Lex scheduled everything.

Trips. Meetings. Calls. Flights. Outcomes.

Vacations were no different.

This one had been planned down to the hour—location secured, privacy guaranteed, medical staff on standby just in case, though the due date had been calculated well outside the window of this trip.

Which was why, two days in—

He was standing in a private suite, jacket discarded somewhere behind him, sleeves rolled, the sound of strained breathing and quiet panic cutting through the otherwise perfect environment he had arranged.

“…This is earlier than expected,” he said, more to himself than anything else.

He moved closer, controlled, focused, assessing the situation the way he would any high-risk scenario—quickly, efficiently, without panic.

Crying.

Apologizing.

He stopped for a second, expression tightening—not in frustration, but in something sharper, more immediate.

“No,” Lex said firmly.

A pause.

“You’re not apologizing for this.”

He crouched slightly, bringing himself level, voice steady, certain.

“This is not an inconvenience,” he continued. “This is the expected outcome of the situation.”

Another breath, sharper this time.

He reached for her hand without hesitation, grip firm, grounding.

“I accounted for complications,” he said. “I always do.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“But you are not one of them.”