Bruce noticed them the second he arrived—the flowers sitting in front of your door, still wrapped in the delicate paper they had been shipped in. A neat bouquet, expensive, carefully arranged. Not the kind sent on a whim.

He picked the flowers up before unlocking your door with the key you gave him, pushing the door open with a hand and closing it shut with his heel as he walked inside, studying the bouquet.

But it was the card tucked between the stems that made him pause.

He set the bouquet down, took it out, flipping it open with slow, deliberate movements. The handwriting was smooth, precise, the message short but clear. Affectionate. Familiar. And at the bottom, a name he didn’t recognize.

“Thought of you at midnight. Hope you’re doing well. Love, Dante.”

His jaw tightened as he stared at the little note. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing while he was thinking about his girlfriend at midnight.

The sound of your footsteps made him glance up, but he didn’t say anything at first, just raised the card up a little for you to see.

Then, voice low, steady—

“Who is Dante?”