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Chapter Text

July 8th 2021

Marinette believed that she had lived a good life.

At thirteen, she was the revered heroine Ladybug, sworn saviour of the City of Love. At fourteen, she became the Guardian of the Miraculous. They were coveted titles, both sought after and feared. And Marinette was more than happy to carry them for as long as she lived. And by eighteen, ranking at possibly one of the greatest personal achievements of her teenage life, she was an intern at one of the biggest fashion houses in Paris—no, the world— Gabriel.  

Growing up, Marinette was surrounded by fame and people who oozed talent out of every pore. She had once counted Alya Cesaire as her best friend, who was now on her way to becoming one of the top reporters in the country and a widely admired blogger who posted the most consistently reputable and up to date source of Miraculous information. There was also Nino Lahiffe, her childhood friend who she supposed now was better known for his pseudonym DJ Lahiffe. Nino was a rising star in France's music and the entertainment industry, whose name will no doubt be household in every Parisian home in the years to come. Her other peers such as Mylène, had starred in numerous period dramas and movies, and Kim, who became one of France's youngest swimmers to have ever won an Olympic medal. Yes, there was no doubt that many of her other classmates from Dupont had gone on to become more successful than she could imagine.

She should be lucky to have known them at all. And she was lucky.

Above it all, her true tour de force was her becoming Marinette Agreste. Marinette, who was married to the man of her dreams and heart’s desire, Paris’ Golden Boy himself— Adrien Agreste, the biggest name in fashion, who was famously dubbed the Sunshine of Paris. His name danced on the tip of everyone’s tongue. His image was captured on every flashing headline, and lingered on everyone’s minds. And she? Marinette was a lucky and ordinary girl, the mere plain jane that married him. A romantic tale of rags to riches. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a baker's daughter. An aspiring fashion designer, who had one of the most powerful men in Europe's fashion scene as a husband. It was a story that seemed to have been pulled straight out of a fairy tale.

Through everything, Marinette always tried to do good whenever and wherever she could. She took the extra hours at Gabriel, she never once complained if other employees pushed their work onto her. She never once gave up even if she had to carry burdens that weren’t hers to bear. Even when rumours spread that she was a fraud, she didn’t let it get her down. When the press had accused her of using Adrien for his money, she didn’t let it break her.

In the end, she had a job in fashion, in Gabriel. The kind of job that countless of young aspiring designers like her would kill for. She was married to Adrien Agreste, the boy she pined for since she met him, and they had the most perfect wedding.

So really, she was living the good life, right?

No. Wrong.

That was a lie. Her life, in the end was nothing but a slow unravelling of tragedy. And Marinette had never imagined that it would end this badly.

‘Is this what dying feels like?’

Marinette felt the bite of the cold in her bones, long before the chill of death could claim her. Her body lay crumpled on the floor, and her leg was twisted at an unnatural angle where she writhed painfully on a steel panel leading towards Emilie Agreste’s tomb. Dying rays of evening light beamed through the window— its round frame and butterfly motif watched them overhead, like a divine unblinking eye. 

A witness to the events that would soon unfold.

Everything hurt. The thick and bitter taste of copper pooled in her mouth, choking back her breath. Her vision swam, and the ceiling seemed a thousand miles away. Above her, the industrial and brutalist roof stretched on, ugly, and real. Very much unlike the rest of the Agreste mansion which resided above, with all of its facades and false light, masking the horror which it hid underneath.

The Crypt. 

Slick with blood, her fingers trembled uselessly where they laid curled back against the polished steel panel beneath her— cold and unyielding. Marinette's only solace came from the soft hum of the discarded Miraculous Box nearby. Even then, she could achingly sense the Kwami within were thrumming with despair, fear and helplessness. 

An eerie dirge, to accompany the death of a Guardian.

Lila’s heels clicked nearby, with that same mocking sway, like she did back when they were in Dupont. Poised like a predator, bored of playing with its prey. Bored— of waiting for its prey to die. 

“You never learn,” came Lila’s voice. Soft and sickeningly sweet, she lets out a low mocking laugh. “Always so stubborn. Still, the good girl— still, playing the victim. Even when faced with the end, you’re still you. Of course you and that bug are the same person.”

She sneers, her hand coming down to harshly grip Marinette by her face. Her long acrylic claws dug into her cheeks, smearing blood on her soft porcelain skin. Marinette glared into Lila’s murky green eyes, her own burning with anger and unshed tears.

“Oh look at her Gabriel, she’s going to cry,” Lila crooned, tilting Marinette's head forcefully towards Emilie's tomb. Marinette lets out a low hiss at the sight. The light behind the seemingly deathless woman, pulsing slow and steady like a dying heartbeat. 

Beyond her blurred vision, her head throbbed sickeningly with pain and her earlobes burned from where Lila had ripped them open to steal her earrings. The mangled flesh hung raw and trembled bloodily, flush against her pale cold skin. Which what once rested the Miraculous of creation, now was a torn crater, the edges jagged, and weeping.

Marinette watched on in silent horror when Gabriel Agreste stood before his comatose wife, her skin white and colder than stone. He lifted his hand, which glimmered with Plagg’s ring, to press against the frosted glass. His earlobes sparkled with Tikki’s earrings, emitting a soft but ominous ruby red glow. Marinette gave out a slow tremulous exhale.

He turned his head, and nodded towards Adrien. His cold dead eyes, glimmered with conviction, which would only end in the fusion of Life and Destruction.

“Come, my son.”

“N-no,” Marinette gasped. She tried to lift her arm, and thrashed weakly in Lila’s vice grip. She made a weak attempt to turn her head agonisingly to the one person who might still save her— save the world, and stop Hawkmoth.

Her kitty. Her partner. Her husband.

“Adrien…” she pleaded. Her voice raw, and tasting like rust.  

He stood silently at Gabriel’s side; his eyes empty. He looked away.

“Adrien…Please, don’t do this.” Marinette begged. For Adrien to do something, anything. She writhed, even when every nerve in her body screamed and begged for her to stop. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing! Please, stop this!”

Lila laughed a cruel, victorious sound as she dug her nails further into the soft flesh of Marinette's face. The heroine cried out in pain, as the sadistic model leaned in closely and gripped the dying heroine by the hair. Craning her head which dripped with crimson in a such a torturous way, just so that Marinette would be faced at her would-be killer.

“I’ve always hated you. So just shut the fuck up and die already Marinette. It’s the end of you anyway. You’ve lost. Just give up.” Lila hissed as she leaned in even closer, her breath hot against Marinette’s bleeding face. Her smirk grew, as she scratched another wound into the heroine's mutilated cheek.

“Still clinging onto hope, bug? Look, at me while I’m talking to you, cunt.” Lila growled. “I told you Adrien would be mine, that I would take everything away from you. Even your sad pathetic life.”

Marinette whimpered in pain; the sound as broken as she felt at Adrien's betrayal. She bit her lip, unwilling to give Lila any more satisfaction of hearing further cries of her agony.

“Eat shit and die, Lila,” Marinette spat in the brunette’s face. The unholy mix of mucous and blood, dripped everywhere onto the model's face who could only scream in disgust.

Lila slammed Marinette’s head down against the ground with a sharp crack. A burst of white and static danced behind Marinette’s eyes as the pain splintered through her skull like lightning. The pain is nearly enough to drive her into unconsciousness. It almost makes her forget about the searing pain in her side from her stab wound, only this is magnified by a thousand. 

“STUPID BITCH.”

Marinette didn’t care what Lila wanted to do with her. She didn’t care if she was bleeding, or that her body was too broken in different places for her to do anything about it. She wished didn't care that her husband, who was Chat Noir all along, had turned traitor. That she could pretend that her heart wasn't twisting in the same different directions as her limbs, trying to pinpoint when it was that it all went horribly wrong. 

Closing her eyes, a small crimson river ran down the side of her cheek. And she wished she didn't care that Hawkmoth had the miraculouses, and the entire world as they knew it was doomed. That she too, was doomed, dying, and marked for death.

And Marinette couldn't do anything to stop it. Her eyes snap back open, as pain burns through her body. 

Lila continued her relentless assault on the heroine, ripping out her hair and scratching up her face. It burned. Marinette suppressed a scream with every sharp strike that Lila laid ruthlessly against her. She slowly felt her life leaking away from her, her vision darkened and blurred around the edges. It didn't take long for her to begin feeling the numbness from her blood loss begin to sink in. She could barely register the pain the longer the assault went on. 

Her head lolled to the side and watched as Tikki and Plagg cowered in both fear for her…and for themselves. For what they would be forced to do. A mixture of tears and blood welled up in her eyes.

Tikki, Plagg…!! Oh, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me...!

For what felt like an eternity, Lila only ceased her assault on her, when Gabriel, standing a little distance from the carnage with Adrien at his side, let out a weary sigh.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there by Emilie’s tomb, backlit by the glowing light around her coffin. His expression was unreadable, as though it were chiselled in place of a real human expression. His mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line—unmoved and uninterested. As if he were presiding over an audit, not watching his daughter-in-law bleeding out in front of him.

“Miss Rossi, that’s enough. Leave Miss Dupain-Cheng be. She won’t be needed in our new world once I make my Wish. It’ll just be a waste of your energy.”

Adrien nodded sagely, and avoided looking at Marinette as he weakly motioned for Lila to release her. Marinette felt her stomach sink and her blood go cold. It was as if he never even knew her. Tears prickled her eyes.

“W-why,” Marinette rasped, when Lila finally released her grip on her, “Adrien…you said…you told me…you told me, that you l-loved me.”

Lila scoffed, as she made her way to clutch Adrien by the arm. Her eyes glittered with mirth and her mouth morphed into a malicious sneer.

When Adrien finally looked at Marinette, he stared at her silently like he was considering her for the first time. As if they weren’t just to together and in love this morning. As if they haven't been together as since they were 14.

He blinked once. “I did,” he murmured. He turned to look at his mother’s glass tomb. His grim face set with determination. “But I love Mother more.“

“I’m sure you understand Marinette. You’re our Ladybug. Father’s wish will fix everything."

Gabriel hummed absently, his eyes hardly ever gazing over Marinette’s broken body, before he turned to regard his catatonic wife once again. “You have been a constant thorn in my side. A threat to everything I’ve built, Ladybug,” he spat harshly. “You would have ruined our future. Adrien’s future. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Miss Rossi would’ve been a more perfect match for my son,” he said with a sigh. Lila preened from where she clutched an apathetic Adrien by the arm. “But at least you were good at something, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Your life, will bring back my precious Emilie.”

At once, Gabriel raised his hands, and chanted, “Now. Tikki, Plagg, REVEAL YOURSELVES!”

Lila snuggled closer into Adrien, as she looked back at Marinette with undisguised mirth. “Bye-bye, Marinette.”

"You coward..you fucking coward!" Marinette cried, as the bright light blinded her. It was too late. He was going to wish back his wife who has long been dead to this world, and sacrifice Marinette in her place.

And in that moment, as the world around them starting shifting and flickering with flashes of images and mess of noise, she realised with growing horror of what was going to happen to her.

This wasn’t a final stand. This wasn’t just them making a wish to bring back Emilie Agreste, and morphing the world around them to do it.

No.

It was an execution.

And she was to be their sacrificial lamb of slaughter.

There would be no miraculous cure. No backup plans. No Ladybug to save the day. No Chat Noir to help.

This was how Marinette Dupain-Cheng would die.

Alone.

Betrayed.

Forgotten.

Marinette cursed them. She hated them. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. What the fuck did she do to deserve this? She wasted her teen years, her childhood and her life. And all for what? To die, cold and alone on the floor of Hawkmoth’s lair? To become an instrument to their grand plan and become just another footnote in history whose death with be misconstrued as a villain forever while they get to live happily ever after?

No. No! She won’t let this happen. She can’t let this happen.

She stared up at Gimmi. They listened on absent-mindedly to the whims of her three killers, their arms crossing with boredom. And for a moment, the deity stole a curious glance at Marinette who laid as still and as broken on the floor. Or with as much curiosity as grand deities and beings of the universe are capable of processing— at the Ladybug holder bleeding out on the ground behind the three people who summoned them.

As Gabriel’s voice rang out, triumphant and clear. “Gimmi, I wish—”

No. Marinette’s mind demanded, screamed it, even as her body failed. The words—the sacred, forbidden language of the Guardians—rose unbidden to her lips. Words spoken to her in secret by Master Fu long ago, before his untimely retirement. Her final anchor. Her last defiance. Her mouth moved, blood trickling in the corners and raw on her throat.

She prayed that Gimmi would hear her. Prayed to every deity she knew- to her beloved Kwamis who served by her side for 6 years, that Gimmi would hear her, understand her and take mercy.

