Loved by the Right One // one-short
pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader, Oliver Queen x fem!reader Summary: Years of marriage with Bruce Wayne unravel when (Y/N) discovers a devastating secret. Hurt but unbroken, she turns to Oliver Queen—the one person who still sees her for who she truly is. As shadows from the past and feelings long buried resurface, (Y/N) must navigate a path between heartbreak and hope, and decide what the future really holds. Warning: infidelity, heart break, divorce, betrayed, jealousy, use of y/n, not proof read word count: 5.7K an: i hope you guys like <3 ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁
The grand halls of Wayne Manor seemed almost intimidating to anyone who didn’t know it well, but to her, it had become a second home. It hadn’t always been that way. There was a time when she was just a name in Gotham’s high society—known as the fierce, self-made model who turned her brand into an empire. Despite the glamorous life, she had never really felt at home anywhere.
That was, until she met Bruce Wayne.
Their paths had crossed one rainy night during a fundraiser hosted at the manor. She had been representing her foundation, advocating for underprivileged youth, while Bruce had been there as the host—charming, aloof, and impossible to ignore. They exchanged polite smiles, but it wasn’t until later, when they were both stuck in the dimly lit library avoiding the crowded ballroom, that they had their first real conversation.
“You’re hiding from your own party,” she teased, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
Bruce huffed out a soft laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. “Sometimes, the mask I wear at these events is heavier than the one out on the streets.”
She arched a brow, curious. “And here I thought Gotham’s favorite billionaire was always the life of the party.”
His smirk faded into something more genuine, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Not always.”
That night had been the beginning—two guarded souls finding comfort in each other’s honesty. The chemistry was undeniable, and before long, they found themselves seeking each other out during League meetings, missions, and any spare moment in between.
It wasn’t long before Wayne Manor became her second home. Bruce had insisted she move in after a particularly dangerous mission left her injured. At first, she resisted—independence had been her shield for so long. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and despite herself, she found it impossible to resist his earnest concern.
Their wedding was small, private, just the way they wanted. When they exchanged vows in the manor’s garden, surrounded by roses and the few friends they trusted, it felt like their chaotic lives had finally found a semblance of peace.
Life wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. They balanced their duties as heroes with the life they built together. Bruce would come home late some nights, bruised but alive, and she would be waiting—always with a warm meal and a soft touch. They made it work because they fought for it, and love, for them, had always been worth the battle.
But lately, something had shifted. She couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it started, but she could feel it.
Bruce had been coming home later and later, offering vague excuses about patrols or League business. He’d disappear into the Batcave for hours without a word, his usual tenderness replaced with a cold distance.
She tried not to think the worst. Maybe the pressure of Gotham was just too much, or maybe he was worried about something and didn’t want to burden her. But when she found herself alone in the manor more often than not, doubt began to creep in.
One evening, she couldn’t take it anymore. As Bruce slipped into their bedroom, his movements stiff and distant, she sat up and called his name.
“Bruce, what’s going on?”
He didn’t turn to face her, instead loosening his tie with a weary sigh. “It’s just League stuff. You know how it is.”
Her jaw tightened, frustration boiling under her skin. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. Talk to me. Please.”
He hesitated, and for a moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes—guilt? Pain? Before she could unravel it, he looked away again.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Her heart sank, and she swallowed the ache clawing at her throat. “You promised me we wouldn’t do this—shutting each other out.”
He didn’t respond, just shrugged off his jacket and headed into the bathroom, leaving her in the heavy silence.
As she lay back in bed, a bitter thought crossed her mind: When did Bruce Wayne become a stranger in his own home?
One evening, as she sat in the dimly lit study, the manor felt colder than usual. A knot had formed in her stomach over the past few weeks—Bruce’s absences becoming more frequent, his explanations growing vaguer. She tried to ignore the uneasy feeling gnawing at her, but it was becoming harder to pretend everything was fine.
