"And the winner is…" Marinette crossed her fingers, her legs, her toes...everything possible, as she waited on baited breath for the announcer to finish.

"Marinette Dupain-Chang!" She winced slightly at the mispronunciation of her name, but walked out with a smile regardless. Thankfully, she was greeted by her mentor who took the plaque from the presenter and handed Marinette the award instead. Tikki looked at her fondly before leaning into the microphone.

"Congratulations Miss Dupain-Cheng," she emphasized her name and Marinette giggled as she moved to hug the woman who had been her rock throughout the entire design competition. It had been terrifying at first, giving up a job offer at an established company to work for a year with only the hope of a payoff at the end. The job offer had been an assistant's role, nothing with any design influence or creativity, but it came with the possibility of promotion and the guarantee of connections. Still, the thought of working eighty hour weeks and creating nothing terrified Marinette more than possibly being broke by the end of the year. Besides, she had a relatively successful online business; she'd hoped it could hold her over if her risk didn't pay off. But she didn't have to worry about that anymore, because she'd actually done it!

It had been long and arduous, but Tikki was a godsend, and Marinette had managed to come out on top of the country's most prestigious design competition. Now, she'd won her own storefront, a quarter of a million euros, and the honor of being invited to the AC gala next month to rub shoulders with the elitist of elite in the Paris fashion world.

It was… a lot. Almost too much. She'd hoped, but she never dared expect that she'd win. She was competing against much older and more experienced designers. She was talented, sure, and she'd refined her skills since she was young, even attending the best design school in the country for university, but that didn't guarantee her anything. This was a gift, and Marinette was acutely aware of how fortunate she was to be given a chance to earn it.

She pulled back from Tikki's embrace, tears in her eyes as she waved off her offer to say a few words. Marinette was lucky she'd managed not to make a fool of herself and trip walking up to accept her award. She wouldn't press her luck. Instead, she turned out to the audience and took a bow, excited beyond words to start this new chapter of her life.

Two weeks later, she sat in the shell of what would soon be her own boutique, staring blankly at a notebook that should hold the design for her gala dress. It was only the most important networking night of her young design career, so of course she was hitting a complete mental block. She had formal designs, of course. She needed to impress and had been designing away since she won the competition, her notebooks overflowing with wonderful designs. But none of them would work. Why? Because the world liked to make a laughingstock of Marinette's preparations. That's why.

She looked disdainfully again at the invitation to the gala that had arrived the day before.

Victorian-Era Masquerade.

She shook her head. Rich people confounded her. Let's pick the most exclusive theme possible, forcing everyone to wear custom gowns they'll probably never put on again just to show everyone how luxurious it is to be us.

Marinette sighed for the hundredth time, pushing back from her desk and letting her chair spin in a lazy circle. She looked around, taking in her store and letting her mind wander to happier thoughts as she allowed herself to imagine all that it would be. Only a skeleton now, she painted it in her mind's eye with the palate of her dreams. She had nothing against custom designs, of course, but there was no need to make it unattainable or be wasteful. That was what she wanted her brand to represent. She'd started off just designing for friends, her only reward seeing their face light up when something fit their body and their personality perfectly. She wanted that for everyone who walked into her store.

It wasn't going to be easy, she knew that, and her boutique couldn't survive on just smiles as payment. Marinette wasn't stupid, and her second degree was in small business management. She knew what she needed to do to succeed; she just knew she could give people quality and custom pieces that would last without bankrupting them in the process.

She was on about the tenth revolution of her chair when the bell above the door sang out and she turned to see Tikki looking at her in amusement.

"Designing up a storm, I see," she smirked at her mentee and Marinette just groaned, putting her foot down to stop her spinning and feeling her equilibrium slosh at the interrupted momentum. She blinked, trying to see past the spots in her vision.

"Masquerade, Tikki," she whined. "Victorian-Era masquerade."

"Sounds fun," Tikki piped back and Marinette just gave her a look. "Okay, okay," she laughed, walking across the room and coming to sit on Marinette's desk, the only other piece of furniture currently in the store. She dropped a paper wrapped bundle in front of her that smelled heavenly of bread and peppers and cheese...And Tikki was immediately forgiven.

"Seriously, though?" Marinette questioned, still dubious, but attention divided as she realized she hadn't eaten that day-as Tikki no doubt assumed- and started tearing into the sandwich.

"Okay, fine. It sounds overly extravagant and unnecessary," Tikki admitted, but then turned a narrow eye on Marinette. "But it also sounds like a challenge. Have you become soft on me? When have you ever turned down a challenge?"

"When it involved a hoop skirt. Especially me in a hoop skirt. Can you imagine?"

Tikki laughed outwardly at that, no doubt imagining Marinette's already shaky grace further hindered by a series of ring the size of a house attached to her hips.

"I'm not Cinderella, Tikki."

"Who says you have to be?" Tikki looked at her seriously. Then with a wink, she kissed her cheeks and was out the door again. Marinette just stared after he, the words slow to process.

"Not Cinderella," Marinette muttered to herself, her mind racing through possibilities as it came to her. A smile lighting up her face, she pushed the forgotten sandwich to the side and grabbed her notebook. Pencil flying over paper. A smudge here, a flounce there, a cascade in the back…

Adrien donned a bowtie for the first time in two years. One benefit of volunteering abroad was that there was rarely a need for a cumberbund and coat tails. But he wasn't in Mongolia anymore and he had to hold up his end of the deal.