At once, Gimmi’s luminous eyes flickered to her. Their head tilted curiously.

“Ah… how curious you are, little Guardian. So stubborn, even on death’s doorstep. Very well! It shall be done."

Gimmi giggled, with arms spread, eyes sparkling and smile wide. They clapped, giving one toothy grin and laugh, before a bright light engulfed everyone.

And just like that, Gimmi vanished. Leaving Lila, Gabriel and Adrien struck with confusion as Emilie’s body continued to sleep dead in her tomb.

Marinette smirked, and felt a maddening cackle begin to bubble up within her, but her body was too broken to laugh.

The deed was done. And while Lila, Adrien and Gabriel surrounded her, trying to force her awake to fix what Gimmi could not do, Marinette felt herself letting go of whatever tether she had on this life, and she succumbed to her wounds as she died. And the last thing she felt was a single tear, which trickled down her cheek, while she felt her own life rapidly slipping through her fingers like water. Their voices fading out into a vast space of nothingness.

She had done it; she had prevented them from making their wish. As her final duty as Ladybug and Guardian of the Miraculous, the universe would be spared from the backlash. She couldn’t be happier. But, despite the victory, the bitter feeling of regret bubbled in her slow rising chest. Never once, did Marinette feel genuine love. Not in her childhood, or adulthood. The man she thought loved her back the way that she loved him, abandoned her. Betrayed her. Played a hand in her death.

And the life she wanted to live? Wasted, devoted to a living a lie. Working endlessly as an abused intern in Gabriel despite her talents only being diminished by her very own father-in-law. And her reputation as a designer, in shambles all because of Lila.

Marinette wished for a lot of things, as her life flashed before her eyes. There was so much life left for her. So much more in this world she wanted to do, live and see. She wished that she could experience love once more. She wished that she didn't work so hard so nothing. She wanted relive the rest of her life. She would do anything, for a second chance at a new life. If she knew then, what she knew now, she wouldn’t have squandered it like she did. She wouldn’t have wasted her life on things that didn’t matter. She wouldn't have let Lila destroy her life before Marinette had the chance to even taste it, enjoy it, live it, love it. 

She wouldn’t have been lived so miserably till the end. Dying friendless, cold and alone.

I wish for a chance to undo all my wrongs. To find love, live my life and prevent this from ever happening.

One more time. Please, give me more time. 

So, in the end, the French heroine bathed in red, with hair darker than the midnight sky, eyes blue like the sapphires, and skin like starlight- died, surrounded by her enemies.

In any other tale, the story would end in tragedy. The death of the young, bright, 20-year-old up rising designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Who, would eventually have been revealed to have been the heroine of Paris that sacrificed her life to save the world, and was murdered by the evil supervillain Hawkmoth Gabriel Agreste, the former hero Chat Noir and famous Gabriel model Lila Rossi. Statues, would have been erected in her honour and she would have been known as a hero for many years to come.

However- this isn’t that kind of story.

And so, the threads holding up the universe undid themselves. Our heroine's story still starts off the same, and yet, it’ll be different this time.

No one can say that the Gods don’t have a sense of humour.

Marinette story starts again, from the beginning. The same script, the same cast.

Then, she woke up.

Chapter Text

"Marinette!—"

“Marinette.”

A sharp jab to her rib startled her awake. Her head jerked up with a gasp, her breath catching in her throat. She lurched forward, feeling cold and shaken. Groaning softly in pain, she clutched her head from where she felt a painful throbbing set in. A familiar voice whispered next to her.

“Mendeleiev’s watching.”

Marinette blinked. And turned to look at the red head boy.

‘Nathaniel?’

Soon, a choir of laughter tittered around her— mocking, sharp and familiar.

Exhaustingly familiar.

Another gasp escaped her lips, and she looked at her hands next. Still smooth, soft, pretty and unblemished with no scars and callouses from her time interning at Gabriel. Marinette couldn’t help but rub her soft hands together. Even her fingernails were pristine and polished, and her nailbeds were not bleeding and peeling off of her fingers from years of anxiety-induced picking.

For a moment, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe.

‘That was real. I just died. It worked; the wish really worked!’

Marinette could feel her heartbeat (her living heartbeat!) in her ears. She took several shallow breaths, when Nathaniel’s face swam into view once more. He looked so young, unscarred, and so full of quiet concern. For her!

It was so unlike the look of hatred she grew familiar with from him. Her heart twisted with grief. Yet another friend she lost to Lila later down the line. But not now. Not ever.

She blinked back tears, and Nathaniel’s face grew grim with greater concern. His voice was a whisper. “Nette, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine Nath,” Marinette spoke carefully. For some reason the red head didn’t seem to believe her, if the unimpressed expression on his face had anything to say for it. But Marinette was too busy tasting the words on her tongue. Her voice still had its lilting cadence, soft and sweet. Marinette’s hands darted for her earrings next. Her bare fingers brushed against the cold jewellery, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she realised that she still had her miraculous. Thank Kwami.

She couldn’t believe her senses; she was really back in time. But when? How far did Gimmi send her? How much would she change? Which events could she change?

She nodded absently, a hundred thoughts running through her head at once as her eyes carefully swept through the brightly lit classroom, finally regarding it for the first time since she awoke. They were in Miss Mendeleiev’s classroom. The old desks, the chipped chalkboard. Her classmates- faces looking younger, so blissfully unaware and naive, than she ever remembered. They all looked at her with varying expressions of boredom, judgement and amusement.

Except for Juleka, who immediately turned paler than her foundation after laying eyes on her.

The goth girl gasped, “M-marinette, your nose is bleeding!” 

Marinette blinked, and stared at her blouse which held one or two dots of blood. She absently held out her hands under her chin, where it caught more fat crimson droplets. They trickled freely around her palm.

She raised a hand to wipe her nose.

“Wait, Marinette I think I have a napkin.” Nathaniel said, quickly digging through his bag. Marinette smiled gratefully, and accepted his offer. “Thank you, Nath, I’ll be sure to replace this alright?”

Nathaniel smiled. And Marinette smiled back. She hummed as she dabbed at the blood, and gave her nose a firm squeeze.

‘Well, this didn’t happen before. But I’ve bled from worse.’ 

The corners of Marinette’s mouth twitched, and she suddenly felt a manic sort of humour bubble inside of her. That's when she heard it.

Her.

“Oh, I always get nosebleeds you know! But they never stop me from focusing in class. I always resolve them by myself, because I would hate to be a distraction. Oh Marinette, I know you’re having a hard time, what with falling asleep from boredom and all. But you’re making too much of a fuss just for a little attention don’t you think?” Lila giggled, earning some laughter from where she held court in the front row.

“That’s right. It’s just a little nosebleed, it’s nothing to worry about, my sisters get them all of the time!” Alya pipped up from next to her, receiving a stern glare from Miss Mendeleiev.

“Miss Rossi, Miss Cesaire! This is unacceptable behaviour towards your friend!”

“Oh, please Mme Mendeleiev, it was just a joke!” Lila whined; her saccharine voice pierced the air like a knife wrapped in silk. “You saw Marinette! She clearly wasn’t paying attention, so she’s trying to get out of class again, as usual.”

“Yeah. And besides, Lila has disabilities too but she never makes such a fuss like Marinette! She’s just being lazy—” Alya raged. Her brows furrowed, and jaw set. Soon, the rest of Lila’s court followed, and as usual this created a mini uproar in class.

“It’s not fair—"

Their teacher let out an exasperated groan.

“Enough.” Mendeleiev’s sharp voice sliced through the chaos, immediately putting it to a stop. She stood behind her desk, rigid as a statue, her eyes narrowed above her glasses. “Your joke disrupted my class. Another word, you will spend the rest of the day in detention, Miss Rossi.”

Predictably, Alya shifted forward, indignant. “But Mme, Lila didn’t—”

Mendeleiev slammed her pointing stick on the chalkboard. “One more syllable out of you, Miss Cesaire and you’ll join her.”

Alya pouted, her arms crossed as she huffed. Lila’s eye twitched, and the Italian sharply turned to glare at Marinette. Although finally, there was silence. But Marinette felt every angry gaze boring into her, which was not an unfamiliar scene. However, Marinette was still wreaking her brain trying to figure out when it was exactly, she landed in this timeline.

Meanwhile, she heard Mendeleiev let out a weary sigh, and her angry gaze softened when it landed on Marinette. Marinette heart warmed to see her old science teacher again.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, you look unwell. Go to the bathroom— and to the nurse, if needed.” Marinette nodded, with a smile to her teacher, and slowly stood. Marinette thanked Nathaniel, who flashed her a supportive smile as her legs trembled beneath her. Marinette forced them forward. Appreciative of how light and nimble she felt.

As she walked by Kim’s desk, his foot slid out to trip her. And at that very moment, subconscious memories of that day came spilling into her. And just like muscle memory— she skipped over Kim's outstretched foot, without missing a beat. Narrowly missing the bruise that would’ve formed on her knee in this present. Promptly, Kim’s smirk fell and she slinked out of class and ventured right out into the hallway just before she could witness Mendeleiev berate him.

‘Not this time.’

In the hallway on the way to the bathroom, she stopped. A fresh poster on the wall read:

Class Representative Election — April 14, 2015

6 years.

She touched the poster with trembling fingers. Her heart stuttered. So, she did remember what day it was after all. Even at a subconscious level. Because how could she ever forget?

It was the day that Lila began her continuous relentless campaign and crusade against Marinette, after she and Alya incurred Mendeleiev’s temper. Today, she would’ve faceplanted into the teacher’s table and bruise her knee after tripping over Kim. She would then go on to repeatedly answer Mendeleiev’s questions wrong, because she was sleep deprived, even after Mendeleiv gave her the benefit of the doubt, losing her credibility in the science teacher’s eyes. Marinette was later blamed for spilling her sweet drink all over Mylene in the cafeteria after Lila “accidentally bumped” into her, earning her detention. And, she was also suspended for 3 days after being framed of destroying Nathaniel’s sketchbook, ruining last true friendship she had in her class for good.

Not today, Satan.

6 years was all the time it took for Lila to fulfil her promise to destroy her. But not now, not again. No, Marinette thought, as she stumbled into the bathroom, her fingers clinging to the sink as her young reflection met her determined gaze. Her ocean blue eyes that were once so full of light, and not yet dulled by trauma and all of her failures. She let out a soft and wobbly exhale. Her fingers coming up to caress the soft supple skin. It had only been 6 years, and yet all the stress of the future had managed to prematurely age her. 

But now? She could only admire her young complexion, no shadows under her eyes. No blemishes to mar her face. No scratches and bruises from Lila. Marinette was not a vain person, but she was glad to look pretty again.

“Marinette?” Tikki phased through her purse. Her small, bright eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on? You were shaking in class—”

Marinette stared at her, and tears formed in her eyes as she held the kwami close to her cheek.

“Tikki,” she whispered. She had failed her kwami, she didn’t see the threat until it was too late and Tikki, Plagg and the world paid the price for her failure. She brushed Tikki’s soft face with her finger, like something fragile and beloved.  “You’re okay. I’m so happy.”

She placed a gentle kiss on Tikki’s head, as the small God squeaked with concern. Tikki pleaded for Marinette to tell her, but Marinette simply held her close.

“I’ll explain everything soon, I promise. Just please, let me hold you Tikki.” She stared at Tikki, whose eyes held such heavy sorrow. Who didn’t know what to do to help ease Marinette’s grief.

But Marinette didn’t want comfort, or ease. She wanted retribution.

“I promise Tikki, no one is going to hurt you ever again.” She touched her kwami’s confused face and her lip trembled. “I swear it.”

“I get another chance,” Marinette whispered.

Then she straightened, her shoulder’s squared. She would have to tell Tikki all that she knew now, to better prepare for what’s to come. Marinette closed her eyes, a silent pledge and thankfulness to Gimmi who gave her a second chance.

“I won’t waste it.”

When Marinette returned to class minutes later, her mind was abuzz with theories and hypotheses. In true Ladybug fashion, she mentally turned over multitudes of possibilities in her mind, each outcome more unfavourable than the last. But Marinette was willing to allow some scrapes to avoid bigger ones. While Tikki, hidden in her bag, still reeled from the revelations Marinette had whispered in those fleeting moments in the bathroom.

But there was no more time to grieve. So for now, Marinette would watch this scene play out.

And just as predicted, the farce was already underway. Lila was in front of the chalkboard just like Marinette expected. Fake-pouting and rubbing her wrist, complaining that she couldn’t possibly write with chalk, while Mendeleiev was losing her patience.

Suddenly, green eyes met blue, and the viper came up to her with a smirk before she whined pathetically at her. “My arthritis is really flaring up this time! Oh please, Marinette, you should answer this one for me!” Lila cried, as she came to grasp Marinette’s hand tight, folding the chalk into her palm.

