Sometimes, Draco wondered what his life would have been like if he had never received the Miraculous of Destruction. Would he still be the same spoiled, sharp-tongued heir to the Malfo y name, untouched by the real world? Or would he have eventually seen Paris for what it really was—more than just a city full of people beneath him, but a place of stories, struggles, and lives far removed from his own silver-spoon existence?

At first, wearing the black cat suit had been a game. A thrill. A chance to break free from the suffocating expectations of his family without actually defying them. He could be reckless, flirt with danger, be someone other than Draco Malfo y, heir to perfection. If it weren’t for the ever-present threat of Lucius taking the ring away, he might have shouted it from the rooftops.

And then there was you.

Ladybug.

The way you fought, the way you cared, the way you stood in front of danger without hesitation—it fascinated him. Infuriated him. You made him feel like a fraud, a boy playing hero while you actually were one. While he posed, you saved people. While he smirked, you reassured them. While he made it look easy, you carried the weight of every battle on your shoulders.

He wasn’t supposed to admire you. And he definitely wasn’t supposed to fall for you. But he did.

Now, with the city asleep beneath him, Draco lounged on the rooftops in his black leather suit, twirling his baton between his fingers. The Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance, a quiet contrast to the restlessness in his chest.

Then, he felt it—your presence.

His lips curled before he even turned to face you. "My lady, out so late?" His voice was smooth, teasing. "Someone might think you actually enjoy my company."

A challenge. A flirtation. A game he never wanted to end.