ben @benmaxx - Tumblr Blog

Aug 10

TAKE HIM BACK TO EDEN II

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 7k synopsis: You accepted you would never be his first choice and after five years you decided enough was enough and decide to divorce Bruce. warning: Divorce, miscommunication, Bruce being emotionally constipated a/n: Whelp I guess its gonna be three parts...maybe even four. It just keeps getting bigger and there's almost 8k more words to edit.

The gala was already in full swing by the time you stepped inside.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the grand hall in warm, golden light, their reflections glinting off polished marble floors and silk-clad shoulders. The room hummed with low murmurs and whispered gossip. At the sight of you and Bruce, heads turned almost immediately to watch you two walk in.

Whatever your private problems there was no denying that you two made a striking pair. Both attractive and powerful, the two of you were considered untouchable…if only they all knew.

You moved through the room together, making the customary rounds, and the whispers followed.

Some were appreciative.

Some were disapproving.

Your attire was certainly one of the main points of conversations. A few women looked at you with open admiration, eyes bright with envy or respect. Others smiled tightly, their disapproval thinly veiled behind practiced civility. Compliments were offered freely, as they gushed over the dress asking where you got it, who the designer was, so and so forth. Even the criticism came wrapped in backhanded praise, because no one in the room was foolish enough to be openly unkind. Not when no one dared to incite the wrath of the Waynes.

You accepted it all with easy grace.

Their opinions held no real weight with you. Gotham’s elite were nothing if not fickle, and truly genuine souls were rare among them. You had long since lost any desire to entertain the judgments of people who smiled sweetly to your face, only to stab you in the back the moment you turned away.

Bruce remained at your side as the evening unfolded, his hand a constant, careful presence at the small of your back. Together, you moved through the crowd with practiced ease—greeting donors and board members, pausing for photographs, exchanging pleasantries that meant little to you but was necessary to maintain images. You both played your roles flawlessly.

If Bruce noticed the way people looked at you, he didn’t say a word. But you felt it. The subtle tightening of his hand whenever someone’s gaze lingered too long where it shouldn’t, the slight shift of his stance between you and them, his possessiveness without being overt.

Eventually, he was pulled away by Winston, the CEO of another major energy corporation. You’d been about to follow, intent on polite introductions, when a familiar figure caught your eye across the room.

Andrew.

The CEO of Nexus.

Your focus sharpened instantly. Without hesitation, you angled toward him, weaving smoothly through the clusters of guests.

“Andrew,” you called as you approached, deftly lifting two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and offering him one.

He turned at the sound of his name, surprise flickering briefly across his features before recognition settled in. “Mrs. Wayne.”

You took his hand, your grip firm and assured. “Please,” you said lightly. “Tonight, just Y/N.”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he accepted the glass. “Only if you call me Andrew.”

You smiled. “Deal.”

You angled your body toward a quieter corner near the terrace doors, away from the hum of overlapping conversations and polite laughter. The music was quieter there, the city lights visible through tall panes of glass. Andrew followed without hesitation.

“I’ve been reviewing the Eden proposal again,” he said once you both were out of earshot from the other guests, lowering his voice. “I won’t deny it—it’s a visionary project.”

You waited.

His gaze drifted toward the city beyond the glass, thoughtful. “But the board at Nexus remains… cautious. The cost alone is substantial. The resources required to rehabilitate land that compromised—it’s not insignificant.”

He turned back to you, expression careful now, measured the way men in his position learned to be. “And Gotham isn’t exactly known for rewarding humanitarian efforts. There’s no guaranteed return value. No clean projections.”

You inclined your head slightly, acknowledging the concern, inviting him to continue without interruption.

“In the end,” Andrew said, meeting your eyes again, “Nexus has to be confident it’s securing the best possible deal for the company.”

“I understand that,” you replied calmly. “Eden was never designed to be a quick return. It’s a long play—expensive upfront, slow to show dividends.”

Andrew took a measured sip of his champagne. “That’s exactly the concern. Nexus isn’t a charity.”

“Neither is Wayne Enterprises,” you said evenly. “But we’re also not blind to the cost of doing nothing.”

That caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly, inviting you to continue.

“Those properties Nexus owns?” you said. “They’re liabilities disguised as assets. Every year they sit untouched, they cost you—environmental penalties, insurance premiums, quiet settlements. And even public scrutiny.”

Andrew exhaled. “You’re not wrong.”

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Eden doesn’t just address the damage. It transfers the risk. Wayne Enterprises absorbs the cleanup costs, the audits, the remediation. Nexus walks away with regulatory goodwill and equity in the redevelopment phase.”

He frowned slightly. “Equity that won’t mature for years.”

