those weeks ago." Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Did you meet a boy and forget all about me?"

Yes. No. Kind of.

"No, Momma," I lied smoothly. "If I did, you'd know. I've just been busy. Midterms and stuff." I fiddled with one of my bangles, twisting it around my wrist.

She made a sound in the back of her throat like she didn't quite believe me but let it go. "I understand." A pause. Then— "So, no boyfriend yet, huh?"

"Nope." I shook my head.

"Girlfriend?"

"Not one of those either."

She hummed, considering, then wiggled her eyebrows. "That means you're single and ready to mingle."

I groaned, already knowing where this was going. "I am not going on a date with Alec Holland."

"Why not?!"

Alec Holland. The plant nerd my mom met in one of her Facebook plant-lover groups. He was my age, apparently very handsome, and according to her, the sweetest boy alive. But I absolutely did not want to date a guy who got along so well with my mother that they exchanged hydrangea care tips like pen pals.

I wanted someone... more.

Someone who made my heart race. Someone who was dangerous in a way that excited me.

Anyways, I'm getting off track.

"He's a nerd, Mom," I said flatly.

She gasped, smacking my arm lightly. "He's a sweetheart!"

"That doesn't negate him being a dork."

Mom sighed dramatically, her fingers grazing over the leaves of a potted pothos beside her like she needed its strength. "I just want you to meet a nice boy. Settle down."

I rolled my eyes. "Mom—"

"I just think..." she hesitated, looking down at her hands, then met my gaze, more serious now. "Maybe if you found someone who wasn't in this life, you could get out. Be normal. Away from all this danger."

My chest tightened at that.

"But Mom," I said, softer this time, "I want to be here. I want to help you run the Birds of Prey. I like the idea of being in a group of badass women assassins."

She exhaled slowly, her lips pressing together. "And that's my fault," she murmured. "I didn't shield you like I was supposed to."

I hated the regret in her voice. Hated the way she looked at me like she wished she could go back and change things.

She didn't realize, I never wanted normal.

"Let's not get into that right now." I sighed, rubbing my palms against my skirt. The last thing I wanted was for her to sink into regret over the way she raised me. Because in all honesty? I loved the choices she made. I loved the life she gave me.

I cleared my throat and forced a bright tone into my voice. "Could I go into the greenhouse real fast and look at some flowers? Maybe even take some with me? I'm making a new pattern for my textiles class, and I think the greenhouse would give me good inspo."

Her entire face lit up, and it made me feel like shit.

"Of course!" she said, practically beaming. "Go right ahead! Take your time, too—I'll be here."

I hesitated. "You... you're not coming with?"

She shook her head, reaching for the tea on the coffee table. "Nah. I know how you get with your creative process and whatnot. You like to be alone in your thoughts. I'll be right here when you come back."

God, that made me feel even worse. She trusted me to go in there alone. And I was about to rob her.

I forced a shaky grin and stood up, clutching my tote bag tighter than necessary. "Alrighty. I'll be back before you know it."

The second I stepped into the backyard, the warm morning air wrapped around me. The greenhouse stood ahead, massive, nearly swallowing up the entire 3,000-square-foot yard. We'd had more than a few cops show up over the years, thanks to this thing. From the outside, it definitely looked like my mom was running a small-scale weed empire.

She wasn't.

She was growing plants much, much more dangerous.

I pulled the glass door open, and a wave of humidity and earthy scents crashed into me. The air inside was thick, damp, alive—like the greenhouse was breathing along with the plants. A mix of rich soil, citrusy florals, and something sharp—almost medicinal—hit my nose.

I wasted no time.

Moving quickly, I weaved between rows of lush greenery, ducking under hanging vines and sidestepping pots filled with plants that could absolutely kill a person if they were used incorrectly. I carefully pruned each one I needed, making sure to cut them in a way that my mom hopefully wouldn't notice for a while. Every delicate snip sent a fresh wave of guilt rolling through me. But I buried it, shoving it deep, deep down where I wouldn't have to deal with it.

Once I had everything, I made sure to cover my tracks. I snapped a few pictures of the less lethal, more visually appealing flowers—soft peonies, delicate lilies, the clusters of lavender she liked to grow for the scent. To make it look like I had just been inspired and not actively committing a betrayal.

Finally, I stuffed a few clippings of her peonies into my bag for good measure.

The whole thing took less than fifteen minutes.

By the time I stepped back inside, I felt hot with nerves, but I forced my face into something neutral. Maybe even excited. I settled onto the couch and flashed a wide, totally fake smile.

"Look!" I said, pulling out my phone and showing her the pictures I took. "I love the color on these peonies. I think I could do something really cool with them."

I spun some completely made-up idea about a floral-patterned skirt or dress, nodding along as I spoke, like I wasn't actively lying to my mother's face. But now? Now, I actually had to make something. If only to ease the guilt that was pressing against my ribs.

We talked for a while after that, letting the conversation shift into safer topics—mundane things, life updates, funny stories about the ridiculous customers she dealt with at her flower shop (the cover she used to launder all the money she got from killing people). I let myself relax, just a little, soaking in the warmth of the moment.

But eventually, after maybe an hour, I checked the time and forced myself to stand.

I had to go back.

"Aww, already? I feel like you just got here." Mom pouted, crossing her arms like she could physically stop me from leaving.

"I know, I know," I said, forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry, Mom. I just have to get back to work. Only wanted to have a quick pop-in."

We walked to the door together, her presence warm and familiar beside me. The house smelled like home—like jasmine, fresh-brewed tea, and the faintest hint of soil from the backyard. I committed it to memory, just in case.

As I stepped down the front stairs, she lingered in the doorway. "Do you need a ride?" she asked, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"No, that's alright," I assured her. "I took the bus, and I wanted to walk a little anyway. Enjoy the weather."

She gave me a knowing smile, one that said she understood my need for space, but also that she still worried. "Okay, baby," she said softly. "Text me when you get home."

"I will."

She hesitated for half a second, then reached out and squeezed my hand. "Bye, Sami."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my voice to stay steady. "Bye, Mom."

I turned and walked away, putting in my headphones before my emotions could get the best of me. Erykah Badu and Floetry flowed through my ears—classic, earthy Black girl music that felt like a hug from the universe itself.

I walked a block away, keeping my pace casual even as my heart pounded. I actually got away with it.

Then, up ahead, I spotted Damian's sleek black sports car idling at the curb, looking like something out of a crime thriller.

I rushed toward it, practically throwing myself inside. The second the door shut, my whole body sagged in relief.

"You got the stuff?" Damian asked, his voice low, eyes sharp as he glanced at me.

I nodded, opening my tote just enough for him to see the carefully packed clippings and vials.

His grin was instant. "Good job."

Before I could roll my eyes, he grabbed my chin and pulled me into a fast, chaste kiss.

"Now," he said, voice practically buzzing with excitement, "let's go back to my place and make poison." His eyes lit up like a kid who just found out Christmas was coming early.

I barely had time to process that before he shifted gears, and suddenly, we were speeding off. As we drove past my house, I caught a glimpse through the window—just for a second. Mom was inside, making herself another cup of tea, completely at peace.

And my heart ached.

I hoped she could forgive me when she realized what I had done. I had to believe she would. It was for a good cause, after all. Ruining Falcone? That was probably the best cause there was.

I sighed and leaned back in the seat, gripping my tote a little tighter. I forced myself to push the guilt aside and focus on what came next.

We had work to do.

Chapter Text

For the next six hours, Damian's kitchen looked like a full-blown crack den. The counters were cluttered with makeshift equipment, the air was thick with the sharp, almost medicinal scent of crushed herbs and chemicals, and the sink was full of stained glassware. I was synthesizing two poisons, which would've been fine if I had a proper lab—but Damian, for all his money and resources, did not have the right setup.

So, I was forced to improvise. Pots and pans became reaction vessels. Glass cups held volatile mixtures. A few small tools—some syringes, a Bunsen burner, a glass stirring rod—Damian had managed to swipe from the campus bio lab while I was with my mom. Bless him for that. But it was still a mess, and I had to work with the precision of a surgeon to make sure nothing got contaminated.

People kept drifting in and out of the kitchen, probably drawn by the very concerning setup. Mostly, it was Karen and Jaime, popping their heads in every twenty minutes to ask what the hell I was doing, only to get a sharp, "Don't touch anything," in response. Eventually, they gave up and just watched from a distance, whispering to each other like I was a mad scientist in the middle of a breakthrough. But I was so locked in that I barely registered their presence.

Once I was done, I carefully poured the finished poisons into empty drugstore lipstick tubes—just like my mom used to do.

The first lipstick contained the mind control poison. When applied, it worked like a hypnotic agent—whoever I kissed while wearing it would be left dazed, their mind open and pliable, willing to answer any question I asked with little resistance. The only downside? It only worked if the victim was already very relaxed. The more paranoid or sharp-minded someone was, the harder it would be to take effect. Hopefully, Falcone had a weak enough mind for it to work.

The second lipstick? Just straight-up poison. No tricks, no mind games—just a slow, agonizing death. The formula started as a paralytic, locking up the muscles so the victim couldn't move. Then, over the course of a few minutes, it would begin shutting down the lungs. A slow, suffocating death, all while the victim was fully aware of what was happening.

This one was my mom's signature.

If you ever read about a sleazy businessman or a corrupt congressman dropping dead under mysterious circumstances, and the only thing left behind was a lipstick mark on his cheek? Yeah. That was her.

Jaime's nervous voice cut through the heavy air of the kitchen. "And how do you make sure you don't drop dead when you put that on again, Samaira?"

I sighed and pulled off my mask, running a hand over my face before answering. "I made sure to include my DNA in the mixture. It won't affect me. It'll act like a virus that I'm the only person immune to. Well, me and anyone who shares my genetic makeup." I placed the lipsticks down on Damian's counter, carefully spacing them apart so they could cool. "Make sure no one touches that, or they'll die," I warned, my voice firm as I tossed my mask aside. "I need a shower."

Jaime and Karen stared at the lipsticks like they might explode at any moment, neither of them daring to move. I had to bite back a smile as I breezed past them, feeling grimy and exhausted. The smell of chemicals clung to my skin, soaking into my clothes like a second layer. I reeked of antiseptic and bitter herbs, and I needed to wash it all off before it stuck permanently.

I made my way to the guest bathroom, but just as I was about to step inside, the devil himself appeared.

Damian was exiting his room at the same time, his sharp green eyes landing on me immediately. He tilted his head slightly, a smug smirk already pulling at his lips. "You done?"

"Yeah, just finished," I muttered, shifting my weight against the doorframe. "The lipsticks are cooling on your counter right now, so make sure no one touches them. Especially the red one. That's the poison."

"Got it." He nodded but didn't move, still watching me in that way that made me feel like I was under a microscope. Then, his smirk widened. "Are you about to shower?"

I nodded.

His voice dipped, teasing. "Need company?"

I shut the door in his face.

His cackling echoed through the hallway as he walked away, clearly very pleased with himself. He played too damn much. But underneath the teasing, I could tell what this was. I wasn't stupid. I was something fun for him right now, something to entertain him while we were caught up in all this Falcone business. But once it was over? I wasn't naive enough to think he'd still be interested.

I sighed, ruffling my hair. Whatever. I'd enjoy it while it lasted. He was fine, I was fine—we'd have fun. I needed fun.

I turned the shower on, cranking the water hot enough to burn away the layer of chemicals on my skin. I scrubbed thoroughly, making sure no trace of my work lingered. I'd learned the hard way that if you didn't wash well enough, the smell stuck—and I didn't need to be walking around campus smelling like a damn lab. The steam curled around me, loosening the tension in my muscles as I worked the soap over my skin, washing away every last trace of antiseptic and bitter herbs.

Once I was sure I was clean, I stepped out and wrapped myself in one of Damian's ridiculously plush white towels. His whole penthouse screamed 'spoiled rich kid,' but I couldn't lie—these towels were top-tier. I changed into something comfortable: plaid sleep pants and a black tank top, the fabric soft against my freshly scrubbed skin.

Feeling refreshed, I opened the bedroom door, fully ready to go clean up the disaster I left in the kitchen only to nearly walk straight into Damian.

"Jesus—" I clutched my chest, glaring up at him. "You scared the shit out of me."

He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my lips. "Don't get mad at me."

My eyes narrowed instantly. "What happened? Did someone touch my stuff? If they're dead, that has nothing to do with me. I told y'all not to touch it."

Damian chuckled, shaking his head. "No one's dead. It's something else."

I crossed my arms. "What?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "Before I tell you, you have to promise me you'll be nice."

My stomach twisted. That didn't sound good. "What happened?"

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking mildly uncomfortable before finally saying, "My brothers' girls are here. They wanna meet you."

I went still.

My heart dropped into my ass.

That meant Isis was here.

Damian's first love.

I had asked around about her, trying to figure out what Damian's weird fixation was, and the only person willing to spill was Jon. And Jon, being the asshole that he was, probably did it just to hurt me. And it had hurt. More than I wanted to admit.

"Why?" I forced the question out, keeping my voice neutral.

Damian shrugged. "Fuck if I know. But, Tink, you have to promise to be nice." He meant be nice to Isis.

I stared at him for a long beat, my jaw tight. Then, I inhaled slowly through my nose and exhaled just as carefully.

Fine, I can be nice. I forced a tight smile. "Yeah. I promise."

His eyes scanned my face. "Why don't I believe you?"

I shrugged, not trusting my voice to keep steady. I wasn't about to let him see how much this was affecting me. Instead, I pushed past him, heading toward the living room with stiff shoulders and a tight jaw. Damian followed closely behind, his presence an unsettling heat at my back. I could feel the tension rolling off him, like he was bracing for impact. That only pissed me off more.

Damian Wayne didn't get nervous. Damian Wayne didn't get anxious. He was calculated, always five steps ahead, always in control. But now? He was on edge. And it wasn't because of me. It was because of her. Isis.

The jealousy hit me like a sucker punch. I hated that I felt it. Hated that it twisted in my chest, clawing at my ribs like something alive. I had no right to be mad. I knew what this was between me and him—knew it had an expiration date. But still, seeing him act like this over another girl made my stomach churn.

When I walked into the living room, I was immediately met with the sight of three women I had never met before. Well—one I had never met. One I had seen all over the news, the other on every billboard in Gotham.

The first was Chanel Pierce. And really, I would've had to be living under a rock not to recognize her. The best lawyer on the East Coast. A woman who carried herself like she knew she was untouchable—and she wasn't wrong. With a husband who ran the second-largest mafia in the country and a father-in-law who allegedly adored her, Chanel Pierce didn't have to lift a damn finger to protect herself. If anything happened to her, the world would burn for it. And that was before you even considered her record. She had never lost a case in her five-year career. Not once.

The second woman was Lyric Kane. Even if I wasn't a huge pop fan, I still knew who she was. She was everywhere. Two-time Grammy winner. The biggest pop star alive. Her latest album had dropped three weeks ago, and it was still sitting at number one. And honestly? I couldn't even be mad about it. She was good. Even I had a few of her songs downloaded.

She was just as striking in person. Tall, with light brown skin and long, butt-length boho braids that cascaded down her back like flowing water. They shifted with every movement, catching the light just right. She looked like she belonged on a stage, even here, surrounded by hardened criminals.She was mesmerizing. The League guys in the room were all staring at her, probably half in awe, half in lust.

Well—everyone but Damian.

His gaze wasn't on Chanel. Wasn't on Lyric.

It was on the girl in the middle.

My eyes locked onto her.

Her.

Isis.

My stomach clenched.

She was beautiful. Of course she was beautiful. And I hated that she was beautiful.

She wasn't thin like Chanel or tall like Lyric. She was soft, curvy—thick in a way that looked good on her. Like she knew how to dress for her body, knew how to carry herself in a way that made people take notice. She had warm, expressive eyes and a soft smile, the kind that made her seem approachable. Gentle, even.

Her skin was dark, but not as deep as Chanel's, falling somewhere between my brown skin and hers. And her hair—tighter, coarser coils that framed her face in a way that made her look even softer. She was the exact opposite of me.

And she was exactly what Damian liked.

I clenched my fists and forced my expression into something neutral, something unreadable. I had promised to be nice.

Lyric spotted me first, her entire face lighting up as she practically sprung up from the couch. "You must be Samaira! Hi! It's so nice to meet you!"

Before I could even get a word out, she had already closed the distance between us, wrapping me in a hug so tight it felt like she was trying to squeeze the air from my lungs.

Chanel sighed, not even looking up from where she sat. "Yeah, sorry. She's a hugger."

"I am," Lyric giggled, finally letting me go.

I exhaled a small laugh, adjusting my shirt where it had bunched up from the force of her grip. "It's fine. I don't mind."

From the couch, Chanel waved lazily in my direction. "I'm Chanel."

I waved back. "Nice to meet you."

"The Matriarch," Jon snickered from behind her.

Chanel didn't even hesitate. She whipped around so fast her braids snapped through the air, leveling him with a glare so deadly that his smirk dropped instantly. He coughed and stood up straighter. "Sorry."

"That's what I thought." She muttered, turning back around like nothing happened.

I snickered at Jon's stricken expression. Good. That's what he gets for being a dickhead.

Next up was Isis.

I had to force myself to keep my expression neutral as she stood, schooling my features into something polite. Pleasant. The last thing I needed was for anyone to see the way my stomach twisted when she held out her hand with that warm, open smile.

"Hi, I'm Isis. It's nice to finally meet you, Samaira."

God, even her voice was pretty.

What didn't she have?

I hesitated for what was definitely longer than normal before I took her hand and shook it, hoping no one caught the stiffness in my movements. "Hi. Nice to meet you too." It came out more clipped than I intended.

The moment our hands separated, Chanel groaned, exasperated. "Okay. Which one of you assholes told her?"

Immediately, all eyes in the room swung toward Jon.

He barely even looked guilty. Just shrugged. "She asked."

I blinked, confused. "Told me what?"

"That Damian used to have a crush on Isis," Chanel said bluntly. The room froze. Me and Isis both flinched at how casually she threw that out there. Like it was nothing. "No need to test the waters now, we got what we came for. She knows."

"Huh?" Damian's voice came from behind me, filled with confusion.

Chanel didn't even look at him. Her focus stayed on me and Isis, her expression unreadable. "Ever since we all found out about your girlfriend from Tim, Isis has been on high alert. She thinks you're gonna pop out of the bushes one day and slit her throat."

My mouth dropped open. "What the fuck?"

"Nel! Don't say it like that!" Lyric hissed, her voice panicked.

"What? Why beat around the bush?" Chanel leaned back on the couch, looking entirely unbothered. "I have shit to do. Now that we know, we can go."

Isis turned to me, her eyes wide and genuinely distressed. "I promise you, I have no romantic feelings towards Damian, and he outgrew his crush on me over a decade ago. He was ten, and I was a girl who wasn't related to him and was nice to him. That's all it was. Please don't poison me."

My eyebrows shot up. "Why would I poison you—"

"So you all came over here for that? Seriously?" Karen cackled from across the room, standing next to a doubled-over Jaime, who looked like he was about to pass out from laughing too hard.

"Yes," Chanel said simply, standing up and brushing nonexistent lint off her clothes. "Isis was too scared to come alone. And when she asked Damian about it, all he did was say, 'she won't kill you' and then ask about the twins. So we had to come with her and scope it out."

"Lord, this is hilarious," Jaime wheezed.

I turned my attention fully back to Isis, sighing. "I am not going to kill you. I was never planning on killing you. I honestly do not just kill for sport." I paused, wincing a little. "Sorry I was so... stoic toward you. I have problems."

Isis let out a soft, hesitant chuckle. "That's okay. As long as you don't try to kill me."

Before I could respond, Chanel turned back toward Jon and glared so fiercely that even I had to fight the urge to take a step back.

"Why the fuck are you starting problems?"

Jon blinked. "I wasn't! She asked—"

She cut him off. "Yeah, and I'm sure she asked every other person in this room first before coming to you. But they all told her jack shit because they could read the situation. Did you want to make her mad? Make her lose her shit and actually hurt Isis?"

Jon opened his mouth, but whatever excuse he was about to make died in his throat. "I never—"

"You were so consumed in your weird hatred of her that you didn't think." Chanel's voice was sharp, each word landing like a slap. "God, you're an asshole. Me, you, and Clark will have a talk about your role in this organization if you ever pull some dumb shit like this again."

Jon nodded mutely, his usual cocky demeanor gone. But Chanel wasn't done.

"Actually, should I tell Jason who it was that put his precious wife and the mother of his two kids in danger?"

Jon paled.

"Chanel..." Lyric murmured softly, touching her sister-in-law's arm.

"No." Chanel didn't even glance at her. Her focus stayed locked on Jon like a predator keeping its prey pinned in place. "He needs to understand that what he thought was a harmless prank was not harmless. You're not a kid anymore, Jon. You're nineteen years old. Grow up."

Jon swallowed hard, nodding again.

The silence that followed was thick, stretching through the room like a storm cloud ready to burst.

Lyric burst it with a clap and a bright smile. "Well, that was awkward. Anyone wanna come with us to a small party I'm hosting tonight?"

All hands in the room went up.

"Great!" She beamed. "Let's go!"

Chapter Text

I'm not sure what Lyric's idea of small is, but this party sure wasn't mine. The club was packed. Bodies on bodies, shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with heat, perfume, and the electric thrum of bass-heavy music. The flashing neon lights overhead strobed across the crowd, catching on sequins, sweat, and the gleam of expensive watches.

Lyric was center stage, absolutely owning it. Her voice poured over the dance floor like honey, rich and commanding, her braids swinging as she moved in time with the music. The audience was devoted—swaying, reaching, screaming the lyrics back at her like a choir in a church of rhythm.

I was in the back, comfortably posted up in our VIP section, people-watching as usual. No drinks, no dancing, just observing—the way the club pulsed with life, the way some people moved in sync with each other while others were on completely different beats. Damian sat next to me, his arm slung over my shoulders, exuding a silent but unmistakable threat to any guy who so much as glanced in my direction. Every time a man got within five feet of our section, Damian's glare locked onto them like a sniper scope, daring them to take another step closer.

And I liked it. A lot.

No—loved it.

It wasn't exactly in line with my mother's women-don't-need-men ideology. She was all about independence, self-sufficiency, standing on your own without waiting for some guy to swoop in and "protect" you. I agreed with her. In theory. But in practice? There was something about Damian's possessiveness, the way his hold on me was both casual and firm, like he was staking a claim without even needing to say a word. It made my stomach flip in a way I wasn't sure I wanted to unpack just yet.

Still, I was getting bored. Watching everyone else have fun while I just sat here felt like being a spectator at my own life. So I turned to Damian and yelled over the music, "I'm gonna go to the bar and get some water!"

His grip on me tightened. Immediately.

"Nah, I'll get it." He didn't even look at me when he said it, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

"Damian, it's two steps away."

"I don't care." His voice was clipped. "I don't like how the bartender was looking at you."

I followed his gaze to the bartender—who, for the record, was very obviously gay—then turned back to Damian with a deadpan expression. "I'm pretty sure he just likes my top."

"Or what's under your top," he muttered. Then, louder, "Stay here, Tink. Don't talk to anyone who isn't me or the guys from the League."

"Got it, dad," I snarked, rolling my eyes.

He ignored the jab, gave me a long, assessing look—like he was debating whether I could be trusted to sit still for two minutes—then, with visible reluctance, unwrapped his arm from around me and made his way to the bar.

I sighed, settling back into my seat and smoothing my hands over my dress—a brown bodycon number that hugged my curves just right, layered under a cropped mesh top. Simple but cute, as Karen had called it when she tossed me the black sandal heels I borrowed from her. My hair was out in a soft, rounded fro, framing my face the way I liked. A solid look.

I let my eyes wander back to the stage, watching as Lyric worked the crowd like she was born for this, when—

"Hi, gorgeous."

I froze.

Slowly, I turned my head to the voice, expecting—hoping—that maybe someone had leaned in a little too close while trying to talk to the person next to me.

But no.

There he was. A white guy, mid-twenties at best, with dark hair, an awful spray tan, and a stupid graphic tee that read: F.B.I.—Federal Boobie Inspector.

I blinked.

Then, just to be absolutely sure, I turned my head again, scanning the area behind me. Maybe—maybe—some poor girl was standing directly in my blind spot.

"I'm talking to you." He chuckled—actual, literal chuckling—and slid into the booth next to me like he had a right to be there. He leaned in, flashing a grin that probably worked on drunk girls with questionable taste. "I'm Kai. What's your name?"

I stared at him for a solid three seconds, then let out the flattest, most uninterested response I could muster.

