Chapter 2

Adrien had lived in the vast Agreste manor his whole life, yet his jaw still dropped when he first laid eyes upon his grandparents' home. Equally as large as his father's, the estate recalled the architectural style of old French palaces. Nestled on the outskirts of the city – about twenty-five minutes away from his home – Adrien could practically see the old money leaking from the house. He knew his father had built his empire from nothing, but to know his mother's family was rich was... a bit jarring.

"Wow," he breathed as the car drove up.

His grandfather smiled at his awe. "Like it?" he asked. "It's been in our family for generations. We can trace our ancestry back to the time of Henry IV, when our ancestors acted as close advisers to the crown. Henry IV was the first king-"

"In the Bourbon line, whose descendants ruled until the Revolution in 1792," Adrien finished.

His grandfather's eyes shot up in surprise. "Very good!" he praised, suitably impressed, and Adrien felt a swell of joy at his words. His father would have expected him to know the answer and acknowledged the correct response with usual stoicism. His grandfather glowed with pride.

Adrien grinned up at him. "Thanks," he said. "It's a remarkable house."

His grandfather shared a smile. "Wait until you see the inside," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial wink.

It did not disappoint. The extravagant opulence seen from the exterior swept inside and drenched the interior with the same elegance. From the gilded-leaf accents spiraling up the door frames to the grand marble staircase with gold banister that welcomed visitors to the hall, everywhere Adrien turned he was greeted with another lavish reminder of olden Parisian nobility.

His father favored minimalist designs and simple color schemes, hiding his wealth among various displays of cutting-edge technology, so Adrien found the explosion of deep reds and golds to be a bit overwhelming.

"It's amazing," he murmured.

"It is," his grandfather agreed, stopping beside Adrien to take in his surroundings with him. "It's a historically recognized landmark. Kings and queens used to host foreign dignitaries in here. Important balls thrown in these very rooms."

"Wow," was all Adrien could get out.

"I'll show you to your room. Then, I'll take you on a tour of the house and grounds."

His grandmother stepped forward with a sweet smile. "It's so good to have you here, Adrien," she said, speaking for the first time. "I'll go help the cooks with dinner. Is there anything special you prefer?"

He shook his head, then winced as Plagg nudged him. "Erm, well I do enjoy having Camembert as a snack. Often," he added.

She smiled again. "I'll make certain to always have some on hand just for you."

"Thank you," he said as she departed.

His grandfather chuckled as she left. "Helping out in the kitchens," he scoffed. He winked at Adrien. "What she really meant was she was going to bake you a welcome cake. She loves to bake and has amazing talent."

"Like Marinette," Adrien blurted out before he could stop himself. He immediately felt his cheeks heat up.

His grandfather quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? Marinette? Is she your lady friend?"

"N-no," he stammered, his face flaming redder as he felt Plagg shake with laughter inside his pocket. "She's just a friend. From school. She sits behind me. Her parents own a bakery near school and she's always bringing in sweets to share."

"And let me guess," his grandfather said, "your father disapproves of her?"

"No, actually he likes her," Adrien said. "At least I think he does. It's hard to tell sometimes." Adrien bit his lip.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," his grandfather said.

Adrien tilted his head. "Why not? I'm only going to be here for a few weeks until Father gets everything straightened."

His grandfather cleared his throat. "Ah, let me show you to your room so you can get settled in." Without another word, he headed off down a long hallway. Adrien hurried after him. They stopped at an ornate door at the end. "Here is your room. It's a bit plainer than the front rooms, but we don't have tour groups visiting back here."

"Tour groups?" Adrien asked.

"The front rooms, gardens and stables are open to the public for guided tours four days each week. In exchange, the government's historical society maintains the property." His grandfather unlocked the door. "Still, it's best you keep your room locked during those days. Here's a keyring. It has keys to the front and back doors and your room." He handed it to Adrien.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. My room is at the opposite end of the house, above the ballroom. I'll give you some time to settle in and then I'll come back in say, an hour?"

Adrien nodded. "Sounds great," he said. His grandfather smiled and left. Adrien pushed open the door and stepped into the room, not really knowing what to expect.

