Bruce didn’t ask why.

That was the first sign he was already on her side.

The room was loud—voices overlapping, laughter too sharp, attention drifting where it didn’t belong. Bruce stood at ease in the middle of it all, composed as ever, the picture of disinterest as another woman lingered a little too close, a little too familiar. It was nothing he hadn’t handled a hundred times before.

Then he felt it.

Not a touch. Not a word. Just a shift beside him. A quiet tension. The subtle way she moved closer without realizing she’d done it.

That was enough.

Bruce glanced down at her, reading the situation the way he always did—quickly, accurately. Possessiveness didn’t flash across his face. Control did. Decision followed immediately after.

He stepped away from the conversation without apology, without explanation, turning his body so his attention—and his presence—was fully hers now. The message was unmistakable. Whatever interest had been implied elsewhere was gone.

Fine by him.

He leaned in slightly, voice low, meant only for her. “If you don’t want me talking to her,” he said calmly, “then I won’t.”

No defensiveness. No ego. Just certainty.

Bruce rested a hand at the small of her back, grounding, protective. Claiming the space without making a show of it. “I’m not here to impress anyone else,” he continued evenly. “I’m here with you.”

The rest of the room faded the way it always did when Bruce made a choice.

And he had.

Whatever line she’d drawn—spoken or not—he stood firmly on her side of it.