“Equity that will,” you countered without missing a beat. “And when it does, it’ll be tied to housing, infrastructure, and clean water—not facilities that raise questions five years down the line.”

Andrew studied you for a long moment, the glass forgotten in his hand. “You’re asking us to bet on patience.”

“I’m asking you to bet on inevitability,” you replied. “Because whether Nexus chooses Eden or not, that land will have to be addressed eventually. “

Andrew sighed. “LexCorp would move faster.”

“Too right on that.” The voice slid into the conversation like oil on water.

You stiffened, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass before you forced them to relax.

“Lex,” you said coolly, the name tasting sour on your tongue.

“Mrs. Wayne,” Lex Luthor drawled, his eyes roaming with open appraisal. “My, you are a vision tonight.”

His gaze lingered far too long, unapologetic and hungry. You resisted the instinctive urge to step back, lifting your chin instead and meeting his look head-on.

“Come to enjoy the view, Mr. Luthor?” you asked flatly.

“I have,” he purred, sending you a smug smile. His attention flicked briefly to Andrew. “I couldn’t help overhearing—Nexus weighing its options.”

Andrew’s expression cooled. “We’re in the middle of a discussion.”

“Of course,” Lex said smoothly. “I simply thought it worth mentioning that LexCorp doesn’t believe in dragging its feet when opportunity presents itself.”

Andrew’s shoulders stiffened beside you. “We were just—“

“—discussing speed,” Lex cut in smoothly, his gaze never leaving your face. “Efficiency. Things Gotham could certainly use more of.” His smile sharpened. “Nexus has an impressive portfolio of land assets. Wasted potential, really. Left to rot for years. I’m surprised it’s taken this long to divest land that continues to cost the company billions.”

“Some would call it restraint,” you said evenly. “After all, Nexus should consider all of its options before committing to a course of action—and choose the one that truly serves the company’s long-term interests.”

Andrew glanced at you, surprise flickering across his face before settling into something closer to gratitude. He inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging the support.

Lex laughed softly, the sound smooth and dismissive. “Some would call it fear.”

Andrew shifted beside you, his discomfort plain now. “We were discussing long-term viability.”

“Of course you were,” Lex replied easily. “Eden.” He let the name linger, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Wayne Enterprises does love a legacy project. Very… sentimental.”

Your spine stiffened at the casual familiarity he seemed to have of the project. The details and the name hadn’t been released publicly yet, and the way he said it made your skin prickle.

Lex’s gaze flicked briefly to Andrew. “But sentiment doesn’t clean land faster. It doesn’t quiet regulators. And it certainly doesn’t protect a board when things get messy.”

You turned fully toward him then, your expression cool and unflinching. “And cutting corners doesn’t make consequences disappear,” you said evenly. “It just delays them.”

You made a deliberate choice not to acknowledge the fact that he clearly knew confidential details. Calling it out would only open the door to questions you had no intention of answering. Like questions about who leaked the information, about how secure the internal security of Wayne enterprises really was, or about how Wayne Enterprises could promise to protect and reassure Nexus if it couldn’t even safeguard its own information.

Lex would relish that opening. You would be damned if you would give it to him.

Lex’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You really believe Eden won’t become a money pit?”

“I believe,” you replied calmly, “that burying contamination under concrete is what turned Gotham into a liability in the first place.”

The smile on his face tightened, just slightly.

Lex’s gaze dipped down to your body again. His gaze leering but purposeful. He wanted to make you uncomfortable.

“You’re passionate,” he said smoothly. “I’ll give you that. I can see why Wayne married you.” His lips curved. “Shame to see the marriage ending so soon.”

Your spine went rigid, but your expression remained composed.

“My marriage,” you said calmly, “is not a talking point for business negotiations.”

Lex chuckled softly, entirely unbothered. “Everything is a talking point when it affects stability,” he replied. “Nexus is choosing a partner, after all. Continuity matters.”

Beside you, Andrew shifted, the discomfort written plainly across his face.

“Funny,” you continued, unfazed, your voice cool and precise, “how concern for stability only seems to arise when it suits your narrative.”

Lex’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“I’m merely pointing out,” he said evenly, “that if the rumours about you and Bruce’s divorce are true, it could result in a change of leadership—and therefore a change in how this project is handled.”

“And I’m pointing out,” you replied without missing a beat, “that Eden doesn’t hinge on my marital status. It hinges on contracts and mutually agreed-upon terms.” Your gaze held his, unyielding. “Rest assured—Wayne Enterprises, with or without me, will continue to conduct every deal with integrity and honour.”

Lex snorted dismissively, lips parting as he prepared to respond—

—but before he could, an arm slid around your waist.

