Gabriel sighed as he rubbed his tired eyes beneath his glasses. At his age, staying up all night was like courting exhaustion for days. The Gala was only hours away, and while every fiber of his being urged him to oversee the final preparations, he trusted Adrien and Marinette's judgment on the matter. Still, there was an image to uphold-a carefully curated one at that. He smoothed the front of his crisp white shirt, though the effort felt futile against the weight of his fatigue. The sharp click of heels against the polished floor broke the quiet. Gabriel didn't turn, already familiar with the sound. Nathalie. Her presence was as constant as the ticking of his desk clock.

A moment later, her hands settled on his shoulders, grounding him. Gabriel reached up to rest one of his hands over hers, offering a gentle squeeze.

"Hi," Nathalie said softly, as though hesitant to disturb the fragile silence.

Gabriel tilted his head back, his tired eyes meeting hers. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Hello," he murmured, his voice tinged with weariness but warm.

"Are you ready for tonight?" she asked, her tone light but probing.

He exhaled slowly, as if the very question carried too much weight. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Gabriel finally stood, though he kept her hands within his grasp. Ready? Tonight would mark the announcement of his impending retirement-a move long overdue but still shrouded in uncertainty. It was also his chance to address the whispers about his frequent absences and the looming shadow of London.

"Right now, I'm only half awake," he admitted with a wry smile. "Despite resting earlier."

Nathalie raised an eyebrow, folding her arms as she tilted her head knowingly. "Rest? What rest? As soon as you got back, you locked yourself in your office. I doubt you even sat down for more than five minutes."

Gabriel grumbled, averting his gaze. "You know what I mean."

Her quiet laugh softened the tension in the room. "Gabriel, you need more than half measures. You've been pushing yourself too hard-again. One all-nighter could cost you far more than you realize." She stepped closer, reaching out to adjust his tie, her movements gentle but efficient. "You don't need to prove anything. Adrien and Marinette have it under control. Trust them."

His expression softened, the usual sharp edges dulled by exhaustion and a rare sense of vulnerability. "Perhaps you're right," he conceded, though his tone carried the faintest note of reluctance.

"Of course I am," Nathalie said with a small smile. "You should get some rest before tonight. You'll need to be sharp, especially if you want the press to believe you're doing this by choice."

Gabriel chuckled quietly, though the sound was more resigned than amused. "You always know exactly what to say. I don't know what I'd do without you, Nathalie."

Her hands froze briefly against his tie before she resumed her task, smoothing the fabric down with precision. "You won't have to find out," she said, her voice steady but soft. "Not if you let me help you. Tonight, I'll take care of everything. You just focus on yourself for once."

Gabriel studied her for a long moment, his gaze lingering. "I can't wait for London," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "That is... if you're still planning to come with me."

Nathalie met his eyes, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. She reached up to brush a speck of lint off his jacket, her fingers lingering for just a second too long. "I wouldn't dream of letting you go alone," she said simply, her words carrying a weight that belied their simplicity.

He smiled-genuine, if faint. "Good." He placed his hands on her shoulders briefly before stepping back. "Then I'll trust you to handle things while I... attempt to rest."

"As you should," Nathalie said, her smile widening just enough to lighten the moment. "Now go, Gabriel. I'll make sure everything is perfect by the time you return."

With a nod, he turned and walked away, the faintest spring in his step. Nathalie watched him go, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the task at hand.

Adrien stood in the middle of the grand hall, his hands resting on his hips as his gaze swept across the room. The space was nearly unrecognizable from the chaos of the night before. The once-empty tables now gleamed with crisp white linens, gold-rimmed china, and centerpieces of deep red roses intertwined with twinkling fairy lights. Rows of chairs lined the stage, their positions meticulously measured to perfection. Despite the transformation, Adrien couldn't shake the knot of tension sitting in his chest.

"Testing, one, two. Testing," he spoke into the microphone, his voice reverberating crisply off the high ceilings. He adjusted the stand, crouching briefly to double-check the connections at the base. The sound system was flawless, but it didn't stop him from fiddling with the knobs one last time before stepping back to assess the stage.

The staff bustled around him, their movements quick and purposeful. A pair of workers carried a massive ice sculpture shaped like a snowflake toward its display, while a florist made last-minute adjustments to the garlands draped along the staircases. In the far corner, a small team arranged gift bags at the entrance, ensuring each one was perfectly aligned. Everything was falling into place, yet Adrien couldn't help but feel like something-or someone-was missing.

