Author's note: I must be mad starting a new fic when I haven't yet finished "Ishq". But the idea for this story has been rolling around in my head for such a long time, I simply couldn't resist.

We are in AU territory again. It's also another adaptation, this time of one of my favourite childhood stories. It's a Daniel/Betty reworking of both the original French fairytale and the Disney film. I'm not going to say which one though because it should become obvious very soon.

If so far, this sounds like your kind of story, give it a try!

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. No copyright infringement is intended.

PROLOGUE

The Meade mansion was built near the top of one of the few hills on Hudson Island, a vantage point that gave it an expansive view of the Manhattan skyline to its west, and the Queensboro Bridge to its east.

It was a stately house, with three storeys, an imposing grey brick face and in a typically ostentatious Meade fashion, was designed to look like a Victorian Gothic manor, complete with turrets and a mansard roof.

Hudson Island was connected to the rest of the city by a single bridge and the nearest neighbours to the mansion lived five kilometres away in either direction, easily making it the most isolated address on the island.

But that was okay.

Daniel Meade did not like visitors.

Christina McKinney let out a sigh as she listened to her master slam through the house. He was never in a particularly good temper at the best of times, but every year, whenever this particular day rolled around he became impossible.

"So has he trashed anything yet?"

The Scotswoman looked up from where she'd been clearing away the untouched supper, two hours of careful cooking all gone to waste.

Vincent, the driver, was resting his lanky form against the doorway. He had discarded his suit jacket, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and his collar a little skew.

"My money's on the TV this year," He said, coming further into the dining room. "He set fire to all the photo albums last year and threw out all the MODE crap the year before that. What has he got left to take out, short of burning the whole place down?"

Christina actually flinched at the thought.

"Bloody numpty!" She chided the other man. "Don't even joke like that."

The housekeeper had not forgotten the previous year, when she'd found Daniel standing in the middle of the living room, a lit match in his hands. Thank goodness he'd only been set on destroying the albums.

Vincent shrugged and helped himself to a bowl of pudding Christina had not yet cleared away.

"Oy!" She slapped at his hands. "Put that down, it's not for you."

"It's not like Master Daniel's goin' to eat it," He said, rolling the "Master Daniel" off his tongue mockingly.

"I don't understand why you bother, doll. It's the same every year. He spends the whole day in a snit-" a door slammed somewhere in the house, "-behaves like a real snot to us and then locks himself up in the attic with a bottle of scotch, where predictably, a few hours later," Vincent stuck a spoonful of pudding in his mouth, "you have to send me up to scrape him off the floor. So why waste your time makin' a meal for a guy who doesn't want it and, let's be honest here, don't deserve it either?"

"Because it's his birthday, yer numpty," Christina finally snatched the bowl away from him, ignoring his grunt of disappointment.

"He should have someone show him a little kindness, a little care, on his birthday at least."

"Seeing as how he's so sweet to everyone else," Vincent retorted with a mocking grin, the spoon held in place between his teeth.

Christina gave him a long-suffering look.

"Come on Vincent. It can't be easy to live like this. You know what happened; why today is always especially difficult for him."

Vincent took the spoon from his mouth and was about to respond when they heard Daniel's loud, angry footsteps a lot closer this time. He was downstairs then.

As the footsteps grew louder, they thought he might be making his way to the dining room.

Christina and Vincent listened keenly as they heard him open a door, but it didn't slam shut this time.

She raised her eyebrows and gave the other man a look as if to say, 'See? He's in a better humour this time.' But Vincent simply shook his head and silently mouthed 'wait for it' in reply.

Daniel must have gone into the den because they heard the TV flick on a moment later.

"...all that money and she's still got a moustache!" The voice of Fashion TV's Suzuki St. Pierre drifted over to them.

"Now however, it's time to turn to what remains the single, biggest, mystery in the fashion industry. We are of course talking about the disappearance of MODE editor-in-chief, Daniel Meade, well known for his ability to both dress and undress a woman.

This prince of the publishing world ruthlessly conquered the New York fashion industry and left many a woman crying in her Jimmy Choos in the process, only to disappear at the pinnacle of his career when, if the rumours are true, Daddy Meade was just about to hand over the keys to the kingdom and put Prince Danny on the Meade publishing throne!

Why did he leave? Where did he go? And most importantly, who, in the long list of people screwed over by Daniel Meade – that's figurative and literal mind you – finally decided to exact their revenge and run the blue-eyed boy out?! Your guess is as good as ours!

Meanwhile, in other news, his rival, Matt Hartley, recently beat Danny Boy's record and was named HUDSON's Man of the Year for a third time due to his impressive..."

"Three, two, one..." Vincent murmured before,

"ARGGHHHHH!" There was a resounding crash and it sounded like Daniel was pulling things off the walls.

"Oh bloody hell!" Christina groaned knowing Vincent had probably been right about the TV.

The banging about eventually stopped to be replaced with an almost eerie silence.

Both Vincent and Christina listened closely, trying to work out what Daniel was doing.

They got their answer as the doors to the dining room burst open and Daniel stormed through. Barely sparing them a second glance, he made a beeline for the liquor cabinet and didn't take long to find what he was looking for.

'See?' Vincent mouthed behind Daniel's turned back.

Daniel whirled around, bottle of Scotch in hand, and acknowledged their presence for the first time.

"One word," He growled menacingly, his eyes flashing, "just one."

They both remained obediently silent and didn't look at him directly, knowing he became even more self-conscious about his looks when he was in a mood like this.

He stomped past them again and was half way out of the room when he added,

"And clean up the den. Slight accident."

Then he was gone, stomping up the stairs towards the attic, just as Vincent had predicted.

Christina made her way towards the den, Vincent trailing after her, to inspect the damage.

"Slight accident my ass," He muttered as they took in the scene before them.

The Scottish housekeeper was forced to agree.

"That numpty," She murmured.

The room was a shambles.

Daniel had evidently hurled the remote at the television, hard enough to leave a deep crack in the glass of the screen. And when that hadn't sufficed, he'd pulled the plasma TV off its mounted place on the wall. The coffee table was kicked over, there was a broken vase on the floor, a bookshelf had been turned over and all the books were now scattered; several sofa cushions were flung wildly about the room and three of the paintings on the walls had been thrown down, their frames cracked.

Daniel had practically torn the room apart in his anger.

Vincent helped Christina clear away the bigger pieces of the detritus and set the furniture right again.

"This can't continue Vincent," She said gravely. "Every day he sinks further into despair. Soon he won't be able to climb out of this hole."

"I get how you're feelin' doll," Vincent said with uncharacteristic sobriety, "but you know how this works. It's on him to fix things."

"What are we going to do?" Christina blew out a frustrated breath.

Vincent sighed. "Pray that he finds a change of heart; that he decides to try again. And hope for a girl who can learn to love him and break the damn spell."

AN: I'm not American and not at all familiar with the American geographical landscape. I'm making it up as I go along ;). And of course Hudson Island is completely fictitious.

Thanks for reading!