“You are such, a good friend! Thank you so much!” Lila said sweetly, holding her hands together.

Marinette saw Mendeleiev’s mouth tighten, pressed into a thin line.

A few giggles reverberated around the class. With Alya muttering something under her breath which caused the Italian to blush shyly. Marinette’s eyes locked in with Nathaniel’s, who sunk into his seat and made himself look scarce. He smiled nervously at her, and gave her a shaky thumbs up.

Marinette took a sharp intake, and steeled herself. Quickly dispersing the feeling of disgust, she felt when Lila touched her. And instead, she smiled at the brunette who now reoccupied the front row.

“Of course, Lila,” she said sweetly, and walked to the board. She regarded Mendeleiev politely. The woman nodded stiffly, and flicked her pointing stick on the board. It showed a familiar derivative question. “Can you please solve this question, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

“Yes, Mme Mendeleiev,” Marinette said firmly to the shock of her peers. And without hesitation, her fingers glided over the blackboard as she solved the question with flair and practiced elegance. Making sure to tie in the theoretical application of the formula that they learned just this morning.

Of course, it’s been 6 years, for Marinette, who spent years remembering this humiliating moment.

Unbeknownst to her ex-husband, Adrien Agreste— not like he would remember anyway— Marinette was very good at math and science. Not in College or Lycee, because she was too busy trying to dodge Lila’s attempts at massacring her life that her academics suffered. But it was during the much later years she spent slaving in Gabriel. She got into both fields for her own personal studies when away from work, thinking of designing her own fashion house for hero-wear, just like Edna Mode. It was only then that she realised that she really had a knack for numbers. They glowed to her, and came to her just as easy has her Lucky Charm vision did.

And now that she had her second chance, Marinette wasn’t going to throw it away.

“I’m finished, Mme Mendeliev.” Marinette smiled, or at least she hoped that was at least a facsimile of a smile. She grew up to be a very bitter and sarcastic person in the future. She hoped that her bad habits didn't follow her. 

Mendeleiev blinked. “That’s…impressive, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Very well done indeed!” Miss Mendeliev smiled at her. She paused for a moment, then— patted her on the shoulder, looking at her, her eyes overflowed with pride. “You’ve improved significantly Marinette. Good job.”

Marinette reacted back with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I’ve been studying. Thanks to you Mme Mendeleiev, you’re a great teacher.”

Mendeleiev beamed, and gestured for Marinette to return back to her seat.  “Now, class allow me to explain what she did to get to the answer.”

As she was making her way back to her seat, Marinette found herself locking eyes with Lila who was silently seething next to Alya. Marinette gave her a cool, effortless smile in return. But half a fraction of a second, Marinette couldn't help but notice that the brunette had stuck out her leg.

However unlike with Kim whose mind was a blunt instrument, Lila's mind was sharp— and the Italian had timed it to the second.

And for all of Marinette's preparation and reflexes as Ladybug, she couldn't stop it this time. 

Fate wasn't going to let her walk away unscathed.

Her foot caught the brunette's outstretched ankle, and she immediately crashed onto Ivan’s table. Her arms coming out outstretched and grabbing it for some purchase. She ignored the worried expression on the gentle giant’s face, as the pain registered— blossoming white-hot, shooting up her leg. But she didn’t make a sound, swallowing the familiar pain as her knee slammed into the cold tile with a crack.

She felt the bruise begin to bloom exactly where it did the first time around when Kim tripped her. Perfect symmetry.

However this time, to Marinette's relief, Mendeleiev noticed.

The stern-faced science teacher let out an indignant sound, her voice rang out immediately. “Rossi! Principal’s office. Now!”

Lila’s smug face paled, as she scrambled to defend herself. “But Mme Mendeleiev, it was an accident! My arthritis flared—!”

“Now.”

The incensed olive-skinned girl, hissed under her breath. Marinette could briefly feel Adrien’s silent stare and quiet judgement for her silence. She was sure that he was going to have some choice words about pacifism with her later.

Lila stomped out of the door, shooting Marinette a brief but venomous glare as she dragged a confused Alya behind her.

The whispers intensified, some indignant, some confused. Marinette smirked as she heard Chloe scoff from where she was sitting in front.

‘Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.’  Marinette mused.

Mendeleiev clapped her hands, and the then, silence. “Alright class that’s enough, unless anyone would like to join Miss Rossi, let’s continue our class. Marinette, I hope that you’re well enough to find your seat?”

Marinette nodded, and stood, brushing herself off. She made her way back to her seat. Her eyes met a concerned Nathaniel, who she assured.

“Don’t worry Nath, it’s just a bruise.”

As Marinette let the stern voice of Miss Mendeleiev wash over in the background, she flipped through a new page of her sketchbook— earning a curious glance from Nathaniel. Who simply offered her a fist-bump.

“Since when are you secretly a math prodigy?”

Marinette’s eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. She smirked as she bumped Nathaniel’s fist lightly, with a shrug. “Call it a stroke of Marinette luck.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, but did nothing else except smile before he returned to his work. “Sure, Nette. I believe you.”

Marinette’s heart soared with joy. She couldn't remember the last time Nathaniel smiled at her. She missed her friend so much. 

Having all of this newfound youth, with the added benefit of a mind 6 years older, really made it easy to just ignore the petty juvenile bullying she went through and just live. After all, if she was really 6 years in the past, things need to change if she was going to stay in it. Losing Nathaniel as a friend was one of her biggest regrets, and Marinette was not willing to part with any more friendships a second time if she had anything to say about it.

However.

The bruise on her knee throbbed dully beneath the desk, and Marinette’s grip on her pen tightened until her knuckles turned white. But it wasn't the pain that upset her, it was what the bruise symbolised. What it meant. 

Tikki was right. The wish has rules. A bruise for a bruise.

Marinette pursed her lips. Tikki had warned her. The kwami's voice soft but grave in the quiet of the bathroom stall. Gimmi's wish changed the circumstances, not the consequences. For the universe needed to balance itself. Order needed be maintained.

If a pain was meant to be felt, it will be felt. Even if the cause is different. 

The first time, the person to blame for the sting in her knee was Kim. Now, it was Lila's doing. But the bruise was always meant to be there.

She may have avoided detention this time. She may have kept Mendeleiev’s faith in her, and spared herself another public humiliation. But her knee still wore the mark of fate’s persistence. It seemed that some moments couldn’t be avoided, only delayed.

And if something as small as a bruise, what did that mean for the bigger things?

Would Marinette still die at twenty? Would she still marry Adrien before that?

She closed her eyes briefly. Her pen hovering above the page.

This wasn't a full victory. Not yet. But it was a start. 

Chapter Text

During lunch, Marinette skipped the canteen.

She knew better than to go there and force a confrontation. Not with Lila, not with Alya and certainly not with a hellish amalgamation of the two, just so that Alya could roleplay as peacemaker and attempt to stitch her and Lila together with the same old platitudes. No, 20 year old Marinette did not have the patience that 14 year old Marinette had. Not when she knew exactly how those conversations would end. 

Marinette would voice her concerns to the Ladyblogger, and Alya would dismiss them, like they were nuisances and not warning.

Marinette hated how familiar the cycle was now that she was reliving it.

Her friendship with the Ladyblogger was unsalvageable in the future. The bonds between the two former friends were too frayed beyond repair. But for now, 14 year old Alya stood in a phase where she didn’t know what to do with Marinette.

On one hand, Marinette was technically still her “bestie”. On the other, Marinette was the bully terrorising her shiny New Bestie Lila because she was jealous that Lila and Adrien were "becoming closer" due to Lila being a Gabriel model. Truthfully, ever since the liar entered Marinette's life, Alya never hesitated to laugh along with the italian when she made Marinette the butt of her joke. The reporter also didn't mind rolling her eyes, and siding with Lila whenever the liar cried wolf, believing every crocodile tear the brunette shed. She'd called Marinette lazy and believed Lila’s accusations of saying she was crying for attention. Alya, at this point in time, went as far as to accuse Marinette of playing the victim. Saying that Marinette didn’t even try to become Lila's friend, and told Marinette was petty for fussing too much over the little things—that Marinette should learn to be more forgiving.

But if Marinette were truly honest with herself, she hadn't made it easy for Alya to believe her either.

As much as Marinette wanted to rage, wanted to be angry and attribute all of her failures to Lila's lies and manipulation— Marinette knew that some of the blame on losing her friends was hers. That the cracks in her friendships weren't solely the liar's doing. 

Her younger self was high-strung, stressed and bitter. And who could blame her friends for drifting away when Marinette's history was far from spotless? When Marinette really thought about it, It was no wonder that her friends were easy to convert. How easily it was for Lila to turn them against her.

She hadn't exactly fought to keep her friends in her life either. And that truth stung more than she cared to admit. 

Younger Marinette had always been prone to bouts of sadness, awkwardness, spirals of anxiety— and if she could make a list of all of the rash decisions she made in her youth, she knows  that she could make that list long enough to rival the length of the Rue de Vaugirard.

She had the bad habit of lunging first and dealing with the aftermath later, always being so eager to throw herself headfirst into trouble without thinking of how she would be able to clean her mess after. Her friends used to find those things charming. And of course they did! They were kids, and Marinette was just one of those weirder kids. Her friends had loved that awkwardness about her. To make matters worse, they even went as far as to enable her throughout their youth. Especially when it came to her plans that involved Adrien. They'd just laugh and say, "Oh, that's just Marinette".

But when her worries had been real. When her concerns had been valid. They still would brush her aside, with the same dismissive shrug, the laugh. Just Marinette being Marinette. 

In retrospect, it didn’t surprise her at all when all that fondness had curdled into irritation. Then distrust. Then, when Lila whispered just the right words to them, outright hatred.

She was just surprised at how fast Lila made it happen.

And in typical Marinette fashion, she snapped, got angry—or ran away. When they would suggest activities to push Lila and Marinette closer together (in typical exposure therapy fashion) she would lash out, shut them down, or flee. Because Lila dipping her hands in her friend group was a mess that Marinette didn't know how to clean. It wasn't as easy as being Ladybug, whose miraculous cure solved all. So Marinette eventually turned her focus to akumas instead of her friends. That's when she started flaking during hangouts, disappearing during movies and arriving late.

And if Lila seized those moments to fill the space Marinette left behind, to twist the knife, setting fire to what little trust Marinette had with the Girl Squad, well— that was on her, wasn't it?

So Marinette was partly to blame for ruining her own life. But not anymore.

Marinette was done running, and hiding and pretending that things were fine. She'd already lost too much in one lifetime—her dreams, her friends and even herself. She wasn't willing to part with it again. Not without fighting. 

This time, she was going to do this level headed. With a wiser head on her shoulders and clearer eyes. She'd be three steps ahead, thrice as cautious. And she wouldn't let emotion rule her every move. If Marinette was going to change the future, she was going to have to change her herself in the present, for the better.

And honestly? That part wasn't as hard as it used to be. Those embarrassing, and questionable mistakes of her teenage years never followed her into adulthood after she graduated. Somewhere between heartbreak and healing, Marinette had silently grown past her recklessness. She spent years quietly holding herself accountable for all of the bad things she did while obsessing over Adrien. The way she let her feelings cloud her judgement and led her to mistreat other people. How she allowed her ugly emotions to rear their ugly head and pilot her decisions. Long before anyone could judge her.

It was easy to forget how young she was when this happened the first time around. Even at 20, they were still persecuting her for the things she did when they were 14. Almost laughable, really—how harshly they'd condemned her. When she'd already sentenced herself a thousand times worse. 

Maybe the friendship with Alya by now was already lost, she’s afraid that’s set-in stone. And some scars were meant to remain. But it didn't mean she couldn't soften the edges of what was coming, by putting a damper on any brewing animosity before it had its chance to rear its ugly head in the future.

She knew better than to think that Gimmi's wish would fix everything. Than to hope things would go back to the way they used to be. That version of their friendship, her first best friend at 13—was gone. If it had ever truly existed at all. But maybe, this was the way Alya and Marinette's story was meant to unfold. A lesson, and cautionary tale written in the stars of fate and stamped by Gimmi's decree.

And Marinette? Marinette thought that was enough.

Deeply in thought, Marinette hummed softly as she strolled through the school gates. She paused only to wave at Rose and Juleka in the courtyard. Their smiles were wary, but still warm as they shyly returned her waves.

Good. Marinette needed witnesses—people to see her leaving the school. If the events played out today the way she expected them to, her alibi had to be airtight.

She came to a stop at the front of the gate, and waited. 

“Hey!” a familiar voice called after her. She turned around to see Nathaniel jogging up, much like he did last time. His red hair catching the midday sun. 