Her phone buzzed on the desk—a notification from the Batcomputer. Furrowing her brows, she tapped on the screen, pulling up the security feed from Gotham’s East End. The camera displayed a shadowed rooftop, and at first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Then, she saw him—Bruce, still in the Batsuit, standing just out of the light. Relief washed over her, knowing he was safe, but it quickly vanished when a familiar figure sauntered into view. Selina Kyle—Catwoman—moved close, her hand resting on Bruce’s chest as she leaned in, whispering something. Bruce didn’t move away. Instead, he tilted his head down, capturing Selina’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss.
Her heart stopped, disbelief rooting her in place. It felt like a nightmare—one she couldn’t wake from. A shaky breath escaped her, and her vision blurred with tears. She wanted to scream, to break something, to demand an explanation, but all she could do was stare at the screen, frozen in place.
It felt like time had stopped. The warmth of the manor vanished, replaced by a bone-deep chill that seeped into her skin. Her hands shook as she reached for the tablet again, desperate to convince herself she’d seen wrong—that it was some cruel illusion. But the screen didn’t lie. Bruce was still there, holding Selina as if she were the only thing keeping him anchored
After a few moments, she forced herself to close the feed, not wanting to see any more. Her chest felt tight, like the weight of the world was pressing down on her. Betrayal coursed through her veins, mixing with heartbreak and rage.
She sank onto the nearest armchair, burying her face in her hands as silent sobs wracked her body. How could he do this to her? After everything they had been through, every night he came home bruised and broken, every time she held him and whispered reassurances into his ear. After all the whispered promises of forever. How could he just throw it away?
Once the tears subsided, a numbness settled in. She knew she couldn’t confront him—not now. She wasn’t ready to face the lies, the excuses. She needed to get out, to breathe, to think. One thought cut through the fog of pain—she couldn’t do this alone.
Without another moment of hesitation, she grabbed her coat and keys, barely noticing how her hands trembled. There was only one person who might understand—someone she could trust, even after all this time.
Before she knew it, she was outside the familiar gates of Queen Mansion. Her knuckles rapped on the large wooden door, and after a few moments, it creaked open to reveal Oliver—still dressed in his casual clothes, surprise flashing in his eyes.
"(Y/N)?" His voice was low, gentle, and full of concern. "What’s going on?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Ollie... I didn’t know where else to go."
He didn’t say anything right away—just held her, one hand gently stroking her back, grounding her with his warmth. When her sobs finally slowed to quiet hiccups, he guided her inside, leading her to the plush leather couch in the living room.
"Sit," he said softly, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a moment. "I’ll get you some water."
She nodded, barely able to muster a word. When he returned, he handed her the glass and sat beside her, his gaze never leaving her face.
"(Y/N), what happened?" he asked gently, voice full of worry.
Her hands shook as she took a sip, the cool water soothing her raw throat. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. "I... I caught him. With her."
Oliver’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and empathy. "Bruce?"
She nodded, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. "Catwoman. On a rooftop. I... I saw them kissing. He didn’t even... didn’t even hesitate."
Oliver’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. "You didn’t deserve that. Not from him."
Her lips trembled, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I thought he loved me, Ollie. After everything we’ve been through... how could he just throw it all away?"
Oliver moved closer, his hand reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "Some people don’t know how to value something good when they have it. But you... you’re stronger than this. You always have been."
She looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all she saw was sincerity and warmth. For the first time since seeing that video, she felt a tiny flicker of safety.
"I just... I didn’t know where else to go," she whispered, guilt creeping into her voice.
"You can always come to me," Oliver replied firmly. "No matter what."
(Y/N) stayed silent for a moment, her hands trembling around the glass. Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off her—seeing her so broken tore at his heart. He had always admired her strength, how she never let anything break her spirit. But now, seeing her like this, it was as if someone had ripped his own heart out.
He reached for her hand again, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I can’t believe he did this to you," he muttered, voice laced with anger. "You gave him everything, and he just... threw it away?"