"You shouldn't talk to me. My man kills people."

Kai laughed. Laughed. Like I had just told the world's funniest joke instead of giving him a very real warning.

"I'm sure he does," he said, still grinning.

This man had a death wish.

"I am trying to save your life. Leave." I pressed my hands against his chest and shoved, but Kai barely budged. Instead, he grabbed my wrists and peeled them off him with a grin that made my skin crawl.

"Ouu, feisty. I like it."

I grimaced. "Sir—"

"Kai."

"Right, whatever. Kai," I said, voice dripping with disinterest. "I am so serious when I say that my man will fuck you up. Badly. He's in the mafia." I snatched my hands away, resisting the urge to wipe them on my dress like touching him had physically tainted me.

Kai rolled his eyes. "Every girl in Gotham says their man is in the mafia. Unless he's a Wayne, I really don't care."

I crossed my arms. "He is."

That set him off—he threw his head back and howled with laughter, like I'd just told him the punchline to the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "Right. Of course. Listen sweet thing, if you're just too shy to talk, don't worry. We can convey our feelings without using words." His eyes darkened, his lips puckering slightly.

I wanted to throw up.

My mind raced, searching for the least dramatic way to shut this down before I had to explain to Damian why there was blood on my dress tonight. But before I could say anything—

A glass of water flew through the air straight at Kai's head.

Oh, God.

My eyes widened as instinct kicked in. At the last second, I grabbed a fistful of his cheap, over-gelled hair and yanked him down, narrowly dodging the impact. The glass exploded against the wall behind us, shards raining onto the floor.

Kai jerked back up, eyes blown wide in shock. "Jesus, what the hell was—"

He never got to finish.

Because in the next second, Damian ripped him from the booth by the collar and threw him onto the club floor like he weighed nothing.

I sighed, smoothing out my dress. "I told you he kills people."

Damian loomed over him, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling in heavy, controlled breaths. His face was pure murder, his jaw tight enough to crack. Every muscle in his body coiled with restrained fury.

"I leave for two fucking seconds," Damian growled, voice sharp as a blade, "and you try to touch her?"

Lord. He was so hot when he was angry.

Kai scuttled backward on the floor like a bug, palms raised in surrender. "I—I'm sorry, man! I didn't know she was your girlfriend!"

Damian didn't hear him. Or if he did, he didn't care.

"You're dead," he declared, stalking forward. "I'm going to kill you. I have to. You tried to kiss her."

"NO! Man, I—I'm sorry! I didn't—"

Damian didn't wait for more excuses. He lunged, grabbed Kai by the ankle, and yanked him back. Then he straddled him and let loose.

Fist. To face. Over and over.

Each punch was brutal. A sick, wet sound echoed over the music with every hit. Blood sprayed. Kai barely had time to shield himself before Damian's fists found his ribs, his stomach, his jaw. He gasped, spit flying, his arms scrambling for cover that wasn't coming.

A crowd started forming. I could feel their stares. A few people had their phones out, cameras rolling. Lyric's voice faltered on stage, her gaze darting toward us, brows pulled tight in worry.

I should stop this.

It would be smart. Responsible. The right thing to do.

But God. It was so satisfying.

I mean, Damian was literally fighting in my honor. Who was I to stop that? It had nothing to do with how good he looked while doing it. Nothing at all.

Still. If the cops got called, it would turn into a whole thing. And even though Bruce had half the GCPD in his pocket, I really wasn't in the mood to spend the rest of my night getting Damian out of a holding cell.

So, after a few more punches—just to let him get it out of his system—I slid off the booth and tapped him lightly on the back.

"Dami."

"WHAT?!" he barked, not even pausing.

His fist came down again. Kai's face was maybe 90% bruise at this point.

"Maybe you should stop."

"He's not dead yet."

"No, but I don't feel like bailing you out of jail tonight."

That made him pause. He huffed, then finally lowered his fists.

"Fine," he muttered, like I had just asked him to do something incredibly unreasonable. Then, as if to get one last jab in, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a wad of cash—easily a few thousand dollars—and tossed it onto Kai's bloody, barely conscious body.

"For your hospital bill, pussy."

He grabbed my hand, and we walked away, Damian still fuming, still muttering curses under his breath.

"I knew this was a bad fucking idea," he grumbled, jaw clenched. "This is why I hate clubs. This dumbass city. That stupid bartender wanted to talk to you, too—"

I bit my lip to hide my smile.

He was so mad.

It was so hot.

We stepped outside, where his car was already waiting. Before I could say anything, he shoved the door open, practically pushed me into the back seat, then slid in next to me, his body still vibrating with residual rage.

"I hope you know that bartender was ga—"

He cut me off. "Why would you let him touch you?" His voice was tight, his breathing still uneven. He was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched so hard I could see the tension ripple along his throat.

I blinked. "Huh?"

"I know you have the ability to break his hand. Why didn't you? Why would you just let that asshole touch you?"

The heat in his voice sent a thrill down my spine. He was still furious. Not just about the guy touching me—but about the fact that I let it happen.

I bit back a smile. "Because, to be totally honest, I like the fact that you're jealous." I shrugged, watching for his reaction.

That finally made him snap his head toward me. His gaze was sharp, dark, searching. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You were jealous, and I liked it," I admitted, tilting my head. "I like the attention you give me when other guys you perceive as threats are around. It's flattering."

Damian studied me like he was trying to figure out if I was messing with him. Then he tilted his head, brows furrowing. "That's..."

I sighed and leaned back against the leather seat, probably ruining my fro, but at this point, I didn't care. "I know, I know. I'm working on it with my therapist. She says my love of men fighting each other is not healthy and that my obsession with watching MMA is 'disturbing.'" I made air quotes around the last word.

Damian just stared at me. I kept going.

"Plus, I have my own jealousy problems. The whole reason we moved to Gotham when I was in ninth grade was because, back in my old town, when I was in middle school, my then-boyfriend—and I'm saying boyfriend very loosely since all we did was hold hands, really—cheated on me with a girl from his neighborhood. When I found out, I flew into such a jealous rage that I went to her house and beat her up. Badly. She had a skull fracture and a broken arm."

Damian's eyebrows lifted slightly, but I wasn't done.

"My mom found out and got us the hell outta dodge," I admitted, smoothing my hands over my dress. "That's why I see a therapist now. To keep my rage in check. She thinks because I bottle it up so much, I now seek it out in a partner. So that they can fill the part of me that's missing."

I turned to him, heart beating a little too fast. I had basically just handed him a roadmap to my psyche, which wasn't exactly something I did often.

He stared at me for a long, unreadable moment, then finally said, "You broke a girl's arm in eighth grade over a boy?"

Embarrassment flooded my system. "I... It seems dumb now, but in middle school, that kind of thing is very important to a girl. He made me look like a fool."

"Then why didn't you beat him up?"

"Oh, I beat him up too. But she taunted me, so she got it worse."

To my surprise, Damian grinned and shook his head. "You're so weird."

I frowned. "Stop saying that."

Instead of responding, he reached out, gripping my chin with deliberate slowness. His fingers were rough, calloused, but the way he held me was... careful. Like he was testing the weight of me in his hands. My breath hitched, but before I could process it, he kissed me.

Softly.

More soft and sweet than any of our other ones.

His lips brushed against mine like a whisper, a contrast to everything else about him—his sharp words, his heavy hands, his untamed anger. This was something different, something he wasn't used to giving. And maybe that's what made it so devastating.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't about dominance. It was just... him. Offering me a piece of something unguarded.

I melted instantly into him, my fingers curling against his jacket, pulling him closer. The warmth of his breath fanned against my cheek as he deepened the kiss, just a little, like he was testing how much I'd let him have.

Everything outside the car faded—Kai, the bar, the fight. It was just the heat of his mouth, the slow press of his lips, the way his hand slid down to my waist, fingertips pressing lightly into the fabric of my dress like he was grounding himself.

When he finally pulled away, he stayed close, his forehead nearly resting against mine, his breath still warm against my lips. His fingers flexed slightly against my waist, like he wasn't ready to let go yet. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and rough, full of something I couldn't quite name.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

The way he said it wasn't a threat, but a promise. A declaration. And I didn't even have it in me to argue—not when my lips were still tingling, not when my pulse was still unsteady from the way he kissed me.

"You wanna go back in?" he asked. His voice was low, gravelly, and even though he posed it as a question, we both knew the answer.

"Fuck no," I said breathlessly.

A wicked grin flickered across his face just before he crushed his lips against mine again, this time with a heat and urgency that stole the air from my lungs. It was nothing like the careful, quiet kiss from earlier—this was hungry, possessive, a claiming. His hands were suddenly on my hips, pulling me closer, pressing me against him as he deepened the kiss. My fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt, desperate to bring him even closer, as if there were still any space between us.

The car ride back was a blur of heated touches and stolen kisses, the kind that left my head spinning and my body aching for more. By the time we got to his place, I wasn't thinking about anything but him.

+++

I woke up the next morning in Damian's room, warm, content, and happy in a way that felt almost dangerous. The sheets smelled like him, and when I opened my eyes, I was met with the sight of his bare chest rising and falling with steady, even breaths. His arm was draped over me, heavy and possessive, holding me against him even in sleep. A soft snore slipped from his lips. He looked so peaceful, so unlike the tightly wound, perpetually irritated man I knew.

I let myself enjoy it for a moment, closing my eyes, pressing my face against his chest, savoring the solid warmth of him, before a strange sensation crept up my spine. Like I was being watched.

I cracked my eyes open fully and nearly screamed.

Emi was standing at the side of the bed, arms crossed, looking down at me like a disappointed parent.

I gasped and jerked upright—only to realize, with horror, that I was butt-ass naked under the covers. I squeaked and immediately ducked back down, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

Emi just shook her head, her expression somehow growing more unimpressed, before turning on her heel and walking away.

"Emi! Emiko!" I whisper-yelled after her, desperate, but she didn't even glance back. She just strode out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The moment she was gone, I shot out of bed, grabbing Damian's discarded shirt and pulling it over my head before rummaging through his drawers for a pair of shorts. Once I was at least semi-decent, I rushed out after her, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

She was already in the living room, heading toward the door.

"Emi, wait!" I called, hurrying after her.

She didn't stop. "No. I refuse to sit here and watch you get your heart broken over a guy we both know isn't in it for the long run—even after I told you this was a bad idea."

Her words hit me like a slap. I flinched, heat creeping up my neck as I tried to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. "Emi, I know that."

That made her pause. She turned to look at me, arms crossed tight over her chest. "If you know, then what the fuck are you doing right now, Samaira? Sleeping with him? Are you crazy?"

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to tear up. "I like him." The admission came out barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to start liking him, but I do. So I'm going to get the most out of this while I can."

"That's just going to make you more attached."

I threw my hands up. "Well, I'm already attached! Sorry! I was attached before you even got here. I got attached on day one."

Emi let out a frustrated breath, running a hand down her face. "Jesus, Samaira, what the hell?"

My temper flared, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. "You have no room to judge! You've been pining over a guy for three years! Wallace knows how you feel, and he isn't doing shit about it. And neither are you! If I'm stupid for starting something with Damian, then you're stupid for not starting something with Wallace. We're in the same damn boat."

She stiffened, her expression shifting, but I wasn't done.

"And while we're at it—I don't like you judging me like this. Yes, he's crazy. Yes, he has anger issues. But he's in the mafia, Emi. We're all like that! I don't know why it's such a big deal!"

She shook her head, exhaling sharply. "He's a different kind of crazy, a different level from the normal made guys we know. He's called the devil for a reason. Did you know he broke a guy's face yesterday? For apparently no reason?"

I lifted my chin, meeting her gaze head-on. "No, I know the reason. The guy was hitting on me, and Damian got jealous."

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, and you think that's okay?"

"Yes, actually. I like it." I crossed my arms, unapologetic.

For a moment, she just stared at me, her expression shifting from disbelief to something softer—something almost like defeat. "I... I'm at a loss."

I swallowed, feeling the weight of everything settle in my chest. "I know you're trying to help me. I know you're just being a good friend. But I'm fine, Emi." I forced a breath, steadying myself. "Will I be heartbroken when all this is over? Yeah. Probably. But I don't care about that right now. For once, I just want to do what I want, without my mom looming over me, without worrying about the consequences. And if you start acting like her... then I don't think I..."

The words stuck in my throat. I was too scared to finish the sentence, too scared to put the thought into the universe.

