Bruce exhaled deeply as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel—the city lights streaking past the windshield. “Those kids,” he muttered under his breath. Damian had been spending too much time with Dick lately, and now of all times, the boy decided to echo Dick’s attitude. 

Bruce understood Damian’s concerns, even if the boy’s delivery was blunt and abrasive. But there were limits. His son might have a sharp tongue and an old soul, but Bruce wasn’t about to let a ten-year-old dictate how he lived his private life—or in this case, his romantic life. His thoughts drifted to Selina. 

Their relationship had been complicated from the start, a dance between hunter and hunted. In the early days, he’d pursued her like any other criminal, cape drawn, jaw set, every intention of bringing her in. 

But something about Selina Kyle had always thrown him off balance. She wasn’t like the rest—never desperate, and never afraid. She moved with grace and playfulness, meeting the Bat’s intensity with teasing smiles and dangerous feminine allure. 

There were nights she committed crimes that weren’t really about stealing at all—just daring him to chase her across Gotham’s rooftops, just to see if he’d follow. And he always did. 

With time, the line blurred. What had started as pursuit grew into something else, something more dangerous than than her claws or whips—a strange trust, fragile but undeniable. Eventually, she became the only woman who could draw out both Bruce Wayne and Batman, and hold them together as one man. With Talia, he was always the Batman. With Selina, he could be both. 

Even after revealing his identity, the trust between them had deepened, but Bruce carried one secret he hadn’t shared yet—Damian. The world barely knew the boy existed beyond his enrollment at a discreet private academy, and Selina… Selina knew nothing. Tonight, Bruce had decided, that would change. He would tell her about his son. 

The thought gnawed at him. How would she take it? That he had a child he hadn’t known existed until three years ago? That he’d kept the boy in his life without a word to her? He didn’t know if she’d be angry, hurt, or simply amused in that way only Selina could be. But the bandage had to come off, and tonight seemed as good a night as any. 

He imagined her laughter, her lips pressing against his, her curves fitting perfectly against him as they always did, and for the first time in a long while, Bruce felt nervous. Nervous, and strangely hopeful. 

His daydream was cut short by the sharp ping of an incoming call. Damian’s name lit up the console screen. Bruce groaned. “Damian.” Without hesitation, he answered, though a part of him prayed it wasn’t an emergency that would drag him back into the cowl. 

“Yes, Damian,” Bruce said, his voice calm, though his grip on the wheel tightened slightly. The dashboard screen came to life, displaying Damian seated in the Batcave, arms crossed, already in full Robin gear, his expression carved into that familiar scowl of authority far too large for his ten-year-old frame. 

“As I was saying, Father,” Damian began without delay, his tone pointed and unrelenting, “be mindful of your drink tonight. Women often harbor ulterior motives. Take what happened with my mother as a lesson—though I am, of course, grateful that the outcome of that encounter was my existence.” 

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, his patience was being tested at this point. “I thought we were finished with this when I left the house.” 

“No. You cut me off before I was done speaking,” Damian replied witg his voice cool, his posture unyielding and upright.

In the background, Dick’s voice chimed in, clearly entertained. “Tell him to keep protection in his suit pocket. You never know when a woman might want to… engage. Unpredictable creatures, women are.” 

Bruce’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing at the wheel. Dick had no filter, and the fact that Damian was sitting right there made it worse. Damian’s eyes shifted sideways at Dick, his expression flickering between disgust and curiosity. 

“Anyway,” Damian continued, seeming unfazed, “be sure to wake up before her. Keep a close eye on your valuables. Never trust a thief.” 

“I told you,” Bruce muttered, tapping the wheel, “she isn’t like that anymore.” 

“So you say, but remember, once a thief, always a thie—” 

The call cut off abruptly as Bruce ended it with a firm tap. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling through his nose as the traffic light ahead turned green. He pressed on the accelerator, letting the car glide smoothly through Gotham’s streets.

Fifteen minutes later, the skyline gave way to the towering silhouette of the manor where the event was being held. The grounds shimmered under spotlights, the windows glowing with golden warmth. Luxury cars lined the entrance, valets moving swiftly to and from, their uniforms crisp in the night air. 

Bruce pulled up to the entrance, sliding into the role of Gotham’s golden playboy with practiced ease. Stepping out, he adjusted his jacket and handed off his keys to the waiting chauffeur with a small, easy flick of his wrist. Confidence radiated from him, his strides were deliberate and commanding. 

“Is that Bruce Wayne?” someone whispered. 

“It’s Bruce Wayne,” another voice echoed, excitement laced in the tone. Heads turned as murmurs followed him toward the grand entrance, cameras flashing from the hands of opportunists who couldn’t resist. 

