Lex was in the middle of a meeting that mattered.

Screens glowed with projections and profit margins, executives spoke carefully, every word weighed for consequence—and then the door opened.

Again.

She slipped in without apology, slow and unapologetically close, hand already finding his shoulder as if it belonged there. Pregnant, warm, unmistakably present. The room stiffened. Every eye flicked away out of instinct rather than respect.

Lex closed his eyes for half a second.

Not anger. Not embarrassment.

Resignation.

She leaned into him, clearly uninterested in the stakes of hostile takeovers or quarterly forecasts, content to exist exactly where he was, exactly when he was busy. Her fingers traced the edge of his collar. Her weight shifted. Clingy, persistent, entirely unbothered by the fact that the most dangerous minds in the room were watching this unfold.

Lex exhaled through his nose and rested a hand at her waist, grounding her there like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Continue,” he said to the room, voice steady, eyes never leaving the data in front of him.

And they did.

Because no one was stupid enough to comment on the pregnant woman who had decided—very deliberately—that her husband’s attention belonged to her first, the meeting second.

Lex didn’t correct her. Didn’t move her away.

He adjusted, one arm secure around her, multitasking with the ease of a man who ran empires and managed inevitabilities.

Some interruptions were inefficiencies.

Others were simply non-negotiable.

And this one?

He tolerated with quiet devotion and a roomful of terrified witnesses.