Chapter 12
Lena steps outside, the warmth of the wood beneath her bare feet grounding her for a fleeting moment. She crosses the teak veranda slowly, each step deliberate, descending the three shallow steps until her toes sink into the cool sand below. She pauses, letting the grains slip between her toes, grounding her in the present, yet feeling the weight of something far away. The evening breeze brushes past her, carrying away the remnants of the day's heat, and she turns her gaze to the shimmering surface of the sea. It stretches endlessly before her, a vast expanse of silver and blue.
She closes her eyes. For a moment, she loses herself in the symphony of rustling palm leaves and the rhythmic crash of the waves. The air smells of salt and earth, warm and alive. Everything around her is calm—soothing, even. But the calm doesn't reach her. Her thoughts remain a storm, churning beneath the surface.
It's been over two years since she came here, to the farthest edge of the world. An island paradise where she has everything. A house that overlooks the ocean, sun-soaked days that blend into endless nights. There are no complications—just fleeting, superficial pleasures. She has her distractions: tourists who drift in and out like the tide, the yoga instructor with the lazy smile, the blonde bartender, the gardener with his easy charm. She's thrown herself into work, into projects she once postponed—creating life-saving technologies for villages in Africa, researching modified crops for Asian countries. She gave it all away, anonymously, only to later watch the world benefit from her designs. She has it all: luxury, freedom, purpose.
But no matter how much she creates, no matter how many lives she changes, there is still an ache. An emptiness she cannot fill. She has everything—except her heart. Because her heart still belongs to the one thing she can never have. The one thing no amount of brilliance or money could ever buy: Kara.
A sober, drug-free Kara.
Lena opens her eyes, blinking away the sting of tears. She wipes a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, but it's no use. The memories are still there, fresh and raw, as though she fled the city only yesterday, leaving behind the wreckage of their life. Two years, and still, every question remains unanswered, haunting her on nights like this. Was it truly too late? Had there been no chance to salvage what was left? Did she have to cut so deeply, so finally, or could she have chosen something softer, something more bearable? Would Kara have thrived in this place, far from the chaos, far from the poison that consumed her? Should Lena have brought her here, to this sanctuary, to save them both?
Her breath catches. For a moment, the possibility feels so real, so close. She imagines Kara here, beside her, bathed in the soft glow of the sunset, her laugh carried on the wind. But it's only a dream. Only a memory.
Warm hands slide over her bare waist, fingers trailing across her skin, but they feel wrong—foreign. Lena stiffens, the touch pulling her back to reality. She leans away instinctively, her heart already knowing. The deep, rough voice of her yoga instructor murmurs something in her ear, something meant to entice, but the sound sends a shiver down her spine. Not the right voice. Not the right hands.
Her skin burns with the wrongness of it. She pulls away, stepping forward quickly, brushing his hands from her body.
Kara.
The name echoes in her mind, louder than the waves, more persistent than the wind. It always comes back to her. It always will.
xxx a few months later xxx
"Honey, hurry up, we're going to be late."
Lena glances at him through the mirror, her eyes briefly catching on his reflection. His dark hair is perfectly styled, the crisp white shirt emphasizing the golden hue of his sun-kissed skin. His brown eyes are warm, patient, soft in a way that makes something inside her ache. He smiles, and she feels a ghost of a smile tug at the corners of her own lips. She watches him for a moment longer, the question hovering in her mind: Could he be her salvation? Could he fill the emptiness she's been carrying for so long—years of fleeting connections, work that no longer brings satisfaction, and a void that stretches wider every day?
She knows, even as she takes his outstretched hand, that it's a very bad idea. But she turns from the mirror, allowing herself to follow.
"You look beautiful," he whispers in her ear, his hand gliding gently over her stomach, lingering for a second too long.
They step out of the hotel suite, the polished air of the evening pressing down on her shoulders as they walk into the ballroom. Lena's breath catches, the weight of the room settling over her. Her hand tenses, and Jack kisses her temple, a gesture of comfort she can't feel. The space suddenly feels too tight, the murmurs of conversation too loud. Her pulse quickens as she silently prays to the gods of all worlds and religions that she isn't here.
This is a mistake. The worst mistake.
Lena comes to an abrupt halt, her breathing shallow. "Jack, please… let's go. I can't do this," she whispers, the panic rising in her voice, threatening to spill over. She hates the way she sounds—fragile, desperate, everything she's spent years refusing to be.
"Are you not feeling well?" Jack's concern is immediate, his eyes searching hers. But she shakes her head, the panic closing in, tightening its grip. Her breaths come quicker now, shallow, unsteady. Her palms are damp with sweat, and the room feels suffocating.