The scent of the cologne instantly told you who it was as Bruce stepped in close. Close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the solid warmth of him seeping into you. His hand rested easily against you, thumb swiping along your hip in what seemed like his attempt at comfort.

“Is there a problem?” he asked lightly.

His voice calm, deceptively mild but you knew your husband well enough to know he was far from happy. Playboy or not, Bruce Wayne could be viciously sharp when he chose to be.

Lex turned, surprise flickering across his features before his familiar smile snapped back into place. “Bruce. We were just discussing stability.”

Bruce glanced down at you briefly, noting the tight line of your jaw, the unmistakable glare aimed Lex’s way. Then he looked back at the other billionaire, smile never wavering.

“Stability,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. His grin widened just a touch. “Interesting choice…I didn’t realize you’d developed such an appreciation for long-term commitments.”

Lex’s mouth tightened a fraction.

“Any project of this magnitude requires confidence in leadership,” Lex replied smoothly. “Rumours don’t help.”

Bruce gave a soft laugh, the kind that sounded friendly and easy-going to anyone listening—but carried an edge if you knew him well enough.

“Oh, rumours are Gotham’s favourite pastime,” he said lightly. “Right after bribery and blackmail. I’m sure you’re used to it.”

Lex lifted his glass, eyes narrowing just a shade. “I’m simply pointing out that projects of this scale require confidence in leadership. Uncertainty makes investors nervous.”

“Oh, investors are always nervous,” Bruce replied with effortless charm. “That’s why they pay people like us obscene amounts of money—to pretend we’re not.”

He reached out smoothly, plucking a champagne flute from a passing tray, and tapped it lightly against Lex’s glass.

“Besides,” Bruce went on, his tone easy, conversational, “if rumours were enough to derail Wayne Enterprises, I’d have been bankrupt by the time I was twenty.”

A ripple of polite laughter spread among a few nearby guests, who took the remark for self-deprecation—a billionaire poking fun at his own tabloid reputation.

Lex, however, didn’t laugh. His eyes sharpened, the humour missing him entirely. “Public perception matters.”

“Of course it does,” Bruce agreed cheerfully, unbothered. “Which is precisely why I’m very selective about who I’m seen aligning with.” His gaze flicked narrowing—pointedly—at Lex. “But if you’re that concerned about Wayne Enterprises, Lex, then allow me to put Andrew at ease.”

Bruce turned to Andrew.

“Wayne Enterprises doesn’t make decisions based on gossip,” Bruce said calmly. “We make them based on contracts, results… and whether the people across the table are actually capable of delivering what they promise.”

He let the words settle, then continued with an easy, almost careless lift of his brow. “And since we’re talking about leadership, I should probably clarify something else.”

He shifted just enough to angle himself subtly between you and Lex—an unspoken line drawn. The message was clear. Off limits.

“Wayne Enterprises isn’t fragile,” Bruce went on, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “It doesn’t hinge on headlines, rumours, or who the tabloids think I’m having dinner with this week.” He paused. “…Or my marital status.”

A few nearby guests chuckled again. Andrew, however, was watching closely now, his interest sharpened.

“Trust me,” Bruce added lightly, lifting his glass and taking an unhurried sip, “if it did, Gotham would’ve eaten me alive years ago.”

He lowered the glass, his gaze never leaving Lex.

“What does matter,” Bruce continued, “is follow-through. Environmental accountability. And not cutting corners just because no one’s watching yet.”

Lex let out a force chuckle. “You’re painting me as careless.”

Bruce shrugged lazily. “I’m painting you as… efficient.” His smile was easy, almost friendly. “It’s just that some of us prefer efficiency that doesn’t come with congressional hearings attached.”

You nearly snorted, catching yourself just in time to disguise it as a cough. Bruce turned toward you at once, concern flickering across his face, but you waved him off casually. Reaching out, you plucked the glass from his hand and took a quick sip—only to pause mid-swallow.

That wasn’t champagne.

You lowered the flute slightly, confusion knitting your brows as the mild burn of ginger ale registered. You glanced at the glass, then at Bruce, suspicion blooming just as he offered you an infuriatingly innocent look. Before you could say anything—or demand an explanation—Andrew cleared his throat.

“Wayne’s proposal does offer long-term insulation from regulatory fallout,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful now rather than guarded. “That’s been a significant point of debate at Nexus.”

Taking the glass back from you, Bruce lifted the glass toward Andrew, a friendly grin settling easily into place.

“Let’s be honest,” he said lightly. “Eden isn’t sexy. It’s boring. Expensive.”

You shot him a sharp glare, one he absolutely deserved—but your infuriating, soon-to-be ex-husband ignored it entirely. If anything, he looked amused. His smile widened, smooth and unbothered, as though he hadn’t just dismissed years of work with a handful of carefully chosen words.

