Chapter Text
The night was dark and cloudy. From her lounge chair atop the rooftop of Le Grand Paris hotel, Chloe Bourgeois sat with one leg over the other, scrolling through her phone with a pout etched across her face. The wind toyed with her blonde hair, sending loose strands into her vision, but she made no move to brush them aside. She was too fixated on the screen, on the endless tide of opinions about her—Queen Bee.
Or rather, ex-Queen Bee. She was removed from the team after Hawkmoth personally went after her, even though she was able to resist his offer.
Chloe’s fingers paused as she scrolled through a post on some random Ladyblog-adjacent forum. The caption read: *With Chloe Bourgeois off the miraculous team, we can finally stop worrying about her selfish decisions putting everyone else at risk.*
The first comment underneath read: *Honestly, I’m glad. She never deserved to be a hero in the first place.*
Chloe huffed, her lips curling in frustration. “As if any of you nobodies would know what it’s like to *actually* be a hero,” she muttered, her tone defensive but with far less venom than it once held.
Still, she couldn’t deny it stung. The first few posts she’d stumbled across after her unceremonious removal had left her rolling her eyes, but the more she scrolled, the harder it became to ignore the bitter edge of shame creeping into her chest. Some people had hated her from the start, that much was clear. Thankfully, scattered among the harsh critiques and biting jokes were a few kinder voices.
*Say what you want about Chloe, but she actually stood up to Hawkmoth. I’ll miss Queen Bee.*
*Queen Bee might’ve been rough around the edges, but she saved lives too.*
Those comments left an unfamiliar knot in her throat. She hated that she cared, but she *did* care. It wasn’t fair—she had tried. Sure, she’d made mistakes, but hadn’t they all? Ladybug had told her it was too dangerous to keep her on the team after Hawkmoth had targeted her family to get to her. Chloe was a liability now, a weak point in their armor. She’d tried to argue, but the conversation had been over before it started.
And now here she was. Alone.
“Heroes are overrated anyway,” she said aloud, though the words rang hollow in the cool evening air. She tilted her head back, letting the wind brush her cheeks. The rooftop had become her haven over the past few weeks, a place to hide from her father’s hovering and Sabrina’s well-meaning but suffocating attempts at comfort. Up here, she didn’t have to pretend.
She scrolled a little further, her grip on the phone tightening when she came across another post. A picture of Queen Bee in the air, her yellow and black suit standing out against the background, captioned simply: *She could’ve been great.*
“Could’ve been great…” Chloe murmured, her voice soft, almost wistful. A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard, forcing it down.
A sudden fluttering noise broke her from her thoughts. She glanced up, her brow furrowing as she searched for the source of the noise. At first, she saw nothing but the glow of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. But then, out of the corner of her eye, something dark darted past, too quick to make out.
“What the—” she started, standing and taking a cautious step back.
The sound became louder, accompanied by the distinct silhouette of a bat cutting through the night air. Chloe frowned, watching as it looped around, its movements erratic.
“Shoo!” she called, waving a hand as if the creature would obey. “This is *my* roof. Go bother someone else!”
But the bat didn’t veer away. Instead, it descended in a sharp dive, heading straight for her.
Chloe’s heart leapt into her throat as she stumbled back, her foot catching on the lounge chair. She flailed, barely managing to keep her balance as the bat’s dark form closed the distance.
“Ugh, no! Gross! Get away!” she shrieked, but her protests were cut short as the bat collided with her neck.
She felt a sharp, stinging pain—two pinpricks that sent a shockwave through her body. A strangled gasp escaped her lips, her phone clattering to the ground as her knees buckled.
Her vision blurred, the edges fading into darkness. She tried to move, to scream again, but her body felt heavy, like she was sinking into quicksand. The world was spinning, the lights of Paris was the last thing she saw before everything went black.
The first thing Chloe noticed when she woke was the light—bright, golden sunlight spilling over her closed eyelids. Her head throbbed faintly, and the cold concrete beneath her cheek was anything but comfortable.
Groaning, she pushed herself up, blinking against the glare as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The rooftop stretched out before her, exactly as it had been the night before. Her phone lay a few feet away, its screen cracked.
“What…” she murmured, pressing a hand to her temple. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Had she passed out?
Her fingers brushed against her neck, and a faint jolt of pain made her wince. A vague memory surfaced—fluttering wings, a sharp sting—but it felt hazy, like a dream she couldn’t quite piece together.
Rising to her feet, she dusted off her clothes and made her way back inside, the warmth of the hotel interior wrapping around her like a blanket. The elevator ride to her suite felt endless, her mind still muddled as she tried to make sense of the strange ache in her neck.
Once inside her room, Chloe headed straight for the bathroom. She flipped on the light and stared at her reflection, expecting to see the usual in the morning—messy hair, smudged mascara.
Instead, her eyes went wide.
There, on the side of her neck, were two small puncture marks. The skin around them was pale, almost bruised, and when she pressed a finger to the area, it sent a shiver down her spine.
“It wasn’t a dream,” she whispered, her voice almost silent.