She bit her lip, trying to hold back another wave of tears. "I thought we were happy," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I gave him everything—my love, my loyalty... my whole heart. Was that not enough?"
"It was more than enough," Oliver said firmly, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. "Bruce doesn’t know how to appreciate what he has. He doesn’t deserve you."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I always thought we were invincible. That no matter what Gotham threw at us, we’d face it together. But now... I don’t even know what’s real anymore."
"Hey," Oliver whispered, shifting closer, his voice more tender. "You are real. Your love was real. Don’t ever doubt that. Bruce made his choice, and it was a damn stupid one. But you—you’re still the strong, brilliant woman I know. You’ll get through this."
Her eyes glistened as she looked up at him, vulnerability etched across her features. "Why does it hurt so much? I feel like... like I’m falling apart."
Oliver pulled her into his arms again, holding her tightly, his chin resting on the top of her head. "Because you loved him with everything you had. That’s what makes you incredible—you give your heart completely. But sometimes people don’t know how to handle something so pure."
She buried her face in his chest, her fingers clutching his shirt. "I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I just want the pain to stop."
He stroked her hair gently, fighting back his own surge of emotions. "I know. And I’ll be here for you—every step of the way. You don’t have to go through this alone."
His words made something in her chest loosen just a bit, and she took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. "Why are you always so good to me? Even after everything..."
Oliver pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. His gaze softened, and he gave her a faint, almost bittersweet smile. "Because I never stopped caring about you. And seeing you like this... it kills me. If I could take away your pain, I would."
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and without thinking, Oliver leaned in and kissed it away, his lips brushing gently against her skin. When he pulled back, his hand cupped her face, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You’re stronger than this, (Y/N). I know you are. And I’ll do whatever it takes to help you remember that."
For a moment, silence settled between them, thick with memories of a time when they were each other’s world. Years ago, before Bruce had even entered her life, Oliver and (Y/N) had been together. Their love had been fiery and intense, filled with late-night missions and whispered confessions under the stars. But the demands of their double lives as heroes had pulled them apart—missions in different cities, priorities that never seemed to align. Despite the breakup, the love between them never really faded. There was always something unspoken, a connection that remained no matter the distance or time.
Even when she had moved on with Bruce, Oliver never stopped caring. It was just easier to pretend the feelings weren’t there. Seeing her now, broken because of someone else, made his chest ache with a familiar longing. No one had ever come close to what they had—not even Bruce. Nothing and no one could change that.
He looked down at her, his heart pounding in his chest. "You know," he whispered, his voice almost a breath, "no matter what happens... I’ll always have your back. Just like before."
(Y/N) looked up at him, her expression softening. A part of her knew that no matter how much time had passed or how many heartbreaks she endured, there would always be a part of her that belonged to Oliver. And right now, wrapped in his arms, it didn’t hurt as much.
When (Y/N) returned to Wayne Manor, the familiar grand entrance felt colder than usual. She took a deep breath, reminding herself to act normal. She couldn’t let Bruce see the cracks in her facade just yet.
As she stepped inside, Alfred greeted her with his usual warm smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Wayne. Dinner will be served shortly."
(Y/N) nodded, forcing a polite smile. "Thank you, Alfred."
She made her way to the study, where Bruce was hunched over his desk, reviewing case files. He looked up when she entered, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "You’re home early," he noted.
"Yeah," she replied simply, moving to the window, her tone distant. She could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes trained on the darkening sky. She couldn’t look at him—not now.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Is everything okay?"
"Fine," she answered quickly. A bit too quickly. Realizing her mistake, she softened her tone. "Just tired."
Bruce approached her cautiously, his hand resting on her shoulder. Normally, she’d lean into his touch, but now she stiffened, barely masking the flinch. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.
"You know you can talk to me," he said quietly, his voice gentle.
Her stomach twisted. The irony wasn’t lost on her. "I know," she whispered, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. "I just... need some time."
