The Gotham Gambit [118]

Dark Night at Wayne Manor

The rain pummeled Gotham mercilessly.

Thick droplets slid down the dark glass of the limousine, blurring the city lights into ghostly reflections. Inside the car, the silence was thick, heavy with frustration and restrained anger.

Bruce Wayne sank into the leather seat, his fists clenched against his knees. The weight of failure burned within him.

'I just wanted to help.'

The woman's words still echoed in his mind.

"I didn't ask for help!"

The ingratitude cut like a cold blade. He didn't expect gratitude—never did. But to be treated as an aggressor? A threat?

His jaw locked.

The limousine glided through the wet streets, its engine purring softly. The air inside felt charged, suffocating.

From the front seat, Alfred kept his eyes on the road, steering with the precision of someone who knew every pothole, every treacherous curve of Gotham by heart.

The silence lasted a few minutes.

Then, the butler's calm voice sliced through the air.

"Was it a tough day, sir?"

Bruce didn't answer right away.

His fingers tightened against his pants, his breathing heavy.

Alfred sighed softly.

"I saw your face when you got in the car. I've known that look since you were ten."

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment.

'Ten years old.'

The weight of the past was always there, lurking like a persistent shadow.

The car passed through the gates of Wayne Manor, rolling along the cobblestone driveway lit by ancient lanterns. The silhouettes of gargoyles atop the roof stood out against the stormy sky.

Bruce took a deep breath, opening his eyes.

The vehicle came to a gentle stop in front of the main entrance.

The rain still fell hard.

Alfred stepped out first, opening a black umbrella with a fluid motion.

The door swung open.

Bruce stepped out.

The cold night air bit at his skin.

He didn't care.

Firm steps crossed the wet stones. His boots soaked through, but that didn't matter.

Inside the manor, the fireplace was lit, casting trembling shadows across the hall. The warmth clashed brutally with the icy storm outside.

Bruce peeled off his wet coat and tossed it over the leather armchair.

The manor's silence was a deafening scream.

Alfred entered behind him, closing the door.

The butler's seasoned eyes studied Bruce with patience.

"Was it a mistake?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

"No."

The answer came quickly, firmly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Then why does it look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?"

Bruce ran his hands through his wet hair.

"Because nothing changed, Alfred. Nothing."

The butler crossed his arms, observing him with the calm of someone who'd seen this scene before.

"You did what you thought was right."

Bruce let out a short, dry laugh.

"And what good did it do? The woman treated me like an enemy. Like I was worse than the bastard beating her."

Alfred tilted his head slightly.

"And you're surprised?"

Bruce's gaze snapped up.

Alfred stepped closer, stopping near the fireplace.

"That woman doesn't know who you are. To her, you're just a stranger. An unknown who interfered in what, to her, was already a predictable situation."

Bruce frowned.

"So I should've stood by?"

Alfred shook his head.

"No, sir. You should understand that helping someone doesn't always mean being welcomed."

Bruce shifted his gaze to the flames.

The heat licked at the wood, consuming it slowly. The crackling fire filled the space.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

The anger was still there, but something in it was starting to shift.

Alfred sighed.

"Justice isn't about acceptance, Master Wayne. It's about doing what needs to be done, even when no one acknowledges it."

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face.

Exhaustion weighed on him.

"So I keep trying?"

Alfred gave a small smile.

"Yes. And failing, and trying again."

The silence stretched.

Bruce stared at the flames a moment longer.

The initial fury wasn't burning as fiercely anymore.

Only one persistent thought remained.

'Tomorrow night, I go out again.'

Alfred cleared his throat softly.

"Yes, Master Wayne. But for now, you need to sleep well. You have the company to deal with during the day."

Bruce frowned, pulling his gaze from the fireplace.

'Company.'

The word felt foreign.

"I've been gone too long."

Alfred tilted his head slightly, patience etched in his expression.

