SON OF BATMAN

The morning sun poured through the massive windows of the master bedroom, casting golden light over the chaos left in the wake of the night before.

Yvonne stirred, the warmth on her bare skin pulling her from deep, dreamless sleep. She blinked slowly, her sapphire eyes bleary and half-closed as she sat up against the headboard.

Her blonde waves tumbled wildly around her face, completely disheveled, and her body bore the evidence of the night's passion, red marks and faint bite marks scattered across her pale skin like a map of where his hands and mouth had claimed her.

The sheets clung to her legs, tangled and twisted, while the rest of the massive bed was a mess of crumpled fabric and discarded pillows. Her clothes, every last piece, were nowhere near her. They lay scattered across the room, a trail of their undoing.

She exhaled deeply, running a hand through her wild hair, her gaze trailing to the empty space beside her. Of course, he was gone. Typical.

The faint scent of him lingered in the air, dark, sharp, unmistakably Damian, but the man himself had disappeared, leaving no trace other than the havoc they had wreaked on the room.

A faint smirk touched her lips, equal parts amused and annoyed. The events of the previous night were vivid in her mind, the heat, the intensity, and the way he completely consumed her, but the sting of waking up alone had her huffing softly.

Her voice broke the stillness of the room, soft and teasing but laced with mock lament.

"Evil man," she muttered, her fingers brushing the empty sheets beside her. "You could have at least given me a "morning snack" before vanishing."

She tilted her head back, closing her eyes briefly as she savored the lingering memories of his touch. Then, with a resigned sigh, she opened them again, her gaze scanning the disarray around her. Typical Damian, indeed.

As her complaint lingered in the still air, a sharp, steady voice broke through from the side of the room.

"Young Mistress," the voice said, calm and professional with an unmistakable edge of sarcasm. "You always talk big, but I'm sure you begged Young Master to let you rest like usual."

Yvonne froze mid-stretch, her hazy mind suddenly snapping into focus at the jab. Her head whipped around toward the source of the voice, her sapphire eyes narrowing dangerously.

Emerging from the doorway of the master bathroom was a tall, striking woman who exuded an air of cool professionalism.

Her fitted sleeveless black suit jacket, sleek black blouse, and tailored black pants hugged her curvaceous figure perfectly, emphasizing her elegant, hourglass shape without appearing gaudy.

Dressed entirely in black, her attire conveyed a sense of refined precision, further accentuated by the sharp clicks of her black stiletto heels echoing faintly against the bedroom's polished floor. Every inch of her exuded sophistication, her beauty understated yet undeniable.

Her hazel eyes, framed by long dark lashes, glinted with a reserved sharpness, their golden undertones adding a warmth that softened her otherwise imposing presence.

Her jet-black hair was styled into a high, messy bun, with a few artfully loose strands framing her face. The dark, glossy waves of her hair complemented her all-black attire seamlessly, the two working in tandem to enhance her aura of quiet elegance and professionalism.

Together, the inky hues of her hair and clothing created a striking contrast against her fair complexion, amplifying the subtle allure of her presence.

Yet, it was the jewelry on her left ear that truly caught the light, a dazzling ear cuff studded with diamonds, connected by an intricate silver chain to an equally ornate earring on her lobe.

The piece was extravagant, its craftsmanship so meticulous that its immense value was unmistakable, yet she wore it with an understated, effortless grace.

Every now and then, a stray strand of her jet-black hair would drift out of place, threatening to obscure the dazzling piece, but with a practiced, almost subconscious motion, she would flick it neatly aside. It was as if ensuring the jewelry remained visible was second nature to her, though the subtle elegance of the gesture only added to her composed allure.

This was Amelia, Yvonne's trusted attendant, who had been by her side for years.

While her tone was professional and her demeanor composed, her words carried just enough sarcasm to jab at her young mistress. Amelia's poise was undeniable, but it did nothing to hide the striking curves of her body, the tailored suit both accentuating and restraining her figure in a way that reflected her disciplined nature. Even her black leather gloves, fitted snugly over her hands, added to her polished and commanding appearance.

The jab struck home, and Yvonne glared at her, annoyance flashing across her face. "You," she growled, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it toward Amelia with all the indignation of someone who had been thoroughly called out.

Amelia sidestepped elegantly, her movements fluid and precise as she dodged the pillow. She didn't flinch or break her posture, her hands remaining clasped lightly in front of her, and her expression stayed completely stoic. Yet Yvonne, having known her for years, could just make out the faintest hint of mockery hiding in her hazel eyes which further annoyed her.

Annoyed, Yvonne crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest, her tone defensive. "It's not like you fare any better," she shot back, her words pointed and accompanied by a triumphant smirk. "Don't act like you don't also always end up begging him to let you rest every single time."

For once, Amelia's composure cracked. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she stammered, her professional demeanor faltering. "I— That's— Young Mistress, I don't believe this is an appropriate topic of conversation," she stammered, her voice softer than usual as she averted her gaze.

Yvonne chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the rare victory over her usually unflappable attendant. Throwing off the sheets, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, only to immediately wince as a groan escaped her lips. Every muscle in her body protested, sore and aching from the previous night's... activities.

From behind her, she heard the faintest snicker. Whipping her head around, she narrowed her eyes and glared at Amelia, who stood there with her hands clasped behind her back, her face as calm and professional as ever. If not for Yvonne's familiarity with her, she might've thought the sound came from someone else entirely.

"I'm taking a bath," Yvonne said, huffing as she brushed past Amelia toward the bathroom. "Prepare my outfit for the day."

Without missing a beat, Amelia inclined her head slightly. "The bath has already been prepared, Young Mistress," she replied, her tone calm and efficient, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Of course it had been. Amelia had always been one step ahead, anticipating her every need before she even voiced it. The faint scent of lavender and warm steam drifting from the bathroom confirmed her attendant's impeccable foresight.

Satisfied, Yvonne strode into the bathroom without another word, leaving Amelia to carry out the rest of her instructions.

Amelia stood for a moment, watching her young mistress disappear into the adjoining bathroom.

Having arrived at the manor earlier that morning, Amelia had made sure to bring everything her young mistress might require during her stay.

The bath, now steaming and ready, had been set as soon as she'd calculated the time Yvonne would likely wake.

Now, as she moved with practiced efficiency to lay out the day's attire, her black stilettos clicked softly against the polished floor, her every movement exuding precision and poise.