Lex was very good at fixing problems.

He was less good at not causing them.

The penthouse was quiet in that brittle, deliberate way that meant he was already on thin ice. No raised voices. No slammed doors. Just distance—precise, intentional, devastating. His wife stood near the window, back to him, city lights catching on glass and steel like a reminder of everything he controlled…except this.

Lex adjusted his cufflinks. Slowed his breathing. Calculated.

He approached like it was a negotiation he couldn’t afford to lose—hands visible, voice calm, charm dialed down from arrogance to sincerity. “I miscalculated,” he said, which for Lex Luthor was as close to an apology as most people ever got.

She didn’t turn.

He stopped a careful distance behind her, close enough to be felt but not presumptuous. He knew better than to touch without permission. He leaned in just slightly, pressing a kiss to her temple—soft, lingering, deliberate. A reminder, not a demand.

“I know,” he continued quietly, “that this isn’t the first time. And I know you deserve better than excuses.”

That earned him a glance. Sharp. Measuring. Not forgiving—but listening.

Lex took the opening.

Another kiss, this one to her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just enough to say I’m here, I’m trying, and yes, I know I screwed up—again.

For all his brilliance, all his ambition, Lex understood one crucial truth:

Conquering the world was easy.

Winning back the woman who knew him best—and still chose him—required humility.

And tonight, he was prepared to practice it.