He hesitated before pressing a kiss to her temple. It took every ounce of willpower for her not to recoil. Instead, she stayed still, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and none at all.
"I’ll be in the Batcave," he murmured before slipping away, leaving her alone in the vast, empty room.
As soon as he was gone, she exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. Holding it together around him was harder than she thought. She knew she had to keep up appearances for now. But each interaction chipped away at her resolve, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend everything was okay.
The days that followed felt like a slow unraveling. Y/N drifted through Wayne Manor like a fragile ghost, each smile a carefully crafted mask, each word measured to hide the storm raging beneath her skin. Her heart ached with a weight she refused to show, but Bruce could sense the shift—an invisible line now stretched between them, fraying with every passing moment.
She spent more time away, retreating into Oliver’s world where she could breathe without pretending. With him, the walls didn’t feel so necessary, and her tears, once trapped behind clenched jaws, found permission to fall. Yet even as she leaned on Oliver’s quiet strength, a piece of her remained shattered—haunted by the betrayal, the secret that clawed at her from within.
Back at Wayne Manor, Bruce’s eyes searched hers for a hint of the woman he married. But the woman he saw was distant, locked behind eyes that no longer looked at him with warmth or trust. Every attempt he made to reach her was met with polite deflection, a coldness that sliced sharper than any fight.
One night, standing by the grand window in the study, Bruce’s hands trembled with a frustration he barely understood. The city lights stretched before him, but all he could see was the growing void in their marriage. When she passed behind him, silent and still, he reached out, resting a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“Please,” he whispered, voice raw with longing and regret. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Y/N froze. The touch that once brought comfort now felt like a reminder of the betrayal she kept buried deep. Her breath hitched, eyes filling with a sorrow she refused to let escape. She swallowed hard, then turned to face him, forcing a fragile smile.
“I’m just busy, Bruce,” she said softly, but the words shattered under the weight of everything left unsaid. Bruce wanted to press, to pry beneath the surface, but he knew better. Y/N was a fortress, and she had learned long ago not to let anyone inside when it hurt. Whatever storm was brewing behind those eyes, she was facing it alone
He searched her face desperately, craving the truth, but all she gave him was silence. The distance between them wasn’t just space—it was a chasm carved by secrets, lies, and broken promises.
And in that silent, aching moment, Bruce realized the battle wasn’t just outside in the shadows of Gotham—it was right here, inside their own home, fighting to hold onto the woman slipping through his fingers
(Y/N) couldn’t sleep at night. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind spinning with anger and heartbreak. Images of Bruce with Catwoman flashed behind her eyes, making her chest tighten all over again.
The next morning, she found herself at Oliver’s mansion once more. It had become a routine over the past few days—escaping from Wayne Manor and seeking refuge in Oliver’s presence. He didn’t just offer comfort; he made her feel wanted—like herself again. Being around him was like a breath of fresh air, washing away the bitterness Bruce left behind.
Today was no different. Oliver greeted her at the door with a familiar grin, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and dark jeans that made his green eyes seem even more striking.
"Morning, gorgeous," he greeted, leaning against the doorframe, his tone playful but warm. "You really can’t stay away, huh?"
(Y/N) smirked, crossing her arms. "Don’t flatter yourself. I just came to make sure you’re not setting your kitchen on fire again."
He chuckled, stepping aside to let her in. As she walked past him, Oliver caught her hand, pulling her back just enough to brush his lips lightly against her knuckles. "You know, you always did like saving me from myself," he teased, eyes glinting.
The simple gesture sent a spark through her, and she couldn’t help but smile. Oliver’s flirtatious energy didn’t just make her feel better—it made her feel powerful, like she was reclaiming something that had been taken from her.
She arched a brow. "Maybe I just like the challenge."
Oliver’s smirk widened as he let go of her hand, but not before trailing his fingers against her palm. "You’ve always been the one person who never made me feel like a mess. Maybe that’s why I keep hoping you’ll come around."
