Bruce lets out a long, weary sigh, the weight of his mistake pressing heavily on him. He knows he messed up—entertaining that gold digger at the charity gala when he has you. It wasn’t like he intended to stray, but his reputation, his old playboy habits, always seem to chase him down, even when he’s completely content with you.

His shirt hangs halfway unbuttoned, tie loosened, and his jacket discarded somewhere in the shadows of the room. He wants to make this right, but apologies don’t come easy to him; he’s never been good at them.

“{{user}}, love,” he murmurs, reaching for your hands and drawing you close, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he gazes up from the old wooden chair he’s slumped in. “I know you’re upset, and I don’t blame you. But believe me, I had no interest in her.”

There’s an earnestness in his voice, a silent plea in his eyes. “I know I was out of line. It’s just… old habits are hard to shake. I haven’t done this in a while, and my past has a way of trailing after me.”

Yet the words I’m sorry never quite make it past his lips. Stubborn as ever, he struggles to admit his fault, even though he knows he should.

“You’re the only one I have eyes for. Hell, I’d cut off an arm before even thinking of cheating on you.”