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Chloé Bourgeois was a bit of a bitch. Well, more than a bit if she’s being honest with herself, but most days she’s willing to admit that, yeah, she can be a bit of a bitch, but she’s pretty much content with that title. Better a bitch than a pushover, right?
Chloé could also be a bit of a bully. That’s not her word, that’s what other people call her, and maybe it’s apt, but it doesn’t always feel good. She simply says what she sees, and when you live life as a bit of a bitch, maybe some of the things she sees are less than kind. It’s not her fault that her classmates are utterly ridiculous.
She doesn’t have many friends (she has Sabrina, who is more of a minion, and Adrien, but that’s always been a matter of circumstance, and—as much as she hates to admit it—he seems to be drifting away recently. That damned schedule of his keeps him far too busy), and her blunt commentary on everything everyone does doesn’t help her make them. Really the only person who has been safe from her bullying (such an ugly word) these many years is that Dupain-Cheng girl. Not because Chloé didn’t find the girl extremely odd (she was very peculiar, and Chloé was quite verbal about that), but simply because she never seemed to mind when Chloé said rude things about her. Whenever the mayor’s daughter made a snippy comment about Marinette’s head being lost in the clouds, Marinette would simply smile and make a point of wishing the girl a good day before leaving.
So, yeah, Chloé doesn’t have many friends, but beside Sabrina and Adrien, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the closest person she’d consider to one. Not that she’d ever admit it.
That’s why, when the Rossi girl showed up and started lying, and lying about Marinette Dupain-Cheng specifically, Chloé took that personally.
She didn’t confront Lila outright—that would simply not do for Chloé’s image—but she did confront the liar in the bathroom one day after class.
“You’ll leave Dupain-Cheng alone, capisce, Rossi?”
“And why would I do that?”
Chloé looked down at her nails, feigning a casual detachment from this situation. “Because she’s under my protection, now, and I don’t appreciate people coming after those I consider mine. You’ll leave her alone, or you’ll face the consequences.” Before Lila could respond, Chloé swept past her, leaving the Italian girl to stew in anger.
Standing just outside the bathroom door was Marinette herself, a contemplative look on her face. When Chloé saw her, her eyes narrowed. “How much of that did you hear, Dupain-Cheng?”
Marinette smiled softly. “Enough, Chloé. Thank you.”
Chloé sniffs again and turns up her nose. “Yeah, well, if you tell anyone about this, you’ll regret it.” But then she looks down at Marinette, who is still smiling. “But, uh, if little miss Lie-la gives you anymore trouble, make sure you tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Of course, thank you, again, Chloé. Make sure you leave your windows open tonight, you’ll need some fresh air, I think.”
Chloé furrows her eyebrow and turns to ask Marinette what exactly she means by that, but before she can, the girl is walking away. “Leave my windows open, who does she think she is?”
Chloé does leave her windows open that night. Not because Dupain-Cheng told her to, thank you very much, but because the suite was a little bit stuffy and, really, when was the last time she had aired out her bedroom?
So, with balcony doors ajar, Chloé sat down and began to do her work for the evening, and she isn’t quite aware of the cool breeze that blows in. She is, however, distinctly aware when that breeze stops. Glancing up, confused, she takes a step back in shock and fear when she sees that there’s a person on the balcony, holy shit.
“Chloé Bourgeois,” the person says, and no one who sounds like that, whose voice is like bells of a cathedral, can be dangerous. Chloé steps out onto the balcony, eyeing the cloaked figure.
“Who are you?” The slight tremor of fear and confusion in Chloé’s voice is so small as to be almost unnoticeable, but Chloé knows it’s there, and she can figure that this person who has managed to get onto her private balcony at the top of her daddy’s hotel can probably hear it as well.
The figure smiles and the sky above them lights up as if the stars are dancing in joy. “You can call me the Guardian, Chloé, and I have come with a task that only you can complete.” The woman extends her hand and sitting in her palm is a comb. “Chloé Bourgeois, this is the Miraculous of the Bee, which grants the power of Subjection. You will use it for the greater good in the battle against Hawkmoth, and when he is defeated, you will return it to me. Can I trust you?”
Chloé raises an eyebrow. “You want me to be a superhero?” She isn’t dumb, she knows that someone has been going around handing out new “Miraculous,” if Rena Rouge and Carapace are anything to go by, and now that same person is here, offering Queen Bitch Chloé Bourgeois the same opportunity.
The Guardian nods. “I’ve seen the real you, Chloé, and not just the face you put on for others. I believe that you will make a remarkable superhero. I’ve asked if I can trust you, but I know I can trust you. The real question is, do you think you can trust me?”
Chloé looks down at the comb and back at the Guardian (her eyes are so deep, so old, who is this woman?) and finally nods, lifting her nose so that the Guardian doesn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it.” She grabs the comb—the Miraculous—and fastens it into her hair.
“You and Pollen will be very good for each other, Chloé. She’ll explain everything.” And then the Guardian is gone, leaving Chloé alone on a balcony, just the girl and her thoughts.