Lucinda woke the next morning to the violent whup-whup-whup of helicopter blades rattling her soul. She shot upright, leapt off the bed, and stumbled to the massive windows to peek.
There he was.
Lex Luthor himself fresh from Metropolis, stepping out of the chopper in a crisp black suit and tie, shiny black Tic Tac shoes, and a bald head so smooth it could blind airplanes.
Lucinda giggled. Actually giggled.
Have a little dignity, Lucy! You're not here to swoon over a villain. You're here probably to train your survival skills.
Lucinda nodded to agree on herself and gasped when the door behind her flew open.
Molly entered, brisk but warm, her lined eyes soft. A 59-year-old veteran of Luthor Manor—she had served the family since baby Lex was still capable of growing hair. Lucinda had met her and another younger maid last night when they brought her dinner—two women she was certain never appeared in Smallville. Which meant either this universe had DLC… or she was already off-script.
If her memory was correct, there was supposed to be a family of house staff—mother, daughter, and one kryptonite-infected teenage boy who almost killed Lex.
Is that episode done? Paused? Delayed? Dear multiverse, please let it be done. I don't want some guy with invisibility powers walking around here.
"Good morning, Miss Delos Santos," Molly said kindly.
"Good morning, Molly," Lucinda smiled back.
"I'll take you to the room Mr. Luthor assigned. Where are your belongings? I'll send guards to move them."
Lucinda blinked, then grinned awkwardly.
"I—I don't have any, Molly. I'm… uh… professionally homeless. I only have these," she pointed her clothes.
Molly nodded as if that explained world peace. "Well, now I understand why Mr. Luthor took you in right away. People insist he's a bad man, but that young man is kind at heart."
Molly, bless your pure soul. If only you knew his future résumé…
Still, Lucinda followed as Molly gestured. She wore the slippers Molly lent her, though they were so big her feet kept drifting sideways like they were trying to escape.
The hallway was a museum of wealth: marble floors polished like ice, oil portraits of stern Luthors staring down from gilded frames, vases that looked older than the Philippines, and furniture so expensive she felt guilty breathing near it. Molly was talking—something about rules, schedules, probably important life-saving information—but Lucinda absorbed none of it.
Her mind was too busy panicking.
Step one: find out which episode this is to blend in seamlessly while figuring out a way to escape.
Step two: avoid messing with the plot.
Step three: do not butterfly-effect Clark into becoming a criminal or Lex into becoming… worse.
Her eyes drifted right before she even realized it—straight toward Lex walking down the opposite wing.
Damn! He looked unfairly good even without hair. Maybe it was because of Michael Rosenbaum's face. Maybe it was the billionaire suit. Maybe it was the shiny bald glow making him look like an angel who specialized in tax fraud.
Or maybe Lucinda was already hallucinating.
Molly's voice echoed in her mind. "People insist he's a bad man, but that young man is kind at heart."
Lucinda swallowed, wondering curiously. What happens if Lex and Clark's friendship never breaks? What if... what if I help them keep whatever they have now?
Lex stopped in front of a door—and before he turned the knob, he glanced sideways. Right at her and smirked.
Lucinda flinched so violently her borrowed slipper shot off like a ballistic missile, bounced off the marble floor twice, and slid to a shameful stop right at Lex Luthor's polished shoes.
Perfect! Absolutely perfect! Just what every totally-normal, definitely-not-time-displaced woman dreams of: launching footwear at a billionaire supervillain in training.
Lex's smirk deepened—not amused, not kind, but the kind of smile that said: I've already investigated your entire life, your neighbor's life, your neighbor's dog's life, and possibly your blood type.
Lucinda's soul shriveled.
Damn it, Lex! Not yet! I need a shelter and food! I cannot survive Smallville logic without carbohydrates!
She forced a smile, the kind that wasn't confident so much as internally screaming in four languages.
Lex bent slightly—not enough to humble himself, but just enough to pick up her runaway slipper with the elegance of a man who probably owns 14 forks for one salad.