Emiko sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like Pamela." Her voice was softer now, more tired than angry. "I'm just worried about you, that's all. I barely hear from you these days, and the one time I do, you're attached at the hip to the devil. It's... jarring."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "Yeah, I can see how that would be a little alarming."

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Look, maybe we should take some time apart. Just until the mission. I'll spend the night at a friend's place."

I frowned. "You don't have to do that—"

"It's okay, girl. I insist." She waved me off. "Besides, I feel bad always crashing here unannounced. You should enjoy your time with Damian."

Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist, but I let it go. Instead, I just smiled and pulled her into a hug. "Love you," I mumbled.

She squeezed me back. "Love you too. Be careful, okay?"

I walked her to the elevator, where we hugged one last time before she stepped inside. When the doors slid shut, I exhaled and turned back toward the apartment, my chest feeling a little too tight.

The moment I was back inside, I crawled into bed, slipping under the covers and pressing close to Damian's warmth.

He mumbled sleepily when I slid in. "Where were you?" His morning voice was low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Bathroom," I murmured, curling into him.

He hummed, half-awake, and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me in. I let my eyes drift shut, breathing him in, letting the moment settle around me.

Chapter Text

Lyric Kane-Drake hasn't left us alone since the day we met her, much to her husband's dismay. She's just been hanging out at Damian's place helping us prep for our mission against Falcone. But in her defense, so has Isis.

Isis has been over for the last two days trying to butter me up with food and her babies. And it's working like a charm. I mean, after she explained to me she has no romantic feelings toward Damian, all my irrational hatred melted away, so she had nothing to worry about anyway. But I liked the food, so who was I to stop her? I think she knows the way to my heart is a home cooked meal that's not plant based or eighty percent tofu.

"What did you bring today, TT?" I asked as I sat down at the kitchen island, already reaching for a plate.

Isis shot me a glare so deadly I almost fell over dead. "Don't do that to me. I'm not even thirty yet. I am no one's TT."

She rolled her eyes and handed me a heavy plate full of rice and chicken, steam curling up from it like it knew it was about to change my whole mood.

"No, but you're kissing thirty," I snickered as I shoveled a spoonful of rice into my mouth and let out a dramatic moan. "God, why does your food always taste like a warm hug?"

"If I wasn't wearing a baby right now, I'd backhand you, Samaira," she sighed, adjusting the wrap on her back. One of the twins was knocked out cold against her spine, mouth hanging wide open. She said babywearing like this was common in many African cultures, that her mom carried her the same way. It looked cozy as hell, and her baby boy, Thomas Nassar Todd (Jason was definitely trying to butter up his dad with that name), clearly had no complaints.

Lyric walked in at that point, with a line of League boys following her. "Don't be mean to my girl Isis. Especially since she feeds us all the time." She sat down next to me, completely ignoring personal space, and swiped the fork right out of my hand to steal a bite of my rice. I turned to glare at her, but she just smiled, chewing like she hadn't just committed a crime. She was lucky I liked her music.

"Yeah Samaira, be nice." Jon snickered.

I gave him a look. "You better watch your mouth or I'm gonna tell your boyfriend you're following Lyric around like a lost puppy." I took an aggressive bite of my chicken, daring him to say something else.

Jon went quiet fast. Isis snorted. Lyric just smiled and kept eating like she hadn't heard a thing.

"So, any updates with your plan?" Isis asked, shifting the conversation.

I shook my head. "Same plan as before. We're just trying to get a solid layout of the club. Karen's working on hacking their security feeds so we can have eyes inside, but it's slow going. The Penguin has that security locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

"What about me? Anything I can do?" Lyric asked, grinning.

"No."

Damian's voice came from behind me, smooth and final. Lyric pouted dramatically as he walked into the kitchen, holding the other twin in his arms. Martha Jamilia Todd (again, Jason was really buttering up his dad) was wide awake, gripping onto Damian's bat necklace and gnawing on it like it was a teething toy. He leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead before striding over to Isis and, without a word, scooping up her other child.

"He's sleeping," Isis warned, but she didn't actually stop him. At this point, I'd realized that, in Damian's mind, these were his kids. Every time he saw them, he took them. It was just a fact of life. But I didn't mind. If nothing else, it was proof that if I ever got accidentally pregnant, he'd be a good dad.

"I know," Damian said, adjusting his hold so the baby was cradled securely against his chest. "Lyric, if we involve you more than we already have, Tim will kill us all. He's said so explicitly."

"He's exaggerating!" Lyric crossed her arms with a huff.

"No, he's not," I laughed. I had personally heard Tim's voice on the phone. If Lyric so much as breathed in the direction of our mission, he'd probably throw us all in the river.

"He's a sweetheart, and he knows I want to get more into this life," Lyric argued. "See what it's really about."

"He is only sweet to you," Jaime pointed out. "Like how Jason is only sweet to Isis and how Damian is only ever nice to Samaira."

The way he lumped me in with the Wayne wives made my stomach flip. I bit my lip, forcing myself not to smile like an idiot.

"Why didn't you say sweet for Damian too?" I asked, pretending to be offended.

"Because Damian doesn't have a sweet bone in his body," Jaime snickered.

We all burst out laughing—except Jon and Damian.

"Either way." Damian said, interrupting us. "You're not getting involved. It's dangerous and you have no training."

Lyric lifted her chin. "I have a gun."

Damian didn't even blink. "It's pink, and you've never shot it."

She scowled. "But I know how."

He exhaled slowly, shifting Martha higher against his chest. "This is, unfortunately, not up for discussion. Tim is already on my ass constantly. I don't need to give him another reason."

Lyric crossed her arms and pouted, but I knew better than to think this was over. She'd drop it for now, but give her an hour or two, and she'd bring it up again, like clockwork.

Damian turned his attention to me. "When you're done eating, we need to go over tomorrow's plan. I have Roy coming over to run you through some weapons, and Lyric invited Sade to set you up with disguises."

I swallowed the last bite of food and nodded. "Got it."

He gave a short nod back before turning to leave, the League boys falling into step behind him like obedient shadows.

The moment he was gone, Isis let out a low whistle. "Yikes. Sade and Roy in the same room? That's gonna be ugly."

Lyric groaned, leaning back in her chair. "Right? She still rants to me about him, and they haven't been a thing for what, two years now?"

"Two and a half," Isis corrected, crossing her arms.

I glanced between them, trying to piece it together. "Who is Sade, and why does she hate Jason's right-hand man?"

Lyric perked up. "Oh, Sade's my stylist. She's also one of Chanel's college friends. Chanel set her up with Roy, and they were a thing for a little bit, but they had a huge fight. I don't know all the details, but it had something to do with Roy not wanting her to work while she was trying to grow her styling business and fashion brand."

I wrinkled my nose. "So he's an asshole?"

Lyric hesitated, but Isis shook her head. "No, Roy's actually sweet. He's just... a made man. A lot of them don't like their women working. It's a whole old-school mafia thing."

"But you all have jobs," I pointed out.

Isis smiles. "Yeah but that's different. Chanel is too headstrong to let Dick boss her around. She actually bosses him around. I help my dad with his restaurants and Jason knows how much that means to me. And Lyric was famous before she even met Tim. It's lowkey why he likes her."

"Hey!" Lyric pouted.

"Joking!" Isis laughs. "But also, the Waynes are a different breed of Mafia. They make the rules and they don't have to follow the old ways of keeping your wife at home. Look at Bruce, he lets Selina run wild and terrorize half the jewelry stores in the area."

I furrow my brows. "Huh? She what?"

"She's the catwoman–" Isis slaps a hand over her mouth.

"WHAT! She's WHO?" I almost jumped out of my chair. Catwoman? As in the Catwoman. The most elusive jewel thief of the 21st century. The woman who had the entire Gotham police force pulling their hair out for years. The only time she was ever caught on camera was during a museum heist, wearing a sleek black bodysuit with cat ears and a tail. She's fucking Iconic. My mom has been trying to track her down and recruit her for years.

Lyric laughs and shakes her head. "You just can't keep a secret can you?"

Isis glares. "Doesn't even matter. She's dating Damian and you know how the boys are. She'll have a ring in like, a month. Then she'll get all the Wayne secrets."

My stomach did a weird little flip, but I covered it up with a cough. "Uh, me and Damian aren't dating."

Lyric snorted. "Right. Okay."

"I'm serious!"

Lyric raised an eyebrow. "Does he know you're not dating? Because I don't know many guys who beat the hell out of another man for a girl they're not dating the way Damian fucked that guy up at my party."

I shrugged. "He's protective."

"He's possessive. Like they all are. You're his at this point, and even though he hasn't officially asked you out yet, you're his girl." Isis sighed like she had already accepted the inevitable. "Whether you like it or not."

A thrill shot down my spine. The idea of Damian being obsessed with me—of him staking a claim, of him fighting for me, over me—sent a rush of warmth through my chest. Just picturing it made me smile.

Lyric immediately scooted away. "Why are you smiling?"

"I like the idea of him being obsessed with me."

Isis groaned. "We all did until we actually saw what that's like."

Lyric nodded solemnly. "It's fun in theory, but in practice? A lot of blood gets spilled."

"Yeah, but y'all are different. You didn't grow up in this life. I did." I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head thoughtfully. "I know that killing a person for someone is the best way to say 'I love you.'" A dreamy sigh left me as I imagined it—Damian, fists bloody, standing over the poor bastard who dared to cross me, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Isis just shook her head. "Y'all mafia people scare me."

Lyric laughed, and I couldn't help but join in. There was something warm and light about the moment, something I hadn't had in a long time. I really liked these girls. I was glad I met them.

+++

"Roy, I only do knives. I'm not a gun person." I said for what felt like the hundredth time. We were gathered around Damian's kitchen table, the surface covered with weapons. Mostly guns. A few handguns, a pistol with a rose gold grip I was pretty sure Roy added just because I'ma girl, and a few silencers lined up next to ammo. None of it interested me. I didn't like guns. I knew how to use them, sure. But I didn't like them. Too loud, too messy. Too easy to trace. Knives were better. Cleaner. Quieter. Easier to hide. And much easier to conceal.

"I'm not saying I don't know how to use a gun," I clarified, fingers drumming against the edge of the table. "I do. Obviously. But I don't want to. They're loud, annoying, and they leave trails. You fire a gun, it echoes. You stab someone, and it's like it never happened. Knives don't rat you out."

"You need at least one gun while you're in there, Tink. Falcone and his guys will be armed so you need to be too." Damian said, crossing his arms.

"He's right Samaira." Roy chimed in.

"If I need a gun, I'll just take one off someone inside," I said, brushing them off. "They'll have them. I'll improvise."

"And if that's not an option?" Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

I gave him a shrug that said then so be it. "Then I'll make do with my poison or my knives. Or I'll die."

He pushed off the table so fast his chair squeaked. "Don't joke like that."

"I'm not joking." I stood too, pulling up my sleeves and holding my arms out. "Why are we acting like I don't already have everything I need? These bracelets? All blades. Switchblades, curved knives, poisoned tips. I've got more weapons on me right now than a gun could ever replace."

"You're not bringing those," Damian said immediately. "Falcone knows you. He's seen you. If you walk in there wearing those, someone will clock you. You never take those off. They're basically your trademark. It's like wearing a name tag that says 'Hi, I'm Samaira Isley, daughter of Pamela Isley, and I'm trying to get shot tonight.'"

"Wow. Fuck you. Obviously I'd hide them."

"Under what?" Damian snapped. "You're going undercover at a club. Not a funeral. What exactly do you think you're gonna be wearing that lets you hide a full blade collection? You really think your dress is gonna have sleeves long enough to wrap around your forearms ten times?"

"Dickhead."

"Don't be mad that I'm right."

Roy, who had wisely stayed quiet through most of the bickering, cleared his throat and jerked his chin toward the front door. "Not to kill the mood, but... someone's been ringing the bell for like two minutes."

Damian drags his eyes from me to the door. "Hm. She's here early."

"Who's early?" Roy asked, confused.

A smug little smile tugged at the corner of Damian's mouth. "Your one who got away."

Roy went completely still. His eyes widened like a cartoon character, and he looked toward the door like it had just started ticking.

Damian strolled over and pulled it open like he'd been waiting for this exact moment all day. And in walked one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. She was tall, legs for days, skin the color of rich coffee, and a face that screamed expensive. Every step she took into the house said 'I know I look good, and so do you'. Her long braids swayed with every move and her confidence practically sucked the air out of the room.

