Chapter Text
The ballroom was awash in gold.
Crystal chandeliers spilled light across the polished floors, the soft music of a string quartet curling through the crowd like delicate smoke. Lena Luthor stood at the edge of it all, spine rigid, one hand curled loosely around a glass of something expensive and dry she hadn’t really tasted.
Her other hand was clenched at her side.
From a distance, Lena Luthor was perfection. The sharp lines of her navy suit seemed poured over her body, every dark hair pinned meticulously into place. Her expression was neutral, carved out of marble – cool, unbothered, untouchable. Exactly how she wanted it.
Exactly how she needed it.
But then the crowd shifted, and Lena’s mask slipped for just a breath.
There, halfway across the ballroom, Andrea Rojas laughed. Her head tipped back, glossy black hair cascading down her shoulders in waves Lena remembered too well – the way it would fall over Lena’s chest when Andrea bent to kiss her, dark strands like spilled ink against Lena’s pale skin.
And beside her…
Russel. His hand rested on Andrea’s waist, fingers curling in just slightly, possessive. Andrea didn’t flinch. In fact, she leaned into it, eyes sparkling, her smile bright and careless as if nothing at all had ever broken between them.
As if she hadn’t once told Lena she was her future. Her always.
A muscle jumped in Lena’s jaw. Her chest felt tight, too small, like someone had cinched a cord around her ribs. She took a steady sip of her drink, letting the burn of it chase away the memory of Andrea’s voice whispering I love you, Lena, like it was a promise.
**
“Lena.”
She nearly flinched. It was a testament to years of boardrooms and public scrutiny that she only turned, calmly, to see Lillian Luthor approaching.
Lillian was stunning as always: elegant in a deep green gown that set off her pale complexion and silver jewellery. Her hair was swept up, her posture graceful. Eyes sharp, but the warmth in them was reserved solely for Lena.
“Mother,” Lena said, managing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Lillian’s gaze darted across the ballroom, following the line of Lena’s tension until it landed on Andrea. Her brow softened, and she laid a hand on Lena’s arm.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she said quietly, with a firmness that made it clear sympathy didn’t mean weakness. “Some wounds take longer to close than others. But they do close, eventually.”
Lena’s throat worked. “I’ve moved on.”
“Of course,” Lillian said, tone perfectly neutral. Then her eyes sparkled with a wry sort of fondness. “But perhaps we’ll move on even faster once we discuss the matter I mentioned earlier.”
Lena frowned. “Not here.”
“Then my office, tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”
There was steel beneath Lillian’s gentility. Lena almost envied it. With a curt nod, she agreed.
**
Hours later, Lena slipped into her penthouse, the door whispering shut behind her. The city glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, cold and bright. She toed off her heels, shrugging out of her jacket, and poured herself another drink.
She didn’t cry. Lena Luthor didn’t cry.
Instead, she stood at the glass, staring out at National City, trying to drown the ghost of Andrea’s laughter.
**
The next morning found her seated across from Lillian in the woman’s lavish home office. Sunlight streamed across polished mahogany and towering bookshelves. Lillian looked every inch the powerful matriarch, but when she regarded Lena, there was something almost… maternal.
It made Lena uneasy.
Lillian steepled her fingers. “The board has been pressing me. They’re all prepared to approve you as President of L-Corp. But there are… stipulations.”
Lena’s mouth tightened. “They’ve trusted me as CEO for years.”
“Yes, but the presidency is different. It’s symbolic as much as practical. Investors want stability, the illusion of it at least.” Lillian’s eyes pinned her. “A wife, Lena. They want to see the Luthor name carried on – emotionally, if not biologically.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Lena stood abruptly, pacing to the window. “I’ve built that company. My personal life shouldn’t factor in.”
Lillian’s voice remained soft, yet unyielding. “In a perfect world, no. But in this world, appearances matter. A marriage would solidify your image. Show them you’re settled, committed, not… chasing after lost causes.”
Lena’s mouth twitched at the thinly veiled reference. Her heart twisted painfully.
“So, you expect me to find some stranger, parade them around like a trophy?”
“No,” Lillian said, rising to join her. “I’ve already arranged it. Someone you’ve met before. Someone I trust implicitly.”
Lena’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
**
That afternoon, you sat nervously on the edge of a velvet sofa in Lillian’s drawing room. You smoothed your skirt, heart hammering. Nia, beside you, elbowed you gently.
“Stop fidgeting, Y/N. You look like you’re waiting for a firing squad.”
You shot her a helpless look. “I feel like I am. I haven’t seen Lena since I was sixteen. What if she doesn’t even remember me?”
“Oh, she’ll remember you,” Nia teased, waggling her brows. “You’ve been crushing on her since puberty.”
“Not helping,” you hissed, cheeks burning.
Before Nia could retort, the door opened. Lena stepped through.
**
She was… breathtaking. The same dark suits, the same devastating confidence in every inch of her body. But older now. Sharper. Those cold green eyes landed on you, and for a moment, something flickered behind them. Recognition? Surprise?
Your heart flipped.
“Y/N,” she said slowly. Her voice was lower than you remembered, smooth like fine whiskey. “It’s been a long time.”
“Hi, Lena,” you managed, your own voice small, breathless. “It’s good to see you again.”
Lena’s gaze swept over you, lingering for just a second too long. Then her face shuttered. She turned to Lillian.
“This is your solution?” Lena’s voice was tightly controlled. “She’s… a child.”
You bristled, but before you could say anything, Lillian interjected, cool and calm. “She’s twenty-three. A woman. In her final year of a Master’s in psychology. Her mother was my dearest friend, Lena. I trust her. And I trust you.”
Lena swallowed hard. Her eyes darted back to you. “Do you even understand what’s being asked here?”
You straightened your spine. “Yes. I do. And… I’d like to help you. Help your family.”
Your own voice surprised you. Strong. Earnest. You wanted this – even if it would only ever be pretend. Even if Lena never looked at you the way you’d once dreamed. It was a chance to be close to her, to matter to her life, even just for a little while.
**
Later, as you walked out with Nia, she nudged you.
“You okay?”
You nodded, biting your lip. “It’s just… she seems so sad. So angry at the world.”
Nia grinned. “You’re a psychology student, babe. You live to crack tough cases.”
You laughed, even as your heart squeezed painfully. Because Lena Luthor wasn’t just a case. She was a woman whose heartbreak still bled beneath expensive suits and steel-cut stares. And no textbook could prepare you for how badly you wanted to heal her.
**
Inside the drawing room, Lillian watched Lena watch you leave.
“She’ll be good for you,” Lillian said softly.
Lena shook her head, eyes still on the door. “This isn’t about what’s good for me. It’s about what’s necessary.”
Lillian’s smile was faint, almost sad. “Two years can change everything, darling. Even for hearts like yours.”
Lena didn’t answer. But the faintest tremour ran through her fingers as she reached for her glass – as if the idea terrified her more than she’d ever admit.