Not Very Important Note: Hey folks, sorry I dropped off the grid for a number of months. Sometimes life gets complicated. And sometimes I get lazy. I've decided to finish this story, though, partly because I have nothing better to do now and partly because I'm curious to see how it will end. If you're reading this, thank you so very much, you kind generous person. I wish you the best. If you're not reading this, I still wish you the best, you just won't know about it. Anyway, here's the next chapter. May God have mercy on my soul.

Important Note: I'm really justifying the 'T' rating for this story this time. This chapter's content involves domestic violence and suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

Celine slumped comfortably across the back seat of her car, humming a jazzy tune in harmony with the buzzing of alcohol in her blood. With the divider granting her privacy from the chauffeur, Celine opened her purse to let Plagg out. He emerged in a dizzying spiral and made himself comfortable on the seat next to her.

"Could you maybe carry a larger bag next time?" he griped. "I was so cramped in there!"

"Sorry Plagg, small bags are in fashion!" Celine replied unsympathetically.

"Fashion," Plagg scoffed. "The less I have to deal with fashion, the better."

Noticing that Celine was entirely ignoring him in favor of gazing dreamily (and drunkenly) out the window, Plagg flew in front of her face and demanded "was there any cheese at this party? Did you snag some?"

Celine groaned lightly. "Don't you live for anything other than cheese, Plagg?"

"We're in the cheese capital of the world! What else does anyone live for around here?"

"France has plenty else to offer, you know."

"Ok, the bread is good too," Plagg conceded.

Celine sighed and shook her head. She resumed her inspection out the window, watching the passing patchwork of darkness and electric light.

Plagg paused his analysis of French cuisine when he noticed the pensive expression on Celine's face. He hesitantly crept onto her lap, and she began stroking his head absentmindedly.

"Celine," Plagg began.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Coccineus is getting stronger?"

"What? Are you worried, Plagg? That's... uncommon."

"Me? Worried? No way!" Plagg insisted. "I just… it's hard to say it when I'm hungry… aren't you afraid that he might get in our way? Seriously?"

Celine laughed. "I'm sure he won't. I can take care of him just fine."

"You seem to think pretty well of him."

"He's cute, and fun to beat. What's the problem?"

"Humans are a pain." Plagg said cryptically. Then, to clarify, he said, "pretty much every time I've had a holder— and that's a lot of times— they fall in love with whoever has the Ladybug Miraculous. And I guess I was just concerned that…"

"Plagg," Celine interrupted, sounding very firm for her state of intoxication. "You don't really think I'd let something like that get in the way."

"Not really," said Plagg, flopping back down on the car seat. "I just figured I'd warn you."

"I appreciate your concern," Celine said. "But I'm not one of your previous holders. I don't have the luxury of loving anyone, least of all him."

"You have a point," Plagg said sadly.

On cue, the car crunched to a stop and Plagg fled back into Celine's bag as a burly butler opened the door.

"Welcome home, Mlle. Odair. Your father is waiting for you in the study."

Celine gulped. She emerged from the car, wobbling a bit in her high heels on the gravel drive, and followed the Butler into the grandiose Odair mansion.

Celine knocked lightly on the door before cracking it open. "Father?"

"Come in, Celine. Close the door behind you." Michel Odair was slouched in an armchair by the window. His daughter's eyes roved with distaste over his pale puffy face, his tailored suit, his wispy greying hair and his sinister red-rimmed eyes. He beckoned her closer and she advanced, still keeping a safe distance from him. He looked her up and down like a predatory bird searching for weaknesses in its prey.

"You look like a harlot," he told her. "I'm sure you've been out making a disgrace of yourself again. I wonder if I should've allowed you to stay in the apartment. All this independence is going to your head. Perhaps you need to move back home where you can be better watched over."

"No!" Celine protested automatically. "Please, father. I can handle it. I can look after myself just fine."

Michel Odair let out what sounded like an irritable growl. "I don't like your tone, girl. You have no idea what's proper for a woman of your age and standing. Are you trying to drag the Odair name through the mud, or is that just a side consequence of your lifestyle of debauchery?"

Celine fought to keep her voice civil. It was a losing battle. She was drunk, and her father was vile.

"What do YOU know about my life? You've never cared to know anything about me that you didn't decide on yourself." Celine paced the floor wildly, her inebriated voice breaking with emotion. "You know, I used to wonder if you even cared about me. If you ever once loved me, or loved anything at all. These days, I know you DON'T and you NEVER DID. Do you even recognize I'm a PERSON?"

