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It didn’t matter how many people told her she shouldn’t have told Adrien the truth. It didn’t matter if every choice she made was technically illegal. None of it mattered to Marinette—not if it meant protecting him, her golden-haired boy, the one person she would’ve destroyed the world for if it kept him safe.
She had sensed it for a long time. Even before everything, before the fall of Paris, before Gabriel’s secrets began to unravel, she knew. It started as a whisper in her chest, barely louder than a breath: He’ll know someday. You’ll lose him.
At first, it was just a thought that haunted sleepless nights. But eventually, it became a truth she learned to live with. And when the time came, she made a silent pact with herself: even if Adrien ended up hating her, even if he turned away and never looked back, it would still be worth it—because at least he’d had some peace after Gabriel’s death.
Marinette had wanted Adrien to believe that, somehow, in some small, twisted way, his father had loved him.
But the more she learned, the clearer it became: Gabriel hadn’t loved Adrien. He had used him. Used his trust, his need for approval, and—worst of all—used her.
Because Gabriel Agreste had seen the way Marinette looked at Adrien. He had known. He had weaponized her love—subtly, strategically. Manipulating her, making her feel like her choices were her own, when in truth they had been pieces of his grand design.
And she had played along. Willingly, even. Because the idea of Adrien being hurt was unbearable.
So Marinette gave him everything his father never did. Care. Time. Gentleness. Love.
Sometimes it was simple—helping him tie his shoelaces, showing him how to make pancakes, walking him through the little human things no one ever taught him. At times, she felt like a mother more than a girlfriend. But Adrien’s delight in these tiny discoveries was precious. Pure. It was beautiful to watch him light up over things others took for granted. His happiness was like sunlight on her skin, warm and a little blinding.
But the guilt… the guilt never left.
She had buried the truth under layers of carefully curated peace. She had erased files, destroyed evidence, silenced names—anything that could tarnish Adrien’s image, anything that could connect him to the monster his father had been.
She had always clung to normalcy. But sometimes, she found herself thinking things that didn’t sound like her. The end justifies the means.
She didn’t want to believe in that philosophy. And yet, somewhere along the way, she had started living by it.
Was it because Adrien was the light—and someone had to do the dirty work to keep that light alive?
Sometimes she wondered if there was something broken in her. She had always been passionate, fiercely so, but this? This was different.
She regretted some of the things she’d done just because she loved him. She knew it had crossed into obsession. She hadn’t always acted right. She wasn’t proud of all her choices.
But there were worse things in life than loving someone too much. She never hurt him. She never forced him to stay. Adrien had chosen to be with her—again and again. And that had to mean something.
Even if one day he turned away, even if he looked at her with disgust, Marinette wouldn’t regret protecting him.
She might not know if she’d offer him a lie to soften the blow, or just fall into silence. But she’d stand by her choice.
She didn’t regret giving him the illusion of a normal life.
What terrified her—what truly hurt—was the idea of losing him.
But she would face it. If the truth cost her Adrien, then so be it. Marinette would accept that price. Even if it shattered her.
Because love—real love—wasn’t about being loved back. It was about keeping the one you love safe, no matter what it took.
No matter who had to be silenced.
No matter what parts of herself she had to bury.
No matter what she became in the process.