A/N: Apologies to those confused by the non-existent update in March; I redid Chapter 1 and thought I could edit the original into a reminder that this was a prequel but remembered Fanfiction disapproves of chapters dedicated to notes. In the confusion I deleted the original chapter, sending my updated version to its position. But now that the deed is done, if you read the original Chapter 1 I hope you'll have time to read the new version as well, given it's three times as long and fits more in line with what I wanted it to be. Sorry and thank you.

Agdar's life was an easy one; people respected and feared him in equal measure, he was gaining wealth and power by the day and when he did face an obstacle he was patient and level headed enough to ensure it never got the better of him. What more could he want?

Then he arrived.

Agdar had never heard of this man from across the Atlantic and at first paid him no mind for what was a lucky newbie compared to him? But his successes kept piling. The man outsold him in his own areas of expertise with no shady secrets holding him down. He gained wealth and respect every day with no end in sight. He was perfect. He could do no wrong or harm.

Unlike Agdar.

Agdar approached him for partnerships time and again.

"I'm sorry Mr. Arendelle, but I'm afraid I've heard... rumors about you..."

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid we may have different approaches to this proposal of yours..."

It was the politeness that irritated him most. He felt something for the first time in years. An emotion that kept him up at night. Something that made his fists clench whenever he heard the man's name: Bjorgman.

Jealousy.

In the years to come Bjorgman moved to a new niche in business. Agdar did not know why - perhaps Bjorgman had learned of his animosity? - but he did know that, even in a new field, Bjorgman was performing flawlessly. He also knew he had been surpassed.

He drafted one last proposal, improved his skill of cleaning up after his misdeeds and approached Bjorgman once more.

Bjorgman accepted. Agdar invited his family to dinner to discuss the finer details of their new alliance. He had done his best for the evening with Ithun and even Anna made herself presentable, though she muttered to herself as they awaited the arrival of their guests. It was with surprise that he noted how desperate he was for the deal to succeed.

Bjorgman's public mannerisms translated well to domestic environments. He was punctual, bowed to Ithun when she opened the door at his knock then shook Agdar's hand, glancing at Anna beside him. She gave him a polite smile but Agdar knew the boredom she was trying to conceal.

"It's good to see you in a more relaxed environment sir!"

"Indeed... sir."

"And it's a pleasure to meet your family Mr. Arendelle. Would this be your daughter?"

"Yes. Anna, say hello to our... guest."

She widened her smile for her curtsy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. And this is the best time for me to introduce - ah, there he is!"

A teenager with a strong resemblance to Bjorgman in both attire and appearance had entered and closed the door for Ithun. Bjorgman beckoned him.

"Mr and Miss Arendelle, meet my son."

The boy inclined his head in a nervous bow to Agdar then looked at Anna. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second and he froze until an oblivious Anna extended an arm in greeting and he shook it, swallowing hard.

Of course.

Bjorgman wore on Agdar as the hours passed ("Give my compliments to your chef, ma'am", "Your home is lovely sir") with even the meal tasting sweet when it arrived. Agdar analysed Bjorgman's words and mannerisms while measuring his own movements and responses per his nature. Bjorgman made no sense. It was as though life had handed him success at birth with no need for sacrifice or great effort on his part. His words free of hidden meanings or threats. How were they so different? Why?

Bjorgman's boy was worse and brought out the worst in Anna. Etiquette didn't come naturally to her but she could fake it when she had to. Not today; today she laughed loud, drowning out his conversations. She kept talking, poking the boy's arm to keep him from his plate and made a mess of her corner of the table. Agdar winced when she knocked her cup over for the third time but the boy just smiled, blushed and continued nodding on her cue, reminding Agdar why he hated full family meals. He resolved to ignore them for the rest of the evening. If anything happened between Anna and him of all people...

A crash from above. He started and looked at the source. Anna's room. He frowned and turned to her seat, Bjorgman and Ithun's eyes on him when his jaw dropped.

"Wh - where did they go?"

"The children? They left a while ago sir. I believe your daughter wanted to take my son to her room."

"What?"

"Anna's a fine girl Mr. Arendelle. Absolutely charming, I must say."

Bjorgman smiled. Agdar could only nod in return, his jaw locked, what little appetite he had lost. He used one word responses for the rest of the night and, though he wondered when and why Anna let her hair down, relished the uncomfortable air between the children when the Bjorgmans left. He slammed the door behind them, not caring if they heard.

That night Agdar lay in bed, staring at the golden watch around his wrist. He dropped his arms to his sides and huffed, looking to the ceiling for a moment before turning to his right. He closed his eyes. He needed sleep. He stretched his legs. He adjusted his pillow. It wasn't until Ithun woke and draped her arm around him that he realised he had wasted another half hour. He rolled over to return the embrace, brought her head to his chest and took in the scent of her hair.

"Agdar, what's wrong?"

He could feel her cheekbone move through his shirt. Her breath tickled his chest.

"I can't sleep."

"I can tell." The words sparked a weak smile. "What's wrong?"

He sighed and rolled onto his back once more. He considered his position then placed his palms on either side of his torso and pushed. He sat against the headrest now, staring at the wardrobe at the foot of their bed. A moment later Ithun had done the same.

