Lucinda was just about to wave Clark goodbye. Honestly, she was done. Clark's superpower might be lifting tractors and stopping meteors, but talking? Not so much. Or maybe it was her—she talks so much that his quiet, brooding nature basically registers as background noise.
She was this close to the gate when a voice floated across the yard. Sweet. Soft. Angelic, the kind that could make her knees go weak and her brain short-circuit simultaneously.
She froze. Because she knew that voice. Her idol. The human embodiment of a diva poster. Lana Lang.
Lucinda forced herself to turn—because swooning violently in front of Smallville's most gorgeous woman would not be a good look—and nearly collided with a real-life goddess. Lana stood there like she'd been airbrushed into existence.
Her hair cascaded like liquid sunlight over a fitted pastel blouse and a flowing skirt that somehow made lawn work look like haute couture. Sneakers, casual yet chic. Even standing still, she was a walking mood board. Lucinda almost squealed. Almost. She did not. She couldn't.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Clark. I didn't know you had a visitor," Lana said, that smile capable of launching a thousand ships. She honestly only saw Lucinda when she stepped closer since a couple of sunflowers overgrown her.
Lucinda, on the other hand, already considered dropping to one knee and offering a slow clap in reverence, but restraint, people, restraint.
"O-Oh, it's fine. I'm about to go anyway," Lucinda said, trying not to get starstruck. She turned to Clark and leaned close, wiggling her brows. "And you better tell her how you feel ASAP," she whispered. Clark grimaced, face coloring fast.
Before he could protest, Lucinda spun toward Lana with the poise of someone fleeing a glittering explosion. "I'm leaving now, Miss Beautiful!" she chirped, and bolted, leaving the two of them standing there, blinking in unison.
"Who was that?" Lana asked, tilting her head.
"Oh, uh—" Clark swallowed like he just swallowed a live frog. "That was… Lucy Bryce. Lex's housemaid."
Lana blinked once, twice, then leaned back slightly. "Lex has a housemaid like that?" Her voice was equal parts awe and incredulity. "I mean… she doesn't look like a housemaid, and she's so… young."
"She's 22," Clark said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Ohh. So she's the one you told me about the other night?" Lana's expression softened. "The kid woman who saved your mom?"
"Yes," Clark nodded, smiling sheepishly.
Lana gave a small, approving smile. "It's good to know you have someone else looking out for you. And also… thank you for saving me from Tina last night, properly this time. I'm really glad to have you as a friend, Clark."
Clark looked down, cheeks heating again.
Lucinda, somewhere on the road back to the mansion, was silently high-fiving herself for chaos well-seeded. Perfect. Exactly as it should be. Clark belongs to Lana. Lana belongs to Clark. End of story.
But… if the universe had other plans, and Clark somehow ended up married to Lois while Lana got stuck with Lex? Well, that would not be a tragedy she'd allow to unfold on her watch. No way. She refuse to let Lex become the kind of man who schemes and manipulates his way into everything Clark holds dear, fake pregnancies included.
But if Lex really ends up marrying Lana, it should be because they love each other. So, if she could salvage Lex and Clark's friendship now—strengthen it, make it unshakable—then maybe, just maybe, that fateful day of melodrama could be sidestepped entirely. And if she played her cards right… she'd get to watch the canon rewrite itself without anyone realizing she'd been the puppet master all along. In a very good way. Front seat.
But for now, yes, she's walking back home—because Lex had said he'd be back by noon, and it was barely 8 AM. Fresh morning air, a little bit of mischief in the world… perfect.
She was halfway down the side of the road when a sudden thought hit her: she hadn't asked Clark what happened last night. Had he saved Lana from Tina Greer? If she recalls it well—the same night Lex had talked to Roger—is the same night when Tina tried to kill Lana to take over her life.
She paused, debating whether to turn back, when movement on the other side of the road caught her eye. At first, just a distant figure. But even from that distance, she could tell: it was a man. And something about the way he moved set every hair on her arms on end.
He swayed like a drunk—or like a marionette whose strings were tangled—and Lucinda's brain immediately threw a big red flashing DANGER sign. Her instincts screamed not safe. Without thinking twice, she ducked behind the tall, thick shrubs lining the roadside, pressing her back against the barky stems.
The road was otherwise empty. Clark's house was far behind her. The sun was rising, casting long shadows, but that didn't help. She had no other cover. She could only watch.
The man staggered closer, and with every step, Lucinda's unease grew. Not drunk. Not tired. Definitely not okay. He moved in jerky, unnatural motions, as if his body had forgotten how to walk properly. His arms twitched at odd angles, like they weren't entirely his own.