He panted slightly. Marinette couldn't help but laugh

“Aren’t you going for lunch Nette?”

“I’m going back home to the bakery,” she said lightly. As much as she wanted to hang out with Nathaniel and make up for lost time, her plans couldn’t wait. 

His expression flickered, and Marinette’s heart sank. She forgot how she was the only other artist in their Collège class. Her and Nathaniel have always been close friends because of their shared passion in art. Few understood their camaraderie.

“I thought that we could sketch in the courtyard together?” he offered, smiling shyly. His expression dimmed, when he noticed Marinette shaking her head. “Oh, well I mean— it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

Her rejection came with a pang. "No Nath, I just have some things to do at home.”

But then, a thought struck her.  She rifled through her bag searching, and with a triumphant smile, she pulled out a plain, black-covered sketchbook—nothing like the pink and design wrappings she usually sported. She'd learned the hard way in her past life that flashy sketchbooks attracted thieves like Lila. This habit of plainness has stuck, even into adulthood when she worked under Gabriel. 

She quickly handed it over to Nathaniel, who held it carefully. His surprise, poorly concealed. 

“How about we switch sketchbooks for the day? Just like old times?” Marinette proposed, with a grin. “Let’s try drawing in each other’s style today! You draw in mine, and I’ll draw in yours, then we’ll switch and complete the pictures at the end of the day. I’ve always wanted to practice your comic-book flair”

“You can even get Marc in on it.” She winked teasingly, causing the artist to turn redder than the shade of his hair.

“I have nooo idea what you’re talking ‘bout,” Nathaniel sputtered, shyly, fanning his face.

“Sure, Nath I’ll pretend that I don’t. Now, you going to hand over the goods or what?”

“You drive a hard bargain Dupain-Cheng.” Nathaniel laughed, and handed over his sketchbook happily. “Your fashion sketches will be fun to mimic.” He said, all traces of sadness gone from his face. Good.

“We haven’t done this since we were in École Élémentaire, Marinette. You never give away your sketchbook. What’s the special occasion?”

Marinette smiled, zipping his sketchbook securely in her bookbag. Shutting it with a firm press.

“Oh, no reason at all.”

Marinette turned towards the gate, waving back at Nathaniel's confused expression “That’s what friends are for right? Anyway, bring you some éclairs when I get back!”

‘Well, that was easy.’

­­

At the bakery’s back room, Marinette wiped stray flour from the table and pulled out her laptop. She chewed gratefully on a warm cheese croissant, pleasant memories of a past she once regretted not appreciating enough flooding through her with a single bite. It made her all the more grateful for the blessing she was given by Gimmi. This—her parents' bakery, the scent of butter and even the creaks of the oven doors—was the life she had lost sight of in the past. 

It was nice, seeing her parents again. She hardly had any time for them during her previous life after she became an Agreste, thanks to Gabriel’s meddling. And after a while, they just stopped talking when she married Adrien at 18. Them—and the bakery had completely faded from her life.

Marinette felt disappointed in herself, for spending so much effort into vying for Gabriel’s approval that she forgot where she came from. If her Maman and Papa saw her, Marinette knew they would be disappointed in the girl she was reduced to.

She swallowed a lump in her throat.

But not in this reality. She owed it to them—and herself—to be better this time.

Her fingers moved fast, typing furiously on her laptop. She needed to info dump whatever memories she had of this time, present and future onwards before she forgot about them. Upcoming trends, business ventures, company stocks. It would do her some good to invest and earn some of her own money. Money that she should’ve earned for her designs during her previous life but was robbed of, because of her own naivete.

Marinette can only thank her lucky stars that she had a good memory.

‘Speaking of…’

Marinette calmly snapped a picture of herself and her food in the bakery, and uploaded it to her Instagram story, citing that she was at home, having lunch. It was proof of her whereabouts, should anyone question where she was this afternoon.

She leaned back on her chair and stretched, feeling all the knots in her back. God, was she always this unfit? Well, that wouldn’t do. She would need training if she even thought about standing any chance against Hawkmoth— against Gabriel Agreste.

Marinette suspected him before. He was a recluse, and he was weird. But he was also Adrien’s father, and she denied all the irrefutable facts screaming front of her. There was also The Collector incident. It was the perfect scapegoat, which made all of the inconsistencies easier to just ignore.

She should’ve known all of those fugly akuma fits could’ve only come from a hack like him.

Kwami only knows that she never wants to work in Gabriel ever again.

Perhaps in this life, she could finally reinvent her online fashion persona, without Adrien telling her it was a fraught endeavour, without Lila sabotaging her website and ruining her reputation amongst her clientele. She picked up a few things working like a dog under Gabriel’s Fashion Company, and one of those were how to make a website.

She didn’t need Max or Alya’s help to set up when she could do it herself—and frankly she wasn't sure she was confident with how she stood with them to fall for that again. 

So, only her high paying clientele would know who stood behind the designs— Jagged, Clara, Prince Ali. To the public, MDC would remain anonymous in this time, just until Marinette got enough footing.

And instead of attaching the pseudonym to her name…

“What do you think Tikki, how does the name Miraculous Designs & Creations sound?”

Tikki hovered nearby, brow furrowed. The small God had a pensive look on her face as she skimmed Marinette’s plans on the screen.

Marinette quirked a brow. “I guess we could change the name. It is a bit ambitious to look for a fashion studio now—"

“It’s not that Marinette.” Tikki began nervously. “The name is great! It’s just— you’re planning something.”

Marinette’s face schooled into a serious expression, as she looked back to her laptop screen. She didn’t look up.

“Something? No. Tikki. I’m planning everything.”

Tikki frowned. “Marinette…”

“I died, Tikki. I begged Adrien to save me. He didn’t even care. He turned away. Lila killed me and Gabriel? He just— watched. Like I was just another inconvenience.” Marinette's voice cracked. Low and cold.

Tikki’s expression dimmed. “That’s, that’s not who Adrien is. At least not now. Not yet!”

Marinette shook her head. “He made a choice.” 

Tikki said nothing, except rub herself on Marinettte’s cheek.

Marinette sighed. “I’m not going to persecute a 14-year-old boy for the sins of what his 20-year-old self did in the future. But I’m not going through it again. I can’t.”

But her heart still ached and all Marinette wanted to do was cry. But no tears would flow, and she wasn’t going to waste her time on grief. That time no longer existed. The man she loved, and married might not have killed her, but he did not stop them from killing her— she still found it hard to believe he could’ve just betrayed her just like that. As if their love was just for show.

It was pathetic how easily she died; how easy it was for Lila to finish her off, and push her around like a puppet with its strings cut. She felt so helpless, and weak, when she remembered bleeding out on the ground. And her ex-husband. Chat Noir. Her best friend, partner in crime, and love of her life.

Kwami, how did she not see it sooner?

Her knee throbbed, and Marinette winced. She stole a glance at the fresh bruise on her knee. Tikki followed Marinette gaze, and floated closer.

“Gimmi’s wish brought you back. But there’s a cost.” Tikki confessed.

Marinette brushed her fingers against her knee, contemplative. “I figured as much.”

The kwami's voice grew steadier, and more solemn. 

“A life for a life, an injury for an injury. Some tragedies will happen no matter what, just like your bruise. You couldn't stop it from forming—even though you tried."

Marinette exhaled slowly.

“I can’t prevent every tragedy. Some will happen no matter what, like this bruise."

Tikki nodded grimly.

"And the bigger tragedies? The ones that matter?"

Tikki paused, her hovering faltered slightly midair. "Some things...are written in the flow of fate. And while fate is persistent, it is not absolute."

Marinette shivered. A chill crawled down her spine. She remembered the agony of death, and how cold she felt in the end. How final, it felt. Was it possible that she would feel death’s cold embrace in 6 years? Could she withstand it, knowing that moment would be her last?

“So, if someone dies…. I just have to let it happen?”

Tikki hesitated. Marinette thinks she sees the kwami’s tiny mouth tremble. But when Tikki finally spoke, her voice was steady. 

"No. Not always. But sometimes, fate...demands a price. But how that price is paid, or who pays it, can change. You could replace them, and exchange one life for another."

Marinette stilled. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard.

“Oh.”

The word dropped like a stone, in the silence.

She resumed typing, with Tikki perched on her shoulder, who peered over warily. A dangerous calm settled over Marinette. Tikki fidgeted, unsettled by how quiet she became. It made the morally righteous kwami nervous.

After a long moment, Marinette asked softly.

“You said something earlier...back in the bathroom. You said that not everything has to end the same way. Is that true?"

Tikki nodded slowly. "Yes. Tragedy might happen, but the outcome can still change. A fall might still happen, but maybe this time, someone catches them. An accident might still occur, but maybe this time they fix the faulty part early enough to avoid it. Fate pushes....but it doesn't always decide how far someone falls."

Marinette's lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. 

"So exchanging one life...for another, it's not the only way?"

"No," Tikki said gently but firmly. "But it's the surest way. Fate will resist you Marinette. It will test your resolve over and over again."

A chill settled in the pit of Marinette's stomach. But all she said was:

"Good to know."

And for the remainder of her lunch break, Marinette typed in silence, the sound of clicking keys filling the air. 

Back at school, Marinette arrived 10 minutes before the bell, balancing a pink box tied in a white ribbon— fresh warm éclairs nestled inside. She wasn’t early because she wanted to be, she was early because she had to be. By now, the sketchbook she gave Nathaniel was probably a mess of ink and tattered paper under Lila’s expensive leather shoes. She was no doubt wailing and making a scene now.

Marinette hummed contentedly, feeling the comfortable weight of Nathaniel’s sketchbook in her bag.

‘A sketchbook for a future. Fair trade.’

It was a small, maybe insignificant sacrifice in the grand scheme of fate's weaving. 

She scanned the courtyard with quiet calculation, her gaze like a general surveying a battlefield. Alix sat with Kim on a bench, squinting towards her with a pinched brow. Good, more witnesses.

Walking up the steps towards her classroom, she feels the faint presence of the two athletes on her heels, as she hears the indignant shouts of those within.

‘Right on schedule.’

Marinette adjusted the pastry box in her arms.

She pushed the doors open.

“—just left it there! She destroyed it!” She heard Lila’s voice tremble with the same eerie manipulative cadence it always did when she was bullshitting. “I tried to tell her that her rivalry with him was unhealthy but I never thought that she would just snap like this— she ruined everything—look! Look what she did! Poor Nath!”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together tightly as she stared dead ahead at the drama unfolding, that she sees the moment Lila notices her at the door. A sadistic gleam sparkled in tear-riddled green eyes.

Lila gasped, and pointed at her with a trembling hand. “Y-you! Marinette how could you!” Lila wailed, a perfect picture and centrepiece of tragedy. Tears streaming, arms trembling and cradling what looked like a crumpled mass of shredded paper and soaked pages on Marinette’s table.

It was Marinette’s sketchbook— or what remained of it. It was just as Marinette expected, except maybe a little bit worse.

The air was thick with tension.

Marinette blinked, and briefly scanned her classmates’ faces. Juleka and Rose were pale, when they saw her enter. Ivan looked upset, but that was probably because Mylène looked furious from where she stood rubbing soothing circles into Lila’s back. Max seemed deeply frustrated. Sabrina glared from where she stood next to Lila. While Adrien and Chloe were nowhere to be seen, but they weren’t around when this all went down the first time either so Marinette was not at all surprised.

And Alya— Alya sharply turned to look at Marinette with fury.

“Marinette!” Alya hissed, arms folded and face twisted with disappointment. “What is wrong with you!?” Alya threw her hands up. “You know that Nathaniel keeps all of his his comic book ideas in there what were you thinking?”

Lila’s voiced hitched with just the right note of devastation. Lila made a show of leaning on Mylène for support, as she reprimanded Marinette with tears running down her face.

“All that work, Nathaniel’s art— and y-you, you just stomped on it! And for what? Because he’s more talented than you? M-marinette, I know that you’re always falling behind and causing trouble most of the days. But that doesn’t give you the right to destroy Nathaniel’s life work just because you’re jealous that he’s successful and you’re not!”

Lila sniffled pathetically, as Mylène brushed her hair and glared at Marinette. “I know that you’re jealous of me for the same reasons, but please, don’t take it out on Nathaniel too.”

Alya gasped. She looked at Marinette in shock. “Marinette, are you kidding me? That’s a new low, even for you.”

Lila suddenly winced, cradling her wrist as she let the remains of the sketchbook fall to the ground. “AH! I’m so sorry, my arthritis— “.

Mylène narrowed her eyes at Marinette. “Can’t you see that Lila is already in pain because of you? How could you do this to Nathaniel too?”