"Bjorgman."

"Again?"

"How does he do it? Nothing adds up."

"He had a head start on life."

"No! That's just it: he started worse than me but somehow he's better. How is that?"

They heard a creak from beyond the door and turned to it, silent. Nothing. With no further disturbances Agdar's mind returned to the conversation and he groaned. His head fell into his hands.

"I can't take this anymore."

He exhaled and shut his eyes, opening them when Ithun rubbed his arm. "If you want him gone, you'll have him gone."

"Would you do that for me?"

"Of course." Her hand moved to his shoulder. "Now get some sleep."

"Thank you." Agdar slid down and she followed suit. He pulled the quilt up to their necks and chuckled. "I've been doing this far too often these days, haven't I?"

She smiled, stroked his hair and pulled him in for a kiss, still smiling when she pulled back. "It's nothing to worry about. Goodnight Agdar."

"Goodnight sweetheart."

Ithun rolled over and fell asleep in moments, the sound of her breathing letting Agdar finally do the same. He slid his left arm under his pillow and wrapped his right around her, holding her close. The weight of his watch reassured him and his mind produced an image that followed him into his dreams.

Bjorgman won't be around for long.

It was simple as first. Law enforcement received tip-offs of shady dealings in the American's empire. They seized his assets and questioned him, but with nothing to show for their investigations let him go. But Bjorgman was meant to be imprisoned - he deserved something more. He needed to be torn down. Though they were mere pranks the many investigations served their purpose: to plant doubt. "Maybe he isn't so perfect," people began to ask, "maybe there's nothing special about him after all?"

More anonymous warnings. Police investigated the claims despite their rising irritation at those accusing such a pure man of illicit behaviour. Again they would question him, again experts would examine his properties. In time they began cutting corners.

But this time the tip-offs bore fruit.

A curtain was pulled back exposing countless scandals and back alley deals. Investigations found money in Bjorgman's accounts he couldn't explain. They found vast sums taken out of his accounts, the crimes they funded and their traumatised victims. People came forward with the intimate details of his life, public knowledge and horrific secrets alike.

Bjorgman was innocent of all charges.

It was funny really; his sweetness had aggravated Agdar most, yet that was the only word he knew to describe the situation, a term Anna was fond of in her youth: sweet. Being served success in a silver spoon means you never learn how cruel life can be as Agdar had. He knew how to escape Bjorgman's predicament, who to consult and what questions to ask. He could save him if he wanted to: Bjorgman would have a setback, but he would survive. He chose instead to observe as more news trickled in. He discovered a love for newspapers in the morning; what better way was there to start each day than to see Bjorgman's name crumble and how such a paragon of virtue handled the situation?

Or rather, how that paragon failed to?

It had been a typical day of meetings and scouting new sites on which to develop new properties. Agdar found one of interest and asked to see the news as he waited to speak with its owner. It was in that lounge with blood red walls and maroon carpet that he saw on the small TV fixed to the ceiling:

"...Bjorgman, the man behind the popular..."

"...was admitted to hospital..."

"...found by his son on the floor of their kitchen..."

"...surrounded by broken glass..."

"...possible suicide attempt..."

"...blood everywhere..."

He grinned and brought his hands together, the sound startling the receptionist. He forced an expression of horror onto his face until the plain woman looked away.

The meeting begun soon after. Agdar's joy permeated from him and sped the proceedings, with the former landowner beaming as they shook hands on a deal well done. Agdar went home to prepare a surprise for his wife - he could rearrange his affairs for the day with little fuss. All that mattered was the woman he loved. The woman who had set him free.

He jumped out of the car when he arrived, his grin giving way to a laugh. He closed his eyes and raised his head, letting it sink in: he'd won. He locked the car and swapped its key with that of his home's. As he walked to the front door he noted the colours of the world around him; the sparkles of the slabs on which he tread, the green grass on each side of the path, the rich brown of his door, enclosed by the bright patchwork wall.

But his world had always been bright. After all, what could have coloured his home in the few hours since he'd left? No, he'd just been ignorant of the beauty around him - and now he could fix his mistake. He hung his coat in the foyer. What should he do first? Prepare a nice dinner for just the two of them perhaps? Anna hated those anyway.

It was fitting that he thought of Anna as the first thing he saw upon entering the living room was her bag on the sofa. He cocked his head then remembered her school day ended early that day and smiled. Her innovative ideas had saved more than a few anniversaries and Valentine's Days and he looked forward to brainstorming with her. He bent down to move the bag.

And stopped.

The sofa was positioned directly in front of their coffee table. On the coffee table was a plate of burnt toast, one passable slice half eaten. Beside it lay a TV remote. He had dismissed it at first but the angle at which it lay - pointing away from the television and far from the plate? And not every slice was burnt, why didn't she eat them? Where was she and why was her bag on the sofa when she knew better than to leave it there?

He tilted his head as a theory occurred to him and rubbed the forefingers of his right hand across his thumb. He reached for the remote the same hand. His thumb wavered above the power button for a moment but he forced it down.

He was greeted with the channel he had seen in the waiting room.