"Alright," she said, flashing a dazzling smile, "where's my client?"

Roy was frozen in place, mouth parted just slightly like his brain hadn't caught up to the situation. Damian pointed towards us.

She whipped around, "Hi! I'm Sade–" As soon as her eyes landed on Roy, her smile dropped. "Why is he here?" she asked, voice suddenly cool.

Damian didn't even try to hide his smirk. "I needed his help with something. You came too early. If you'd showed up on time, you wouldn't have had to see him."

Sade narrowed her eyes and turned to leave. "I'll come back."

"No need," Damian said casually, like this wasn't a ticking bomb about to blow. "We're almost done. You're all here. Might as well make the most of it."

She sucked her teeth and sat down on the couch. She crossed her legs hard enough to look aggressive and flicked one of her braids over her shoulder. "I want more money for this now. I need like, three bands for emotional distress."

"Done," Damian said without even blinking.

She let out a dramatic sigh and tilted her head back against the cushion. "I hate rich people."

After that mini fiasco we got back to my weapons debate. The conversation wasn't as snappy now, probably because Roy's attention was locked somewhere else. Specifically, on Sade. He kept sneaking glances at her like she was going to disappear if he blinked too long. Meanwhile, she was fully ignoring him, scrolling through her phone like the rest of us didn't exist.

I picked out a couple of small throwing knives—clean, balanced, easy to hide in a thigh strap. For the sake of compromise, I also agreed to the P32. It was slim, light, and didn't make me want to throw it across the room like the other guns did. Roy said he didn't have it on him and would have to run out and come back with it, but the knives were fair game now.

While I was bent over the table inspecting the blade edges, Roy took his shot. He walked over to Sade slowly, like she was a wild animal that might bite, and cleared his throat.

"Hi, Sade. Long time."

She stopped mid-text and looked up, expression unreadable. "Roy."

"You look nice," he said, voice soft but hopeful.

"I know." She didn't smile, didn't blink. Just tucked her phone in her lap and stared straight ahead like he wasn't even standing there.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I like the new braids."

"You should. I did them."

Damian coughed, covering a laugh with his hand. I bit my cheek to keep from grinning. Roy wasn't giving up, though.

"I still think about that night in Miami sometimes."

Her jaw tensed just slightly. "Then you're wasting brain cells."

That got a snort out of Damian, who was pretending to check his watch.

Roy stayed posted in front of her for a second longer, clearly trying to come up with something else. Sade, now fully over it, pulled her phone back out and started typing again, her face back to neutral.

"Okay," Roy muttered under his breath before turning back to me.

I didn't say a word. Just handed him the two knives I liked and watched him pretend he wasn't just emotionally suplexed by a woman in a crop top and Balenciaga slides.

Chapter Text

Sade was fuming as she applied my makeup and wig and it had everything to do with the fact that Roy was still here. Our business with him had wrapped twenty minutes ago. Twenty. But there he was, leaning casually in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room like this was his place and not Damian's, eyes locked on Sade. She was doing the absolute most to pretend he didn't exist, which would've been more convincing if she wasn't applying my foundation like I personally offended her.

"Uh, Ms. Sade?" I asked carefully as she mashed the sponge against my cheek.

"You don't have to call me Ms, I'm not that old," she muttered under her breath.

"Okay, well, Sade... do you maybe want to go and talk to Roy for a second?"

She scoffed and started pressing harder, like I'd insulted her. "No. I have nothing to say to his stupid raggedy ass."

I flinched as she came a little too close to my eye with the beauty blender. "Not to get in your business or anything," I said, eyes watering, "but I think you do want to talk to him."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're taking out your anger on my face and I would really like to keep my eye."

She paused. Blinked. Then let out a sigh and leaned back, squinting at me like she just realized I was a person again. "Damn. Sorry, girl."

I shrugged. "It's okay. I've gotten worse."

Sade let out a little snort and finally set her makeup tools down on the coffee table. "Five-minute break," she announced, smoothing her palms down her jeans.

Then she turned and marched toward Roy with zero hesitation. "We need to talk," she snapped. And before he could even get a word out, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him deeper into the kitchen, out of sight.

Roy followed like a happy puppy, grinning the entire time like getting manhandled by her was the highlight of his year.

The moment they disappeared, Damian pushed off the wall and walked over to the couch, dropping down beside me. He draped his arm over my shoulder like it was second nature, and I instinctively leaned into his warmth.

"Do you think she's chewing him out right now?" I asked with a grin.

He didn't even look up from his phone. "No. I think they're making out on my counter."

I blinked. "Huh? Why would you think that?"

Damian didn't say a word. Just turned his phone around and showed me the security cam feed. Right there on the screen was Roy and Sade tangled together in a way that was definitely not an argument. My jaw dropped.

"Jesus," I whispered. "I thought she hated him?"

"She does. And she doesn't." Damian locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. "She's mad he didn't support her career. But she also never really stopped liking him. And he's been in love with her since forever. It's messy and annoying and now I have to deep clean the kitchen."

"Do they always do this?" I asked, still a little shocked.

He nodded. "Pretty much. Every couple of months they swear they're done, and then somehow end up hooking up again like clockwork."

"Wow." I blinked. "That might be us when this whole Falcone thing is over," I joked, nudging his side.

Damian didn't laugh. Instead, he looked at me—really looked at me. His eyes were locked on mine in a way that made this seem like he was about to say something dark and real. "That'll never be us," he said, voice low. "Because you're not going anywhere."

The way he said it... like it was a promise. Like he'd already decided. It sent a chill down my spine, the kind I liked.

I grinned and reached up, grabbing Damian's face to pull him down into a kiss. It was a good one too—slow, soft, and warm. But just when I was settling in, he pulled back suddenly, cutting it short after all of thirty seconds.

I pouted in protest. He just leaned down and smirked against my neck. kissing the spot under my jaw that made my toes curl. "Later," he murmured, low and raspy. Then he nodded toward the kitchen with his chin.

I turned and there they were. Sade and Roy, emerging like nothing had happened. Except something definitely had.

Sade looked untouched, polished, completely unbothered. Not a hair out of place, not a lipstick smudge in sight. Roy on the other hand looked like he had run through a wind tunnel. His shirt was rumpled, his hair was askew, and there was a faint but undeniable lipstick print stamped on the side of his neck.

"I'm back!" Sade announced brightly as she strode toward me with a little bounce in her step. Her whole energy had shifted. lighter, relaxed. The murderous aura was gone, replaced with something much more cheery.

Roy, meanwhile, looked like he'd just been hit with a love spell. "I, uh..." He cleared his throat and straightened his shirt like that would help. "I gotta go now. Bye, Damian. Bye, Samaira. Nice meeting you." He gave us a small, sheepish wave and then practically floated to the door, wearing a grin so big it looked like it hurt.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Sade got back to work. This time, her touch was gentle, her movements smooth and careful like she actually remembered I had skin. Damian returned to his spot against the wall, arms crossed, watching us.

When she's not pissed off, she's actually a pretty good conversationalist. "Okay, so, for your wig...I'm thinking we go straight," she said, pulling out a small wig stand. "I brought a few options, but I'm leaning toward the bob. Your natural hair is long, so the short style would throw people off more. It's up to you, though."

"You're the expert. I trust you." I smiled.

"Bob it is then!" She picked up the wig and put it on my head carefully. "This is a glueless wig. It's for easy changeability in case some shit goes down and you need to switch hairstyles."

"Got it." I muttered.

"Oh, and I brought hazel contacts for you. Not too dramatic, but enough of a shift to throw people off if they're not looking too close. I'll put those in on Friday. They're single-use."

"Got it." I repeated.

"She still looks like Samaira." Damian muttered.

Sade shot him a look. "I'm not done!" she snapped. "On Friday she'll have a new nose and ears. Plus some other stuff. Today's just fact-finding—I needed to see her bone structure, complexion, undertones. Give me some credit."

Domain glared at her. "I'm not paying you 10k for fact finding."

"Do you think my shit is cheap? The 10k barely covers the costs of the things I'll need." Sade rolls her eyes. "I'm practically doing this for free! You're lucky I love Chanel and Lyric, otherwise I'd tell you to kick rocks."

She turned back to me and took a breath, her voice softening a bit. "But seriously... I appreciate what you're trying to do. I know it's partly a revenge thing, but freeing those kids?" Her gaze sharpened, jaw tense. "What Falcone does to those women and children... it's disgusting. I'll be glad to see him fall."

I smiled, sitting up straighter. "I'll give him an extra dash of poison in your name."

"We're not killing him," Damian said dryly. "Just getting a confession. My father's handling the rest."

I snorted. "Right. I'm 'not' going to kill him." I turned and winked at Sade.

She stared at me, wide-eyed. "Girl," she said in quiet horror.

"Sorry." Sometimes I forget my morbid humour isn't for everyone.

+++

Friday came around way too fast. I was a little nervous. I guess this whole week I was really just focusing on hanging out and making out with Damian, I forgot the whole reason I was here. Sure we prepped things, like my disguise (which looks incredible by the way I don't even recognize myself) and my lipsticks. But I wasn't really thinking about what that all meant.

The truth was, I could kill Falcone. That part didn't scare me. If anything went down, if he figured me out too fast, if it all fell apart—I could take him out in under five seconds. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that killing came easy. Disappearing into a persona? Not so much.

Espionage wasn't my strength. I could lie, sure. I could play a part if the stakes were low. But playing a spoiled rich girl who was dripping in money and looking for a thrill? That felt foreign. I didn't grow up like that. Yeah, my mom was an assassin, and it paid well, but we didn't live lavishly. Most of her money went toward women's shelters and charities. We only ever kept what we needed. There were no diamond bracelets or custom handbags in our house. I didn't even know the difference between caviar and roe until Damian explained it with a YouTube video and a straight face. Pretending to be the kind of girl who'd walk into a place like this just for fun was already starting to feel like pretending to breathe underwater.

It also didn't help that Damian and Emiko have been tense all evening. While Sade was over putting my disguise on Damian made me run through the plan like a hundred times. Emiko was worried I was going to walk in and get shot immediately. They both had no confidence in me. It would be insulting if it wasn't for the fact that I also had zero confidence in myself as well.

By the time we got in the car, the nerves had settled in my chest like a weight. Emiko had opted to ride with Jaime, probably because she and Damian were one sarcastic comment away from swinging on each other. That left just me and Damian in his sleek, quiet car, speeding through the city streets like we were chasing something. Or running from it.

Damian had one hand clamped so tight on the steeering wheel his knuckles were white. The other hand was on my thigh, gripping it like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go.

I flipped down the sun visor and opened the mirror for one last check. My reflection startled me. Sade had gone in.

The straight black bob framed my face perfectly, and the way she'd used tape and contour to subtly lift and reshape my nose? Genius. She'd pulled my ears back slightly to shift the silhouette of my face and added a lightweight prosthetic to give me a sharper jaw and chin. The hazel contacts were subtle, but they changed my eye color just enough to throw people off. And the design made my eyes look bigger, more doll-like. More... elite, in a way that felt slightly unnerving. Like someone who'd had too much work done but still called it "natural."

I looked like a girl who sipped champagne for fun and wore sunglasses indoors. Someone who wouldn't even look at a guy like Falcone unless she was trying to use him. That was the point, right?

Victor Stone, bless him, had whipped up our entire fake identities in record time. IDs, driver's licenses, credit card histories, even a trail of social media accounts with vacation photos and vague thirst traps. We were legit. I was now Jasmine Black, a bored trust fund baby with a mysterious past and a taste for bad decisions. Emiko was Kugisaki Nobara. I didn't have the heart to tell her that was literally the name of a character from Jujutsu Kaisen.

"Let's just hope none of the bouncers are anime fans," I muttered to myself, closing the visor.

Damian glanced over, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but didn't have it in him tonight. "You ready?" he asked, voice low.

No. Not even a little.

"Yeah," I said anyway.

His eyes flicked up and down like he was taking inventory. "You look good," he said, voice tight.

"You sure?" I asked, fidgeting with my ring. "I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard."

"You don't," he said immediately. "You look like trouble. The kind he'd want."

"That's reassuring and frightening at the same time." I mumbled.

That got Damian to crack a small smile. It was brief, and it didn't touch his eyes, but it was there. "Just know if anything goes wrong I'm listening in and will be there in two minutes."

"I know." I tapped the side of my ear. The earpiece Sade gave me looked like a small silver cuff with an emerald stud—barely noticeable unless someone stared too long. "You think it's cute?"