Marinette blinked again, all wide-eyed innocence as she carefully set the box of èclairs on the table. “What’s going on?”

Lila turned on her, like a snake ready to strike. “Marinette, how could you even pretend not to know! I saw you come into the classroom. You stomped on Nathaniel’s sketchbook when no one was around! And still you act like you did nothing wrong?”

Marinette tilted her head, pretending to look confused. “That’s strange, Lila. Are you sure you didn’t see someone else? Because I was at the bakery.”

A look of frustration suddenly crossed Lila’s face, before contorting back into a look of distress. Lila took a shaky breath like she was about to cry again. When, to Marinette’s surprise, Alix spoke.

“I’m pretty I saw Marinette just arrive after lunch.” Alix said, with a raised brow.

“Us too. Me and Juleka saw her leaving at lunch, she waved at us!” Rose chimed in, fidgeting nervously next to Juleka who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there.

Lila looked incensed now, and desperate if her wild green eyes had anything to say. “Then— she must’ve come back!” She insisted. Looking around desperately for support. “S-she snuck in, and— and destroyed it—”

Alix pulled out her phone, and one by one, she tapped Marinette’s recent story posts on Instagram. Marinette at the bakery. Her food. All uploaded publicly for anyone to see.

“Bit of a trek from home and back in just under 10 minutes,” Alix said, calmly. Showing her screen around. She looked at Lila with doubt and furrowed brows.

Everyone looked at Marinette, who shrugged. “I don’t exactly have teleportation powers. I wasn’t here.”

The Italian frowned. And looked at everyone. “W-well, she could’ve posted it as a cover to fool you guys! Do you r-really believe Marinette over me? Do you really think I’m a liar?”

Alix pursed her lips, stared at Marinette with an unsure expression in her eyes. She glared at Lila; her mind already made up. “If the shoe fits, Rossi.”

Alya, Sabrina and Mylène rose in Lila’s defense as Lila gasped, tears already reforming in her eyes when—

Nathaniel stepped inside; his eyes darted around the desks as though looking for something. Suddenly, his eyes locked on the sketchbook, and he went completely still.

“...No,” he whispered. “No, no no no—”

Nathaniel darted forward up the steps, snatching up the ruined mess on the ground. His fingers trembled as he flipped through the wreckage. The torn cover, the smeared ink. Anyone else who looked at the remains wouldn’t even know that it was a sketchbook. It was ruined— unrecognisable and unsalvageable.

Mylène, Sabrina and Alya looked at Nathaniel with sympathy. Lila made a show of taking a deep breath and marching forward to gently touch his arm. Her voice full of manufactured sympathy and sweetened words.

“I’m so sorry Nath, I tried to warn her but she wouldn’t listen. Nath, I have a friend in Marvel Comics who I know can totally get you a new—”

Nathaniel looked up, and locked eyes with Marinette. He didn’t even hear Lila’s voice. His face crumbled.

“I’m so so sorry,” Nathaniel suddenly blurted, his voice wrecked with grief. Everyone else looked confused. He moved towards Marinette, clutching the tattered sketchbook, panic overtaking his expression.

“This is all my fault— I-I left your sketchbook in my locker after lunch, and when I came back to look for it, it was gone. I didn’t mean to lose it, and let it get destroyed. I swear. I didn’t— if I knew—”

Marinette came to hug him. She shocked everyone but how gently she handled him. “Nathaniel, focus. Breathe. It’s okay.”

He sucked in a shaky breath, and he trembled. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful, I’ll replace everything.”

Lila faltered. “But Nath— your sketchbook—”

Nathaniel turned to her with a frown. His distressed face a mixture of confusion and doubt. “That’s Marinette’s sketchbook. She has mine. We switched during lunch; you must’ve thought it was mine because we use the same type of sketchpad.”

Silence fell on the class like a guillotine.

Alya stared, wide-eyed. “But Lila said— she saw Marinette destroy it?”

Alix, who’d been watching from behind Marinette piped up, resolute from the newfound information. The rollerblading girl stood straight with her shoulders squared. “Why would Marinette destroy her own sketchbook?”

The whispers started, as Alya’s mouth opened— then closed.

Lila went pale as she quickly began squirming and panicking, and Marinette stared curiously at the chain of events that did not exist in her first life. Marinette could see Lila quickly recount her story.

“I—I guess I just…” Lila began, tone shifting with a calculated tremble. Either that, or she was trembling from rage, Marinette mused quietly. “I must’ve gotten confused! You know I have issues with short-term memory—my therapist said it might be trauma-induced from the jungle trekking in Africa…”

“You said that you saw Marinette destroy it.” Alix said flatly. “That’s not a memory issue or trauma. That’s lying.”

Lila flinched, hurt flickering across her face. Alya hissed at Alix, holding Lila by the shoulders.

“Lila is not a liar! She could’ve made a mistake, it’s not her fault! She has a medical condition!”

Sabrina stuttered but was angry all the same. “Y-yeah. We need to be a bit more understanding!”

Amidst all of this, Lila wailed sadly. “Oh…I’ve caused all of this trouble. I’m so sorry!”

“I— I could’ve been mistaken. It must’ve been someone else— anyone!” Lila stiffly turned to look at Marinette. Her eyes held a promise of retribution, which Marinette was sure to meet with the same vigour. But her face twisted with distress. “I’m so sorry Marinette! I don’t know what’s gotten into me. My short-term memory loss has been acting up recently, and my vison is quite poor— it must be because of my arthritis, it's been acting up all day with all of the stress I’ve been under…”

Sabrina patted Lila on the back, who cried sadly. Everyone with the exception of Alix, Juleka and Nathaniel cooed softly as Lila cried. They dispersed away from Marinette and Nathaniel’s desk to go comfort Lila.

Max even piped up in Lila’s defense. “Statistically speaking, there is a 65% chance that someone who looked like Marinette could’ve entered the classroom. We have plenty of black-haired students in Dupont.”

Lila relaxed, and nodded stiffly. False guilt evident in her face. She turned to stand, and touch Nathaniel, who flinched away.

“Don’t.” Nathaniel snapped, to the surprise of even Marinette. He picked up the remains of the sketchbook, and slinked back to his seat. He stared at Lila dead in the eyes. “Don’t insult me by pretending that you weren’t just about to throw Marinette to the wolves on the off chance that you conveniently saw someone like her destroy her sketchbook.”

Lila stared on in shock, as Alya gasped.

“Lila didn’t mean to accuse Marinette, she was defending you—”

“I don’t care.” Nathaniel snapped back.

“Alright! That’s enough, class!”

Mlle Bustier’s commanding voice resounded, as she entered the classroom. As usual, oblivious to the storm that just passed, but all the more willing to put it to an end just as long as everyone got along. Adrien and Chloe trailed behind her. One nervous, the other perplexed.

“Poor Lila has probably had a long day, and was just stressed. You’ll forgive her, right Marinette, Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel stared at Lila.

“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth.

Marinette sat next to Nathaniel, giving him a pat on the back and gave a wry smile. She locked eyes with a furiously shaking Lila. “Of course, Mlle Bustier. It was just a misunderstanding. No harm, no foul.”

Marinette could hear Chloe scoff from where she took a seat in the front row.

“And Nath,” she said gently, her voice calm and oddly soft. “It’s okay.”

Nathaniel and everyone turned to look toward her. Marinette looked at her sketchbook— the one that had been torn apart, and gutted— and said kindly. “It’s just a sketchbook”

“But—” Nathaniel started.

“Sure, I’m disappointed.” She said louder, her eyes flickering toward Lila, who looked like she just ate a very sour lemon. Marinette held her head up high although she let her voice waver slightly with some real sadness. “But as long as it wasn’t yours that got destroyed Nath, it’s okay.”

Nathaniel looked like he wanted to cry.

“I can always draw new pieces, I always do.” Marinette continued. Taking out Nathaniel’s sketchbook and placing it on the table. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Lila’s eyes followed the gesture with barely concealed rage. She opened it to the page where she drew an image of Nathaniel and Marinette as superheroes, and pointed at it. “But your pages? I’ve seen them. They tell stories. Stories only you can make. I would never let anything happen to them.”

The class was quiet. Kim blinked, confused but thoughtful, Nathaniel rubbed his eyes and Juleka looked down. Alya furrowed her brows, from where she comforted Lila while Mylène did the same. Adrien looked confused, and turned to Nino who just arrived. The DJ shook his head and gestured to Lila and Alya who simply whispered among each other. Alix gave Marinette a lingering look of approval.

And Chloe was halfway through applying her lipstick— but her face softened as she listened to Marinette’s words. She stared at Marinette, who smiled at her. Chloe's eyes widened and her face flushed as she turned away, suddenly very interested in adjusting the seam of her blouse.

“Now,” Marinette began warmly. “If anyone wants some fresh chocolate èclairs, they’re up front. My parents made enough for the whole class!”

“Thank you, Marinette, for being a wonderful example!” Mlle Bustier praised, which ushered the rest of the class into their seats. If Adrien looked like he was trying to get her attention. Marinette pretended not to notice.

'He’s going to figure out what happened here today soon enough.’

Agreste wants her to take the high road with Lila so bad? She’ll do it. She’ll even gladly hand him over to Lila. She’s sure the Italian would accept him, no questions asked.

Because Marinette saw it. The shift. The smallest fracture in the class’s perception. Sure, Marinette wouldn’t win them all back. But she didn’t need to. She just had to remind them that Lila’s word wasn’t as airtight as it seemed.

Because today proved that Marinette didn’t need to be loud. She just had to be undeniable.

From the back of the class, Nathaniel had significantly calmed down as he went over the sketch page that Marinette made. She watched as Lila descended the stairs with Alya following closely behind her. Sabrina soon appeared from the classroom door, looking frantic with an iced coffee in hand. She quickly ran up to give the iced coffee to Lila on the way to her seat, who received it gratefully.

Marinette’s eyes widened.

‘Surely, it can’t…’

Suddenly, there was a yelp. Marinette watched with surprise as a Lila suddenly stumbled over a step on the way to her seat, spilling her iced coffee all over Mylène.

“Mon dieu! Lila are you alright?” Bustier exclaimed.

“I’m SO sorry Mylene! My arthritis has been flaring up the whole day!”

“Someone grab some towels. Lila are you hurt?” Alya said, rushing to her side.

The classroom descended into a flurry of chaos. Amidst all of the chaos, a small smile graced Marinette’s lips, and her eyes glittered with realisation.

Tikki said that fate was persistent.

While certain tragedies couldn't be stopped—but their outcomes could be shifted. Pain would still happen, but who suffered it and how deeply, was still Marinette's to influence.

She watched Mylène being fussed over, as they tried—and failed—to wash out the coffee stain in her precious chiffon blouse. Marinette's eyes trailed over to where Lila fidgeted.

Maybe she couldn't prevent a fall, but she could decide who took the bruise. Maybe she couldn't stop the universe from demanding a payment in return for balance—but she could choose the currency.

An eye for an eye. That’s what the universe wanted. That’s what Gimmi needed for karmic balance— and if so, Marinette would offer it Lila Rossi on a silver platter, to take her place. Let Lila take her stumbles, her spills and her losses. If Marinette was fated to live under fate's cruel thumb, then she would give it Lila.

As Lila stalked out with Alya, Mylène and Mlle Bustier trailing, Marinette watched, calm and composed as the dark thought crossed her mind.

‘You want my life, Lila?’

You can have it.  

‘I hope that you’re prepared for what that means.

Chapter Text

Marinette’s ballpoint pen darted across the sketchpad. Her design was an invention of fantasy, elegance and edginess through precise lines and swirls of ink.

She spoke casually into her wireless headset— a perfect image of balancing business and creativity with practiced ease. From the corner of her cluttered desk, the comforting thump of rock music thundered from a speaker. The catchy rhythm of Rock Giant, paired well with the chaos of her mind. Scraps of paper, torn photographs and crumpled drafts littered the surface of her desk, organised only in a way that she understood.

The bulletin board that normally overlooked her bed was now propped and stripped bare in the corner. All her photos of Adrien and the tattered remains of his schedule lay buried in the waste basket.

Jagged Stone’s voice buzzed with enthusiasm through her headset. “—an’ you’re tellin’ me you whipped up these designs in less than two days luv’? Nettie you’re a genius!”

A slow smile curled on the edge of her lips, as she added more detailed shading on the jacket. “You know I would never let down my favourite client.”

It’s been three days since she landed in 2015, and Marinette didn’t waste any time. The moment she re-established her footing, she re-opened her commissions to her high-paying clientele. This time, she decided to launch her MDC website early, as she no longer had to wait on Alya and Max for their assistance. Like she always should have.