He wasn't bitter about it. He actually enjoyed the challenge of leading the business. There was never a dull moment when your interests spanned every time zone imaginable, and he loved the charitable opportunities that came with his family's wealth. He was free to pursue his own interests and career part time, as long as he dedicated enough of his day to the Agreste Corporation. As the heir and soon-to-be majority shareholder of the company, his input held the most weight. Adrien didn't take that responsibility lightly, and after the agreed upon two year gap to travel and teach, he was back and ready to fulfill the role.

That didn't mean he had to like the smoke and mirrors performance that came with it. Publicity was important for success, but he remembered these galas well . Everyone was just playing the game. For years that game had been his life, his only socialization outside of his numerous tutors, but he'd finally gotten a taste of real life and was reluctant to go back to the charade most of them played.

"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't," he murmured to himself as he started to fasten his cufflinks.

He used to be a model for the fashion brand, so he knew there would be more than a little scrutiny of his appearance tonight. When he'd left, he was still coming out of his gawky young-adult years. He was not looking forwards to the analysis of how he'd "turned out".

He had a sudden intense longing for the anonymity of the mongolian countryside, where he was either considered alien-looking for or just downright unattractive because of his facial structure and the pure blonde color of his hair. Blonde children weren't uncommon in the village where he lived, but to be an adult man as blonde as he was...well, it was almost humorous the pitying looks he'd received by fellow men in the community. He still smiled, remembering the first compliment he received there: a little girl telling him with a smile that she didn't think he was "that ugly".

"Ready, boss?" Adrien turned at the sound of Plagg's voice as the older man peeked through the door to his room. He'd been working with Plagg to prepare to take over his father's position for over a year now, but only just met the man in person when he got back last month. He honestly didn't know what he'd do without him. While annoying and sarcastic at times, Plagg was always honest with Adrien and never coddled him. They respected each other for their own merits, and Plagg had quickly become a friend and confidant, helping Adrien navigate the business in ways his father had never thought-or cared enough-to teach him.

"Don't call me boss," Adrien retorted automatically, knowing how Plagg did it just to get a rise out of him.

"Okay. Ready, peasant?" Plagg tried instead, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Adrien rolled his eyes, but was smiling himself as he shrugged on his jacket.

He followed Plagg out the door towards the car. Plagg briefed him along the way about developments in the stocks and merchandise performance that had changed since last the spoke. Then he moved onto the gala guests, informing him of designers or investors who had requested to meet with him. Adrien didn't mind the designers, and in fact heard more than a few friendly names on Plagg's list, but he cringed thinking about having to suffer through small talk with people who gave his business money and therefore thought the had a right to his time.

"Just grin and bear it, kid," Plagg's voice caught his attention again, the man correctly guessing the train of his thoughts. "I'll get you through those people as quickly as possible. Just try not to offend anyone in the meantime, alright?"

"So...do the opposite of what you would do."

"Exactly!" Plagg grinned at him. "See? I knew you'd beat the stereotype of a dumb blonde. I mean, at first I wasn't positive…"

"Alright, alright. Shut up already, would you?" Adrien gave the smirking man some side eye, before the chauffeur came around to open his door and he stepped out on the to red carpet. He made sure to thank the driver before descending into the lion's den.

It wasn't pleasant, but by the end of the barrage of cameras and questions, he was pleased to see all his training and conditioning hadn't completely evaporated in the years he was away. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked through the lobby towards the entrance of the main room, stopping at the top landing to take in the extravagance below him with a mixture of awe and sadness. Then he turned to the attendant at the door, handing over his coat and giving his "stage name" for the night to be announced before heading down the elaborate staircase into the ballroom. Thankfully, he was one of the first to arrive and while a few looked up as he entered, no one tried to monopolize his attention as he made a bee-line for the bar.

"What can I get you, my man?" The bartender came over to him immediately and Adrien liked him instantly. He was wearing the mandatory black tuxedo pants and white jacket of all the servers, but he'd added a red paisley pocket square and was sporting thick-rim, royal blue glasses. They were clearly perscription and necessary, but Adrien could just imagine the look of horror on the manager's face when he had realized his hired bartender for the night completely clashed with the theme of the gala.

"Scotch on the rocks."

"Preference?" Adrien scanned the shelf and found what he was looking for.

"Laphroaig."

The bartender nodded, pouring him a double without even asking.

"I love you," Adrien whispered, looking intently into his eyes. The man stopped in his tracks, turned and leaned towards him.

"You don't even know me," he whispered back with a gasp in his voice, his cheek twitching as he tried not to smile.

"Agreste. Adrien Agreste." Adrien held out his hand and the bartender smiled.

"Nice to meet you, James Bond. Name's Nino," he reached over, curling Adrien's outstretched hand into a fist and fist-bumping him instead. "But the wedding will have to wait, I'm on duty tonight."

Adrien followed his gaze, realizing that the ballroom had filled around them, most of the guests arriving and settling at their tables. A few started to straggle towards the bar.

"Just promise to remember me fondly," Adrien sighed dramatically and looked back at Nino who smirked.

"I'll keep 'em coming, man," he nodded in understanding, before moving to help the onslaught of guests that had descended at the bar.

No one had seemed to notice him yet, so Adrien took advantage of the moment. Donning his mask for the evening to keep up appearances, he sat at the bar, slowly sipping his drink and watching people arrive. The men all looked well put-together in their coat tails and victorian ties, but they paled in comparison to the women. Hoop skirt after hoop skirt descended precariously down the stairs, each one more elaborate than the next. It was so lavish and over the top, the costumes started to blend into one another.

Until they didn't.

Until he saw her.

Note: It was pointed out to me that I forgot to add a quick blurb when I cross-posted to this site. Whoops!This story is base on the song 10 minutes ago from Rogers & Hammerstein's Cinderella (which was my first Cinderella and if you've never listened to it, the original Broadway cast recording from the most recent run is fantastic!)