"And precisely because of that, your presence is needed. Wayne Enterprises requires a leader. Someone who's more than just a face for the shareholders."

Bruce leaned back in the armchair, closing his eyes for a moment.

"It's not just showing up, Alfred. I know they'll test me. They'll want to see if I'm still capable of commanding something bigger than my own shadow."

The butler remained impassive.

"And are you?"

Bruce's jaw tightened.

'Am I?'

Wayne Enterprises wasn't just a corporation. It was an empire. A pillar of Gotham. But in recent years, he'd spent more time in the shadows than in boardrooms.

Now, he'd return as a distant CEO, someone many believed was just a decorative figurehead.

The shareholders would be waiting.

Waiting for any misstep.

Waiting to exploit any weakness.

Bruce opened his eyes, his expression hardening.

"Is Lucius Fox still there?"

Alfred nodded.

"Yes, sir. And he's held the reins better than anyone could've imagined. But even he has limits. Some on the board have started wondering if your absence wasn't… too convenient."

Bruce took a deep breath.

"Convenient."

The word lingered on his tongue.

Of course they'd think that. To many, Bruce Wayne was just a playboy. A legendary name propped up by old glories.

Now, he'd need to prove he was still relevant.

"I need a plan."

Alfred adjusted his shirt cuffs.

"Yes, sir. But first, you need rest. You won't impress anyone with deep circles under your eyes and an exhausted mind."

Bruce studied the butler for a moment.

'He's right.'

The battle at the company would begin at dawn.

He stood slowly, his muscles protesting the night's weight.

"Wake me at six."

Alfred smirked faintly.

"As if I needed permission for that."

Bruce let out a quiet sigh.

The challenge of Wayne Enterprises awaited him.

And, as always…

He'd be ready.

---

Luthor Mansion

The crystal glass twirled between his fingers, the amber liquid sliding smoothly against the transparent walls. The fireplace crackled low, casting uneven shadows across the spacious office of Luthor Mansion.

Lex Luthor leaned back in his leather armchair, his eyes fixed on the open letter on the desk.

An invitation.

Nothing more than a social formality.

A tribute to Bruce Wayne's return.

He raised the glass, watching the fire's reflection dance across the whiskey's surface.

'Bruce Wayne.'

The name carried weight, but it meant nothing to him.

Just an heir to a fortune he'd never had to fight to keep.

Lex ran his fingers over the paper. The Wayne Enterprises crest embossed in sharp relief.

Gotham.

The most dangerous city in the country.

A rotten place, infested with misery and violence.

He'd never had any interest in setting foot in that cesspit.

And yet, the invitation sat there, awaiting a decision.

The phone on the desk buzzed. A reminder.

A response was due by midnight.

Lex took a deep breath, bringing the glass to his lips.

'Refusing would be the logical choice.'

He didn't need this. There was nothing calling him to Gotham.

Nothing to justify wasting time on a trip for a meaningless event.

The city was a den of criminals, gangsters, and corrupt politicians.

Not an environment for someone like him.

He leaned forward, picking up the pen.

A signature would settle it.

The clock on the wall read 10:46 p.m.

Lex paused, the pen's tip hovering over the paper.

The invitation wasn't mandatory.

But refusing it meant closing a door.

And he never closed doors without seeing what lay on the other side.

Gotham wasn't an inviting place.

But it was an opportunity.

Lex set the pen aside and took another sip of whiskey.

The alcohol's warmth slid down his throat slowly.

'Bruce Wayne. What makes this man so special that the country's most influential businessmen want to see him back?'

His fingers tapped lightly on the wooden desk.

Bruce Wayne inherited an empire.

Lex Luthor built his own.

And that made all the difference.

The invitation was folded with surgical precision.

Lex's eyes glinted in the firelight.

"Let's see if this filthy city has anything useful to offer me."

He reached for the phone.

A simple command.

"Prepare the jet for Gotham."

The decision was made.

And Lex Luthor never traveled without a reason.

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