Inside, it was a bit plainer and more modern than the plush extravagance outside. The walls were still painted red with gold trim, but contained none of the decorative inlaid carvings. An enormous flat-screen TV hung across from a large four-poster bed. On an old wooden desk rested a sleek computer monitor. A small sitting chair was in a corner, and a burgundy chaise lay along the wall. A bay window jutted out and a semi-circle of cushions made for the kind of reading nook Plagg would love to curl up on in a sunbeam.

Or a place to escape from when Paris needed Chat Noir.

Adrien tossed his bag on the bed and flopped down beside it. Plagg flew out and took in his surroundings.

"Ooh, swanky," he said, nodding in approval.

Adrien grinned up at him. "You're just happy they're going to provide Camembert."

Plagg zipped over to the desk. "Can't deny that," he said. "This might actually be a fun month."

Adrien rolled off the bed and headed over to the window, peering out into the grounds behind the house. "Am I too far away from Paris?" he asked, voicing one of his fears aloud. "Will I be able to get to an akuma attack in time?"

"Sure," Plagg said, unconcerned. "You're not that far away from the city limits. You won't lose any time."

Adrien's shoulders relaxed as Plagg reassured him of his greatest fear. He quickly unpacked and turned on the computer. He brought up his social media pages – Facebook and Tumblr, before realizing that those pages weren't loading. He frowned and fiddled with the controls for a while, but still couldn't load the pages. He attempted to pull up the Ladyblog. No luck there, either. Frustrated he couldn't access much of the internet, he flopped down on his bed until his grandfather knocked on the door, true to his word, one hour later.

"Grandfather," Adrien said as they walked down the hallway, "I can't pull up any of my websites on my computer."

His grandfather nodded. "Internet access is strictly controlled and monitored. We have tour groups from schools that come here and the techs that set up the Wi-Fi blocked all social media sites." Hermine shrugged. "They said it was protocol when there were schoolchildren around."

"Even the Ladyblog?" Adrien asked, slightly horrified. How would he know if Paris was being attacked if he couldn't get alerts from that website? "My friends are all in Paris. I have to know if they're safe."

His grandfather's expression wavered as he stared at Adrien's troubled and pleading face. "Well, perhaps I can talk to the tech guys tomorrow and ask them to allow that site to go through."

"Thank you!" Adrien said, immensely relieved.

They continued on with the tour of the house before heading over to the stables. Upon Adrien's excited glee at seeing the horses, his grandfather agreed to begin riding lessons the following afternoon.

"I'll have you fitted for proper gear tomorrow," his grandfather said as he stared out at the riding ring, "but in the meantime, I believe we can find something in your size in the stables. I'll start you off on one of the older horses, of course. At least until you get the hang of riding. Then we can move you up to one of the others once I know you won't get thrown."

Near the end of the tour, Adrien turned to his grandfather. "What time do I need to leave to get to school?"

His grandfather stiffened. "You won't be attending public school anymore," he said.

"What?" Adrien exclaimed.

His grandfather sighed. "I don't understand why your father relented. It's dangerous and unbecoming of my grandson," he added, his words eerily reflecting his own father's many months ago. Adrien considered telling him that, but held his tongue. "Your tutor will arrive promptly at eight tomorrow."

"What about my friends?" Adrien protested. "I like going to school."

"You can make new friends around here," his grandfather replied as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "And perhaps some of your old friends can visit. Now, enough of this talk. I believe dinner is waiting."

Though it was just the three of them dining, dinner was a bit cheerier than he was used to as his grandmother carried on delighted chatter with him. She regaled him with a background of each dish served, some of them her personal favorites and others having a long prestigious history of appearing on royal tables. She delightfully told him all about the various design features of the house – she greatly admired the architecture of the building – and Adrien found himself warming up to her bubbly personality. She seemed like she would have gotten along splendidly with his father, and subsequently lost himself in thoughts of how they became estranged. He debated the best way to broach the topic and just decided to voice his thoughts aloud.

"How come you both never visited?" he asked, and immediately silence fell. "I've never seen a picture of either of you, and it's clear you hate Father. Why come into our lives now?"

His grandparents exchanged a look before his grandfather cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "When you get older, there are some things in your life that make you pause and reconsider. One of those things we both regret is how little we've seen you."

Nonexistent, more like, Adrien thought. He poked at his food. "So you decided to come in and take me away from my father?" he asked in a small voice, not meeting their eyes.

"Adrien," his grandfather began in a gentle voice, "we watched on live television how that akuma targeted your father. How he broke into your home and dragged Gabriel down to the studio. What would he have done if he stumbled across you in the process?"