Inside, the manor’s great hall spread wide, chandeliers sparkling overhead like constellations of crystal. Music drifted lazily from a live orchestra in the corner, blending with the hum of conversation and laughter. Waiters in white gloves carried trays of champagne, weaving effortlessly between clusters of Gotham’s elite. 

“Oh, Bruce, you made it.” An old business associate intercepted him almost immediately, his belly pressing against his tuxedo as he raised a glass of champagne. His cheeks were flushed, his smile too wide. 

“It turns out that way,” Bruce replied smoothly, signaling a passing waiter for his own glass.

“The place is crawling with familiar faces tonight. And the women—well, there’s beauty at every turn. You’ll have your hands full.” The man winked, smirking with a lewd edge. 

“Maybe,” Bruce said lightly, taking a sip from his glass. 

“Look at them,” the man chuckled, gesturing around the room. “Husbands ready to cheat with whoever bats an eye, wives eyeing younger men like you. Careful, or they’ll devour you like a pack of hungry hyenas.” He laughed at his own words, sloshing his drink in the process until a streak of champagne stained his tuxedo. 

Bruce feigned a chuckle, offering a polite smile. “You might want to clean that up.” 

“Wow, would you look at that.” The man muttered and excused himself, weaving off toward the restroom, still chuckling under his breath. 

“Well, well,” a sultry voice purred from behind him, smooth and playful. “Look what the cat dragged in. Bruce Wayne slumming it with the rest of us?” 

Bruce turned, his practiced smile softening into something warmer when his eyes landed on her. Selina Kyle stood there, draped in a sleek black dress that clung to her figure in all the right places, her curves outlined by the dim glow of chandelier light. 

A slit up her thigh flashed briefly as she stepped forward, her heels clicking with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her smile was teasing, predatory, and irresistible all at once. 

“I thought your rich ass was too fancy for these kinds of gatherings,” she teased, tilting her head, emerald eyes glinting with mischief. 

Bruce’s gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than polite before meeting her eyes again. “I do have a charming lady as my plus-one tonight,” he replied smoothly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He paused, lowering his tone just slightly, just for her. “Unless the world was actually in danger, of course.” 

Selina’s smile deepened, and just like that, the game was on again. 

The laughter and chatter from the party drifted down the wide halls of the Mayor’s Manor, bouncing faintly off polished marble floors and oil-painted walls. Guests had been ushered into another wing, a grand theater carved into the estate itself, where cushioned seats faced a stage draped in heavy red curtains. 

A Halloween performance had begun, a play loud enough to keep the audience entranced, their applause and gasps swallowed by the room’s design. 

Jason had slipped away within the first ten minutes. While masks and wine distracted Gotham’s elite, he moved like a shadow, dressed sharp in a tailored tuxedo that helped him blend in.

But unlike the others, he wasn’t here for festivities. His eyes, cold and searching, swept over corridors as he navigated past the laughter, his path taking him deeper into the manor’s restricted halls. Security posted at each turn barely noticed him pass—when they did, he was already gone, a ghost weaving around their lines of sight. Questions and interruptions weren’t something he planned to entertain tonight. 

The Manor’s atmosphere was suffocating in its opulence: chandeliers burning low, walls lined with portraits of dead men with colder eyes than the living, the air thick with cigar smoke lingering from years of use. 

Jason combed through hallway after hallway, opening polished doors and slipping into studies, lounges, private offices. Yet, each search came up empty. His patience was thinning when something finally caught his attention. 

From the end of a corridor, he spotted a man in a tailored suit, face red with drink, guiding a boy no older than eight by the wrist. The child was dressed in ridiculous costume wings, a cherubic Halloween cupid made unsettling by the context. The man led him into a study Jason had just left. 

Jason froze. His brows furrowed, anger coiling in his chest. 

“What the—?” he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching. 

He followed, soundless, his footsteps swallowed by the carpet. He slipped in just as the heavy door clicked shut. Inside, he watched the man press a brick along the fireplace, triggering a quiet grind of stone as the wall opened, revealing a hidden passage. Without hesitation, the man pulled the boy through. 

Jason stayed put for a beat, silent and still. Then, pulling gloves tighter over his hands, he pressed the same brick. The passage yawned open, swallowing him whole. 

What lay beyond turned his stomach. 

The hidden chamber below reeked of expensive liquor, sweat, and something far fouler. Ornate furniture had been dragged aside for a grotesque gathering, where men of Gotham’s upper crust indulged in a spectacle so vile Jason’s fingers twitched toward his gun without hesitation. 

