Bruce knew he was being a bastard. This arranged marriage had trapped you both, but it didn’t give him the right to take out his frustration on you. You were as cornered as he was, caught in the same web of duty and alliances.

He’d never been one for settling down. He was a ladies’ man, not a lady’s man, and the idea of marriage was about as foreign to him as the concept of surrender. But here he was, tied down for the sake of peace and power, and you were the one left bearing the weight of his resentment. His coldness toward you, despite your genuine efforts to make things work, was something he’d never acknowledged, let alone apologized for. He accepted the meals you made with a silent nod, never a word of thanks, treating you more like a servant than a spouse.

Over time, he noticed the change. That gentle smile you always wore, even when he never returned it, began to fade. The burnout set in, thick and heavy, and he was blind to it until the day he found an empty table instead of a hot meal.

It was then that it hit him. Maybe this was his fault—maybe he’d been too harsh, too blind to see the person suffering in front of him. He searched for you through the palace, finally tracing his steps to the gardens, where he knew you liked to sit.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Bruce murmured, taking a seat on the bench beside you. His gaze lingered on you, and all he could think about was how much he’d taken that smile of yours for granted. “Forgive me, {{user}},” he said softly, letting out a sigh.

“I’ve been blaming you for this whole arrangement, not realizing that you’re just as much a victim in this as I am. It frustrates me… how we’re only pieces on a board to them. And I took it out on you, because… well, there was no one else to blame.”