It was obvious where Anna had gone, but Agdar glanced at the front door on his way there just in case, a hand over his heart. Anna's school shoes and trainers were in the shoe rack beside it. He had ignored them upon entering in his euphoria. He sighed, turned left and climbed the stairs. He stepped through the red corridor and turned to a door on his right.

Hers.

His hand hovered in front of it but he tried the handle instead, hoping he'd read too much into the situation.

But it was locked. He sighed again and curled his hand into a fist.

Knock knock knock-knock knock.

It was their special knock, devised when Anna was a child. It served to break the ice when they'd fallen out and had had some success even after she'd grown up. He waited. At least she'd know who it was.

Which was no doubt why she wasn't answering.

He tried again. This time he heard her, cold and on the verge of panic, from her bed.

"Go away."

"Why?"

"Don't play dumb with me." Her voice trembled, her pitch spiking. "You drove a man insane! That's low, even for you."

"You can't know that."

"Really? I've heard you at night. You're sick!" A pause. How many of his panic attacks had she heard? "You can't handle bei - he didn't even beat you in anything! He was just making money, but you couldn't have that, could you?"

"And that makes me responsible for him trying to kill himself?"

"You and your precious wife! So what was it? Jealousy? You were jealous someone else knew how to make money so you - you... have you done that to anyone else? Maybe you slipped up this time! That's why the news picked it up!"

"Anna..."

"What?" A swish of fabric and a thud on the carpet: Anna pivoting on the bed and slamming her feet on the carpet. "Anna what exactly? Sorry I can't handle other people being happy? Sorry I only know how to fight dirty? I'm not like you or her, alright? Keep trying all you want, I'll never sink to your level!"

This forceful nature was a first for her. Agdar composed himself, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth occupied. "So what are you going to do now? Go to the police? I'm not going to lock you in there."

She scoffed. "What good would that do? I bet you've already got an excuse for me trying to get my parents arrested and even if you haven't, you've already covered your tracks, haven't you? Goodnight." A soft thud this time, followed by another swish of fabric and a second soft, but louder, thud: Anna sitting, pivoting and falling onto the mattress.

"Goodnight? You haven't eaten, you haven't done your homework - don't you have an assessment due? And it's still an afternoon!"

"Go away dad." Her voice cracked on the last syllable and he heard a sound.

His daughter choking down a sob.

Agdar stepped back and looked to the floor. "Okay." He paused for his body to register the dismissal. "Bye."

He left.

Anna remained resilient as days passed, locking herself in her room with her bag when she was home, leaving only for meals left outside her door or when she had no choice. She had choked on a biscuit during an excursion for a folder and Agdar had rushed to the kitchen for water, only for Anna to follow and pour herself a glass instead in complete silence. He had placed his cup on the dining table and the only acknowledgement she had paid his endeavour was to throw it into the sink when she left, her face betraying ugly fury in the act.

But every day, without fail, he would wait by her door.

"Anna, I just want to see you. Please come out..."

"Anna, it's a sunny day. Do you want to go cycling again? For old times' sake?"

"There's an art gallery opening in the city this weekend. Once in a lifetime thing apparently. Interested?"

And every time Anna would reject him. How she did it varied; some days she would scream, other days she would reply in a monotone voice, but the pain was always the same. And every time he would close his eyes, rub his sternum and soothe the ache with a few simple words.

She'll come back. It's just a matter of resolve.

The pain grew. He wanted his daughter back. He missed Anna's smile and her humour. He missed her childish antics. He needed a perfect daughter but he adored her imperfections, even those her therapist took issue with. She was unique. Irreplaceable.

The thoughts hit him again and again and each time he wondered where they came from, only to remember how much he wanted his daughter back and start the cycle anew.

He approached the door.

Knock knock knock.

"Anna? Please, your mother misses you. I miss you."

Nothing. What had he been expecting? He'd been desperate. Anna would crack. He just needed to compose himself and rethink his approach. He needed to treat this like a deal. He knew what Anna was like, he just needed to adapt.

Or he could try again.

"What are you going to do, stay in there forever? Look, let me take you somewhere nice. Anywhere at all. Please?"

Another pause. He cursed. He was getting too emotional. He was better than this! It was his daughter yes, but he could still act rationally, stay in control, stay calm...

He hadn't heard the swish of fabric or thud on the floor but he heard the footsteps.

They grew closer, then stopped. Agdar realised he was holding his breath but didn't dare break the silence. What was Anna thinking? He stared at the door. The sound of a lock. He tensed.

The door always creaked. The faint, familiar sound told Agdar he wasn't imagining it open. It exposed only a sliver of the room within before it halted.

But it was enough.

For in that sliver he saw a familiar freckled face. He felt his own relax and his shoulders sag. He sighed.

He saw fury and shame in her quivering lips and eyes, but paid them no mind. He knew from her weak posture, tilted head and pulsing throat how furious and disgusted she was with him, Ithun and herself.

But she had given in.

She had come back.

That was all that mattered.

"I know someplace we could go."

He had won.

A/N: I welcome your reviews; I love to know what you think of my writing and how I can improve. Thank you again.