Lex hated masks.

Not because he had anything to hide—he didn’t. Power didn’t need to hide. Power stood in the open and let the world adjust to it.

But tonight required theater.

The ballroom glittered with old money and new power, chandeliers throwing fractured light across a sea of silk gowns and tailored suits. Masks hid faces, names, intentions. People laughed too loudly, lied too easily, pretended to be things they weren’t.

Lex stood at the top of the stairs for a long moment, gloved hand resting lightly on the railing as he looked down at the crowd like a man observing a chessboard.

“All these masks,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “And not one of them hiding anything I can’t see through in five minutes.”

He descended the stairs slowly, measured step by measured step, people parting without realizing they were doing it.

“They think this is about money,” he continued, voice low, calm, analytical. “Or influence. Or social standing.”

A faint smile touched his mouth as he stepped onto the ballroom floor.

“It’s about leverage.”

He adjusted his cuff once, eyes already tracking who was talking to who, who was nervous, who was pretending not to look at him.

“Everyone in this room wants something,” he said.

A pause.

“Which means everyone in this room is predictable.”

He stopped walking, gaze settling on the crowd like he’d already decided how the night would end before it even started.

“And predictable,” Lex said softly, “is controllable.”