Had it not been for the mayor which was just another key to securing Joker just when Black Mask finally pull through as planned—Jason would’ve ended it there, reducing every last man to corpses on the floor. 

His eyes hardened as he slid a spy camera from his jacket, its lens capturing every second. He didn’t need to watch, couldn’t bring himself to. The sound alone was enough. His chest burned with disgust as his mind reeled between violent impulse and the control he forced onto himself. 

Then, as the laughter and moans filled the chamber, the small clatter of a pebble drew their attention. It rolled into the center of the room. A beat of silence followed, then hiss. The pebble erupted into thick smoke, swallowing the men in gray haze. 

Jason’s hands moved fast. The Hood came out, his mask snapping into place as he screwed a silencer onto his pistol while moving into the chaos.

The first shot cracked low, blowing out both kneecaps of a bloated man. His screams tore through the smoke before Jason silenced them with the butt of his gun, the crack of bone loud as the man slumped on the ground like a fattened naked animal.

Another stumbled through the smoke, coughing. Jason slid behind him and drove his fist into the man’s spine. The crack echoed through the chamber as the man collapsed with a shriek that died in his throat. Jason followed with a brutal strike of his pistol across his jaw, teeth scattering as blood sprayed. 

By the time the haze thinned, every man in the chamber was unconscious, except for one. The mayor.

And the children. 

The three boys trembled in the corner, clothes half-torn and eyes wide with terror. They didn’t speak, they couldn’t. They only clutched at their costumes—one dressed like a knight, another like the ghost from the SCREAM movie, and one, almost painfully, wearing a child’s Batman suit. 

“Stay by the entrance,” Jason ordered, his voice muffled by the modulator in his helmet but steady enough to calm them. “Don’t move. Don’t go out. You’ll just get caught again.” 

The mayor, stripped of his power and pretense, sat naked on the floor, his hands shaking as he tried to cover himself. His face twisted with fear when Jason turned toward him. 

“Mr. Mayor,” Red Hood drawled, pacing closer in polished shoes instead of his usual combat boots, with each step a deliberate one. “The man with the squeaky clean record. Gotham’s political saint. I wonder if your family knows about these sickening little extracurriculars.” 

The mayor’s breath hitched. The GCPD had warned him about Red Hood—profiled as a ruthless new player leaving Gotham’s underworld stacked with bodies. Now, that very figure loomed over him. 

Jason crouched and reached for his arm. Before the mayor could speak, his finger bent sharply back until the bone snapped. 

A piercing scream ripped from his throat. 

Jason tilted his head. “Scream again and this footage goes public.” He pulled a small phone from his pocket, tapping the screen until the recorded horrors flickered across it. With a flick, the option displayed clear as day: upload video. 

The mayor’s face broke, his eyes flooding with tears. “Please—please don’t. It would ruin me. My wife, my child—please.” His voice cracked as desperation strangled every word. 

Jason leaned closer with his voice low and cold. “You should’ve thought of that before indulging in this filth. Imagine if it was your own son.” His hand twitched as if to strike, and the mayor flinched violently, a sob escaping him.

Jason let the tension hang for a moment before slamming the butt of his gun across the mayor’s face. The crunch of bone and cartilage filled the silence. Blood dribbled from his split jaw as he coughed, choking on it. Jason had nerfed the blow—enough to break him, not knock him out. 

Stepping forward, Jason planted his shoe on the mayor’s leg, pressing slowly. “I don’t need to remind you what happens if you make a sound.” Then he leaned in harder. Bone cracked again, the mayor’s ankle snapping under his weight. His scream was muffled, choked into his own hands.

Jason crouched, his tone almost conversational. “Imagine Gotham’s reaction when they learn the truth about their protector. Even the freaks in Arkham wouldn’t stoop this low.” He slapped the mayor’s bloodied face lightly, mockingly. 

“You disgust me.” 

He stood, leaving the man writhing as he turned to the boys. Jason softened just enough to kneel in front of the one dressed as Batman. He tapped the bat symbol on his own chest gently. “You’re safe now.” 

They looked at him with fragile trust, their small bodies trembling as he guided them to the door. 

Behind him, the mayor lay in a pathetic heap, clutching his shattered ankle, bloodied face twisting in agony. Jason turned once more, raising his gun as the barrel locked on him. 

“I’ll be in touch,” he said evenly. “Do exactly as I say, or this city will see the real you.” The mayor’s head bobbed frantically with desperation, broken and shameful. 

Jason gave one last cold glance before shepherding the children through the manor, dispatching every guard in his path with calculated efficiency—no lethal attacks, only precise blows without wasted motion. 

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep