Bruce Wayne (Batman)

The key turned smoothly in the lock of the Wayne Manor library. Alfred entered first, with his impeccable bearing, and she appeared behind him.

Chloe was seventeen. She was slender, almost ethereal, with a graceful figure that moved smoothly through the shadows. Her hair was pale silver, smooth as glass, and so long it reached past her waist, falling straight and heavy down her back. She looked like no one Bruce had ever seen before.

Bruce Wayne, thirty-five years old, stood by the window, his back to them. He didn't turn around immediately. His silence was heavy, unwavering.

"Mr. Wayne," Alfred said, with a calmness that barely concealed his nervousness. "There's something you should know. This is Chloe Miller. My daughter."

Bruce turned slowly. His eyes were dark, inscrutable. He scanned her with a quick, cold, professional look, as if he were assessing a threat and not a girl.

"Your daughter?" Her voice was low, dry, and cold. "She never mentioned having a family, Alfred."

“I was born long before you knew me, sir,” Chloe interjected. Her voice was soft but firm. “Dad said it was best to keep me away from all of this… from now.”

Bruce looked at her for another moment, then looked away.

"I don't care who his father is," he said coldly. "The rules don't change here. He's out of the way. And he's not going near the Batcave."

He turned around and left the room without waiting for a response. There was no greeting. No welcome. Only the warning, clear and curt.

Alfred sighed, looking at his daughter with a mixture of pride and concern. Chloe glanced at him, then back in the direction Bruce had gone. She knew that gaining that man's trust would be harder than anything she'd ever done before. But it was her father who had asked her to be there… and she wasn't going to fail.