He nodded once. "Still feels too obvious."

"Paranoia looks good on you," I teased.

Damian pulled over a block away from the club. The hum of the engine cut off, and we both sat in the dim glow of the dash lights, waiting for Jaime and Emiko to roll up. It was quiet, but the kind of quiet that hums with unsaid things. He didn't even take his hand off my thigh.

"Remember the plan," he said, staring out through the windshield like the road ahead offended him. "Try to go in with Chanel and her friends. They'll have less security around them."

"I know. You've told me about a million times."

"I'll make it a million and one if it keeps you alive." His eyes cut to me. "And make sure your gun is well hidden."

His gaze dropped to where his hand still rested—over the slit in my dress, right above the new holster strapped to my thigh. It took forever to find a dress that hit the balance: long enough to cover steel, short enough to scream club rat with daddy's credit card. It was black, tight, and sparkled just enough to match the illusion.

"It's well hidden, Dami," I said, flipping the sun visor down again. I pulled out the lipstick Sade gave me—my "harmless" one—and started applying it with slow, even strokes. The color was a bold red with a little gloss. Sade said it retailed for sixty-five dollars and was sold exclusively in Paris. I didn't even know lipstick could be exclusive, but apparently the illusion of wealth extended to your makeup bag.

Damian watched me as I applied it. "Which one is that?"

"This is my normal one. Non poison."

He frowned. "Why where non lethal?"

"Because I can't have people drop dead the second I kiss them." I rubbed my lips together and capped the tube before tossing it back in my bag. "That would kind of ruin the vibe."

"Who the fuck are you going to be kissing?" he snapped, voice rising in that sharp, clipped way it always did when he was trying not to lose it.

"I don't know! It's just in case!"

"Tink, I swear to God," he growled. "Anybody you kiss tonight that isn't me is getting a bullet."

"Aww. That's sweet." I leaned across the console and kissed his cheek, soft and quick, just enough to leave the faintest imprint of my lip gloss. "But you need to reign that in. I'm playing a single heiress. They tend to have sloppy club makeouts. It's a cultural thing."

"Fucking try me and see what happens," he muttered, eyes dark.

I grinned, wide and toothy. What a cutie. All scowl and murder threats, and somehow that still made me feel safer than anything else.

A knock at the window pulled us both back to reality. Emiko. Showtime.

"Ready?" Damian asked again, softer this time.

I nodded, heart hammering. I got out of his car and together me and Emiko got into Jaime's. He jogged over to Damian's car then they turned and sped away. I took a deep breath and started the car.

"If anything goes wrong, just remember we have Damian's black card and we can abuse it." Emiko said as I pulled away and went in the direction of the club.

I smiled wide. "At least we have the black card."

"At least we have the black card."

+++

I pulled up to the club and parked right in front of it, ignoring the valet line. That was on purpose. Sade said rich girls never wait in lines, they make entrances. So that's what we were doing. Making noise.

I opened my purse and slid on the tiny designer sunglasses Sade insisted I wear. "They're vintage Margiela, so don't lose them," she'd warned, waving them in my face like they were made of gold. I tucked my lip gloss in the crook of my arm and waited while Emiko fluffed her curls in the rearview mirror, then applied another coat of gloss. Her earrings sparkled. Mine matched. We nodded once at each other like a silent pact, then stepped out.

Immediately, heads turned.

The club's front was all velvet ropes and LED signs, with people dressed to impress crowding outside. Phones lifted the second we strutted past. I tossed my keys at the valet boy without even glancing at him. "Don't scratch it, she's new," I said breezily, flipping my hair as I walked past.

Emiko grinned, then slipped a crisp hundred into his vest pocket. "Thanks, hun," she added, blowing him a kiss. The boy looked like he'd been tasered—face gone bright red, hands frozen mid-motion. Good. That meant the illusion was working.

We spotted Chanel, Sade, Isis, and a couple of other Wayne-adjacent girls at the front of the line. Right where we needed to be. Emiko looped her arm through mine and we slid in behind them like we were just part of the pack. No one questioned it. The velvet rope opened, and just like that, we were past the line. The power of a good wig and an expensive attitude. We didn't even get ID'd.

"I'm on coms," Damian's voice came through crystal-clear in my ear. "Karen got into the cams last minute with some help from Vic. We can see you."

I didn't respond, didn't move, just gave a lazy flip of my hair as acknowledgment. My heart was racing, but I kept my posture relaxed. Rich girls didn't rush. They glided.

Then came the interruption.

"Ma'am, we're going to have to check you."

A big, bald, brolic dude blocked the entrance with his arm, pointing to a nearby bag-check table. His head was shiny under the neon lights, and his voice was all business.

I sighed, loud and dramatic, then tossed my purse onto the table like it offended me. "Fine. But watch the hands," I said with a wink. Damian made a noise in my ear that sounded suspiciously like a growl, but I ignored him.

Two guards stepped in. One for the bags, one for the pat-downs. Our purses were clean. Not even a nail file inside. Sade packed them herself with nothing but overpriced lip gloss, a burner phone, a tampon, in my case my lipsticks, and a perfume roller. But our bodies? Fully loaded. Blades and guns galore.

Luckily, the metal detectors were down. Tim made sure of that. Penguin owed the Waynes a favor, and this was it. But we didn't account for the pat-downs.

Emiko was first. She spread her arms, back straight, face bored. The female guard gave her a once-over that was quick and efficient. Her blades were strapped flat across her upper back and chest with some custom-designed adhesive harness. Nothing shifted. She passed.

Then it was me.

I stepped up. Arms out. Chin tilted like I had somewhere better to be.

The guard went through my sides first, arms brushing along my waist, under my arms, and down my hips. I kept my breathing even. My heart was punching at my ribs.

Then he crouched.

Started with my left leg. Clean.

And then, of course, he moved to the right. The one strapped with weapons.

I glanced forward. Isis had turned her head to look at us. Her face was tight with worry, lips pressed into a line. Conner, standing beside her in an all-black suit, gently pushed her forward. He didn't want her to react. Roy, standing just off to the side in the shadows, was watching too. One hand was already inching toward his waistband. I appreciated it but it was unneeded.

I tensed slightly when the guard's hands got close. Just a few more inches and he'd feel the thigh holster. And then this whole thing would be blown.

I smiled sweetly and said, "Hey, what's your name?"

The guard paused, glancing up.

Damian's voice came through my ear again, low and sharp. "Tink. Be careful."

I didn't blink. "You've got strong hands. You work out?" I asked, still smiling. My voice was light, flirty, calculated.

The guard hesitated. A full beat. Then nodded like he wasn't sure if he was being played or flirted with.

"Every day," he mumbled.

I leaned in slightly, lowered my voice. "Figured. You can keep going. Just don't get greedy."

He snorted. It was enough to make him rush the rest of the pat-down, too flustered to check properly. He didn't feel the strap or the extra bulge. He was already stepping back by the time I exhaled.

We were in.

I didn't let the tension show on my face. Just grabbed my purse, smiled like I owned the building, and walked through the door.

The game had officially started.

"I didn't appreciate you flirting with him right in front of me," Damian muttered in my ear, voice low and brooding. "Now he has to die."

I rolled my eyes, keeping my expression neutral as we moved with the crowd. "Don't be dramatic," I whispered under my breath. "I needed to do it."

Emiko glanced at me, eyebrows raised. I leaned in closer and sighed. "Damian is being overprotective," I explained quietly, lips barely moving.

She gave me a knowing look, the kind only someone who had also dealt with someone feral and emotionally stunted could give. Then she turned away, letting it go.

We strutted deeper into the club, heels clicking against the dark tile as the bass pulsed through the floor. It was packed. Wall-to-wall bodies, glittering dresses, spilled drinks, and expensive perfume clinging to the air like fog. I hadn't realized just how famous Lyric really was until that moment. People were practically climbing over each other to get closer to the stage.

We trailed behind Chanel's group, close enough to use them as cover, but far enough back to not look associated. Tim said he secured them a VIP section through Cobblepot. I didn't see the man himself, but I did spot two of his men lingering near the bar in suits they definitely didn't buy themselves.

Me and Emiko didn't have a reserved section, but that was the point. We were here to make a scene.

We slid into a sleek, half-moon booth near Chanel's section, the leather sticky from spilled drinks and perfume. Not even a second later, a club worker walked over. Pressed vest, laminated name tag, earpiece, the whole "professional but underpaid" vibe.

"Sorry, ladies. This is our exclusive VIP section and bottle service area," he said, voice polite but firm. "You have to book this in advance."

Here we go.

I flipped my hair back and put on the voice. You know the one—high-pitched, entitled, and just this side of annoying. "Do you know who we are?" I asked, lifting one perfectly glossed brow.

He smiled, unwavering. "No ma'am, I'm sorry, I do not."

Wow. He was good.

I pointed to Emiko, who was already fluffing her curls and adjusting her earrings. "My dad owns half of Central City, and her dad owns the other half. I'm Jasmine Black of Black Inc. and she's Kugisaki Nobara of Nobara's Kitchen."

He blinked. Still smiling. "I'm sorry ma'am. Either way, this is a reservation-only section."

I leaned back in the booth, casually sliding one arm across the top of the seat like I was born there. "How much is the table?"

"It's reservation-only, ma'am—"

I cut him off, slipping my fingers into the neckline of my dress and pulling out Damian's black card from where it had been tucked inside my bra. I dropped it on the table with a little thwack.

"I have the money. How much is the table?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Seven thousand, ma'am."

Jesus Christ.

Seven thousand dollars for a cracked leather booth with sticky coasters and a view of the DJ's elbow? I forced myself not to react.

Instead, I scoffed and turned to Emiko. "Can you believe he was doing all that for a measly seven K?"

Emiko gave a laugh so good it deserved an Oscar. She flipped her hair and clutched her Balenciaga. "I guess we look poor."

"I should've worn the Gucci," I sighed, and we both let out twin snobby heiress laughs.

The worker nodded, unbothered, and took the card. "Enjoy your booth, ma'am," he said smoothly before walking off to swipe it. I picked it up when he returned and slid it back into my bra, just as Damian's voice came through my earpiece, low and unimpressed.

"Why is my card in your tits?"

I smirked. "Easy access."

"Mhm. Right." His voice rumbled.

Before I could respond, the lights in the club dimmed and a beat dropped from the ceiling like a bomb. The crowd roared. Bright neon letters scrawled across the stage in flashing cursive:

LYRIC.

Here we go.

I flagged down a passing waitress—petite, dark lipstick, tired eyes—and gave her my best bored rich girl expression.

"What's your most expensive drink?"

She perked up, clearly trained for moments like this. "Our Armand De Brignac: Ace of Spades is one of our most expensive and coveted bottles. It retails for—"

"Great. I want two bottles," I said, cutting her off, "and a bottle for every table in this section. On us." I slid the card across the table again, smooth like a poker player laying down a royal flush.

"Of course, ma'am." Her smile was polished, but as she turned, I caught a flash of ink near her neck.

A falcon.

My stomach dipped.

It was small—barely the size of a dime—but I knew exactly what it meant. She was one of Falcone's girls. Not a worker by choice, but by force. One of the trafficked girls we were working to get out. I filed that away for later. I'd be extra kind to her tonight. She was surviving.

Damian's voice suddenly came through again, just a little more strained.

"Baby, you know those bottles are fifty thousand apiece, right? And you just ordered seven of them."

My soul left my body.

"Fifty what?!" I whisper hissed, trying not to let my face crack in case anyone was watching. I sat up straighter, nodded absently to a beat I couldn't hear, and tried to look rich and unbothered.

Emiko giggled, not even trying to hide it. She leaned against the table, clutching her stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whined.

"The waitress tried to," Damian replied flatly. "You didn't let her finish."

I blinked slowly, mentally calculating how many outfits I could've bought for fifty grand. Then I shook it off. It's too late now. We were already committed to the bit.

"Do not die on me when the bill hits," I muttered.

"I make no promises," Damian said.

A few moments later, the bottles arrived. two sleek, gold-plated Armand de Brignac beauties gleaming under the neon lights like trophies. A waitress handed us tall, chilled glasses while others dispersed bottles across the VIP section, pouring for confused strangers who quickly caught on that someone very rich and possibly unhinged had just made their night.

If that didn't get the attention of Cobblepot and Falcone, I didn't know what would.