"Miss Delos Santos," he drawled, holding the slipper like it was a rare artifact. "You dropped something."
Dropped something? Sir, I practically air-mailed it.
Lucinda took the slipper in embarrassment, cheeks burning. "T-Thank you, Mr. Luthor. I—it slipped."
"Clearly," that smirk again. Sharp. Knowing. A little too amused.
Molly nudged Lucinda discreetly, urging her to bow her head respectfully. Instead, Lucinda nodded like a malfunctioning toy robot, clutching the slipper to her chest for emotional support.
Lex cast her one last lingering look—half curiosity, half suspicion—just about to turn back to the door when a familiar voice boomed down the hallway.
"Lex, I need to talk to you about something!"
Lucinda blinked so hard her eyelashes almost generated wind. Clark Kent, let's just address him that—actual potato-hearted farmboy himself, wearing his usual brown jacket—came jogging toward them, brows furrowed in Very Serious Concern™.
"Oh hey, Clark. What's the rush?" Lex replied in that calm, velvety billionaire voice that could convince a nun to commit felony. He pushed open the door beside him and gestured gracefully. "Come on in."
And then—just like that—the Smallville bromance she'd spent half her childhood obsessing over stepped inside the room together.
Lucinda stood frozen, eyes gleaming like a raccoon spotting shiny trash.
YES!
If she could just lean a little closer—just a microscopic scoot—she could eavesdrop and find out EXACTLY which episode she'd been yeeted into. Then she could plan accordingly:
• Avoid any murderous meteor mutants
• Not mess up Clark's love life
• And definitely avoid causing Lex's villain arc to arrive earlier than scheduled.
She took one tiny step to execute her plan when Molly grabbed her by the wrist.
"Not today, dear.".
"M-Molly, wait! I just—I need to—"
"No eavesdropping," Molly whispered sternly, pulling her away. "Not unless you fancy getting thrown out before breakfast."
Thrown out?
Breakfast??
Lucinda gasped. Right. Survival first, fandom espionage second.
Still, as she was dragged down the hallway, she craned her neck so dramatically she resembled a desperate flamingo trying to see through a door crack.
Clark's and Lex's voices faded behind the door, leaving her with only one thought:
If I don't figure out which episode this is soon, I might accidentally ruin the entire show before it even happens.
Meanwhile, inside the office, both Clark and Lex settled in.
"So, what's it about, Clark?" Lex asked as he set his sleek black suitcase on the desk, flipping the latch with his usual billionaire precision.
Clark, however, barely took two steps inside. His body angled toward the door, eyebrows doing that curious wiggly thing he always did when something didn't add up.
"Wait—was that the woman from yesterday?" Clark asked, turning to Lex with that cheeky farmboy grin that usually meant trouble… or teasing.
Lex glanced at the door, then at Clark, smirking. "Of all people, you should know, Clark."
Clark's grin widened. "Because she's beautiful?"
Lex gave him a look. "Because she suddenly appeared in my office like a magician with no sense of boundaries."
Clark chuckled, folding his arms. "Right… that too. Did you ask her how though?"
Lex stepped closer, voice lowering slightly. "I did. She claimed she was homeless, needed a job, and climbed her way up into the mansion because she wanted to speak to me personally out of desperation."
Clark blinked. "Hold on. Climbed?"
Lex nodded.
Clark's brows met. "Lex… your office is on the third floor."
"Exactly," Lex lifted a shoulder, unimpressed. "And she was wearing socks, Clark. Perfectly clean socks. I have twenty guards on shift at all hours, and she claims she snuck past all of them. It doesn't make any sense."
Clark's brows shot up. "So either she's lying…"
"Or she's the most talented trespasser Kansas has ever produced," Lex finished with a dry laugh.
Clark rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful. "You think she's dangerous?"
Lex sighed, tapping a finger on his desk. "I don't know. But if my father was the one who sent her here, then no doubt."
Clark, who had a bit of firsthand expertise in "very strange," stiffened just a little.
"So, what are we going to talk about?" Lex finally asked.
"Oh, uhm... about Lana."