Lila has been quiet and, Marinette presumed, was licking her wounds since the incident with Nathaniel and Mylène. But there was no doubt that the young viper was still spreading her brand of poison around when she held court, as Marinette still felt the lingering gazes of her followers crawling on her back whenever they thought she didn’t notice. Alya’s gaze was no doubt the heaviest.

And Marinette had spent those three precious days preparing. She considered plenty of possible paths of petty vengeance that Lila would take. The liar’s patterns hadn’t changed much in 6 years. Maybe she’d accuse Marinette of false harassment online. A dramatic injury, involving Marinette shoving and injuring her. A staged threat. She remembered a lot of habits that Lila had. And one of those was her habit of not being able to take a loss very well. If things didn’t go her way, she retaliated. If Marinette didn’t roll over, Lila would immediately work on perverse ways to punish her.  

So, Marinette has been content to simply avoid her for the past 3 days.

But as much as the peace was nice, she knew it wouldn’t last. Lila would eventually force an interaction between them. The least that Marinette could do was control when and where their interaction would take place, and who would see it. Because Marinette could not command fate— no. No, she could only control variables.

And there was also the matter of Adrien.

She had yet to even speak a single word to since her arrival to this timeline. Whether it was as Chat Noir, or as his civilian self. It seemed that no matter what she tried, the blond boy was adamant on forcing a conversation between them. She felt his stares whenever she rushed out of class, and Nathaniel would cover for her. Marinette could only hope that Alya wouldn’t meddle again between them in this time. But somehow, she dreaded as she knew that I was going to happen with or without her interference.

A part of Marinette loathed to admit that seeing Adrien again hurt her way more than words could say. Because when she looked at him, the young version of him— she could no longer see the boy she once loved. The boy she spent hours staring at, curating years-worth of gifts, and fawned over to the point of obsession, and self-humiliation and destruction.  She had adored him. The boy who was also her partner, and then-husband.

Now, she can see none of those. Instead, she sees the man who would let her die.

Even still, she knew she wouldn’t escape him for long. Just like Lila— she was prolonging the inevitable.

But Marinette digressed, and for now she let the thought drift away.

“Just wait till you see the embroidered sequins under the stage lights, Monsieur Jagged. They’ll shimmer like scales come to life.” She slipped easily back into its professional charm, as her pen shaded the finishing touches into the sketch.

“—SWEAR, luv, if ya make me a jacket with REAL light-up dragon scales, I’ll name my next tour after ya!”

Marinette smirked, shading the metallic ridges of her design. “Tempting Monsieur, but I’d settle for a photo op instead. Imagine the Ladyblog scrambling to ID your mystery designer.” Especially Alya.

“I told you to just drop the Monsieur and call me Jagged, Nettie!” Jagged replied. His voice, a mirthful cadence. Jagged spoke affectionately and cheerfully gave away his praise. “I’ve got to thank my lucky stars that you were available, and got a rockin’ new website too! Just in time for my world tour! Dublin’s gonna be my biggest show yet. You know you’re the only designer I trust. No one else gets me.”

Marinette hummed, but felt a blush powder her cheeks nonetheless. Despite how many times she’s been praised in her life, she never got used to it. “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

“I’ll say! — Oi! Oh, come on Pens, I was talkin’!”  Jagged whined. The soft scratch of her pen mingled with the crackling in her wireless headset. Marinette snorted, amused. Penny’s pragmatic voice cut through Jagged’s theatrics, as her calm, business-like voice chimed in next.

“Ahem, sorry for that Marinette. We’ll be sure to transfer you the commission fee upfront. Thank you so much for accepting this so quickly— especially so soon.” Penny spoke with sincere gratitude.

“I’m always happy to help, Mlle Rolling.”

She heard Penny exhale a sigh of relief, “no, really Marinette. This tour would’ve been a disaster without you. Other designers we’ve recruited don’t get Jagged’s style like you do.”

A shadow of a memory flickered in Marinette’s mind. In the old timeline, Jagged’s Dublin show had been a disaster. He suffered a wardrobe malfunction, which caused him to cancel the rest of the tour. Back then, she was unable to cater to him because she was too stressed from fending off Lila’s attacks. It was a decision which the heroine had always regretted because Jagged had seemed so depressed afterwards. As his fame took a hit, she was sure he was devastated.

But now, she would be able to help to the best of her abilities. She could fix it, she had fixed it.

The designer amusedly could hear more shuffling, and muffled noises of complaints—Jagged — buzzing in her headset. Until she heard the receipt chime on her phone. Marinette’s fingers stilled on the sketch, and her eyes widened like saucers at the number. That was triple what he paid last time. She wanted to speak, but the words shrivelled up in her throat.

“Nettie! Nette— I want you workin’ on my next album cover too ya’ hear! Don’t want ol’ Clara stealin’ you all for herself—” Jagged yelled and grumbled. His voice faded in and out through his hollering and muffled yowls, before Penny successfully wrestled for the phone back.

“Tsk—Yes yes, I was going to get onto that. Let the poor girl agree first Jagged!” Penny sighed. There was a loud thump, beyond. And Marinette conjured the image of Penny rolling her eyes elbowing Jagged, who let out a loud oof.

“Sorry about that Marinette, you know how Jagged is.” Penny said apologetically. Presumably fighting off the rock star that was complaining about not being able to talk to his ‘favourite designer’. “Jagged also wants you on retainer for his next album cover. I hope that the fee is enough? We are ready to offer more if you’d like.”

Marinette stammered. “N-no! It’s more than enough! In fact, I think it’s….a little too much, Mlle Rolling.”

“Please Marinette, call me Penny.” The kind-hearted manager chided softly. “Based on all of the work you just did; you deserve to be compensated for your time. You’re a real artist, Marinette. One of a kind. Don’t undersell yourself, okay?”

Marinette swallowed a lump in her throat. “I-I— thank you, Penny.”

“No problem, Marinette. We’ll talk soon, yeah? Jagged is sulking again. Ciao.”

“Oui. Ciao.” Marinette said quietly to herself, as the line went dead. She blinked, and leaned back against her chair. On retainer? Already? She remembered how in the old timeline, months of back and forth had passed between her, Jagged and Penny before any serious offer came.

After all, Marinette was still just a 14-year-old Collège student from Dupont.

She suddenly felt uneasy. How much had she changed from just 3 days? Something has shifted in the timeline.  

Or was there was deeper ripple just beneath the surface, something that she hadn’t accounted for. How much had she already rewritten without realising it? Something had made her talent impossible to ignore. But what was it? Marinette was unsure if she could she predict what she didn’t know.

‘What was it again…The Butterfly Effect? That one small flutter can cause a typhoon on the opposite side of the world?’

A sudden ping from her phone pulled away Marinette’s attention. A single glance at her phone was enough to make her shoot up from her seat like an arrow.

Clare Nightingale’s name practically glowed across her notification bar. The text read:

“Marinette, sweetie, I can’t delay. Need sketch designs sent right away! The look is fierce, the vibe’s ballet, with a cyberpunk flair to steal the day! ; )”

Without hesitation, she quickly sourced some reference photos online alongside images which would capture just the vibe that the pop singer was looking for— and within minutes, she fired back a reply.

“On it! Here’s a mood board attached with care— tulle and chrome with a neon glare! : )”

As expected, Clara’s reply came back instantaneously.

“The studio’s buzzing, the hype won’t quit. Those original MDC designs? It’s a certified hit! Cyberpunk chic with a ballerina twist— this award-winning look will top every fashion list!”

Tikki stared at her phone, eyes wide. “Marinette! You already had ideas for these designs?”

“No.” Marinette tapped her temple. “But I did design most of Clara’s Met Gala looks. A little time travel won’t make me forget those designs. They were the peak of my career.”

She flipped to a blank page and began sketching Clara’s design for her upcoming music video. In the past, Clara was so disappointed that despite all of the hard work she put into the video, she still didn’t win the award for Best Music Video during the Galaxy Music Awards— losing to XY. The disappointment had put the pop star in a slump for many years. Marinette died before she could see Clara return to top the charts— or if she ever did. She wondered if Clara would win this time around, or if she still quit. But Marinette hoped that even if the pop star did decide to throw in the towel again, she had at least tried to help her out.

Tikki cheered. “Oh Marinette, this is incredible! Your talent is finally getting recognised!”

“Thanks, Tikki— it’s just that it’s a little too early for this. I’m just worried that I’ve changed time too much.” Marinette gave Tikki a bittersweet smile. The kwami responded by giving Marinette reassuring nuzzles on the cheek. She warmed at the act of kindness her kwami showed her. She had missed these interactions with Tikki.

Her mind drifted again. Lately, it seemed as though she was always drifting. Like she was trapped somewhere between the past, and future version of herself. The fear that she might snap back to her old shattered reality, tainted her thoughts and haunted her every waking moment and her dreams. The satisfaction of being able to pawn off some of her unfortunate fate to Lila that day was short-lived. Temporary victories, temporary relief.

While some small hope— relief, had glimmered, that night when she laid in her childhood bed again for the first time in years, Marinette had felt scared. Terrified that she was living in a strange limbo.

Because she knew the truth: Lila was still out there weaving plans that would cause trouble soon— like an approaching storm. And it was up to Marinette to change fate. But how did you change fate? Where did you even begin? Sending a girl to the principal, orchestrating spilled drinks, sabotaging a sketchbook. Those were simple tricks. Changing the future, that was a battle she wasn’t sure she knew how to win yet.

Where would she even begin? And when?

Marinette’s gaze drifted to the window. The evening light, casting an amber glow on her room. She knows that something has shifted in this timeline. Something she needed to understand— and fast, if she wanted to survive. 

The phantom ache in her ribs flickered— a cruel reminder of the past. Pain fading but never gone.

She shook it off to accentuate the bodice on the sketch, as the haunted memories of her time in Gabriel played like a broken record in her mind.

She always regretted never following her dreams of starting an independent fashion house after Adrien had convinced her to work for his father. In the end, she ended up slaving away at Gabriel’s suffocating fashion empire for 2 years. The fashion mogul stifled her to the point of completely diminishing her work and crushing her talent. Marinette didn’t even bother to speak up against him afterwards especially after learning how much he favoured Lila.

And when Adrien simply told her to “take the high road” when it came to his father, Marinette conceded, to please her husband.

The moment that Gabriel began replacing her with Lila, inviting her over for dinner, pairing her with Adrien for photoshoots, and appointing Lila as Adrien’s plus-one to galas even after Marinette and Adrien were married— was when Marinette should’ve sensed that something was wrong.  

But she hadn’t. She had been so confident, so complacent. She didn’t see the signs the moment her marriage stopped being hers, and it cost her everything.

Marinette was too distracted to notice. Too determined to drown herself in mindless work for Gabriel after her entire life’s work burned around her. After false allegations of bullying, sabotage and plagiarism had come after her persona— MDC. Her website, was meant to be her escape from Gabriel, but instead it became her tomb. Just like all the times Lila had ruined before, Marinette never heard back from Jagged, Penny, Clara and all of her well-paying clients until she died. Because Alya’s blog, once friendly and fun— a passion project between the two best friends, had turned into a weapon against her. Alya had somehow become a reputable voice in the fashion world and all things Miraculous, by Lila’ scheming behind the curtain as a reputable Gabriel model.

And Alya, had made Lila’s lies gospel.

“Such a shame your designs keep… malfunctioning,” Lila’s sickly-sweet voice echoed like a phantom in her mind. “Those snapped seams on the catwalk could’ve ruined Gabriel!”

And the very next day, all her life’s work was gone.

Alya’s blog had been the killing blow to her budding career. She still remembered the heavy feeling in her stomach when she read the headline: “Gabriel Agreste’s Phony Intern MDC Sabotages Fellow Designers— An Exclusive Report!”. It had shattered her.

And while Marinette struggled to keep her head afloat— Lila had always seemed to flourish, climbing the social ladder with ease and cruising above the wild current of the cut-throat fashion world. Partly, it was owed to the fact that many of the other favoured models ended up injured, disfigured, mysteriously out of commission or dead. To make matters worse, Lila had somehow even managed to steal some of her designs and sell it off as many of her own, raking in a lot of money and also earning the approval of Gabriel Agreste.

‘Despite all of those years being married to Adrien, dating Adrien, loving Adrien— dedicating my life Gabriel—I was still not enough in that old bastard’s eyes.’

Adrien never fully grew out of being spineless against Lila, just like he never fully grew out of never being able to confront his father.

His father had never really liked Marinette. She could never live up to his impossibly unreasonable demands. He perceived her as being ill bred, with a poor background, with an even poorer family. At least Lila actually had parents who were ambassadors, and a personal stylist for a godmother. Lila adored the paparazzi, her ego fed on the attention, and she was so skilled at being a human chameleon, she didn’t need media training like Marinette did.