“It’s not a publicity stunt,” Bruce continued easily. “There won’t be any dramatic unveiling. No glowing towers, no flashy press releases. No me cutting a ribbon and pretending I know how all the construction put into the project works.”

He tilted his head, mock thoughtful.

“Well. I could pretend,” he added, glancing down at his suit. “But who would believe that coming from a man in a hundred-thousand-dollar Armani?”

Andrew snorted despite himself, the tension easing just a fraction.

“But what Eden is,” Bruce continued smoothly, his tone shifting into something more sincere without losing its casual cadence, “is solid.”

He spoke as though he weren’t discussing a project worth billions—like this was just another conversation over drinks rather than a turning point. His arm remained firm at your waist.

“Every aspect has been meticulously thought out to benefit all parties involved,” he went on. “And what’s even more solid than the numbers is the woman behind the project.”

Your glare faltered, softening into something closer to surprise, and your throat tightened despite your best efforts to remain composed. The praise hit you harder than it should have, you didn’t expect him to sound this sincere and confident in you. As if sensing the shift, his thumb moved almost imperceptibly at your side, a gentle, grounding stroke meant only for you.

Damn this man.

“Rest assured,” Bruce finished smoothly, lifting his glass once more, his tone all effortless confidence, “Wayne Enterprises has every intention of honouring the terms agreed upon by Nexus and Y/N.”

Lex studied him, his gaze flicking briefly to where Bruce’s hand remained possessively in place. “Spoken like a man protecting his interests.”

Bruce’s smile softened—but only on the surface. “Spoken like a man who knows them.”

Lex’s lips pressed thin. “You’re awfully confident for someone whose personal life is currently under a microscope.”

Bruce’s grin turned razor sharp.

“Oh, my personal life is always under a microscope,” he replied lightly. “That’s what happens when you’re rich, handsome, and tragically charming.” He tilted his head, mock-curious. “Must not be something you’re used to, I guess.”

Both you and Andrew coughed at the same time as Bruce lifted his glass in a lazy, mocking salute.

“But don’t worry,” he added, voice almost playful. “When Eden moves forward, it’ll give the tabloids something new to obsess over.” The smile Bruce gave didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll be able to read all about it in the papers—just like everyone else.”

Lex’s grip tightened around his glass, knuckles blanching as crystal creaked softly under the pressure. For a fleeting moment, you half-expected it to shatter in his hand.

Having grown up with that egomaniac, both you and Bruce knew exactly where to poke. And the most effective blow of all was the same one every time—implying that Lex Luthor was no different from anyone else.

You half expected him to stamp his foot and throw a tantrum but instead, Lex only levelled Bruce with a cold glare and a tight, brittle smile, his teeth audibly grinding behind it.

Andrew’s attention shifted between the three of you now—no longer weighing numbers alone. Something more contemplative crossed his expression.

“I think,” he said slowly, “the board will want to revisit the ethical framework before making any decisions.”

“Of course,” you replied smoothly, unfazed. “We look forward to Nexus’s decision.”

Bruce inclined his head with polite ease. “Take all the time you need.”

Then, turning slightly toward you, his hand firm at your waist, he added with casual authority, “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us—I believe I owe my wife a dance.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He guided you forward, seamlessly pulling you into the crowd. Lex’s stare burned into your back as the two of you disappeared beneath chandeliers and shifting bodies.

“Has Lex been causing you trouble?” Bruce murmured near your ear, his voice low, the easy charm gone—replaced by something darker.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you replied tightly, lifting a hand in dismissal as you took a half step back, ready to put space between you and him.

Bruce caught your arm.

The touch was gentle, but decisive enough to stop you cold. You turned, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the noise of the gala seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you suspended in something unspoken.

Bruce exhaled slowly, as if choosing his next words with care. “Lex doesn’t play fair. If he pushes, if he tries to undermine you—”

“I’ll deal with it,” you cut in firmly. “This is my project. And I’ve been putting Lex in his place since we were kids.” Your gaze didn’t waver. “I can handle him.”

A corner of his mouth lifted, something close to admiration softening his expression.

“I know,” he said.

You studied him for a beat longer than necessary, searching for a crack in the armour he wore so effortlessly. Instead, he offered you a lazy, practiced smile, all playboy ease as he held out a hand in offering.

“Shall we, Mrs. Wayne?”

You swallowed, then nodded.

His hand settled at your waist, fingers warm even through the fabric of your dress, guiding you closer as the orchestra swelled. You let yourself follow his lead, moving with him easily, muscle memory carrying you through the steps—an old familiarity born of countless lessons you’d been forced to endure as children, ironically enough with Bruce as your partner.