Her chest tightened at that, but not in the suffocating way she’d felt since discovering Bruce’s betrayal. This was different—this was warmth and nostalgia wrapped up in Oliver’s crooked smile and the way he looked at her like she was the only one who mattered.
He walked with her into the living room, and as she settled onto the couch, he plopped down beside her, a little closer than necessary. "So," he drawled, giving her a sideways glance. "You planning to grace me with your cooking skills again, or did you just come to stare at me while I attempt to impress you?"
She couldn’t help the genuine laugh that bubbled up. "Impress me? Oliver, I think your ‘cooking’ does the opposite."
He feigned offense, hand over his heart. "Ouch. Remind me never to make you pancakes again."
Her laughter faded into a softer smile, and Oliver’s expression turned more serious. "Hey," he said gently, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I’m glad you’re here. You know that, right?"
(Y/N) bit her lip, the vulnerability catching her off guard. "I know," she whispered. "It’s just... you make me feel—"
"Like yourself?" he finished, his voice softer, eyes holding hers.
She nodded. "Yeah. Like I’m still... me."
He shifted closer, his hand resting lightly on her knee. "You’ve always been you. Bruce couldn’t change that. And if he can’t see how amazing you are, that’s on him. But me? I never forgot."
Her pulse quickened at the sincerity in his tone. Being around Oliver wasn’t just a distraction—it was a reminder of who she was before Bruce. Before everything went wrong. And for the first time in days, that realization didn’t hurt—it just made her feel stronger.
Oliver leaned in, his face just inches from hers. "You deserve to feel loved. To be wanted."
(Y/N) hesitated, her eyes flicking to his lips, then back to his eyes. He waited, letting her make the next move. And then, without overthinking, she closed the gap between them. The kiss was slow, almost tentative at first, but when his hand cupped her cheek, deepening it, she didn’t pull away.
It wasn’t just a kiss—it was reclaiming a part of herself that had been buried beneath heartbreak and betrayal. When they finally broke apart, Oliver rested his forehead against hers, his thumb brushing over her cheek.
"You still feel like yourself?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with something almost like hope.
(Y/N) smiled softly. "Yeah. More than I have in a long time."
Bruce Wayne found himself pacing through the corridors of Wayne Manor, his mind clouded with uncertainty. For days, (Y/N) had been distant—quiet, detached, and seemingly lost in thought. It wasn’t like her to be so reserved, and it gnawed at him, stirring an uneasy feeling he couldn’t quite place.
He tried to dismiss it, blaming the strain of their chaotic lives. Perhaps it was just a phase—a lull between missions. But the more he observed her, the harder it became to ignore the tightness in his chest, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. Every time he reached out—whether it was a touch to her shoulder or a soft word spoken over breakfast—she would offer him a fleeting smile, never meeting his gaze for too long.
One evening, as they prepared for a gala at Wayne Enterprises, Bruce finally gathered the nerve to address it. (Y/N) was adjusting her earrings in the mirror when he approached her from behind, his hands gently resting on her shoulders.
"You’ve been... distant," he said cautiously, catching her eyes in the reflection. "Is everything alright?"
(Y/N) paused, her fingers stilling. She forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just tired, Bruce. Nothing to worry about."
He didn’t buy it. Bruce knew her too well to believe that simple excuse. Yet, before he could press further, Alfred appeared in the doorway, informing them that the car was ready. Bruce gave her one last look before allowing the moment to slip away.
More days passed, and Bruce’s unease grew. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that he was missing something crucial. Part of him knew—deep down—that his own actions had caused this distance, but he convinced himself she didn’t know. There was no way she could have found out. Yet, he found himself distracted during patrols, his mind wandering back to her. Was she pulling away because of him? The guilt gnawed at him, but he kept telling himself it was just his paranoia. The questions haunted him until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
Returning home late one night, Bruce made his way to the master bedroom, his steps quiet but purposeful. Pushing open the door, he froze. Suitcases were neatly lined up near the bed, and (Y/N) was standing by the window, divorce papers in hand.