Even still, when his plans for Kagami and Adrien fell through, he had somehow allowed for Adrien to marry Marinette in a quaint, simple and civil ceremony with only close family and colleagues present.

The wedding was done so quickly, Marinette at that moment felt that it was over even faster than it even began. Her dress was a simple Gabriel original, off the rack. But Marinette didn’t care, she was finally Adrien’s wife. And at the time, it seemed that it was enough.

But it wasn’t. And she allowed herself to play the martyr, when instead of leaving— she made Lila her maid of honour. Let her catch the bridal bouquet and invited the liar into her life in a hopeless bid to keep the peace. Marinette thought that if she did this, if she sacrificed even her greatest day just to make Adrien happy, and just to meet Gabriel’s expectations, she would finally be happy. That she and Adrien- her kitty, could put this behind, and finally be able to live.

And where had that gotten her?

Lila parading around their home like she owned it. Losing bits and pieces of her jewellery, seeing her skincare products being mysteriously used up. Finding long brunette strands in places where they didn’t belong and discovering lipstick stains on Adrien’s shirts.

She realised that she couldn’t have been more wrong.

By the time that she finally caught a scantily clad Lila Rossi in nothing but lingerie with Adrien in their marital bed, she was too in shock to sense that Nathalie had snuck up from behind her.

No one could ever say that Marinette didn’t put up one hell of a fight, even if Lila did end up ripping her earrings from her earlobes. Even when Gabriel was transformed. It was only when Lila had fatally stabbed her, leaving her powerless, and driving the knife between her ribs, that the heroine slowed down.

And yet? Here she was. And there they were. Trapped in her past, at her mercy.

Marinette will never forget Lila’s smug smile. Just like she won’t ever forget Adrien’s pleading, cowardly eyes that somehow still looked like they still blamed Marinette for all that was happening. As if she was the one that asked to be bullied, cheated on, and killed. If only she had cooperated, if only she had chosen the high road.

No. No more.

If it weren’t for Gimmi, she wouldn’t have been given this opportunity to live.

And now, she swore, that history will not repeat.

Marinette clenched her fist, and the pen shook between her fingers, the cheap plastic creaking.

“I swear, I’ll never be a Gabriel intern again.” She whispered. His name slipped from her tongue like a curse. Her fury sharpening each stroke as she sketched. “If he loves Lila so much, She, can have it. Let her fetch his coffee, clean his messes, take his constant insults—"

Her next stroke cut too deep into the paper, nearing tearing it. Marinette dropped the pen, and exhaled slowly.

Then, her hand stilled.

An idea bloomed bright and perfect. Insidious in her mind. Undisguised glee crept up her face, and she snapped her sketchbook shut.

Tikki hovered nervously. “You’re…smiling.”

“I finally see the pattern…” She stared past the kwami, and straight at the mess of post-it notes that littered her wall.

“Remember what you said about fate being persistent? That it demands price?”

She saw Tikki still in the corner of her vision. The kwami’s voice was distressed. “Wait…Marinette—”

“I’ve been thinking about it for days, Tikki. When Lila got called to Principal Damocles’ office instead of me. When she ended up spilling that iced coffee on Mylène.” Marinette laughed in disbelief. “I thought, ‘how am I going to make Lila live my life?’. And I now I know. I understand.”

Marinette wrung her hands together until her knuckles blanched bone-white. She turned to Tikki, “Lila didn’t just lie and steal my life. She systematically replaced me. It all started on Alya’s blog. Then, my friends. My internship at Gabriel. My designs. Even Adrien.”

Tikki hovered close, heart sinking. “Marinette…”

But Marinette didn’t reply, she only sighed softly. “So, if she wants my life so badly—then fine. Let her have it. But only the parts she ruined.”

She opened her laptop and began to type. Lines of mock-up plans filled up the screen. A new voice, a new blog. A better narrative. But not Alya's. No, this one would have a new face to spread the latest Miraculous and Akuma info. Someone Marinette could trust, who already distrusted Lila. Someone who wouldn’t turn against her.

“And this time? Lila can live my old life. Right before I burn it all down.”

Tikki fretted, and trembled. The kwami’s small voice was cautious. “Marinette, fate is stubborn. If you push too hard— if you destroy Lila completely— the universe might—”

“Swap our fates? Good.” Marinette didn’t flinch. "I’m counting on it."

Tikki’s paws trembled when they came to cup her face. “This path of vengeance is dangerous. It could consume you…. corrode your soul. What if you end up trapped in Lila’s place?”

"She already tried to steal my life once. I'll just be giving her the one that I no longer want. And I'll be the one dictating my future from now on."

She met Tikki’s gaze, a cold steel behind calm words. But she shook her head at Tikki’s worried gaze. Marinette’s expression softened. She muttered. “And I’m not just seeking vengeance Tikki. I’m ensuring survival.”

“Just promise me one thing,” Tikki whispered. “Promise me you won’t lose yourself in your quest for vengeance.”

She reached to hold Tikki softly, her thumb brushing against her soft fur. “I promise I’ll survive, and that I’ll win. I know what I’m doing Tikki, and I promise, I won’t let myself get lost in revenge. But I won’t let these people define who I am anymore.”

Tikki stared at her for a moment, a searching look in her worried eyes. Then Tikki gave Marinette a hesitant but supportive nod. Her tiny paws gripped her finger.

“Then I trust you, Marinette,” Tikki said, voice small but resolute.

"Thank you Tikki.”

Their moment was broken by a sharp chime of Marinette’s email.

Marinette peered into her inbox. She had received an email from Graham Films. She blinked at the name; a strange feeling stirred in her chest. It was familiar—very familiar but from where?

She clicked it open and saw the commission price. The number burned into her retinas. Tikki gasped, and Marinette’s breath caught.

“This…T-this—”

Her chair tipped back, and she fell, stunned

The very next morning, an hour and a half before their first class would begin, Marinette sat quietly in the school library alone in the farthest corner. The feeling of solitude, hugged around her like a weighted blanket. A sacred hush hung over the rows of bookshelves, and the golden rays of light draped most of the room, slanting through the tall windows. But the comforting scent of aged parchment and sounds of rustling pages couldn’t quell the festering dread in her chest. Though her posture was relaxed, her eyes remained sharp on two open books in front of her.

Chaos Theory and Probabilistic Futures

Economic Trend Forecasting

But her eyes had glazed over twenty pages ago on the economics book, and she was pretty sure she didn’t understand half of the first book. She thought that she could do some reading before Adrien finally tracked her down, but her mind kept wandering. Looping back to yesterday’s email from Graham Films.

The commission email yesterday still pulsed, fresh in her mind.

“Graham Films is prepared to offer €100,000 for a four-look exclusivity collaboration with MDC. Terms attached.”

Once Marinette had regained her senses, and gotten a hold of her bearings, she finally recalled seeing the name “Graham Films” in her email, once in her past life. But Graham Films hadn’t contacted her until she was 18, with a similar offer— after Alya’s big exposé. Of course, after her reputation was in flames and Adrien suggested that she get that internship with his father at Gabriel, she rejected their offer. She didn’t want an entire company destroyed because of her.

They were 4 years too early. It didn’t make sense. Unless, this timeline was already shifting in ways that Marinette couldn’t predict. Marinette peeked into her purse, and saw Tikki dozing quietly inside. Her red body, curled like a comma on the soft plush lining. Marinette tried hard not to pace, and tried not to think about what dominoes might be tipping out of her control.

Marinette tucked a stray hair behind her ear, when she heard the footsteps, and relaxed, although just a little bit. She knew that stride, she memorised it when she fell in love with him 7 years ago. A breath later, Marinette heard him turn a corner. Right on time, just like last time. Soon, a shadow passed in front of her table, and she looked up.

“Marinette.” Adrien addressed her, eyes serious, and expression tightened. He didn’t sit, or touch her. The frustrated model just loomed. “I heard what happened with Lila last Tuesday. Alya told me. She said that you’ve been pitting Nathaniel and Alix against her.” He said, his voice low and urgent.

She suppressed an eyeroll. So then. Just like last time. Of course, not a hello or how are you. No, just straight to the accusations.

Marinette blinked; her smile was humourless. “I didn’t realize I was that powerful. Isn’t manipulation, and deception more of Lila’s thing?’

He ignored the sarcasm. “You’ve had to have told them something! They won’t even talk or look at Lila. The class has been thick with tension for days. Don’t you care that’s there’s going to be another akuma?”

Marinette’s eyes flickered up, sharp as razors. She was satisfied when she saw Adrien wince. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe— Nathaniel and Alix just figured her out on their own. They’re not stupid.”

The model looked even more frustrated. He racked his fingers through his blond hair, and exhaled a sigh. “Why are you making things harder than they have to be? Why are you provoking Lila again? I thought that we agreed to take the high road?”

Marinette gave a short, mirthless laugh. She remembered this rage. “Funny. Last time ignoring her was the problem.”

Adrien’s burrows furrowed, stepping closer. He put his hands on the table. Marinette tucked hers away. His eyes trailed after the movement, and he frowned. “This isn’t you. You’re better than this. You always believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt, a second chance. You were kind. You were forgiving. You’re different lately— you’re cold, and detached.”

Marinette stared defiantly into those familiar green eyes. Ones she used to swim and get lost in. Now, she only felt bitterness for the boy she once swooned for. “No. For once, I’m focused.”

Adrien’s jaw clenched. “Why are you doing this? You know Lila has a medical condition—”

Marinette narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh. You mean her short-term memory loss? That only applies when she’s caught in a lie? Or the fact that she’s a pathological liar?”

The blonde stiffened. “That’s not—”

Marinette stood to interrupt him, spine straight and shoulders squared. Her voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to. It was cold, and calm. “No Adrien. Everyone keeps demanding that I be kind even when Lila walks around setting fire to my life. I’ve been fair and I’ve been quiet. And where did that get me?”

Adrien flinched like she’d slapped him. “You’ve changed.”

Marinette collected the books on the table. “I had to.”

“I don’t like it.”

A pause. Her hands stilled. That’s when she looked at him. A disgusted feeling uncoiled in her chest.

“You’ve said that before,” she muttered, as she brushed her fingers against the old worn covers of the textbooks. “Word for word.”

Adrien blinked. “What?”

Marinette gaze’s drifted past the blond, to the window. To memories that didn’t exist yet, but were overlapping and intermingling with the past. “Just a dream, Adrien. Don’t worry about it. You were very convincing the first time.”

Adrien stepped forwards slightly. “The first time— what are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“No.” Marinette said coldly. You never did.”

She heard Adrien take a breath, audibly struggling. “You used to— I mean, I used to admire the way you always saw the good in people. Even when no one else could.”

“Stop expecting me to be someone who lets herself burn just to keep everyone else warm.” Marinette’s eyes shuttered. And she moved past him. But he caught her by the wrist, his grip desperate. She resisted the urge to hit him.

“I’m just trying to help you take the high road.” Adrien said, his voice soft and pleading. But the firm tone behind it spoke volumes.

Marinette laughed, brittle and cruel. Nothing has changed. It was time to put an end to this farce, she’s said what she needed to say. She tried to jerk her arm out of his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Don’t shut me out. Lila’s just acting like that for attention, if you just ignore her, she’ll stop. You’re not alone, we still have each other.”

His words stopped Marinette cold. And, for a moment, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. Her eyes widened and she felt her skin burning hot with that familiar sensation of outrage. Those words— she’s heard them before. So many times, in their marriage. The words were with empty and meaningless promises, wrapped in Adrien’s soft, undisputable, untouchable voice.

Marinette snapped her head back to glare at him, her eyes bright like flints ready to burn the model where he stood. “Is that what you tell yourself whenever you let Lila tear into me in front of everyone? That you were just being neutral and that doing something noble?”

Adrien stiffened, but his eyes looked irritated. Like he was the one who was tired of explaining the same defence he was used to in his head for years. “I was trying to keep the peace! I didn’t want to take sides! You think I wanted this? If I did, things would’ve gotten worse. You know how delicate the class is. If you stopped making everything a fight, and took the high road, Lila wouldn’t feel the need to defend herself.”

Her lip curled into a sneer. There it was—the same excuse. The same cowardice. “Peace? No, you wanted comfort. You wanted everyone to like you, so you stayed quiet while I burned for it.”

Adrien’s face darkened, and starting shifting on his feet— his hand still grasping her wrist. Not because he was afraid, but because he was suddenly uncomfortable. Like he’d been caught somewhere he wasn’t welcome. His mask of calm faltered, and he shoved his other hand through his blond locks— messy and frustrated. For a while Marinette thought she saw a sliver of his 20-year-self flicker. His mouth opened, searching for words. But all that came out was a weak, “That’s not fair.”