“You’ve been turning heads tonight,” he murmured, voice low. “Even more than usual.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, deliberately keeping your eyes elsewhere, unwilling to meet his gaze when it felt so gentle looking at you

“And the dress—” He paused, his attention dipping briefly before lifting again. “It suits you.”

“So you’ve already said,” you replied blandly, though your heart betrayed you with its uneven rhythm.

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle.

Something shifted then—his expression morphed into something determined and resolute. You felt it in the way his grip tightened at your waist, the way his attention narrowed until it seemed as though the rest of the ballroom had fallen away. He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed warm against your ear.

“There’s something I need to—”

“Bruce!”

Julie’s voice cut cleanly through the moment. So very perfectly timed.

She appeared at his shoulder, all bright, polished smiles, her hand already reaching out to rest on his arm as though it belonged there. “I was hoping I’d get a dance before the night was over.”

For a moment, you simply stared at her—at the innocence she wore so convincingly. Of everyone who knew about the impending divorce, she was the only one connected to Lex Luthor, and the only one you wouldn’t put it past to let something slip.

You wondered, whether Bruce realized she was still in contact with her ex—one of Wayne Enterprises’ biggest rivals, no less.

Soon, it wouldn’t be your problem.

Bruce had chosen her. He could deal with the consequences of that choice, so long as it didn’t touch Eden.

And yet…

The worrying question lingered: who had been leaking private information about the project in the first place? Eden’s details weren’t public. Access was restricted, tightly controlled. Julie shouldn’t have known anything—unless—

Your fingers curled slowly at your side.

Unless Bruce had been careless enough to leave sensitive files open in his desk. Unless, in his distraction, he’d left her unattended in his office.

“—Y/N?”

You blinked, the angered edge of your thoughts dissolving as your fingers uncurled. Julie was looking at you now, her expression open and expectant. Bruce stood beside her, concern flickering across his face as he searched yours.

“Hm?” you murmured.

“Is it alright if I steal Bruce away for a dance?” Julie asked lightly.

Your expression smoothed instantly, composure sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. You offered a polite smile. “Of course,” you said evenly.

After all, it wasn’t as though Bruce actually belonged to you to be stolen.

Before Bruce could protest—before he could even open his mouth—you released him and stepped back. Then you turned and slipped away into the crowd, not daring to look over your shoulder. You couldn’t bear the sight of him and Julie together, couldn’t stomach watching history repeat itself in real time.

By the time you reached the bar, you had made the decision to drink your feelings away. If you were going to feel this hollow, this exposed, then you might as well numb the edges.

All your worries and problems would be a tomorrow you’s problem. Tonight, you needed a distraction

You slid onto a barstool and signalled for a drink without bothering to specify what kind, just motioning to the top shelf. The bartender moved quickly, glass appearing in front of you moments later, amber liquid catching the light.

You wrapped your fingers around it and took a generous sip.

The burn was sharp and welcome, cutting through the tightness in your chest.

“Now this,” a familiar voice purred beside you, “is a sight I don’t see often.”

You turned, a rueful grin tugging at your lips as Selina slipped into the empty stool next to you, black dress clinging like it had been painted on, confidence radiating off her in waves.

“Care to join me in drowning my pathetic emotions?” you asked, lifting your glass slightly in invitation.

Selina snorted and flagged the bartender for her own drink without hesitation. “Always.”

Selina accepted her glass, took a measured sip, then leaned back against the bar, one arm draped loosely as her eyes swept the room with sharp, feline interest.

“I swear,” she said dryly, “that man does not deserve you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re biased.”

“Wildly,” Selina replied without a hint of shame. Then her head tilted, gaze narrowing as she searched the ballroom. “So—where is our favourite emotionally repressed billionaire tonight?”

You tipped your chin toward the crowd.

Bruce and Julie moved together with an ease that looked far too natural. The sight tightened something in your chest, and you looked away before the ache could deepen. You missed the way Bruce’s gaze tracked you anyway, unguarded and yearning, until it collided with Selina’s. Her eyes narrowed instantly.

You’re an idiot, she mouthed at him before turning her back.

“Mhm,” you said lightly, lifting your glass. “Well, we’re getting a divorce. So he’s free to do as he pleases.”

Selina’s head snapped toward you, outrage flaring bright and theatrical—as if she hadn’t already heard the news straight from him. “He wanted a divorce?” she demanded. “That bastard.”

“Actually,” you corrected calmly, taking another sip, “I did.”

She rose a brow. “You?”

“I can’t keep doing this with him.”

Selina took a slow sip, eyes never leaving your face, then set the glass down with a quiet clink. “He’s still a bastard.”