"(Y/N)," he started, confused and already fearing the worst. "What’s going on?"
She didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the darkened skyline of Gotham. "I’m leaving, Bruce."
His heart pounded, panic setting in. "Leaving? Why—what’s this?" He gestured toward the papers.
Finally, she turned around, eyes red-rimmed but resolute. "Divorce papers."
His world seemed to collapse. "Divorce? (Y/N), please... let’s talk about this. I—"
She cut him off, her voice steady despite the pain laced in it. "No. There’s nothing to talk about. I know about you and Catwoman."
Bruce felt his stomach drop, guilt and regret flooding him all at once. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The realization that he was losing her—truly losing her—left him paralyzed.
"Do you know what hurts the most?" (Y/N) asked, her tone deceptively calm. "I gave you everything—my love, my loyalty, my life. I trusted you more than anyone, and you threw it all away. You let me believe I was enough while you went behind my back."
He stepped closer, desperate. "(Y/N), I never meant to hurt you. I was... reckless, selfish—"
"Yes, you were," she whispered, her voice wavering. "But I’m not going to let you make me feel small. I deserve better than someone who breaks his promises. I’m done fighting for this marriage when you’ve already given up on it."
Bruce swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. "Please... just don’t leave. We can work through this."
She looked at him, eyes cold and determined. "You made your choice when you betrayed me. Now I’m making mine. I refuse to be the woman who stays while her husband keeps hurting her."
Bruce’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time in years, he felt completely helpless. He wanted to beg, to plead for another chance, but he knew deep down that he had crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.
(Y/N) didn’t wait for another excuse. She picked up her bags and walked past him without a backward glance, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Bruce didn’t follow. He remained rooted in place, staring at the space she left behind, the divorce papers still clutched in his trembling hands.
And as the reality sank in, he knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life. The emptiness settled in his chest, and the regret was suffocating, more punishing than any wound he’d ever endured.
A few days had passed since (Y/N) left Wayne Manor, and she found herself at Oliver’s mansion once again. The city lights glittered outside the tall windows, casting soft patterns across the polished floor. She sat on the plush couch, lost in thought, a glass of wine in her hand.
Oliver came in from the balcony, his green hoodie swapped for a simple black t-shirt. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before speaking.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said softly, moving closer, his voice almost a caress. “Thinking about him?”
(Y/N) sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Not in the way you think. I just... can’t believe how stupid I was. How I let myself believe he was different.”
Oliver sat beside her, his presence grounding her. His hand found hers, and he squeezed gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured, his tone low and comforting. “Bruce is the one who made a choice—one that cost him someone incredible.”
She looked down at their joined hands, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “You always know what to say.”
“That’s because I know you,” Oliver replied, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “And I know you’re stronger than this. You built your own life, your own success—without anyone’s help. You don’t let anyone tear you down.”
(Y/N) turned to look at him, her heart pounding a little harder. “Sometimes, I forget how well you know me.”
Oliver smirked, his confidence radiating off him. “Trust me, I never forget. You’re unforgettable.”
A quiet laugh escaped her, but it was tinged with vulnerability. “When did you become such a charmer?”
He raised a brow, leaning in just a bit closer. “I’ve always been one. You just forgot.”
The space between them seemed to shrink, the air charged with something new—something familiar yet unspoken. Oliver’s hand shifted, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw before cupping her face.
“You deserve someone who knows your worth,” he whispered, his gaze dipping to her lips. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted.”
(Y/N) didn’t move, couldn’t even think of pulling away. Her heart raced as Oliver leaned in, his lips brushing hers—tentative, as if giving her the chance to stop him. When she didn’t, he kissed her fully, pulling her closer with a gentle but undeniable force. His hands moved to her waist, and when her arms wrapped around his neck, he deepened the kiss, passion mixing with tenderness.