I poured the champagne into my glass and took a sip. Nearly choked. It tasted like carbonated metal and regret. I blinked, throat burning.

"This tastes like if gold had an attitude," I muttered.

Emiko took a sip, swirled it dramatically, and said, "It's giving... unwashed money." Then she went for another sip anyway. Of course she liked it. She once ate a whole fried scorpion in front of a weapons dealer just to prove a point.

Just then, the stage lights flared back on. The crowd screamed. Lyric had arrived.

She strutted onto the stage in a little pink sparkly dress that caught every color in the room. Her braids were tied up in a high ponytail, topped with a matching glitter bow.

She has a sparkly silver microphone that she brought up to her lips. "You miss me Gotham?"

The club went wild. Lyric took some inspiration from kpop and the kpop industry for her fanbase. So they all had her candy cane shaped lightstick waving wildly in the air. Her fan base name was the Candy Kanes, taking after her last name and her second hit single Candy.

"Glad to hear it! Let's go!"

And then she was off. Twirling, flipping, owning the stage like she was born on it. It was impossible not to watch her. I found myself completely pulled in, hips swaying in my seat, mouthing the lyrics to her second hit single Candy.

For a few minutes, I forgot why we were even here.

But once the stage lights dimmed and the music faded for intermission, reality set back in. We were still sitting alone in a booth we bullied our way into. Still sipping drinks that tasted like arrogance. Still waiting.

Still nothing.

I glanced at Emiko, the fizz of the champagne doing nothing to ease the ache in my chest. "Why do you think they're not coming?"

She took another long sip, like she had all the time in the world. "I don't know. In my brother's club, he would've come up to us by now."

I sighed, slumping just slightly. Had we not spent enough? Should I have ordered a car for every table?

Then Damian's voice slid through the earpiece like a blade. "Look alive, Tink. They're coming to you."

I straightened instantly, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. I shifted just enough to see behind me.

Cobblepot I could handle. He looked like a bloated toad in a velvet suit. But the man beside him? The one with slicked-back hair and a permanent leer? Falcone. Seeing him walk toward us made my stomach twist. I swallowed hard.

Think of the kids, I reminded myself. Think of the girls you're doing this for. Think of how good it'll feel when he's out of your life for good.

I tapped Emiko under the table. "Bogies, two o'clock."

Her spine straightened. A beat passed and then her whole demeanor shifted. She whipped out a compact, flipped it open, and reapplied her gloss with the poise of a girl who grew up scamming yacht boys.

I reached into my clutch, careful and calm, and pulled out the mind-control lipstick. I coated it on with slow precision, watching their approach through the mirror's edge.

Time slowed.

I tucked the tube away and adjusted my dress, just as the shadow of a presence loomed over us.

"Ladies," a deep, oily voice said from above me. "We heard you've been enjoying our club."

I looked up, smile polished and empty, and let my gaze settle on him.

The performance had begun.

Chapter Text

"Ladies, we heard you've been enjoying our club," Cobblepot's deep, gravelly voice rasped above us.

I didn't bother to look up. I stared at my press-ons like they were diamonds under a microscope. Pale pink with tiny rhinestones, shaped to perfection. "If you say so," I muttered coolly, just loud enough to be heard.

"It's... okay, I guess," Emiko added with a bored flip of her hair. "Arrow over in Star City has better sections, but this is cute. For Gotham."

The moment Arrow left her mouth, Falcone's jaw ticked. I didn't need to look at him to know that mentioning her brother's famous club had struck a nerve. Good.

"Oh, we can't have that," Falcone said, his voice dipped in faux charm. "Anything we can do to make your experience better?"

There it was. My in.

I sighed, loud and dramatic, and flipped my hair off my shoulder like I was brushing off dust. "Well, I heard you guys had... fun things for VIP clients." I pouted, the way I'd practiced in the mirror a dozen times. "But so far? Haven't seen anything fun at all. Just overpriced, watered-down drinks. Where's the real action at?"

Falcone's eyes lit up, like a predator catching movement in the grass.

He leaned in a little too close and cleared his throat. "Where did you hear that?"

Got him.

"Oh, just... around." I leaned forward too, letting my grin curl slow and sharp. "Maybe we travel in similar circles."

Cobblepot glanced between us, confused and cautious. Sensing an opportunity, Emiko slid in with a sugar-sweet voice. "I heard you have an extensive secret wine collection," she said, leaning toward him with wide eyes. "Only for special guests."

That got his attention. Instantly. He dropped out of our conversation like a rock and eased down next to her, thrilled to be the center of attention again.

Falcone, meanwhile, stayed focused on me.

"What was your name again?" he asked, voice low and thick with interest. His eyes raked slowly—too slowly—down my body. I had to fight the urge to shiver. It felt like being covered in slime. He was so gross.

"I never said it."

"Well," he grinned, all teeth, "I'd love to hear it."

"It's Jasmine," I said smoothly. "And yours?"

"You know my name, darling."

Ugh. Every syllable made my skin crawl.

Damian's disapproving grunt sounded in my ear.

"I'm going to kill him," he growled. "The way he's looking at you... he has to die. Do not let him touch you. I swear to God."

I tuned him out. I couldn't afford to let myself feel anything other than composed. This was about getting into Falcone's secret operations, not about how violated I felt under his gaze.

"Someone's cocky," I said, lazily crossing one leg over the other. Falcone's gaze followed the motion, his eyes tracing the curve of my calf like a predator.

I smiled, but it didn't touch my eyes.

"So, where's the fun stuff?"

Falcone adjusted his tie like it was suddenly too tight. "If you're saying what I think you're saying..." he said, voice dropping low, "then the real fun is upstairs. But those rooms are reserved for our most exclusive clients."

His eyes flicked to Cobblepot, making sure the other man wasn't listening. But Cobblepot was still too busy bragging to Emiko about some nonsense vintage that had been "aged under a Sicilian volcano."

I tilted my head, feigning boredom, and let my eyes wander away from him. "Guess you hate money," I muttered, then picked up my glass and sipped it like I had somewhere better to be.

Falcone laughed—a low, greasy sound that made my skin crawl again. "You're funny," he said. "Dangerous, too. I like that."

I smiled sweetly, lashes fluttering just enough to sell the performance. "You don't know the half of it."

Falcone's phone buzzed. His smile slipped the tiniest bit before he glanced down at the screen, brows twitching in irritation. Without another word, he turned and stalked off. "Excuse me for just a moment. Don't go anywhere, Jasmine."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I lied, voice syrupy.

The second he melted back into the crowd, I slumped into the seat like a deflating balloon, exhaling a shaky breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The champagne burned going down, but I emptied the glass and immediately reached for a refill.

"Easy there Samaira. Don't get drunk." Damian said in my ear.

I bit back the urge to roll my eyes so hard they got stuck. "You can judge when you have to flirt with crusty old mob creeps in cheap cologne and overcompensating loafers," I mumbled under my breath. 

Falcone returned a few minutes later with a thin, satisfied smile like a man who had just closed a deal on something illegal. "Sorry about that. If you'd follow me," he said smoothly, gesturing toward the rear of the club.

My eyes narrowed just slightly. That was... too easy.

"Be careful. I don't trust this," Damian hissed into my earpiece. "That call wasn't random. Something's up."

I smiled at Falcone like he'd just offered me a diamond necklace and rose to my feet, snatching my purse. "Finally. Just let me freshen up first."

He walked me to the women's bathroom. I thanked him with a small flirty smile before rushing inside. I'm 50 percent sure he found out who I was. That phone call timing was suspicious and this is way too easy. I grabbed my mind control lipstick and applied it on my lips. Making sure to get every inch of my mouth. The bright red lipstick eased my nerves just slightly.

"I can't see inside the bathroom, what are you doing?" Damian asked.

"Getting ready for battle." I whispered back. I adjusted the holster hidden on my thigh for easier access. I needed to be ready to grab a knife and go at a moment's notice.

"Shit," Damian cursed. "I'm coming."

"No." My voice was sharp, clipped. "Let me do this. If it goes south, then you come. But for now? I'm fine."

"If even one thing seems off, I'm blowing this whole mission to shit and coming to get you."

"And I appreciate that, Dami." I exhaled slowly and reached for my gun. I flipped the safety off and slid it back into the holster, praying I didn't fumble and shoot myself in the foot. That would suck. A lot. I look in the mirror and adjust the dress to show off my boobs more. He's a perv, maybe it'll help to distract him. I fluffed out the wig and spritz on more perfume before I went back out.

"Sorry about the intermission," I said lightly, as Lyric's voice floated from the stage behind us, starting the second half of her set.

"No issues at all, Ms. Black," Falcone replied smoothly. His hand pressed to the small of my back like he owned me.

"He's touching you," Damian growled into my ear, voice low and absolutely murderous. "I'm cutting off that hand first. How dare he touch you."

Ugh. He's so cute when he's possessive. 

Focus, Samaira!

Falcone led me toward a sleek door tucked beside the bar. Hidden elevator in plain sight. Two armed guards flanked it, massive and solid as brick walls, their expressions blank. My stomach flipped. These weren't club bouncers—they were killers. I should've worn the poison lipstick, damn it.

"These are just some extra protection the club has to make sure our ultra VIP clientele are secure. You understand, I'm sure."

I flipped my hair with a casual nod. "Yeah, I get it. Gotta keep the assets safe."

"Exactly." The grin he shot me made my skin crawl. Like he already thought he'd won something.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding. The guards stepped in first, taking opposite corners of the small, mirrored space. I followed, then Falcone. The doors sealed shut behind us, and the floor gave a soft lurch as we started to rise.

I gripped my purse tighter. My pulse thundered in my ears.

Damian's voice cut in again, sharp with rising panic. "I have no eyes in there, Tin— And we might lose—because the elevators—"

Silence.

The line went dead.

Shit. Of course the elevator was protected.

I closed my eyes for a beat, forcing a breath through my nose.

God, I really didn't want to fight in heels today.

The elevator hummed quietly as it ascended, the only sound in the tense, sealed-off space. Falcone hadn't looked at me since we stepped inside. He stood with his hands folded, staring ahead with a calm that made my skin crawl. The two guards beside us were statues—tall, broad, and armed to the teeth.

I could feel the eyes of the one on my left drifting toward me every few seconds. I ignored it. Focus. Breathe. Don't panic.

"Funny thing about club girls," Falcone said suddenly, breaking the silence. "They don't usually walk like they've got military training."

My stomach tightened.

I turned to him slowly, keeping my expression bored. "I do a lot of Pilates."

He smiled. Cold. Knowing. "Sure you do, Samaira."

I went still.

He turned toward me, his voice darkening. "The wig was a cute idea. But you should've got better contacts. Hazel was a cute idea too. But unfortunately they're too close to the real deal. You almost fooled me though."

Shit.

I shifted slightly, angling my body closer to the side of the elevator, putting one of the guards in my peripheral vision.

"Grab her," Falcone said smoothly.

I exploded into motion.

The guard closest to me reached first, aiming to pin my arms, but I dropped low and swept his legs out from under him. He crashed to the floor, and I drew a knife from the holster on my thigh in one fluid motion.

The other guard lunged. I twisted and slashed at his forearm—deep enough to make him flinch, not enough to drop him. He powered through the pain and threw a punch, which I ducked before stabbing him in the thigh. He shouted and stumbled back against the wall of the elevator.

The first one was already back up.

He grabbed a fistful of my wig and yanked hard. The bob-length synthetic hair shifted, nearly ripping off, and I grunted, elbowing him in the ribs. My second knife came free and found the soft flesh of his side.

He dropped like a stone.

That was one down. But the other one tackled me before I could recover.

He slammed me against the elevator wall. My head snapped back and I saw stars, but I managed to jam my knee into his gut and shove him off just long enough to pull my gun from the holster.

I raised it—

—but he was faster.

He crashed into me again, one meaty hand grabbing the gun and twisting it from my grip. I fought like hell, punching, clawing, screaming as his elbow smashed into my collarbone and his other hand wrapped around my neck.

"Hold her!" Falcone barked.

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open.

And everything collapsed.

Six more guards swarmed in like they'd been waiting for the cue. I barely had time to lift my arms before they were on me. One grabbed my gun. Another ripped the third knife from my thigh. Someone wrenched my left arm behind my back, and I kicked wildly, heels scraping the floor, but it didn't matter. There were too many.

One caught me with a hit to the side of the head. The floor tilted. My vision blurred.

"Damian," I gasped into my earpiece, praying he was back online. "They've got me—"

Only static.

Then the world spun sideways as I hit the ground, and everything went black.

Damian's POV

I couldn't hear her.

"Samaira! Tink!" I shouted into the mic, again and again like repetition could will her voice back. Nothing. Just white noise. Panic twisted in my chest.

I scrambled through the camera feeds on my laptop—every damn angle of the club I had access to. The stage, the VIP booths, the bar, the kitchen. But she wasn't in any of them. He'd taken her somewhere off-grid. Somewhere I couldn't see.

"FUCK!" I slammed my fist into the laptop, the screen flickering from the force. A hairline crack splintered across the edge. Didn't care.

That's when Jaime and Jon walked in. We were holed up in an abandoned apartment two blocks from the club, a temporary base just in case anything went sideways.

Well. It went sideways.

"What happened, boss?" Jon asked, voice low.

I didn't look at him. I stood up and crossed the room to the battered couch where I kept my duffle. I unzipped it, revealing an arsenal of destruction, everything from pistols to explosives to my favorite modified machine gun.

"He has her," I muttered.

"Shit," Jaime breathed, eyes going wide.

I didn't stop. I grabbed two pistols, loaded them, and tucked them into the waistband of my jeans. Then I strapped the machine gun to my back. Safety off.

She trusted me to keep her safe.

And I let that bastard put his hands on her.

I was vibrating with rage. My blood felt molten, my vision tinted red. This never should've happened. I should've shut Falcone down the second his name left her mouth. I should've blown that whole fucking club off the map the moment he looked at her sideways. Mafia etiquette? Respect for "neutral ground"?

Fuck all that. He took my girl.

Jon watched me grab more ammo. "Boss, what are you about to do?"

I whipped my head around. "I'm going to get my fucking girl back. What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

I stormed to the door, grabbing my bike keys on the way out.

Jon moved in front of me just before I reached it. "But the plan—"

"FUCK the plan!" I roared. "He HAS her! If she dies because I didn't get there in time because you're standing in front of me, I swear to God, you're getting a bullet in the skull."

Jon's jaw tensed, but he nodded and stepped aside.

I shoved past him and burst into the night, grabbing my helmet and yanking it on. The bike roared to life beneath me like it could feel my fury. I peeled off into the street, weaving through cars, red lights a blur.

Half way through the ride I noticed Jon's car following closely behind me. I would've been flattered if my heart wasn't beating out of my chest at the thought of Samaira being hurt.

My phone rang and I looked down to see Dick calling. I rolled my eyes and answered it on speaker. "What?" I yelled over the roaring wind.

"Jon called me concerned, said you're about to go on a rampage."

I didn't reply. No point lying.

"He also told me that the league of assassins is on their way to help you with said rampage but he also wanted me to try and calm you down first."

"I didn't know the team was coming." I muttered back to him. I was a block away from the club at this point.

"Did you really think they'd let their fearless leader shoot up a mafia den without help?" He laughed. "Anyway, Dami, why are you about to blow up Falcone's spot?"

"He took Samaira."

He hummed then was silent for a few seconds. "You love her?" He posed it as a question but knowing Dick it was just a statement. I didn't answer him. He took my silence as answer enough and sighed. "Just make sure the casualties are below the hundreds."

"No promises." I hung up just as I pulled into the alley behind the club.

Garfield's car skidded to a stop at the same time. He stepped out with Rachel, Karen, and—Vic? Wasn't expecting that. Vic and Karen used to be a thing, maybe they still were. Whatever. They were all suited up, all strapped.

Jaime and Jon pulled in right behind me. They were already out of the car and popping the trunk open to hand out weapons. I tossed my helmet onto my bike and cracked my neck, adrenaline sizzling through me.

Jon passed out guns like candy. "Falcone's men only!" he barked. "No civilians. Lyric, Chanel, and Isis are here, so stay sharp."

"Roy and Con?" Gar asked, loading a mag into his shotgun.

"Already inside and briefed," Jaime said.

Karen, checking her pistol, looked at me. "What's the plan?"

I slid a blade into my boot and looked her dead in the eye.

"Get my girl back," I said, voice low and deadly. "No matter what."

I walked up to the back door of the club. I knew it led to the kitchen. Garfield was already ahead of me, shotgun braced on his shoulder. He fired twice—one shot took out the lock, the other blew the hinges clean off. I kicked the door off its frame.

Didn't wait to see where it landed.

I had tunnel vision.

Only thing in my mind was Samaira.

The kitchen staff screamed and ran away but I didn't care. I kept stalking forward as my team ran ahead of me to secure the outside area. Behind me, Jaime grinned like a lunatic and lobbed a smoke bomb toward the double doors that led to the hallway. A second later, it detonated with a fwoosh. Plumes of thick gray fog pouring out.

Coughing echoed on the other side—Falcone's men, scrambling.

Perfect.

The doors burst open and guards stumbled in, eyes watering, hacking up their lungs.

I moved first. The closest meathead barely had time to flinch before my elbow cracked across his nose. Cartilage crunched. He dropped like a stone.

I stepped over him and casually shot him in the thigh so he'd think twice about crawling after me. He screamed. I didn't care.

The second swung a baton. I ducked under it, stepped in, and punched him in the throat. He dropped to his knees choking, and I drove my knee into his jaw.

The third rushed me. Big guy. Probably thought his size gave him an edge. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, twisted until he screamed, then slammed his face into the prep counter.

Karen and Rachel covered the left. Rachel pistol-whipped one guard straight into the wall while Karen disarmed another with a vicious snap kick to the wrist and then slammed his head into the open fridge door.

Jaime, grinning, caught a fourth guy by the collar and shoved him headfirst into the stove. The guy's skull cracked against the edge.

More guards swarmed in through the smoke. They weren't amateurs. Most had knives, metal batons, even a few pistols. They were fast and brutal—but not us.

Jon grabbed a guy by the shirt and threw him into a pile of broken chairs in the corner.

Still—no Samaira.

And I was running out of patience.

I scanned the kitchen until my eyes landed on a twitchy underling trying to slip through the pantry door. His jacket had Falcone's crest stitched into the sleeve.

Bingo. He was high ranking if he had the crest.

I crossed the kitchen in seconds and slammed him against the metal door, forearm pressed to his throat.

"Where's Falcone?" I demanded, gun raised and locked under his chin.

"I—I don't know, man!" he stammered. "I'm just a driver!"

Wrong answer.

Jon stepped beside me. Calm. Controlled. Quiet. He unsheathed a narrow blade from the holster at his hip. Then he grabbed the guy's hand and shoved the blade between his fingers.

Not deep, but deep enough to find nerves.

The man screamed.

"Try again," Jon said, voice level.

"I-I-I–okay! Okay!" the guy sobbed. "He took her! Downstairs! There's a basement! It's very private! Super hidden! He uses it to break people! Please! I don't want to die!"

I froze.

Then I saw red.

Falcone took her into some torture dungeon?

I didn't realize I'd moved until I'd thrown the guy across the room. He hit the side of the prep counter hard and didn't get up.

I turned back toward the hallway, my heart in my throat and my fingers twitching around my weapon. I didn't wait for more. Didn't check if the others were behind me. I just started walking. Anyone who got in my way tonight wasn't making it out uninjured.

And Falcone?

He wasn't making it out alive.

Samaira's pov

"You're dead, you know," I laughed, even as I spat blood onto the concrete below me. My mouth tasted like metal and salt, and one of my molars felt loose. "Once my mom hears about this, she's going to end you."

My arms ached from where they were chained above my head, my feet barely brushing the ground. The cell was concrete—damp and cold. Mold clung to the walls like it had tenure. The smell of old blood, rust, and death was soaked into every inch of the place, and I could feel it settling in my lungs.

Falcone stood across from me in his stupid tailored suit that looked too clean for this kind of rot. His hands were clasped behind his back, like we were having a polite conversation and not one where I was the prisoner and he was the monster.

He didn't even blink at my threat. "Your mother's tried to kill me hundreds of times already. What makes you think this time she'll succeed?"

I grinned through the pain. My lip was split, my face was swelling, but I refused to look weak. "Because this time you took me. And unfortunately for you, she loves me." I leaned forward as far as the chains would let me. "Haven't you heard about what a mother will do for her kid? Oh, wait—" I tilted my head and gave him a pitying pout. "You don't have a mom, right? She dumped you on the side of the road like trash."

That hit home.

His eyes flared, and he stormed toward me. The backhand cracked across my face so hard I saw white for a second. My ears rang, and the pain ricocheted across my jaw like a tuning fork. My teeth throbbed, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

Instead, I turned my head slowly, blood dripping down my chin, and spat in his face.

His eyes darkened with fury.

He didn't hit me again. Not yet. Instead, he spun around and barked at the guy hovering in the corner, the one I'd started calling "The Torture Creep." He was a tall bastard with cold eyes and a stun baton that he treated like an extension of his body.

"Break her," Falcone ordered. "I don't care how. Just do it. I need her docile if I'm going to sell her."

Sell me?

I almost laughed again. That was rich.

Creep stepped forward, baton already buzzing. My body clenched up just seeing it. He'd used it four times already, and it didn't get easier. The pain was white-hot—unrelenting—and it stayed burning under my skin long after the shocks stopped.

He raised it again, a gleam in his eye—

And that's when the door slammed open.

We all turned.

It was the usher. The skinny one who sold me and Emi the table earlier that night. His jacket was torn, he was panting hard, and there was blood on his shirt. He looked like someone had kicked the hell out of him and then told him to sprint a mile.

"Mr. Falcone!" he wheezed. "We have a problem. A big one."

Falcone straightened. "What? What now?"

"The devil is here," the usher gasped, gripping the doorframe.

My heart bloomed in my chest.

Damian.

Damian came for me.

Falcone froze. "What?"

"The devil," the usher repeated, like saying it once hadn't been enough. "He's cutting through our men like nothing. The Wayne boy."

Falcone clutched his head like the walls were caving in. "Why? Why would he—? We paid our dues to his father!"

The usher's eyes flicked toward me.

Falcone followed his gaze. "You."

I smiled. Big and wide, teeth bloody and eyes gleaming. "Oops," I said sweetly. "Did I forget to mention he's with me?"

Falcone's face fell apart.

"Cut her down!" he screamed, whirling to his men. "Get her down now! We have to get out of here!"

A voice boomed from the hallway outside, so loud and furious it echoed like gunfire.

"WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE IS SAMAIRA?!"

That voice. That roar.

It made every hair on my body stand on end.

He sounded unhinged. He sounded like vengeance.

"In here!" I screamed back, throat raw.

Falcone panicked. "Shut her up! Move! Get me the hell out of here!"

Torture creep came back for me but I was ready now, I had a sudden boost of energy. As he got close enough I swung my legs up and wrapped them around his neck effectively choking him. He dropped the stun baton and grabbed my legs trying to pry them off his neck but I held firm. Then, with everything I had left, I twisted. Fast. Hard. Until I felt the pop.

He dropped to the ground dead.

Man, I still got it in me!

Another man tried to come for me but the door to the cell burst open once more. This time it was familiar faces. Damian, Jon and Jaime came in guns blazing. Jaime took out four guys with his pistol, at the same time Jon brutally tackled one to the ground. Pounding his face into the ground over and over with his fists.

I forget just how physically strong the little shit is sometimes.

Damian didn't move at first. His eyes met mine.

And what I saw there—

It wasn't just rage.

It was fire.

It was war.

It was devistating.

He charged.

He didn't fight clean. He fought ugly. He shattered noses with his fists, dislocated joints, crushed throats with brutal knees and elbows. One guy tried to pull a gun, and Damian snapped his wrist and used the same gun to shoot him in the foot before kicking his teeth in.

Every hit he landed sounded final. Like punctuation.

Falcone was trapped now—his men were dying or fleeing, and the only exit was blocked by Garfield, shotgun in hand.

I watched Damian fight with my heart pounding so loud it echoed in my ears. And then something weird happened.

It was like a movie scene. Like one of those cheesy rom-coms where the heroine sees the guy and everything else fades away. All she hears is a super slow romantic song as her guy runs towards her. Only, instead of a guy in a suit holding flowers, it was my guy, fists soaked in blood, protecting me with every ounce of fury in his body.

And in my head? You Are My Joy by Faith Evans was playing in my ear. 

Especially that one part.

You are the love of my life.

And damn it, he was. Damian Wayne was the love of my life. He came for me. He was protecting me.

And I think that's all a girl could really ask for.