A soft, humourless huff escaped you. “What did I expect from the richest man in Gotham?” you said lightly. “It was stupid to think an arranged marriage could tame the city’s billionaire playboy. Bruce will do what he’s always done—what he wants. I’m just making it easier for him.”

Selina’s jaw tightened. “He never deserved you,” she muttered. “You’ve been more patient with him than anyone I know.”

You shrugged, the motion deceptively light. “Maybe. But it was because I kept clinging to the hope that we could actually make this marriage work. We were close, once upon a time.”

Unable to help yourself your gaze drifted, unbidden, to the dance floor.

You swallowed, the memory sitting heavy beneath your ribs. “I thought… maybe we could find our way back to that.”

Bruce stood with Julie hanging comfortably off his arm. The sight had your throat tightening and you wondered why you still cared.

“Now I realize,” you added, your voice softer still, “that was wishful thinking.”

Selina opened her mouth, clearly ready to say something, but another voice cut in.

“Every time I see you,” it drawled, rich with amusement, “you somehow get more stunning.”

Your head turned at once, and a genuine smile bloomed across your face. “Ollie.”

You rose from the bar stool and stepped into Oliver Queen’s open arms, returning the embrace without hesitation. When you pulled back, his gaze flicked to Selina, a spark of recognition and mischief lighting his expression.

“Kitty.”

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Robin Hood.”

Your brows knit together at the exchange, confusion flickering briefly—but before you could voice it, Oliver had already turned his attention back to you, all easy charm and curiosity.

“So,” he said casually, leaning an elbow against the bar, “what are we drinking to tonight?”

You opened your mouth—

And Selina beat you to it.

A wicked smirk curved her lips as she lifted her glass. “Y/N and Bruce’s divorce.”

Oliver blinked, his gaze snapping between the two of you, disbelief written plainly across his face. “Wait—what?” he demanded. “He asked for one?!”

You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the burn steady you as you ignored the uncomfortable truth behind his assumption. Had you really been that obvious? That much of a lovesick fool for a man who never quite chose you?

“Actually,” you said calmly, setting the glass down, “I did.”

Oliver’s expression shifted—surprise giving way to something darker, more contemplative. His gaze flicked briefly toward the dance floor, where Bruce still stood with Julie at his side, before sliding to Selina. She met his look with a subtle shake of her head, a silent warning, before his attention returned to you.

What you didn’t realize was that both Selina and Oliver knew the truth.

They’d seen it—in the way Bruce watched you when he thought no one was paying attention, in the way his composure fractured whenever your name came up, in the quiet restraint he wrapped around himself like armour whenever you were near. They knew how deeply, how disastrously, he loved you.

And neither of them could believe—truly believe—that Bruce Wayne would ever be foolish enough to let you go.

“Well,” he said at last, lifting his glass, his tone carefully measured, “that’s… incredibly unfortunate.”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “Don’t sound too devastated,” you remarked dryly.

His grin widened immediately, all charm and audacity as he leaned a little closer. “How could I be?” he said lightly. “Gotham’s most desired woman is officially back on the market.”

You blinked—just for a heartbeat—caught off guard long enough to register the unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. Then a laugh escaped you, genuine despite yourself, as you shoved him lightly in the chest.

“You are so full of shit, Oliver Queen,” you said, shaking your head.

He winked, entirely unrepentant. “I’m just saying—I’m thrilled we can finally go out and cause trouble without the guard bat glaring at us from across the room.”

Your brows knit together, confusion flickering across your features. “The what—”

You never got to finish the question.

An arm wrapped firmly around your waist, tugging you back into a hard chest that made your breath hitch despite yourself. The scent of his cologne washed over you.

“It looks like I’m missing the private party over here,” Bruce said, laughing lightly—too lightly—as his gaze swept from Oliver to Selina before settling on you. His hand remained at your waist, possessively as he glared at Oliver over your head.

Oliver’s grin sharpened. “Nothing private about it, B. Just friends catching up.”

Selina lifted her glass, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You should try it sometime.”

Bruce ignored her completely, his attention shifting onto you. “Everything alright?”

You gently but unmistakably removed his arm from around your waist, stepping out of his reach before answering. “Perfectly fine.”

The distance was subtle, but it landed like a slap. Bruce’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the muscle in his cheek flexing as he restrained whatever instinct threatened to surface.

“We were just talking,” Oliver continued easily, leaning back against the bar as if nothing at all were amiss. “You know—life, changes… fresh starts.”

“Is that so?” Bruce replied coolly.

Oliver hummed in response, completely unapologetic.

You rolled your eyes and reached for your glass, taking a measured sip before turning slightly back toward Oliver, pointedly excluding Bruce from the exchange. “You were saying?” you prompted, hoping—vainly—to derail the brewing dick-measuring contest.

