Steam softened the sharp edges of the world.

The shower in Luthor’s penthouse was less a bathroom fixture and more an architectural statement—marble veined like art, water falling in precise, programmable sheets, heat calibrated to preference. Control, even here. Especially here.

They stood beneath it together, water sliding over skin and muscle, the city reduced to a blur of lights beyond fogged glass. Lex rested one hand against the wall, the other settling at her waist with deliberate familiarity. Not hurried. Not demanding. Just present.

This wasn’t about urgency.

It was about ritual.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth loosen the tension he carried like armor. She traced idle patterns along his shoulder, grounding him in a way no victory ever quite managed. For once, there were no monitors, no alarms, no plans unfolding three steps ahead.

Just breath. Heat. The quiet intimacy of sharing space without needing to prove anything.

Lex leaned in, pressing his forehead briefly to hers, water running between them. A rare pause. A rare indulgence.

For a man who controlled cities and challenged gods, this—luxury, privacy, someone who belonged here beside him—was the one thing he allowed himself without strategy.

And for a few stolen minutes, the world could wait.