"Not to me, you're not," Michel said coldly. Celine froze, a little shocked, even after everything, that he could say something so cruel with such composure. "My expectations for you have always been very clear," he continued. "You will marry, and marry as well as possible, and until then you will DO AS YOU ARE TOLD. I don't know where you got this idea that everything has to be about you. You're a shallow, selfish little girl."

"Selfish? You think you can call me selfish? When your intent is to sell off your daughter to fuel your own greed?"

Michel Odair chuckled. It was an ugly sound, like a frog dying of cyanide poisoning. "Selling you off, is it? Don't be so melodramatic. This is the way the world works, Celine. You should just be glad I've found a candidate who doesn't mind your history of poor decisions."

Celine froze. "You have?"

"Monsieur Dupont has made an offer. His fortune, as I'm sure you're aware, exceeds sixty million francs— ten million of which, the generous man is prepared to pay for a wife of good breeding. You will accept."

"I will not."

"Then I will. And you will go through with it, or else you will never leave this house again."

"You're wrong. I'm going to get the money to pay for my own freedom. You'll get your damn cash and then you'll leave me alone."

Michel Odair chuckled. It sounded even worse this time. "Do you mean with your little cat burglar game?"

When Celine went quiet, Michel Odair gave a full-throated laugh. "What, did you think I didn't know you've been sneaking around, trying to save up to bribe me into letting you do what you want?"

"Then you know that I will do it," Celine said softly.

"You might have had some hope when it was only poor Monsieur Vigney who was willing to consider you. Now that you have a better offer, my price has gone up. I will have ten million francs, no matter what. And soon, too. Monsieur Dupont and I were thinking next month would do for the wedding."

"I won't do it," Celine insisted.

"If you don't, I'll tell the Paris police precisely where they can find the notorious Chat Voleuse. You'll never be free then."

Celine knew from long experience how to keep burning tears at bay in her eyes, but she couldn't keep them all back as her hoarse voice screamed, "YOU TWISTED SON OF A-"

Michel Odair stood up quickly and Celine flinched instinctively.

"That's quite enough," he growled. "I expect you to do as I say. Consider the welfare of the family, not just your own selfish desires."

"What family?" Celine choked.

Then Michel Odair struck.

Celine hurled herself from the room, skidding unsteadily on her heels and tripping on edges of carpets until she had achieved her childhood bedroom and locked herself in. She collapsed on the bed, buried her face in a pillow, and began making noises that could've been sobs and could've been muffled screams. After a moment, Plagg issued cautiously from her discarded bag and hovered near her.

"Hey, kid," he said gently. Celine gave no response. Plagg nudged her shuddering shoulder a little less gently. "Kid. Look at me." Celine turned her face from the pillow to meet Plagg's eyes with her own red-rimmed and black-smudged ones.

"What?" she choked.

Plagg hesitated. He ran over the typical catalogue of condolences and encouragements. 'It'll be ok' hardly seemed right. Obviously, telling Celine not to pay any attention to her dad wouldn't do any good. 'I'm here for you?' What could he do?

"Just… stay strong, ok?"

Whatever Celine had been needing to hear, that was not it. Celine turned back to the pillow and cried all the harder. Plagg buzzed around her awkwardly until suddenly and without warning, Celine stopped crying and sat up. She rubbed her eyes, smearing the dark eye makeup which was already flowing in dark rivulets down her face. She hiccuped disconsolately. Plagg eyed her uneasily. Celine calmly leaned across to the bed to her bedside table and opened the deep mahogany drawer. She pulled out a small case of sleeping pills and poured some into her trembling palm. Too many.

Plagg's naturally bulbous eyes grew even wider. Before Celine could raise the pills to her mouth, he collided with her hand and scattered the pills across the wide bedspread. He grabbed her hand and held onto it to keep her from gathering them up again.

"Celine, what are you doing?" he panicked.

"We'll never manage it, Plagg," she said desperately, still fighting to reach the pills. "It's over. I'll never be free from him while I'm alive."

"Celine, wait," Plagg insisted. "We can still do this. We'll steal something big, you'll get your money, and we can forget about all of this! You can do whatever you want!"

"We've been at this for months and we're not even close! There isn't enough time now. It's over."

"It's not," Plagg said soberly. "We'll get the money. I know what we can steal. And I know a buyer."

Celine's struggling stilled. She took a large snuffling breath. "What?"

"Look, I didn't want to do this, but your pathetic excuse for a father doesn't leave me another option."

"Plagg, what are you talking about? What could we possibly steal now, the crown goddamn jewels?"

"Better," said Plagg. "Way better. We're gonna steal the rest of the miraculous."