Jack guides her toward a more secluded corner of the foyer, his arms wrapping around her in an attempt to ground her. "Sweetheart, I can't leave. I have to give this speech." His voice is soft, but there's a firmness in it. "It's going to be fine. You haven't been here in years. People will be happy to see you."
Lena's resentment flares, though she can't place if it's directed at him or herself. She hates him in this moment—for the way he pushes forward when she feels like she's unraveling. But more than that, she hates the helplessness that creeps in, the vulnerability that she can't shake.
A familiar voice cuts through the moment, deep and intrusive, paired with the overwhelming scent of cologne that instantly makes her nauseous.
"Lena Luthor. Still alive and kicking, I see."
She doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. Her body stiffens, instinct taking over as she lets her features harden, her spine straightening as the walls she's built rise to their full height. In an instant, she becomes Lena Luthor again—cold, composed, untouchable. She's always been good at this. She only needs to keep it together for a few hours. Four, maybe three. How hard could it be?
She turns, her lips pulling into a forced smile, and brushes her lips against his cheek. The scent of his cologne, thick and overpowering, threatens to choke her. "Morgan," she says, her voice cool, measured. The words exchanged between them are nothing more than formalities, a necessary evil. Jack dislikes him as much as she does, a small mercy.
As Jack places his hand on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd, Lena moves mechanically, her mind drifting elsewhere. People approach, exchanging pleasantries, and she tries—really tries—to engage in small talk. But every word feels like it's being pulled from somewhere deep, forced and awkward. She's forgotten how to do this—how to glide effortlessly through social interactions, how to pretend.
Finally, after what feels like hours, they sit at their table, and Lena barely resists the urge to reach for the champagne that gleams temptingly in front of her. The bubbles shimmer in the glass, but she hesitates, her fingers curling back. Instead, she lets her hand fall into her lap, pressing it gently against her stomach. She tells herself the hardest part is over. Now, she just has to endure the speeches, the formalities. Then she can slip away, alone if need be. Jack and his speech are secondary—she can leave whenever she wants. She reminds herself she is Lena Luthor. She has survived far worse than this.
Before Jack's speech, Lena excuses herself, slipping quietly from the table and making her way to the ladies' room. The air feels cooler, quieter, as the door swings open and closes behind her. But the moment she turns around, her breath stops.
Kara is there.
In the dim light, Kara stands at the sink, bent slightly forward, concentrating as she tries to fix an earring that must have fallen off. The sound of the door catches her attention, and she glances toward the mirror. For a second, there's no recognition. And then it hits. Their eyes lock, wide and unblinking.
Time stretches, both of them frozen in place.
Kara straightens, slowly turning to face Lena, her expression a mixture of shock and something Lena can't quite decipher.
"Lena… what…"
Kara steps closer, her voice barely more than a whisper, confusion etched in every syllable.
"Kara…" Lena's voice falters, her feet unable to move, as if the air between them has thickened, holding her in place.
"What are you doing here?" Kara's question carries a note of accusation, though her tone is gentle, as if she's not sure whether to be angry or just confused.
"I… I should go," Lena manages, already turning toward the door, her hand reaching for the handle. But Kara's hand closes around her elbow before she can escape, pulling her back. Lena stumbles, her body colliding with Kara's, and for a heartbeat, everything feels too close, too real.
Kara's hands settle instinctively on Lena's hips, steadying her. Lena's hands, as if on their own, find their way to Kara's neck, the warmth of her skin sending a shiver through her.
Kara's breath is warm against her, and for a second, the world narrows to the space between them—the tension that pulls tight with each passing second. Kara's gaze flickers between Lena's eyes and her lips, her intention written in the silence between them.
"You're beautiful," Kara whispers, her voice low, hoarse with something Lena can't name. The words send a tremor through Lena's body, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. But Kara holds her firm, steady.
The space between them disappears as Kara leans in, agonizingly slow, until their lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss. The world fades as the kiss deepens, sensual and unhurried. Lena sighs, sinking into the familiarity of it, into the warmth of Kara's touch.
The door bursts open, the loud intrusion shattering the moment. A tall woman in a bright red dress strides in, oblivious. Lena pulls back, as though burned, her chest heaving. Without another word, she turns and walks out, past the tables, through the hall, and into the cool night air.
Jack and his speech are already forgotten. She needs to leave. She needs to get away. Away from this place, from this city, from her.
Forty-five minutes later, Lena is sitting in her private jet. Her fingers hover over her phone before she presses the "Send" button.
Jack
I'm sorry I missed your speech and left you behind.
I can't be with you anymore. Please don't follow me. You have no obligations, and I expect nothing from you. You're free. I can't give you what you expect or deserve.
I'm sorry.
I wish you all the happiness in the world.
Lena