Bruce wasn’t the type to gloat.

Not out loud. Not where anyone could hear it.

But when she walked back into the manor—drenched from the rain, mascara smudged, pride clinging to her spine like the last piece of armor—he didn’t say a word.

He just looked at her. Stillness wrapped in a tailored suit. Every inch of him controlled, except for the heat in his eyes.

She hated how steady he was. How he made her feel like running never really got her anywhere.

And Bruce? He just stepped aside. Held the door open.

Because some things were inevitable.

Her. Him. This.

And the way she always came back