The moment they stepped inside the mansion, Lex didn't even pause to breathe. He strode straight toward his office—straight toward the lion's den where Lionel Luthor waited like a bored deity planning someone's downfall for sport.
Lucinda trailed after him automatically… until Lex stopped so abruptly she nearly walked straight into his spine. He turned to her, expression calm, voice soft—the dangerous kind of soft.
"I just have to remind you to stay away from my father, Lucy."
Lucinda screamed internally. She's still not used of Lex calling her Lucy. Music to her ears, truly. She could feel her internal organs melting. Before Lex suspects her internal, swooning monologue, Lucinda immediately nodded... So fast she could've generated wind power.
She knew. Oh, she knew.
Lex is still salvageable. Still redeemable. Still in the zone where one dramatic hug and a moral monologue might fix him.
Lionel Luthor? Absolutely not. A man built out of manipulation, piano music, and bad parenting. A walking spoiler alert. If only he died earlier, Lex might not have turned into a villain.
Might not.
Lucinda clasped the folder tighter and whispered, "crystal clear, sir."
Because truly—of every villain, anti-villain, misunderstood genius and meteor freak in this universe—Lionel Luthor is the one human being she must never, ever encounter.
She wasn't just avoiding him. She was avoiding becoming collateral damage in whatever father-son chess match they were about to play.
Lex gave her an approving nod and continued down the hallway, his shoes clicking with the ominous calm until he disappeared into his office, the door clicking shut with the kind of dramatic finality that made Lucinda flinch.
She had barely exhaled when a voice echoed behind her.
"Did you really see the bank robber, Lucy?"
Lucinda yelped like a startled squirrel. Molly had materialized behind her, hands primly clasped, eyes blazing with interrogation energy. Lucinda instinctively hopped on one leg, then dropped into a karate stance she definitely had not intended to perform in front of any human being ever.
"Goddamnit, Molly!" she clutched her chest. "I could've karate-chopped your neck—I'd be in jail right now!"
Molly lifted a perfectly unimpressed brow. "Like you'd reach my neck, you tiny child."
Lucinda gasped, deeply offended on behalf of all fun-sized warriors. "Oh, really now, Molly?" she narrowed her eyes, stance widening like she was in the final round of a martial arts tournament. "And it's Lucinda. Not Lucy."
Molly only smirked and raised the folder she'd been holding like it was Exhibit A in Lucinda's humiliation trial. "Your identity says otherwise. Nice to meet you, Lucy Bryce."
Lucinda froze mid-blink. "How'd you know?"
Molly tapped the folder with the authority of someone who had just witnessed tax fraud and enjoyed it. "Mr. Luthor's money works like magic."
"Ah, yeah~" Lucinda grimaced, already feeling the phantom weight of the fake name crushing her soul.
"So," Molly leaned down—because yes, she was absolutely Lex-height and Lucinda's spine felt that truth every day—"what about the bank robber? Did he really look like Mr. Lex Luthor?"
Lucinda shrugged with dramatic flair. "He definitely does. But the way he moves? Absolutely not Lex-Luthor-like. And it looks like his bald head was falling off."
She did not need to add that last part, but exaggeration was her coping mechanism, her culture, and occasionally her downfall.
"So you mean the robber was only trying to dress like Mr. Luthor?" Molly gasped, eyes widening like someone who finally understood the plot twist of a movie she watched three years ago.
"I think so?" Lucinda grinned, blinking innocently. "Or it could've been my eyes playing tricks on me. Happens sometimes. Vitamin deficiency, emotional damage—you know."
Molly nodded sagely. "That's possible. And here—" She pulled a paper bag from behind her like a magician producing a rabbit with questionable intentions. She offered it with a flourish.
Lucinda blinked suspiciously. "What's this?"
"New lacey underwear. From Mr. Luthor."
Lucinda made a sound that could only be described as a mix between a startled hyena and a kazoo being sat on, and then yeeted the paper bag to the floor. The bag hit, wobbled like it had just done an interpretive dance, puffed dramatically, and mini-exploded, releasing an avalanche of lace, ribbons, and enough glitter to make a small unicorn jealous.
Inside the office, Lionel Luther heard the mini-explosion, he looked towards the door.
"What was that?" he mumbled, immaculately dressed in his black suit and tie, gasped, his perfectly groomed eyebrows shooting straight into orbit.
Lex, mid-pour of his father's wine, stifled a chuckle behind his hand. "Faulty electric lines, probably," he said smoothly, spinning the wine glass in his hand. He then turned to hand the wine to Lionel.
"I was kind of hopeful you're no longer here when I get home, Dad," Lex said with a smile—genuine in tone, sarcastic in soul.
"Ahh, Lex," Lionel replied, swirling the wine in his glass with the delicate menace of someone who could crush grapes with a look. "I believe I told you I'm not leaving until we talk… like father and son."
"Try your luck next time, Dad," Lex quipped, sliding into his office chair and raising the wine in mock salute.
"Hmm?" Lionel leaned over the desk, placing his glass down with the precision of a man who'd never spill wine, ever. "But then there's the bank robbery. I am simply concerned, son," he continued, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I was truly surprised to see your face on the newspapers early this morning. Your friend, Clark… not surprised by his statements about the robber… but then I saw this other name who turned out to be your maid. What was her name again…" He squinted dramatically, as if recalling a forgotten riddle. "Lucy Bryce, was it?"
Lex's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk betraying the amusement he felt as Lionel pulled a brown paper from inside his coat and tossed it onto the desk with the casual authority of a man who regularly intimidates billionaires.
"I've never seen you hang out with maids before… On top of that, someone with no records," Lionel continued, leaning in slightly, tone balancing between curiosity and accusation. "So, I ran a background check. And she… doesn't even exist in this country, son."
Lex smirked knowingly, glancing at the paper that held photographs of Lucinda in various stages of awful cleaning, sudden over-the-top karate poses, and general chaos.
Lionel's obsession with tracking his son's every move—and everyone around him—was nothing new, but Lucinda being involved had clearly just made the Luthor family drama even more… complicated.
Lex didn't even expect his father would have taken an interest in Lucinda this fast.
"She's already under my care, Dad," Lex pooched his lips, exuding that signature mix of arrogance and authority. "If she does anything, it would be none of your business."
Lionel merely shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I was just simply concerned."
"Take your concern somewhere else, Dad. I'd appreciate that," Lex said, standing and carefully placing his wine next to Lionel's untouched glass as if to mark the line between paternal curiosity and trespassing. "Now, if you only stayed to interrogate my housemaid's identity, I believe you have more important things to do."
Lionel nodded, turned on his heel, and stepped toward the door—but froze mid-step. His gaze landed on Lucinda, who, in a mix of mortified courage and chaos control, was picking up the lacy underwear Lex had gifted her probably just to tease her.
"Just… help me out here, Molly—" Lucinda muttered under her breath. Both she and Molly froze, gasping simultaneously when they realized Lionel's eyes had found them.
Lucinda's face contorted into an awkward, panicked grin as she hastily tossed the underwear behind the old grandfather clock, hoping it would disappear like magic.
"H-Hi, Mr. Lionel Luthor, sir," Lucinda said, voice overly cheerful, as if she had just discovered the meaning of life.
Lionel's lips pressed into a thin line, his brows knitting in an expression that suggested he was seriously reconsidering why he had ever bothered checking the background of this utterly tactless woman. One corner of his mouth twitched, equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement.