The sun was low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the Kent farm as Clark Kent worked in the fields. His hands, still rough from the countless chores he'd done since his father's passing, gripped the plow with a quiet strength. But beneath his steady exterior, there was a storm raging within him.

The pain of losing Jonathan Kent had been unbearable. Clark had always known that one day his father might leave him, but he never anticipated the toll it would take on him. Every corner of the farm seemed to echo with memories. The barn, the toolshed, the pasture where Jonathan had taught him how to throw a ball—all reminders of the man who had raised him.

But Clark had no time to dwell on it. The world didn't stop spinning, and neither could he.

At least that's what he kept telling himself.

He had been spending more time out here, on the farm. It kept him busy, kept his mind from wandering back to the darker places, to the guilt he still carried over his inability to save his father. It kept him from thinking about the painful conversations that had followed Jonathan's funeral—especially the one with his mother.

"Clark, I know you blame yourself," Martha had said, her voice breaking. "But it wasn't your fault. You did everything you could."

Clark didn't reply, because in his heart, he knew she was wrong. If he had been faster, if he had been there sooner…

But the world had kept turning.

Later that afternoon, after finishing his chores, Clark stood in front of his house, staring at the horizon. He had a destination in mind, one that had been weighing on him for weeks. He knew he had to leave the farm for a while, even if just for a moment.

With a deep breath, Clark's eyes turned skyward, and in an instant, he was gone.

The hum of Metropolis was a far cry from the quiet of Smallville. As Clark sped through the city, the familiar buildings and streets flashed by in a blur. He had learned long ago how to navigate these urban landscapes with the precision of a seasoned hero.

He arrived at the Daily Planet in mere moments. He didn't bother with the front entrance, instead sliding through an open window on the upper floors with a soft thud.

Clark made his way to Chloe's desk, his footsteps silent as he approached the woman who had been his confidante for years.

"Chloe," Clark said, his voice calm, but there was something underneath—something sharp.

Chloe looked up from her computer screen, her smile lighting up her face as she met his gaze. "Clark Kent, showing up in Metropolis like he owns the place. What's the occasion?"

Clark sat down across from her, the weight of his visit pressing on his shoulders. "Just thought I'd drop by. How've you been?"

Chloe leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling. "You know, same old, same old. Metropolis is still chaotic, and my job is still... well, you know how it is." She gestured to the cluttered desk around her—papers, reports, half-empty coffee mugs.

Clark smiled faintly. "I'm sure it's exhausting. But hey, I'm sure the Daily Planet can handle the pressure."

She chuckled. "That's the job. What about you, farm boy? Still plowing fields and saving the day?"

He nodded. "Pretty much. You know how it is—keeping busy. Mom's doing okay, though. She misses Dad, but she's holding up."

Chloe's expression softened. "I know it's been tough. For both of you."

Clark's eyes flickered away for a moment, the memory of his father's death still fresh in his mind. But he quickly pushed it aside, not wanting to burden Chloe with his emotions today.

As Chloe returned to her work, typing away at her computer, Clark sat back and surveyed the room, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. There were pictures of Chloe with her colleagues, some framed awards, and a few news clippings from her days at The Torch. But then, something caught his eye.

There, on her screen, were messages. Long strings of text from a name he hadn't expected to see.

Lionel Luthor.

His heart skipped a beat, and a deep sense of dread settled over him. He couldn't stop himself. He leaned forward, reading the messages with increasing urgency.

They were from Lionel. The messages were detailed—discussions about business dealings, but there were also veiled references to something more sinister. There was talk of threats, power plays, and, to Clark's horror, mentions of his father's death.

His hands clenched into fists as his blood began to boil. It couldn't be. Not Lionel.

Clark's mind raced. Had Lionel played a part in Jonathan's death? Was he the one pulling the strings, manipulating things behind the scenes? All the suspicions that had been gnawing at Clark's insides for months suddenly seemed like undeniable truths.

Just then, Chloe returned to her desk. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Clark hovering over her computer, his face an unreadable mask.

"What the hell is this?" Clark demanded, his voice low but filled with barely contained rage.

Chloe froze, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"You've been talking to Lionel Luthor? Lionel, Chloe?" Clark's voice was a mix of confusion, anger, and betrayal. "How could you—after everything he's done? Do you not understand what he's capable of?"

Chloe's expression faltered, and a flash of annoyance crossed her face. "Clark, I—"

"Why did you hide this from me?" Clark cut her off, his voice rising. "I thought we were on the same team! I thought you understood what I've been dealing with. I thought you—" He stopped, the frustration overwhelming him. "How can you keep working with him? After what he did to my family?"

Chloe's face hardened. She crossed her arms, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze with quiet fury. "I'm an editor, Clark. I deal with people. I gather information. That means talking to a lot of people I don't necessarily agree with. It's my job to keep track of things, to stay in contact with everyone, even the Luthors."

"Your job is more important than my life?" Clark's words hit her like a slap. His voice was thick with hurt, his eyes accusing.

Chloe stared at him, her jaw clenched, her hands tightening into fists. "Do you honestly think I'd do something like that to you?" Her words were quiet, but they held a weight of fury. "That I'd betray you like that?"

Clark stood up, his hands gripping the edge of her desk, his anger still simmering. "I don't know anymore, Chloe. I trusted you. I entrusted you with my personal life, and you—" He stopped, swallowing hard. His voice, when it came, was quieter now, tinged with regret. "Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should've known better."

Chloe's eyes flickered with pain, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, her voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "Clark..."

But he was already turning away, his heart heavy with the weight of the betrayal. He didn't look back as he walked toward the door.

Before stepping out, he spoke one final time, his voice low and cold. "It was my mistake, Chloe. I should never have trusted you."

And with that, he was gone.

Chloe stood there, frozen, the words he'd spoken hanging in the air like a poison she couldn't shake off. She didn't know how to respond. The silence in the room felt suffocating. She wanted to chase after him, to explain herself, to make him understand. But she couldn't. Not now.

She sat back down at her desk, staring at the screen, at the messages from Lionel.

The betrayal stung. But the real question, the one that lingered in her mind, was this: Had she been protecting Clark all this time—or had she been playing a dangerous game of her own?

Days had passed.

Chloe sat at her desk at the Daily Planet, staring blankly at the glowing screen of her computer. The newsroom around her was alive with chatter, the distant ringing of phones, and the hurried clacking of keyboards, but none of it truly reached her. She was drowning in the noise—her own thoughts making it impossible to focus.

Clark hadn't called.

She had tried. She had dialed his number countless times, hoping, praying that he'd pick up. But every time, it went to voicemail.

She had sent messages too. No response.

Chloe let out a small, frustrated sigh, rubbing her temples. Why are you being so damn stubborn, Clark? She had known him for years, understood the way his mind worked, but this? This silent treatment, this complete shutdown—it wasn't fair.

She wasn't wrong. She had been doing her job. She wasn't betraying him. But Clark had looked at her like she had shattered his world. His words still echoed in her mind.

"Maybe I should've known better."

She hated it. Hated that it hurt so much.

And just as she was about to lose herself in the endless cycle of regret and frustration, a familiar voice snapped her out of it.

"Chloe!"

She turned to see Jimmy Olsen walking toward her with a wide grin on his face.

She immediately straightened in her chair, forcing herself to push her thoughts about Clark aside. Jimmy had that effect on people. His energy was contagious, and no matter how low she felt, he had a way of making things feel… lighter.

"There she is—the star of the Daily Planet!" Jimmy beamed. "Congratulations, Sullivan!"

Chloe frowned, confused. "Uh… for what?"

Jimmy chuckled. "Oh, don't be modest. You didn't hear? You just got promoted to senior editor. Effective immediately."

Her eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

"Perry just made the announcement. You, my friend, are officially moving up in the world." Jimmy leaned down, his face closer to hers, his grin mischievous. "And that means I better be extra nice to you from now on."

Chloe let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "I… I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes to grabbing a drink later to celebrate?" Jimmy winked.

Chloe felt her face flush slightly, but she quickly covered it up with a smirk. "Smooth, Olsen. Real smooth."

Jimmy grinned. "Come on, walk with me. We should talk."

He gestured toward the editor-in-chief's office, and Chloe hesitated only for a second before following. It wasn't like she was getting anything done sitting at her desk, drowning in her own thoughts about Clark.

They walked together through the bustling newsroom, side by side, until they stepped into the large office.

Jimmy closed the door behind them and motioned for her to sit. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, a warm smile on his face.

"I meant what I said out there. You deserve this, Chloe."

She exhaled, trying to take it all in. "It's just… I didn't see this coming. I mean, I work hard, but—"

"No buts." Jimmy cut her off. "You're one of the best reporters in this place. No one digs deeper than you. Perry knows it. I know it. Hell, even Lex Luthor probably knows it."

Chloe chuckled. "Great, now I'm on his radar too."

Jimmy smirked. "Hey, all I'm saying is—this is your moment, Sullivan. And you know what? I'm really proud of you."

Chloe looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his voice.

For the longest time, she had harbored a quiet admiration for Jimmy. He was funny, charming, and unlike so many others in her life, he never made her feel like she had to prove herself.

And then, without thinking, she leaned in.

So did he.

And then—

Their lips met.

The kiss was soft, slow, tentative. But there was something there—something real.

But just as she was about to pull back, something caught her eye.

A shadow.

She turned her head—just slightly—toward the window.

And there he was.

Clark.

Standing there, outside the window, his face frozen in shock.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Clark's eyes met hers, and in that moment, she saw everything—the pain, the anger, the disbelief.

Then, before she could say a word, before she could even move—

He was gone.

Faster than the speed of light.