Try to take my Miraculous, Adrien thought wryly as his grandfather explained himself with a patience he had never seen on his own father.

His grandfather continued. "Our research showed this was not the first time your father's actions have made him a target or put you into danger. When your father ignored his court summons, we knew we had to act to get you out of that toxic environment."

For the second time, Adrien had a brief, horrible thought that he might actually not go back home. "But this is all just temporary, right?" he asked, struggling to voice his fears. "I'll be going back with Father in a few weeks, right?" Why would my father ignore an official court order like that? Does he really not want me around?

His grandfather took a deliberate sip from his drink before answering. "That's up to the judge. His decision is final." But the way he said that made Adrien wonder if his grandfather already knew what the outcome would be. He swallowed hard against the sudden lump that formed in his throat.

"Ah, speaking of which, you're not to have contact with your father while you are here," his grandfather said.

While Adrien refrained from commenting on the fact that he never had contact with his father anyway, he wondered what his grandfather meant.

"The judge issued an order of no correspondence. If your father attempts to contact you in any way outside of the appointed court times, he could face serious repercussions."

Adrien still didn't know what his grandfather was getting at, so he continued to remain silent.

Hermine sighed. "I'll need your phone to ensure that you and your father obey the court order," he continued. Adrien's jaw dropped open. "I'm sorry, it's the judge's decision." He held out his hand.

"N-now?" Adrien spluttered. He hadn't even had time to text Nino... And how would he monitor the akuma attacks?

"I'm afraid so. I'll forget otherwise."

"But it's my phone," Adrien protested. "My father won't try to contact me. How will I talk to my friends?"

His grandfather gave him a wan smile. "You can still communicate with your friends. You could write them letters. I'll see to it they're delivered with the outgoing mail."

Write letters? Was he kidding? Maybe I could have a pigeon deliver it too while I'm at it.

"I'll need that phone now, Adrien," his grandfather said, waving his fingers. Adrien recognized the finality in the tone that left no further room for argument. His shoulders slumped in resignation. "Yes, Grandfather," he mumbled. He reached into his pocket and turned off his phone, dropping it into his grandfather's hand with a heart full of lead. He couldn't help but feel as if his last lifeline was just severed.

"Now then," his grandfather said, securing Adrien's phone into his own pocket, "shall we taste your grandmother's wonderful cake?"

Marinette tapped her pen against her teeth as she stared at the empty seat in front of her as Ms. Bustier continued to flip through the slides projected on the overhead board. She knew she should be taking notes, but couldn't keep her mind off the absent blond.

"Girl," Alya hissed from beside her, "knock it off, will you? You're driving me crazy."

Marinette turned to her friend. "Where do you suppose Adrien is?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Alya rolled her eyes but shrugged anyway. "Photoshoot?"

Marinette shook her head. "He doesn't have another one until next week."

"Maybe his dad scheduled one," Alya suggested.

"Mr. Agreste never goes against his current schedule," Marinette protested. "If anything, he would delay the photoshoot instead of moving it up. And he would never add in an additional one on such a last-minute notice."

Alya stared at her for a long moment. "Girl, seek professional help. Now you're stalking Adrien and his dad?"

Marinette flushed bright red. "Alya!" she hissed. "Gabriel Agreste's schedule preferences are well-known in the fashion world. It's common knowledge to anyone who keeps up with the industry."

"If you say so," Alya replied, doubt clear in her voice.

"Says the girl who throws herself willingly into danger just for a picture of Ladybug in action," Marinette shot back.

"Hey, the public has a right to know how their resident superheroes protect them," Alya defended, folding her arms across her chest.

Marinette giggled, then turned it into a sigh as she looked at Adrien's empty seat.

"Maybe he's sick," Alya offered.

"I'm surprised Mr. Agreste would even allow that," Marinette said.

Alya grinned. "He probably wraps Adrien up in one of those bubble shields the moment he sniffles."

Marinette clamped a hand over her mouth to smother the burst of laughter that sprang forth at the vivid image of Adrien in such a suit, surrounded by stone-faced bodyguards. Unfortunately, their laughter caught the attention of their teacher.

"Marinette, Alya, is there something you would like to share with the class?" Ms. Bustier said, frowning at them.

"No, I'm sorry, Ms. Bustier," Marinette said.