When they finally broke apart, she stayed close, their foreheads touching. She was breathless, but it wasn’t just the kiss—it was the way Oliver looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered.
“Maybe... I needed this,” she whispered.
Oliver’s hand slid into her hair, his voice soft and sure. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. Let me remind you how it feels to be loved.”
And for the first time in what felt like ages, (Y/N) allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she deserved to be loved like this.
Months had passed, and life had moved forward. (Y/N) entered the grand charity gala with Oliver by her side, her arm linked through his. She wore a sleek, floor-length gown that hugged her curves with effortless grace. Oliver’s tailored suit complemented her elegance perfectly. The crowd turned to admire the striking couple as they made their entrance.
After greeting a few guests, Oliver excused himself to catch up with some old friends, leaving (Y/N) to mingle on her own. She smiled politely, chatting quietly with a few familiar faces, her confidence shining even without Oliver beside her.
But then, something shifted. The air seemed to tighten around her, and she sensed a familiar presence before she even turned.
Bruce.
She turned slowly, already knowing whose eyes were burning into her back. He stood a few feet away, clad in his signature black suit, brooding and composed on the surface—but his eyes betrayed him. They softened the second they landed on her, flickering with disbelief… and something heavier. Regret.
“(Y/N),” he said her name like a prayer, a whisper pulled from a memory he didn’t know he still carried.
She offered him a tight, measured smile. “Bruce.”
He took a slow step forward. “You look… incredible.”
She tilted her head slightly, lips curling with poise. “I know.”
Bruce let out a soft breath, trying to find his footing. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I was invited,” she said simply, her voice smooth and detached. “Oliver and I came together.”
His jaw twitched.
“I see,” he said, gaze dropping to her bare shoulder, as if he could find a trace of the past there. “You seem… happy.”
“I am.”
There was silence between them, the hum of the gala dimming beneath the tension. Bruce's voice lowered.
“I’ve thought about you. Every day.”
(Y/N)'s smile didn't falter, but it didn’t soften either. “Should’ve thought about me when it mattered.”
He flinched. Just slightly, but she saw it.
“I made a mistake,” he admitted. “The worst kind. And I’ve paid for it every day since you left.”
“And yet,” she said calmly, “you still let me walk away without trying to stop me.”
Bruce took a step closer, now only inches from her. “Because I knew I didn’t deserve to.”
For a moment, the world felt still. The weight of the past hung heavy between them—but (Y/N) didn’t bend. She wasn’t that broken, betrayed woman anymore. She had risen.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “You didn’t.”
Just then, she felt the familiar warmth of Oliver’s presence behind her. A strong hand settled at the small of her back. “Everything alright here, love?”
Bruce straightened, his expression hardening the moment he saw Oliver. But (Y/N) didn’t flinch. She leaned back into Oliver’s touch, her body language making it abundantly clear.
“We’re just catching up,” she said casually, eyes still locked with Bruce’s. “Bruce was just about to excuse himself.”
Oliver’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, but his voice was pleasant. “That so?”
Bruce looked at them—at her—and for a fleeting second, the mask cracked. He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I was.”
He began to step back, but Oliver’s voice stopped him.
“Bruce.”
Bruce paused.
Oliver’s arm wrapped around (Y/N) a little tighter as he leaned in and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her temple.
“She’s not yours anymore,” he said quietly. “And she never will be again.”
(Y/N) didn’t say a word. She simply let Bruce see her radiant smile, the one he hadn’t been able to bring out in years, and the way she turned fully toward Oliver with complete, unwavering love in her eyes.
Bruce walked away moments later—alone, defeated, and finally realizing that the woman he once took for granted… had never needed him to begin with.
And as (Y/N) and Oliver walked back into the warm glow of the gala, laughter and music surrounding them, she whispered to him, “Thank you.”
“For what?” Oliver asked, smiling down at her.
“For being the one who stayed when it really counted.”
Oliver grinned and kissed her again. “Always, love. Always.”
⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ .⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ𖥔 . ݁₊
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