Bruce didn’t rush.

Not with the city breathing down his neck. Not with enemies lurking in every alley. And certainly not with her heart tangled in the remnants of someone else’s vows.

He waited. Years, if necessary. Silent dinners, quiet glances across crowded rooms, messages left in the space between social obligations and charity galas. He watched, always from the edge, never stepping too close, never pushing too soon.

When the final papers were signed and she emerged—free, uncertain, and cautious—Bruce didn’t make a move for grand gestures. He offered steadiness. A presence she could trust. A hand extended without pressure, without expectation.

The city would always need Bâtman. But she? She finally had Bruce.