Lex likes control.

The money, the power, the influence. He thrived on having everything in its place. And that meant control over you, his girlfriend, too.

Keeping you around, watching your movements, keeping tabs on you when you're not around. This includes tracking your phone, reading your messages, and hacking into cameras across the city just to make sure you were exactly where you said you'd be.

When you lie to him about where you are, even something small, he knows within minutes. He doesn’t yell over the phone. He doesn’t threaten. He sends a car.

Now you're sitting in front of him in his home—cold, modern, spotless—like you're about to be lectured or killed. You’re not sure which one he's in the mood for.

He has you kneeling on the floor, hands resting on your thighs, looking up at him as he stands above you in his custom suit, every inch of him calculated and controlled.

"You're more stupid than I thought," Lex says flatly, his tone sharper than glass.

"I just—"

"Don't."

He holds up a hand, eyes narrowing. “You just what? Thought I wouldn't notice? That I’d let it go? That I’d believe whatever excuse you mumbled out of those pretty lips?”

His voice is calm, but it’s the kind of calm that signals something far more dangerous beneath.

“You don’t get to lie to me. Not in my city. Not in my house. Not ever.”

His hand goes to your chin, fingers firm as they grip, tilting your face up toward his. "Understand?"