He glanced at his watch. 4:00 PM. Two hours until the red carpet. Marinette was supposed to be here by now. She'd promised to oversee the final walkthrough with the models and ensure that the salvaged designs were ready to shine. Adrien frowned, the knot in his chest tightening. Marinette never cut it this close.

His eyes wandered across the room again, searching for her familiar figure. Instead, he spotted Nathalie near the dessert table, her clipboard in hand as she directed the caterers. Adrien weaved through the flurry of activity to reach her, dodging a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses.

"Nathalie," he called, raising his voice over the hum of conversation and movement.

She turned sharply, an eyebrow raised in her usual no-nonsense manner. "What is it, Adrien?"

"Have you seen Marinette?" he asked, unable to keep the concern from his tone. "She was supposed to be here already. I thought she'd want to check on the models and the dresses."

Nathalie glanced at her clipboard, flipping through a few pages. "She still has time. She's likely at the atelier or preparing herself for the evening."

Adrien shook his head, his brow furrowing. "She wouldn't leave it this late. Marinette's always here early, double-checking everything. It's not like her to-"

"She's fine, Adrien," Nathalie interrupted, her tone softening. "Sometimes even Marinette needs to take a moment for herself. Last night was a long one for everyone. She knows what she's doing. Don't overthink it."

Adrien bit the inside of his cheek, Nathalie's reassurance doing little to ease his worry. Marinette had poured her heart and soul into salvaging the collection, staying up as late as anyone. What if she'd pushed herself too hard? What if she hadn't slept?

"I'm going to check backstage," he said, already turning on his heel.

"Make it quick," Nathalie called after him. "We're on a tight schedule."

Adrien's footsteps echoed as he made his way down the side corridor, his mind racing with thoughts of Marinette. The dressing rooms were abuzz with activity when he reached them. Assistants zippered garment bags open and closed, revealing the intricate designs that had miraculously been reconstructed overnight. Models flitted about, their hair in curlers as makeup artists dabbed finishing touches onto their faces.

Despite the lively energy, Adrien couldn't shake his worry. He peeked into the dressing rooms one by one, scanning each for Marinette. All he found were racks of clothing and hurried assistants rushing between tasks. No sign of her.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Marinette had to be somewhere, but where? Was she okay? Was something wrong?

As he stepped back into the main hall, Adrien's gaze flickered to the stage where the spotlight test had begun. The brilliant white beam illuminated the podium where his father would stand later that evening, making his retirement announcement. Everything was ready-everything except the one person Adrien needed to see.

Where was she?

Marinette stood in front of her bedroom mirror, surrounded by the organized chaos of her makeshift beauty station. Golden light bathed the room, illuminating scattered tools, sparkling accessories, and her masterpiece dress hanging on the door. The bed, buried under fabric samples and last-minute sketches, spoke of the frantic preparation leading to this moment. Yet, now, a strange calm had settled over her.

She inhaled the soothing scent of lavender from the candles on her dresser, grounding herself. The excitement simmering beneath her skin was tangled with the weight of tonight's expectations. This wasn't just about her designs or representing Gabriel Agreste-it was about her. Her dedication, her late nights, her belief in herself.

Her gaze landed on the dress-a deep royal blue masterpiece, sleek and bold, with intricate lace and beading that shimmered in the light. She had poured her heart into every stitch, crafting a gown not just for the Gala but for herself. It was a statement, a promise: she belonged here.

Crossing the room, she ran her fingers along the fabric, its smooth texture a testament to her meticulous work. The dress mirrored the woman she had become-ambitious, fearless, unapologetically Marinette. Sliding it on, she marveled at the perfect fit, the way it hugged her form while exuding elegance. She adjusted the straps, slipped into shimmering heels, and felt the transformation complete.

She twirled in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection. No longer the shy, self-doubting girl, she looked every inch the confident designer she had fought to become. You've got this, Marinette, she told herself. Tonight is everything we've worked for.

Her fingers smoothed an invisible wrinkle on the dress as she thought about the crowd awaiting her-the designers, influencers, celebrities. And then there was Adrien. Her heart skipped at the thought of him. He had been her quiet anchor in the storm, believing in her when she wavered. That memory steadied her resolve.

With one last glance at her reflection, Marinette lifted her chin, determination sparking in her eyes. Tonight wasn't just about showcasing her work-it was about proving to herself that she could succeed on her own terms. This was her moment, and she wasn't going to let anything-or anyone-dim her light.

She grabbed her purse, slipped on her shoes, and stepped out of her room, a quiet thrill building in her chest. The Gala awaited. So did her future.