Oliver’s gaze flicked between you and Bruce, amusement dancing openly in his eyes. Then he smiled—slow, knowing. “I was saying that change suits some people.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed sharply, the infamous bat glare making a brief appearance. Unfortunately, Oliver was one of the very few people immune to it, having grown up alongside him.

Oliver’s grin only widened, tauntingly.

Bruce’s fingers twitched at his side—an almost imperceptible tell, but one Selina caught instantly. She stiffened, eyes narrowing as she watched him closely, already bracing herself.

He was seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid.

Like punching the Queen billionaire square in the face.

But in that moment, Julie appeared.

“There you are!” she chimed brightly, looping an arm through Bruce’s as if reclaiming territory. “You disappeared on me, Bruce!”

The contact broke whatever fragile tension had been simmering.

Your fingers tightened around your glass, knuckles whitening for the briefest moment before you forced them to relax. You took a slow breath through your nose, schooling your expression into something cool and unreadable.

Julie’s gaze drifted—first to you, then to Oliver, then to Selina. Her smile thinned. “Oh. What are we all up to?”

Selina lifted her glass in a mock toast, lips curving. “Drinking.”

Oliver smirked. “Catching up.”

Bruce said nothing. His attention had narrowed to you alone now, jaw tight, the arm Julie had claimed stiff beneath her grip—as though he were tolerating the contact rather than welcoming it.

Before you could add something, Selina cut in smoothly, her tone calculated. “Actually…Oliver and Y/N were about to go dance.”

You blinked at Selina, momentarily caught off guard, but she only sent you a conspiratorial wink.

Julie’s lips dipped, just barely. “Oh…”

You raised a brow, the challenge unmistakable. “Problem?”

She hesitated, eyes flicking to Bruce for half a second before returning to you. “Well… I mean, would that be appropriate?” She asked innocently.

Your voice remained cool. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well,” Julie said, choosing her words carefully, “you are married.”

Selina snorted outright. “If that’s the standard,” she said dryly, “then why are you hanging off a married man?” Her gaze swept pointedly over Julie’s grip on Bruce’s arm. “You’ve been glued to him all night like a leech.”

Julie’s face flushed several shades darker. “That’s different,” she snapped. “Everyone knows Bruce and I are childhood friends.”

“And so are Oliver and I,” you said calmly. You offered her a look of mock innocence, all wide eyes and pleasant composure. “I know we don’t always run in the same circles, Julie, but most of the old families grew up together.”

Oliver smiled, lazy and unapologetic, slinging an arm comfortably over your shoulder. “Playdates, boarding schools, shared nannies,” he said with an easy grin. “Really charming stuff.”

Julie’s gaze darted between the three of you, her confidence visibly faltering as she scrambled for footing. “That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. Then, realizing she was outnumbered, she turned toward Bruce—crocodile tears already welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was just trying to look out for you two.”

Bruce let out a weary sigh, clearly on the verge of stepping in—but you didn’t give him the chance.

“As sweet as that is,” you said evenly, your tone polite but final, “there’s really no need. I’ve already told you—Bruce and I are getting a divorce. So if that’s all…”

You turned away from her without another glance and faced Oliver instead, extending your hand.

“Care to dance?”

He took it instantly, eyes lighting with unmistakable delight. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You didn’t look back as Oliver led you onto the dance floor. You didn’t need to. The music wrapped around you, and you let yourself fall into it. Your shoulders loosened, your steps grew lighter, and the smile that curved your lips was real.

Behind you, Bruce remained where you’d left him—rigid and silent—with Julie’s hand still looped through his arm.

Selina watched the scene unfold with open amusement. She rose gracefully from her stool and crossed the space toward Bruce, heels clicking softly against the marble. Reaching him, she gave his chest a light pat—almost fond—and leaned up to murmur in his ear.

“I’ll tell you again,” she said softly, “you’re an idiot.”

Then she straightened and sauntered away without another glance, leaving Bruce standing alone with the truth he’d been avoiding.

On the dance floor, Oliver spun you once, and laughter bubbled free from your chest before you could stop it. The lights caught the fabric of your dress as you moved, effortless and alive.

Across the room, Bruce could only watch, heart aching as he realized you were slipping through his fingers.

For once, it was Bruce who decided to end the night early.

He found you on the edge of the crowd and minutes later, the two of you were standing outside beneath the portico, waiting for Alfred to bring the car around.

You immediately regretted not bringing a jacket.

What had been a cool, refreshing evening had dropped into something far less pleasant. The cold cut through the thin fabric of your dress, and you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, willing the shiver crawling up your spine to stop.

Suddenly, warmth settled over your shoulders.

