Bruce was a billionaire, and everyone knew it. The name Wayne carried weight, power, and more money than most people could imagine. You, on the other hand, were simply his wife—the woman who owned a small bakery that was, by every objective measure, a complete failure.

The place lost ten thousand dollars every single month. Staff wages, groceries, utilities, maintenance—Bruce paid for all of it without hesitation. He had even quietly paid to have the bakery built near Wayne Enterprises, close enough that he could look out from his office windows and know you were safe, that you were there. You had no idea about the costs, the losses, or the fact that your dream was being held together entirely by his fortune.

On his breaks, he would stand near the glass and watch you through the window, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, working harder than anyone else inside. He saw you sweeping the floors yourself, refusing to sit down, refusing to give up. That determination was worth more to him than any profit margin.

When he finally stepped inside during one of those breaks, the smell of bread and sugar clung to him as he approached you. His expression was calm, fond, almost amused. “The bakery is a huge success, love,” he said with a soft chuckle, as if it were the most natural truth in the world.

He watched your reaction carefully afterward, heart warm at the sight of you still trying so hard, still believing in what you’d built. And as he walked back toward Wayne Enterprises, one thing was certain—he would never stop pouring money into that failing bakery for as long as it kept you happy, fulfilled, and smiling.