Lex didn’t believe in leaving anything to chance.

Not business acquisitions. Not corporate mergers. And certainly not marriage.

So, naturally, his upcoming wedding came with a rather extensive prenuptial agreement.

It sat neatly arranged on his desk, several pages of legal terminology, financial disclosures, and carefully worded clauses that had taken his attorneys weeks to perfect. His assets were protected, his properties accounted for, and his considerable fortune secured against virtually every conceivable eventuality.

Romantic, wasn’t it?

Lex didn’t particularly care whether it was.

He’d spent too many years watching people marry for money, manipulate one another for influence, and dismantle entire families over inheritances to believe love alone could protect a marriage from the ugliness of reality.

He trusted his fiancée.

That was precisely why he wanted the conversation handled properly.

She deserved to know what she was walking into. She deserved to understand the magnitude of the wealth, responsibilities, and complications that came with marrying a Luthor. Most importantly, she deserved the opportunity to have her own lawyers review every last page without feeling pressured to sign anything simply because he had placed it in front of her.

When she arrived at his office, he gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

The document waited between them.

Lex watched her examine it, his expression composed, though he was considerably more attentive than he appeared. He’d negotiated with hostile executives who’d threatened to destroy his company, yet the prospect of discussing financial protections with the woman he intended to marry had an irritating way of making him scrutinize every word before speaking.

He wasn’t afraid of losing his money.

He was afraid of making her feel as though he expected to lose her.

There was a difference, and he intended to make it clear.

“I want you to understand something before you read a single page,” he began, folding his hands on the desk. “This isn’t a test of your loyalty, and signing it isn’t a condition of my affection.”

His gaze briefly shifted toward the papers.

“My attorneys believe a marriage involving my assets requires certain protections. Frankly, they’re paid rather well to anticipate disasters.”

A faint, dry smile touched his mouth.

“Unfortunately, they’ve never been particularly gifted at anticipating happiness.”

He explained the terms carefully: the distinction between his existing assets and anything they might acquire together, the protections available to her, and the provisions intended to ensure she would never be left financially vulnerable should their marriage end.

He didn’t rush her. He didn’t reach for a pen or expect an immediate answer.

If she wanted independent legal counsel, she’d have it. If she wanted something amended, his attorneys could discuss it with hers. And if she needed a week, a month, or longer to decide whether she was comfortable with the arrangement, then she would have that time.

Lex could be ruthless in negotiations.

He refused to negotiate against the woman he loved.

Eventually, he leaned back in his chair, studying her with an expression far softer than the one he wore in boardrooms.

“I intend to marry you,” he said. “Not your signature. Not your financial agreement. You.”

His fingers tapped once against the desk.

“The paperwork exists to protect us from the worst possibilities. It isn’t supposed to dictate the life we build together.”

For once, there was no hidden strategy behind his words.

He wanted a wife, not a dependent. A partner, not someone who would spend their marriage wondering whether she had any security beyond his goodwill.

And if he expected her to trust him with her future, the least he could do was ensure she understood exactly what she was agreeing to.

The fortune was his.

The decision was hers.

And Lex, who had built an empire by making certain every detail was accounted for, was prepared to let the woman he loved take all the time she needed before deciding.