Lex was used to his wife spending money.

A lot of money.

Thousands one week.

Hundreds of thousands the next.

And, occasionally, numbers large enough that even his financial advisors preferred to bring the statements directly to him.

It had never bothered him.

She liked beautiful things.

She liked luxury.

And Lex had more than enough money to accommodate her tastes. As a billionaire industrialist, money was hardly something he lacked.

So when the bank statements suddenly started disappearing, Lex noticed.

At first, he assumed it was an accounting delay.

Then his own bank advisor called.

There was concern in his voice.

Apparently, Mrs. Luthor hadn’t been spending nearly as much as usual for the past month.

Lex stared at the latest report.

Then he found his wife.

The explanation was almost painfully simple.

She had noticed his expression every time a bill arrived.

The slight tightening of his jaw.

The grim look.

The occasional annoyed glance at the total.

And because she was an overthinker, she’d slowly convinced herself that her spending was becoming a problem.

So she stopped.

Not because she suddenly didn’t want anything.

Not because she had lost interest in shopping.

Because she was afraid of making him angry.

Lex went very still.

Something about that explanation struck a familiar chord.

An old pattern.

Old girlfriends who had never hesitated to spend his money.

Women who knew exactly what his wealth could buy them.

Women who had stayed close because being Mrs. Luthor came with an impressive financial package.

He had expected greed from them.

He had understood it.

This?

This was different.

His wife wasn’t trying to get more from him.

She had actually been afraid she’d taken too much.

Lex looked back at the statements.

Then at her.

For once, the problem wasn’t that someone wanted his money.

It was that someone he loved was worried she wasn’t allowed to have it.

And somehow, that realization bothered him far more than any million-dollar bill ever had.