SON OF BATMAN

The faint ripples of water echoed softly through the marble-clad bathroom. Yvonne reclined lazily in the large clawfoot tub, her head tilted back against the porcelain rim, eyes half-lidded in relaxation.

Steam curled into the air, clinging to the mirrors and polished walls, creating an atmosphere of warm serenity.

Amelia stood nearby. As always, her posture was straight and impeccable. A plush black towel hung neatly over one of her arms, ready to be handed to her Young Mistress when she was ready. Her hazel eyes were watchful but stoic as she waited for her Young Mistress to finish.

Even here, amidst the swirling humidity of the bathroom, Amelia was the picture of composed professionalism, her fitted black suit untouched by the heat and dampness around her.

The contrast between them was striking. Yvonne, blonde hair swept messily into a loose knot atop her head, lounged in carefree abandon, the very picture of playful indulgence.

Amelia, by contrast, stood pristine in her fitted black attire, her high-heeled stilettos clicking faintly against the floor whenever she shifted her stance.

Yvonne sighed contentedly, letting the warm water ease her muscles before breaking the comfortable silence.

"Two weeks," she lamented, dragging the words out as if each syllable carried the weight of an eternity. "Two whole weeks without him. How am I supposed to survive, Amelia?"

Amelia, standing near the vanity with the towel folded neatly over her arm, didn't look up. "You survived before, Young Mistress," she said, her tone calm, professional, and unwavering. "And you'll survive now."

Yvonne scoffed lightly, turning her head to rest her cheek against the tub's edge as she gave Amelia a pointed look. "Yes, of course I'll survive. This is not anything new after all," she muttered, her voice tinged with mild frustration. "He disappears on me all the time. Always has something to do, somewhere to be."

Amelia inclined her head slightly, her hazel eyes steady. "He has his reasons," she replied, her tone even and measured. "He always does."

Yvonne sighed again, less dramatically this time, and sank deeper into the water until it reached her chin.

"I know. It's not like I don't understand. Damian's been all over the world, building things, destroying things, who knows what else. He's had a life, you know. And then..." She trailed off, her voice growing softer. "And then Bruce died. And he's had to drop everything and come back so suddenly."

Amelia's usually composed face shifted ever so slightly at the mention of Bruce Wayne's death, her thoughts inevitably turning to Damian. Her gaze faltered, lowering to the floor as the faintest shadow of sadness passed over her features.

She had seen the weight Bruce's death had placed on Damian, the quiet grief he never voiced, the way he carried on as though the burden didn't exist. It was brief, fleeting, but unmistakable. Yet, true to her nature, she remained silent, bottling whatever emotion stirred within her as she waited for Yvonne to continue.

Yvonne's gaze softened as she traced idle patterns through the bathwater, her fingers disturbing the still surface. Her voice, which had carried a playful lilt just moments ago, now held a note of wistfulness. "I know he'll be back, but two weeks feels like a lifetime without him," she admitted, her words coming quieter now, more pensive.

"I can't feel whole without him. I'll just feel... hollow until then." She paused, her lips curving into a small, playful smirk as a teasing glint flickered in her sapphire eyes.

Amelia raised an eyebrow, her hazel eyes glinting with reserved sharpness. "You could have remained at home, Young Mistress," she remarked dryly, her voice steady and precise as always. "No one forced you to follow him here. You were quite comfortable in your own estate."

Yvonne turned her head toward Amelia, a lazy, confident smile spreading across her lips as she leaned back further into the water. "Wherever my man moves, I have to follow," she replied simply, her tone playful but laced with an underlying certainty.

She tilted her head. "It's my duty to keep him company, isn't it? Besides," she added with a sly grin, "who else would keep him entertained?"

Amelia exhaled softly, though it was difficult to tell if it was exasperation or a barely restrained smile. She adjusted the towel draped neatly over her arm, choosing not to dignify Yvonne's words with a retort.

"Sigh, For two weeks, I'll just be… a fragile, tragic damsel wasting away, waiting for her handsome devil to return and make life worth living again." She let out a dramatic sigh, though her smile betrayed the lightheartedness beneath her words.

