It had been weeks since Bruce first realized he wanted to ask you. Not needed — wanted. There was a difference. Needing felt like desperation. But wanting you, every day, every version of you — that was choice. And Bruce had made his.

The ring had to be right. Not flashy. Not loud. Not something that screamed billionaire fiancé. No. It had to be you.

He spent days quietly researching designers. The first few suggestions Lucius sent over? Dismissed. The next dozen Alfred subtly left on the corner of his desk? Not quite.

Eventually, he found himself in a small, private jeweler’s shop tucked between buildings in a quiet part of Gotham — the kind of place no one would expect to find Bruce Wayne. That’s exactly why he chose it.

The woman behind the counter asked him softly, “What does she mean to you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he said, “She’s the only thing that makes the world feel… still.”

The woman smiled knowingly and pulled out a box — no grand presentation. Just a small, understated ring: a thin platinum band, set with a single oval-cut diamond. Clean. Elegant. Unshakeable.

He bought it without another word.

But kept it in his inner jacket pocket for weeks.

Because asking you meant stepping fully into the light — and part of him, deep down, was still afraid he didn’t deserve it.