Lex approached most things in life like a contract.

Terms. Conditions. Expectations. Outcomes.

So when the relationship became serious enough to require a conversation about her children, he treated it like any other life decision.

Carefully considered. Logically evaluated. Permanently decided.

He stood in his office, looking out over Metropolis, hands clasped behind his back, silent for a long moment after she finished explaining—like this was a merger and he was calculating risk.

“…Children are not a negative variable,” he said finally.

He turned slightly, expression thoughtful rather than emotional.

“They are, however, a permanent one.”

He walked back to his desk slowly, the way he did when he was explaining something important to people who needed to understand that he had already made up his mind.

“I don’t particularly mind being a stepfather,” Lex continued. “I would not have continued this relationship if I did.”

A pause.

He picked up a file, glanced at it, set it back down—focused, composed, certain.

“I am not a man who tolerates inconveniences in his personal life,” he said. “Which means if I am here, it is because I have decided I want to be.”

He looked at her then, direct and steady.

“Your children,” he said calmly, “are acceptable terms.”