"Actually," Alya began with a glint in her eye, "we were discussing Adrien's absence and Marinette was saying how she would be happy to deliver his work and notes to him."

Ms. Bustier pursed her lips but nodded after a moment. "That sounds perfectly reasonable. Good thinking. See me after class, Marinette. Now, may I ask you both to quiet down and pay attention to the lesson? You wouldn't want your notes to Adrien to be incomplete, would you?"

"No, of course not, Ms. Bustier," Marinette exclaimed. Both girls buried their heads in their work for the rest of the day.

After classes were dismissed, Chloé sauntered up to Marinette as she was packing up her bag. "I don't know why you're bothering," she said with a haughty sniff, flicking her ponytail back. "If Adrien misses any work, I'm sure Mr. Agreste brings in a tutor. You're wasting your time and you'll just get turned away at the gate."

"I won't know until I try, Chloé," Marinette replied. "But thank you for your concern."

With another sniff, Chloé departed with Sabrina in tow. Marinette walked up to Ms. Bustier, who handed her a small stack of papers with a smile.

"All of his assignments are listed on top," she explained. "Any information he might need is listed on the following pages, including references he could consult on his tablet."

"Thanks, Ms. Bustier," Marinette said, slipping the packet of papers securely into her bag.

She met up with Alya and Nino outside, the former of which wished her luck with a cheeky grin. Marinette rolled her eyes once more at her friend's antics and started off down the path to Adrien's house, breathing in the fresh air to calm her nerves. He only lived a few blocks away and soon she found herself staring up at the iron gates – still intimidating even though she had spent lots of time inside the house as Ladybug. She rang the bell. As expected, after a moment, the black and red optical camera zoomed out. Marinette resisted the urge to jump back as she had the first time the camera popped out at her.

"Yes?"

Marinette recognized the voice as the lady who usually handled most affairs for both Agrestes – Nathalie, she thought her name was.

"Uhm, I'm a classmate of Adrien's at school and since he wasn't in class today, I brought over his work." She held up the papers for the camera.

"Put it in the box."

"The box? Oh, right!" she exclaimed as part of the wall jutted out toward her. She slipped the papers in. The wall closed. "Thank you," Marinette said, "and please tell Adrien he-"

Her comment was cut off as the camera retracted without another word.

"-ello," Marinette finished in a mumble. She trudged away, hoping maybe she would see Adrien tomorrow.

As luck would have it, Adrien was absent the next day. And the day after. By now, Marinette had an entire novel's worth of possibilities as to his sudden absences – each one more outlandish than the last, much to the amusement of Alya. Still, the blogger wouldn't admit it, Marinette could tell she also worried for their mutual friend. Everyday, Marinette continued to diligently bring schoolwork over to the Agreste manor, never once deterred by the stilted reception she received. One day, she spotted the silhouette of Mr. Agreste observing her from one of the windows on the upper level. She refrained from either running away or marching back up to the gate and demanding to see Adrien. She measured her steps in deliberate paces, moving away at a steady pace.

On Friday, Marinette rang the bell as usual, placing Adrien's weekend work in the box. She turned to leave when Nathalie stopped her.

"Just a moment, Ms. Dupain-Cheng."

She jumped and turned back to the camera, briefly wondering how Nathalie knew her name. "Uh..." she began.

"Mr. Agreste wishes to speak with you. Please come in," she said. With a loud click, the gates opened. Marinette stepped inside. She forced herself to head straight for the front doors without delay and not linger to ogle the grounds, which she had rarely seen despite the many times she had been inside the manor. Upon walking up the stone steps, the front door opened and Nathalie waited for her at the top.

"This way," she said without preamble, turning and disappearing inside. The sound of her sharp heels clicking on the marble faded away. Marinette hesitated after a brief moment to exchange a look with Tikki, and the kwami beamed in encouragement at her. She hurried after Nathalie, her kwami giving her strength and courage.

Inside, she discovered Nathalie standing like a sentinel next to the door leading to Mr. Agreste's atelier. A room Marinette was most definitely familiar with – all those amazing pictures of Adrien. She shook herself out of her stupor. Mr. Agreste wouldn't like talking to a crushing schoolgirl.

"He's in through there," Nathalie said. Marinette entered, taking each step with uncertain hesitation. Nathalie closed the doors behind her with a quiet snap, though the sound still startled her, eliciting a small jump from the skittish girl. She spotted Mr. Agreste standing at the opposite end of the room. He studied her as she entered.

She didn't know what to say. After all, he was the one who requested to see her, so she remained silent and waited for him to speak first. She took the opportunity to study him in closer detail. What she saw shocked her.

To all but the most critical eyes, Gabriel Agreste appeared as poised and stoic as always. His hands clasped behind his back. His rigid posture. The slight frown upon his face that Marinette assumed was "normal tolerance" level for him. His immaculately pressed suit.

But months of masquerading as a superhero whose power relied upon keen observation plus keeping a constant lookout for akumas (and akumatized objects on said akumas) taught Marinette to pay very careful attention to details. Even while outside the costume.

There were tight lines around his face that hadn't been there during the akuma attack a couple of months prior. Faint bags under his eyes. A more ashen sheen to his complexion. His hair ever-so-slightly disheveled; a faint wave rippled through it as if he had run his hand through his normally perfectly slicked back locks.

"Are you feeling okay, Mr. Agreste?" she blurted out in concern, then immediately gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. So much for letting him talk first.

He merely narrowed his eyes in puzzlement, as if he hadn't expected her to say that of all things.

"Yes," he said, carefully drawing out the word, "why do you think otherwise?"

She bit her lip as a cold sweat broke out over her body. "If you say you are feeling okay, it's not really my place to comment." Curse her and her impulsive tendencies!

"And I'm inquiring as to your thoughts," Mr. Agreste replied. "Indulge me."

She hesitated for the briefest of seconds, attempting to form her words into something that wouldn't immediately get her banned from the grounds. "You don't look well," she began, trying to figure out the most diplomatic way to voice her observations. "You look like the icy fingers of death are creeping down your neck"probably wouldn't go over too favorably with him. He quirked an eyebrow and she continued. "And with Adrien out sick, I thought maybe you might have gotten the same kind of illness as him."

"What makes you think Adrien is sick?" Mr. Agreste asked, and Marinette thought she heard a bit of confusion in his voice.

"Isn't he?" she answered. At his pointed silence, she sighed. "He's been absent all week. He would have mentioned something last week if he was going to be out doing a long photoshoot."

Mr. Agreste didn't smile exactly, but his face relaxed. "And Adrien tells you these things?"

She nodded. "He's my friend," she insisted.

"Of course," he replied, but she heard no sarcasm in his tone, "only a true friend would bring his schoolwork by everyday without being allowed to see him."

There was a question lingering there but Marinette would not take the bait. She waited.

Mr. Agreste sighed – a soft, tired sigh that Marinette nearly missed. "I would like you to stop bringing over Adrien's schoolwork."

"Why?"

"He is not currently here."

"What?" she exclaimed, then blushed. "Uh, I mean, with all due respect, sir, where is he?"

"With his grandparents." Marinette couldn't be certain, but she thought she saw the lines around his eyes tighten. His lips pressed together. "They are currently overseeing his education with tutors while he... visits... with them. I would hate to see you keep wasting your time on a lost cause."

"How long is he going to be gone for?" she asked. "Uh, if that's not too much to ask, sir."

"A few more weeks," he answered.

Her chest felt like an akuma had punched her – in her civilian form. "A few... weeks?" she asked, unable to keep the shock from her voice.

"I understand this is concerning to you, but I must ask for your patience for a little longer." His face split into a rare grin – faint, yet clear. "It's refreshing to see my son has such loyal friends as you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng."

"Thank you," she replied.

"But for now, unfortunately, I must take my leave of you. I have other engagements."

"Of course," she answered, still trying to process what he told her.

"Good day."

"Goodbye," she replied, and headed out through the door.

Outside, she leaned against the wall surrounding the house. "A few more weeks, Tikki?" she exclaimed. "This is awful!"

Her kwami flew out from her purse and settled upon her shoulder. "Cheer up, Marinette. Maybe you can work on some of your designs. Then the weeks will go by so fast and he'll be back before you know it!"

Marinette smiled. "You're right, Tikki. I won't let myself mope around after Adrien. I'm going to design the best outfit for when he returns! It'll knock the socks off him!"

"That's righ— wait a second, that's not what I meant," Tikki cried.

Marinette ignored her as she took off in a run down the street, eager to get to designing.

Author's note: Thanks for all of your support so far!