Then she noticed the veins. They bulged grotesquely under his skin—green, glowing faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his labored breathing. Green. That was the moment Lucinda's stomach dropped. Her suspicion solidified: this was no ordinary man. He looked infected, diseased, something out of a nightmare… almost like a zombie—but worse, because he wasn't just mindless. He was unstable.
"Kryptonite," she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing. "It has to be it."
She crouched lower, pressing herself into the long shrubs along the roadside. Each snap of a twig beneath her shoe sounded like a gunshot. Every distant birdcall might as well have been a siren. The man—no, the infected monstrosity—was getting closer, staggering forward with unnatural, jerky movements. Lucinda's mind raced a million miles a minute. Should she run? Should she hide? Or should she… just outsmart the world's creepiest roadside villain before he even realized she existed?
Before she could decide, a silver Porsche screeched to a halt beside the road. Tires squealed, gravel flew, and the infected man froze mid-step.
"Anak ng kabayong gala naman 'yan, oo!" Lucinda cursed, her eyes widening as it hit her—no one in Smallville owned a Porsche except Lex. Of course it had to be him.
And now she was watching one of shapest mids in the entire superman lore—a genius whose intellect, technological prowess, and strategic cunning made him practically a human superweapon—throw himself straight at a clearly dangerous man.
All… for what? To help? Perhaps. Because what could be his other reason? Or, maybe it was Lucinda meddling, her insistence on bending the story in her own chaotic way, that had somehow sabotaged Lex's intellect.
Before Lex could even react, before he could offer a single word of reason or assistance, Lucinda sprang from her hiding spot, heart pounding.
"GET OUT OF THERE, LEX!" she screamed, sprinting towards him.
Lex froze mid-step—far too late. The infected man suddenly lunged, teeth bared, eyes glowing faintly green. Lex ducked instinctively, dodging a snapping bite, but the creature's momentum shoved him backward against the Porsche's hood. The metal groaned under the force, and for a terrifying second, it felt like Lex might actually be impaled—or worse.
Lex's reflexes kicked in. His arm shot out, locking onto the man's neck, trying to hold him at bay. Muscles straining, teeth gritted, he barely kept himself upright. The creature thrashed wildly, green veins pulsing across its arms and neck like radioactive lightning. Every jerk sent Lex shoving back, inch by inch, over the Porsche's hood.
Seeing the danger, Lucinda's adrenaline surged, and with a single, primal heave that seemed to defy physics, she yanked the creature away the moment she reached him. The man went flying like a ragdoll, limbs flailing, and hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Both Lex and Lucinda froze, equally shocked by the sheer force of her strength. The man didn't move. His head had taken the worst of it—he was unconscious.
Lucinda's body trembled. "I—I think I killed him," she whispered, voice trembling.
Lex's eyes flickered toward her, concern etched into every line of his face. Without hesitation, he reached for his phone. He called for an ambulance—or at least that's what Lucinda thought. But when the image of the man flashed through Lex's mind, he immediately redirected the call to his private team of scientists instead—the ones who deals with meteorite-infected humans.
The call was quick; Lex's attention was still on Lucinda, who was frozen in shock.
"Lucy, come here," he said, gently guiding her to a safer distance from the man. His eyes never left the figure sprawled on the road.
When the scientists arrived, clad in convincing fake-ambulance uniforms, Lex finally allowed himself a small glance at Lucinda. Words weren't necessary—the team knew exactly what to do. They lifted the man onto a stretcher, cleaned the spot where he'd fallen, and vanished just as silently.
"Lucy," Lex said at last, leading her toward his car.
Lucinda followed, her gaze fixed on the ground. Once Lex was settled behind the wheel, she finally spoke, voice sharp with frustration.
"How can you even think of approaching that obviously dangerous man, huh?" she nearly shouted, her words spilling into his face. "You could have been hurt!"
Lex said nothing, but in truth, his intention had been simple: offer the man a ride to the ambulance. He had assessed him from afar, saw him limping, and thought it the safest course—never anticipating Lucinda's intervention.
"But I didn't get hurt, Lucy," Lex said calmly, his voice steady. "Thanks to you… and your incredible strength. Not a scratch on me."
Lucinda's concern faltered, replaced by the memory of flinging the man aside. He hadn't felt heavy at all. Was it adrenaline? It must be adrenaline.
"Lucy…" Lex's voice cut softly through her thoughts.
She blinked, startled. "Y-Yes?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering across his features before melting into something softer. Slowly, deliberately, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Thank you… for saving me."