Amelia, standing poised with the towel draped neatly over her arm, raised an eyebrow at Yvonne's theatrics. "A fragile, tragic damsel, Young Mistress?" she repeated in her signature deadpan tone, though the faintest hint of amusement flickered in her hazel eyes. "Forgive me, but I seem to recall a certain someone throwing a vase across the room because the Young Master left you on read."

Yvonne froze mid-sigh, her head snapping toward Amelia with a look of exaggerated betrayal. "Amelia!" she gasped, her cheeks flushing faintly as she sat up in the tub, water sloshing gently around her.

"That was completely different!" She gestured dramatically, splashing water as she waved her hand. "And, for the record, that vase was hideous and deserved to be smashed!"

Amelia's expression remained stoic, though the sharp glint in her hazel eyes betrayed her readiness to respond.

"Hideous, was it?" she said, her tone as composed and professional as ever, though the faintest edge of sarcasm crept into her voice. "If I recall correctly, that vase was a 17th-century Qing dynasty artifact worth approximately two hundred thousand euros."

Yvonne's lips parted slightly, her face twitching as if caught between indignation and sheepishness.

"Well," she began, waving a hand dismissively, "it doesn't matter how much it was worth. It clashed terribly with the rest of the décor." She crossed her arms over the tub's edge, trying to regain her composure. "Honestly, whoever thought to put that hideous thing in the drawing room lacked vision."

Amelia's eyebrow arched ever so slightly, the barest trace of a smirk threatening to break her otherwise composed features. "The mistress certainly didn't think so," she said smoothly, her voice pointed but professional. "She was quite… displeased with you, if I may say so."

Yvonne groaned dramatically, sinking further into the water as though she could hide from the weight of Amelia's words. "Fine," she muttered, her voice muffled as her cheek pressed against the edge of the tub. "So I may have lost my temper… just a little."

She shifted slightly, her brows furrowing in mild frustration before her voice rose again, indignant and wistful all at once.

"And I had a perfectly valid reason! It wasn't just any message, it was special." She sighed, wringing her fingers beneath the water as her gaze grew distant. "I poured my heart into it, and he just… left me on read."

Amelia tilted her head ever so slightly, her black hair catching the light as a loose strand grazed her temple. "If I recall correctly, Young Mistress, I believe you told him—"

"Ugh," Yvonne groaned loudly, interrupting her, and pulling her wet hair over her face in an attempt to block out the memory.

"Don't remind me. I was in a mood," she grumbled, the faintest note of embarrassment slipping into her voice. "And he still had the nerve to leave me on read."

Amelia shifted, her tone growing just a shade drier. "As Young Master often does," she remarked pointedly.

With a dramatic huff, she straightened up again and splashed some water in Amelia's general direction, though, as usual, it fell short. "Well, I've gotten used to it! It's not like it bothers me anymore. As you said, he does it all the time."

She straightened up and crossed her arms over the tub's edge. Her tone turned playful, though her pout betrayed her lingering annoyance. "I've grown immune to his cold, merciless reads. I'm practically a battle-hardened soldier by now."

Amelia raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing her usually stoic face. "Is that so, Young Mistress? Because it certainly seems like his 'cold, merciless reads' still get quite the reaction out of you."

Yvonne narrowed her eyes at her, a teasing glint forming in their sapphire depths. "Oh, hush, Amelia. We both know you miss him too," she shot back, her voice lilting with playful accusation.

Amelia's composure faltered for just a fraction of a second, her hazel eyes darting away briefly as a faint blush crept onto her cheeks.

"I assure you, Young Mistress, my concern lies solely in ensuring that both you and the Young Master are properly cared for. Anything beyond that is irrelevant," she said, her tone as crisp and professional as ever, though the slight redness in her face betrayed her.

Yvonne smirked, her grin growing wider as she leaned against the edge of the tub. "Properly cared for, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?" she teased, her voice dripping with mischief. "Come on, Amelia, admit it! You miss him just as much as I do. Maybe even more."

Yvonne paused for a moment, her playful smirk softening ever so slightly. She tilted her head, sapphire eyes glinting as she added, "Actually… no, you definitely miss him more."