You looked up in surprise to find Bruce standing close, his suit jacket draped around you.

“Next time,” he grumbled, “remember to bring a jacket.”

Your eyes narrowed at the tone. “I’m fine,” you replied, already moving to shrug it off.

His hand closed over the lapel, stopping you.

“You’re trembling,” he said flatly. “Keep it.”

You grumbled under your breath, but another sharp gust of wind had you pulling the jacket closer instead. The scent of his cologne lingered—clean, dark, unmistakably him—and before you could stop yourself, you inhaled subtly.

Damn him. You hated how good he smelled.

“Bruce!” Julie’s voice called. You stiffened, biting back a groan. Selina had been right—this woman clung to him like a leech.

Julie slipped up beside him, her smile bright and practiced as she latched onto his arm, giving him a mock frown. “Where’s your jacket? You’re going to catch a chill,” she said, hands roaming over his biceps under the guise of concern. Her fingers rubbed along his sleeves in a way that was anything but subtle.

“I’m fine,” Bruce grunted, neatly stepping out of her grip.

Julie frowned at the rejection, surprise flickering across her face before she smoothed it away. “I was hoping you could give me a ride,” she added lightly. “My driver says the car has a flat.”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to you.

You pointedly looked away, staring straight ahead, jaw clenched tight enough to ache.

“It’s late,” Bruce said evenly, “and my wife isn’t feeling well.” He lifted a hand, flagging down a cab before Julie could respond, and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket. “Make sure she gets home safely.”

Julie’s mouth fell open. She tried to protest, but Bruce was already guiding her toward the cab, practically ushering her inside before shutting the door in her face—just as Alfred’s car rolled up to the curb.

Without sparing the cab a second glance, Bruce turned back and opened the door for you, gesturing for you to enter first.

You ducked your head as you slid inside, hating the way warmth bloomed in your chest at the gesture.

One small moment of care, you reminded yourself, didn’t erase years of distance.

The car pulled away smoothly. Silence settled between you and Bruce, thick and heavy, broken only by the muted hum of Gotham passing outside the windows. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel the tension radiating off him—coiled and restless. He had something to say. It was obvious in the way he shifted, the way his jaw flexed.

After a few minutes, he finally broke.

“Do you realize you’re still Mrs. Wayne?” Bruce said, his voice controlled but edged. “Dancing with Oliver will only fuel the rumours going around.”

You scoffed softly, the sound sharp with disbelief. The sheer audacity of him—after weeks of Julie on his arm, paraded openly without a shred of consideration.

“Like you have any room to talk,” you muttered, barely bothering to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

Bruce turned to you fully then, eyes narrowing. “What was that?”

You faced him at last, something hard settling into your expression. “I said it’s not much of a rumour when it’s true,” you replied evenly. “And if you find it that scandalizing, then sign the papers and let’s finalize this divorce as soon as possible.”

With a sharp motion, you reached into your bag, pulled out the neatly folded documents, and shoved them into his chest. The papers rustled softly as they struck him.

His jaw clenched. “I’ll need a lawyer to look them over.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaustion bleeding through the irritation. “Then I suggest you do it soon, Bruce. I want nothing from you. I’ve already agreed to transfer my Wayne Enterprises shares back to you. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your assets.” Your voice steadied, firm and unwavering. “I’ve never asked you for anything—except this. So give me this one thing. It takes a month to finalize.”

His teeth pressed together harder.

A month.

That was how long he had. How long he could stall. How long he could figure out a way to stop this from becoming real.

Reluctantly, he pulled out his pen. He hesitated, eyes flicking from your expectant expression down to the papers, then back again. His jaw tightened, the conflict written plainly across his face. Part of him wanted—needed—to give you what you were asking for. The other part couldn’t accept a world where you weren’t his.

With a quiet exhale, he signed.

Or rather, he made a show of it.

He closed the file quickly and handed it back to you, expression carefully neutral, controlled.

You didn’t notice the way his grip lingered for half a second too long on the folder, not wanting to let it go.

He would find a way to change your mind before the month was up. He had to. Because in no world could he let you go. He was too selfish for that—and he knew it. A hypocrite, through and through. He had kept you despite knowing he couldn’t give you what you needed. And now, faced with losing you, he realized the truth he’d been avoiding all along.

You were what he needed.

You let out a small breath as you took the folder back. Something heavy in your chest sank when you saw him give in and sign without a fight—but alongside it came a strange lightness, as if a weight you’d been carrying for years had finally loosened its grip.

You didn’t bother to check the document. There was no reason to distrust him. Not with something like this. Not after everything you’d shared.

You carefully slid the file back into your bag.

This was it.

The first step toward moving on from Bruce Wayne.

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

ben