The room was coated in white, silver details strategically accenting the ceilings and floors and black leather chairs which were proving more aesthetically pleasing than physically comfortable. Marinette's leg bounced rhythmically as she sat in the antechamber for the executive offices—far more modern than the junior design studios in the building across the street.

Will he tear apart my line again? Or will he tell me I'm actually an international criminal and not worthy of his son? And of course, he's called Interpol to apprehend me, and I'll be arrested the second I step foot into his office. Her complete lack of criminal history could in no way eliminate this distinct, if improbable, outcome.

Nathalie appeared through a set of imposing art deco doors which reminded her of the ones she had previously seen on his home office and beckoned her forward. No Interpol agents so far. Nathalie ushered her through the looming opening and then left. When the door latched behind her, she was truly alone.

"Mr. Agreste."

"Ms. Dupain-Cheng. Please, have a seat."

Gabriel was sitting in front of his desk as he gestured with a soft hand for her to take the unoccupied chair across from his and closer to the long worktable which dominated most of the room. She stared at him intently as she approached, scanning his features. Deep tired bruises marred his under eyes. Cheek bones seemed a touch sharper.

She sat as instructed.

"Tell me about the changes you have made to your line." His eyes never left his work screen.

Her words stuck in her throat. SPEAK. Just speak. She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, disjointedly rubbing her sweater between her thumb and forefinger. "I uh…" she cleared her throat "I had a productive meeting with Marie. Sir. And I think that I have figured out a solution to make my collection have a…a… clearer voice. And the symmetry we discussed."

Eyes remaining glued to his screen, his right eyebrow lifted demanding elaboration. His skin seemed as thin as paper under the bright lights of the room.

"The most important thing would be the order of the models and the final walk. The models would come out for the first time in story order…so the pieces like Gardenia which represent secret love would come first. And then Camellia would finish the presentation as it represents…it represents marriage…in Chinese culture…" Her voice dwindled as Gabriel Agreste finally peered into her eyes with such an implacable emotion. Pain? Anger? Sadness? "And on t-the second and final walk, each…each dress and suit would walk down arm in arm as…as couples…to show the … the symmetry…" Her voice finally gave out.

"Do you want to marry my son?"

"Sir?"

"Do you want to marry Adrien?"

"Yes."

"Would you want to marry him even if he did not love you?"

Why would he ask that? Has Adrien said he doesn't love me to his father? I mean I already know that he doesn't love me but fuck what do I say to that?

"I…I would want to marry him even if he did not love me yet."

"Yet?"

"Yet. I think…I believe that our…attachment…could grow on his end."

"So that he feels about you the way that you feel about him?"

"Yes."

"And what is it that you feel for him?"

"I, uh, I feel everything for him. I love him, faults and all."

"Well that certainly is a sweet sentiment." Gabriel stood to his full height and walked around the desk with a stack of papers in hand. "But how will you help him?"

"An heiress with connections to the Italian fashion market." Thunk.

"An heiress with a business background and experience running an international company." Thunk.

"The daughter of a long-time business associate who shares many hobbies with Adrien." Thunk.

A chunk of papers was dropped to the ground with each candidate description. On and on and on until his hands were empty. "Every single one of these women was hand-picked, personally invited, or suitably connected to make it past the initial round of candidate applications. Every single one of these women provides concrete ways to help Adrien when…when he takes over." At the halt in his statement, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Silence hung think in the air for a moment and then two. Then he returned his eyewear with a flourish and looked directly into her soul. "But you do not offer anything that any other woman could not."

She opened her mouth to defend herself but was swiftly cut off. "Yes, yes, you are a designer and work for the company. This would be lovely except for the fact that Marie will be assuming lead designer responsibilities and leading this company once I leave. Your junior designing abilities are not nearly as relevant as securing foreign markets or strengthening business alliances. Your family is perfectly respectable—no major debts and a well-run business—but the exact same can be said for thousands of women in Paris alone. Even the hobbies you share with my son pale in comparison to the other candidates. Video games cannot compete with Olympic level fencing. There is no competition between you and these women, there is a clear loser. And yet, my son has decided that there is no competition between you and these women because you are the clear winner. There have been no more dates. All of the women have been turned away. And yet my son cannot even tell me he loves you."

It was getting harder to look at Mr. Agreste. Tears gathered in the edges of her eyes, blurring the stark white room.

"I think it has become abundantly clear that you are nothing special. You are not good enough for my son, and your designs are not good enough for fashion week. You have been a distraction for Adrien and a drain on my precious time as both a father and an employer. One of these women-" he gestured at the papers scattered on the tiles, blurry in her downcast eyes "-will ensure that Adrien has a happy future, a safe future. You are nothing more than a distraction." His voice was lowered to a deadly whisper as he stood directly in front of her. His purple butterfly broach stared her down as she struggled to breathe. "Your designs will not walk at fashion week, and you will stop seeing my son. If you refuse to stop seeing Adrien, then you can consider your job forfeit. I will blackball you for the entire industry as a money hungry scheming social climber who tried to sleep her way to a higher position."

In. Out. In. Out. Fuck, I can't breathe. My chest is on fire, my stomach feels cold. In. Out. IN. OUT. Her mouth wavered open, a strangled gasp failing to portray the depth of her panic.

"Go."

A small shove at her shoulder had her stumbling from the room and scrambling for the elevator. Her fingers jammed into the call button as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. The simple command was the only thought upon which her mind latched.

When the silver doors slid open, she dove inside and collapsed to the floor. Knees to her chest. Hands gripping the back of her neck. She could see nothing as her vision was entirely obscured by tears. She could think of nothing over the terror in her stomach. She could feel nothing but the pounding of her heart and hear nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.

She didn't notice the elevator descending to the first floor. She didn't notice the silver doors sliding open. She didn't notice the alarm and subsequent red emergency lights kicking in.

She did notice the arms which slid around her and pulled her into a familiar lap.