The ride home was quiet at first — not tense, not awkward. Just… typical.
Adrien stared out the window, jaw clenched like it always was after a school pickup. Hoodie pulled low, earphones in without music, pretending he wasn't still embarrassed from his mom's grand entrance twenty minutes ago.
Ava drove with one hand on the wheel, rings glittering, nails sharp and glossy. The windows were down halfway, wind tugging at her soft waves, Prada sunglasses shielding eyes that never missed a thing.
After a few minutes, she clicked the music off.
Adrien didn't flinch, but his shoulders definitely stiffened.
"Alright," she said casually, "let's talk about your dating life."
"No."
"Yes."
"Mom, no."
She glanced at him, smirking. "Adrien."
"No."
"You had someone different on your arm last weekend at the gala," she said, tapping the wheel like a rhythm only she could hear. "Blonde. Chanel No. 5. And a fake laugh that made me want to pull fire alarms."
He muttered, "You weren't even near us."
"I didn't need to be near you to clock her intentions in one look."
"She's just a friend."
"Mmhmm," Ava hummed, like she'd just watched him lie in 4K.
He groaned and dropped his head against the window again.
"You change girls like you change shoes," she said, still sweet but with that Ava Carter spice. "Are you trying to test how many broken hearts Bellmere Prep can handle before someone files a lawsuit?"
He shot her a deadpan look. "I'm not that bad."
"You're worse." She turned the corner into their neighborhood. "Do you even remember their names?"
"Yes."
A beat.
She arched a brow. "Last Thursday?"
"…No comment."
Ava snorted.
Adrien tried not to laugh. "They know it's casual. I'm not promising anything."
"You think you can keep your heart locked behind your jawline and your game." She leaned back against the seat. "But sooner or later, one of them is gonna break you."
"Not likely."
Ava clicked her tongue, grinning. "That's what I said at seventeen. Then I married your father."
Adrien winced like it was a jump scare. "Wow. Low blow."
"Just saying, baby. Be careful. Pretty boys attract attention. But the wrong kind knows how to peel a crown right off your head."
He shook his head with a crooked smile. "You always gotta turn it into a metaphor."
"I'm a mom and a CEO," she shrugged. "It's in the job description."
They rolled up the long driveway, black gates swinging open on instinct.
The mansion came into view — glass, marble, and elegance behind hedges no one could see over.
She parked the car. Turned to him.
"I don't care who you date," she said, suddenly soft. "Just don't let anyone treat you like you're disposable. Not even for fun."
"I won't."
"And don't let yourself treat them that way either," she added, gaze narrowing just enough.
Adrien nodded once. "Got it."
He stepped out of the car. She did too — tossing the keys to a waiting valet like she'd just returned from a million-dollar deal, not a high school pickup.
"You still embarrassed?" she teased, catching up to him on the front steps.
"Still recovering."
She smiled. "Good."
Then, without warning, she slung an arm around his shoulder, walking them up toward the front doors like the world belonged to them.
Because in some ways, it did.
The mansion welcomed them like it always did — with velvet silence and soft light pouring through the atrium skylights. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and bergamot, a signature Ava insisted the staff keep constant, like a mood she refused to drop.
Adrien tossed his bag on the couch and kicked off his sneakers, flopping onto the cushions like he hadn't just been the most watched boy at Bellmere Prep five minutes ago.
Ava walked in slower — heels clicking with purpose, coat sliding off her shoulders like silk. She hung it on the brass rack by the door, then turned to look at him.
"You should've let me pick you up in the Bentley. The Porsche says 'I'm mysterious.' The Bentley says 'Touch my son and I'll ruin your life legally.'"
Adrien threw a cushion at her.
She caught it. Smirked.
He groaned. "You scare half the school, you know."
"I should scare all of it," she said, walking into the kitchen. "Have you seen their uniforms? They wear khakis like they're preparing for war."
"Mom."
"You need to date someone with taste."
"You mean like you?"
"No, like someone who respects me."
Adrien laughed, full and real this time — head tilted back, the kind of laugh he only gave her. She poured herself sparkling water, then refilled his protein bottle, sliding it across the marble like a practiced move.
"So," she said, leaning on the island. "Are we talking about the new girl? The one who wears lip gloss like it's armor?"
"There is no new girl," he replied, grabbing the bottle.
She arched a perfect brow. "There's always a new girl."
He opened his mouth.
"And if you say 'we're just friends' one more time, I'm going to take a lie detector to your group chat."
Adrien shook his head, walking toward the stairs. "I can't do this with you right now."
Ava followed. "Yes, you can."
"No—"
"Yes, you can. You're a Carter. We don't run from confrontation, we give it champagne and lipstick."
"Mom, you're so dramatic."
"Thank you."
They reached the landing, and Ava grabbed his arm gently before he could vanish down the hall.
"You don't have to tell me everything," she said, voice softer now. "But I like knowing. Even the mess. Especially the mess. You can be perfect for the world — but with me?"
She touched his chest.
"Be real."
Adrien met her eyes. For a second, he didn't say anything.
Then: "There's a girl."
She smiled.
"But I don't want her to be just a girl."
Ava's expression shifted. Warm. A little surprised. Protective, instantly.
"Well," she said. "Then you better not screw it up, golden boy."