Adrien looked at her with disappointment. Her. Marinette felt her pulse rack up from indignation.

“Life isn’t fair.” Marinette spat.

“You both said mean things. You both made mistakes. Why can’t you just move on from it like I did? I’m not your enemy Marinette! Why are you making me choose? You’re our everyday Ladybug! The class was happier when you just smiled and let things go, Marinette. What happened to her?”

And that made something sharp and final, snap in her chest.

“No.” Marinette interrupted; her voice cold as winter steel as she wrenched her wrist free. The ghost of his fingers lingering like a stain on her skin. “Their moods are not my responsibility, Adrien. They never were.”

Adrien watched her go, his mouth half-open— confused, shaken and, something else. Somewhere deep inside him, something shifted. Something he couldn’t name yet. A shadow of something passed in his eyes before he turned away.

And as Marinette walked away, a dark feeling settled in her chest like lead. She felt her skin crawl, and her blood turn to ice.  

That boy standing in the library was the same man who let her die.

Marinette’s escape led her to stumble through the doors of the library’s stairwell, away from prying eyes. Somehow, this area felt colder than it had when she first entered. Or maybe, it was just that confrontation with 14-year-old Adrien felt and sounded too much like her interaction with 20-year-old Adrien. Marinette’s arms clutched the books tighter against her chest, till her knuckles turned bloodless and bone-white.

She felt Tikki stir in her purse. She was awake now. “Marinette, are you okay?” Tikki whispered, from the small crack in her purse, hesitant.

Marinette didn’t answer her right away. She didn’t feel okay, and she was sure it showed on her face. She felt off-kilter, like a bird trying to fly with mismatched wings— because the moment that she looked Adrien in the eyes, her 20-year-old soul wanted to scream. She hated the way he still looked like that. Like sunshine, like safety. All the things he stopped being, the moment he spoke.

While Marinette expected and prepared for the inevitable confrontation with Adrien for the sake of keeping with the natural flow of events in time— a part of her wanted to see if Adrien didn’t mean it. That there was something in his 14-year-old self which was worthy of all the love she used to give so freely to him.

His words clung to her like smoke. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.

All those years she’d spent blaming herself, twisting herself into knots every time she saw a disappointed glint in his eyes— wondering if she was too harsh or too reckless, too loud or being too sensitive. If she deserved what Lila was doing to her for all those years because she couldn’t keep quiet like he told her to— that Adrien was driven away into Lila’s arms by her, because she had forced his hand.

But it was always this. His gentleness masquerading chivalry. His silence and neutrality, a smokescreen of compassion. Adrien had never once fought for her— not when it counted, not when she was the one who was getting hurt. When Lila’s honeyed lies turned their friends against her, made the world burn MDC to the ground, and when Gabriel made his wish— Adrien stood still.

Neutral. Passive. Comfortable.

The blond said he didn’t want to take sides, but somehow it was always Marinette who ended up alone because all his neutrality ever did was leave her defenceless. She hated how much it still hurt. Even now at 20, reborn, sharpened by grief, death and years of pain, she could still feel the echoes of 14-year-old Marinette begging for him to look at her with love and not disappointment.

Because he only saw what he wanted to see. She knew it in the way that Adrien recoiled and flinched when she snapped. In the way his brows would furrow and he would look frustrated, when he heard something that he didn’t want to hear.

She knew it from the moment that his gaze and words turned searching, not for Marinette, but for the girl he remembered— who he wanted her to be.

And the worst part was— during her first life, she let him. She let herself believe that being Ladybug meant that she had to be strong enough to carry everything alone. That by being Marinette, she had to be kind, be a good example and take the high road. That it was her responsibility to protect them, even at the expense of herself.

She pressed a hand against her ribs, where that phantom ache has been living since, she arrived in this this time. A reminder of the promise of death, betrayal and destruction if she didn’t do this right.

Marinette whispered aloud. “I’m okay Tikki. I’m not her anymore. I don’t know if I ever was.”

Tikki said nothing, and her silence was a kindness.

Marinette glanced at the time on her phone before she took a deep breath, and steeled herself for another confrontation. Her steps quickened as she marched with purpose down the stairs. She needed to get to the first floor.

Lila was going to arrive any minute now.

The air in this corner of the library was stiff. The morning light, spilled in thin, lazy stripes across the floor, warming the old wooden tables and dust-moted aisles.

Marinette walked slowly. Her steps, quiet, confident and steady.

Her footsteps echoed softly against the polished library floor, as she moved fluidly through the aisles. She noticed Marc, Mireille and Aurore on the way, the three of them were huddled on the floor together, quietly discussing their project behind the shelves, bent low and speaking in hushed tones. Marinette knew that they chose that shadowed corner of the first floor on purpose, as it was the emptiest part of the library—to avoid distractions and disruptions to other students and staff. A spot Marinette often retreated to when her usual workspace was taken. This corner of the library was her refuge. As it was secluded, almost forgotten. Making it a perfect bubble away from the restless bustle of Dupont. Even Lila knew this sanctuary well. Which was why she would be waiting to corner Marinette here, because she wasn’t in her usual spot.

Marc caught Marinette’s eye, and he offered her a tentative warm smile. She returned it with a small nod, and a soft smile. She has always appreciated the silent solidary that Marc had shown her, up until her reputation trickled down the drain. But she couldn’t blame him. His relationship with Nathaniel had suffered in the past because they continued to remain friends. Marinette could only hope that they got their happy ending this time.

After all, the only one responsible for ruining her own life was Marinette herself, and Lila.

‘Speaking of—'

Marinette’s gaze shifted past Marc, and landed on a lone figure deliberately waiting in the History aisle. They stood perfectly still, their posture was casual and calm, but calculated— like a snake ready to strike. They hadn’t noticed Marinette yet; their gaze was focused on the lone table in the corner. The terracotta jacket they sported glowed amber like a bad omen, under the lone light that hung above them. If Marinette wasn’t already expecting them, she wouldn’t have noticed them.

Same place, same smug smile.

She knew who it was waiting for her behind the next row of shelves, the same scene that played out countless times before— Lila waiting, coiled and ready to corner her like a mouse in a trap. But this time, Marinette wasn’t the mouse.

As Marinette made her way to the table, she immediately felt Lila’s menacing gaze burn into her skin. The spot was empty— of course. Lila wanted privacy for her performance. But what Lila didn’t know, was that Marc, Mireille and Aurore were close enough to hear, but quiet as the shadows which surrounded them.

‘Perfect.’

She settled into her seat, and made herself look busy, masking her calm beneath a façade of unease. She pretended to not notice the tightening snare around her neck, careful to keep her expression neutral and dumb, while she waited for Lila to move— sharp, expectant.

Marinette didn’t make a habit of being alone with Lila. Not in the past, and not for the past 3 days. But the universe, just like it did with Adrien— was forcing their paths to cross. And there were no accidents or coincidences with Lila. Which Marinette interpreted as a choice by the universe; either allow this meeting to happen with witnesses nearby, or fall into a trap she couldn’t predict and risk getting framed. 

Marinette chose the former, sitting calmly. She felt a sinister brush of cold air behind her neck, as Lila’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. Like she’d been rehearsing this moment with her all morning.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” she heard Lila drawl. Her voice sweet as honey, and sharp enough to cut. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me. That would be so rude.”

Lila laughed, low and sadistic. “Or, are you just scared, Mousinette?”

Marinette bristled at the jab, but still, she didn’t bother looking up. She just pulled out her sketchbook and calmly set it onto the table, slow and deliberate. She clicked her pen. “No, just busy.”

‘Too busy for you.’  Went unsaid, but the two girls knew the words hung unacknowledged in the air.

Marinette traced a line down the page.

That threw Lila for a moment and Marinette felt the young model shift, as she sauntered over to face the designer at the other side of the table. As if commanding attention. “Busy? With what? No one’s calling you for interviews. No one’s offering you runway deals. Face it, you’re busy hiding that you’re irrelevant, alone, forgotten and—"

“Then why are you wasting your time on me?” Marinette interjected. Her pen tapping on the margin of the page, bored. She finally looked up, cold, steady. Dead calm. “And I wouldn’t hide. Not from a lie.”

Not from you.

Lila’s smile faltered, and the corners of her lips twitched—barely—but Marinette caught it.

Lila tilted her head, her teeth flashing in mock-sweetness. The way she did every time when things weren’t going her way. But Marinette could see her façade unravelling. Marinette’s eyes flitted to where Aurore, Marc and Mireille were watching, discretely hidden in the shadows. No doubt drawn, by the quiet commotion.

‘Just a a little bit more.’

“Careful, Marinette. People might think you’re jealous of me. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m the most popular girl in Paris! Adrien’s by my side, and Gabriel’s already talking about us at the next gala. I’m everywhere that you aren’t. And I didn’t even have to try. Where are you?”

Marinette’s expression was slight and humourless. She draws another line. “I’m right where I need to be.”

The liar didn’t miss a beat and slammed her palm, flat on the page. “You really think, sitting here, doodling your shitty fashion sketches makes you important?”

For the first time, Lila’s hands curled slightly at her sides, irritated. “Important? No. Not really. Effective?” Marinette drawled, as she blinked slowly at the liar. Like a predator assessing prey. The faintest ghost of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Marinette sees the moment Aurore pulls out her phone, the dull glow of the screen light blooming in the corner of her eye. When Lila moved— one furious sweep of her arm, sending all of Marinette’s belongings cascading off the table like frightened insects. Lila laughed, under her breath. Sharp, acrid and bitter.

“So smug.” Lila hissed, leaning in until Marinette could see the furious pulse in her temple. “Like you haven’t already lost everything—I know you’re planning something”.

Unfazed, Marinette leaned back in her seat; her arms crossed loosely, as if she was observing an unruly child. A single dark lock of hair, fell on her forehead. Her eyes, dark and unnervingly calm, remained locked on Lila’s face. She absorbed her fury, like how deep water absorbs a stone.

“Don’t think I’m stupid—” Lila spat. The words vibrating with barely contained rage. ”—that little stunt you pulled with that ginger and his stupid crayon cartoons? You must think you’re so good, don’t you? That you’re some kind of martyr now?”

Lila straightened slightly, trying to reclaim her composure under Marinette’s unwavering gaze, meeting Lila’s fury with unsettling serenity. She said nothing.

Faced with the tense silence, Lila smirked. “I’m giving you a chance to quit before I make your life worse with just one word. They all love me, I’m Gabriel’s muse. The Sweetheart of Paris. I run charities around the world, save endangered species, volunteer at children’s hospitals and cure sick puppies! — what do you do Marinette? Sit in your little bakery and sketch?”

A small, sharp smile cut across Marinette’s lips. “What I’m doing, is none of your business.” Her gaze swept pointedly over the scattered wreckage of her pens on the floor, then back at Lila. “And none of you is real. Once they’ll figure that out, sooner or later— it’s all going to fall apart in your hands.”

Lila reeled back sharply at that, nearly tripping over a pen. She masked the stumble with a loud, brittle scoff. “Vaffanculo! God, you’re so annoying! You think you’re untouchable? Always working so hard, always suffering. Spare me the shitty righteous bullshit.”

The liar’s bravado rang hollow against Marinette’s quiet confidence— who leaned back further in her chair, the picture of calm. “I’ve heard that one before.”

That was when Lila’s expression contorted. The indignation vanished— replaced by something icy. Dangerous. “Maybe, you need a little reminder.” She breathed; the words barely audible but dripping with malice.

Marinette’s smile widened.

Lila’s hand shot out, quick, precise, with fingers clawed and aiming straight for Marinette’s hair. A repeat of past humiliations. A desperate reassertion of dominance.

Just like last time— just like always.

But this time, Marinette’s hand moved faster as it shot up— not as a frantic block, but a smooth, decisive interception. Her fingers closed around Lila’s wrist with surprising strength, before it connected. A profound calm spread through Marinette’s chest, steady as the unflinching beat of her own heart.

And her eyes never left Lila’s.Lila’s eyes widened, and her breath hitched. She tried to yank her hand free. “Let. Go.”

But Marinette held her, and met her gaze. Flat, and unbothered. “No.”

Lila froze. Stunned into immobility. And for a brief second, there was nothing but the ragged sounds of Lila’s angry breathing.

Suddenly, with a frustrated snarl, Lila yanked her arm free and Marinette felt herself ripped from her seat. Marinette heard a faint gasp in the background—Marc’s— and felt her back slammed violently against the bookcase with enough force to rattle the shelves. Books clattering to the floor.

The heroine winced, as the sharp edges dug into her back. Bruises she remembered blooming again in the same place. But the pain barely registered.

Marinette bit back a manic laugh. Her smile wide, and reckless.

“Wow. Isn’t this romantic?” Marinette gasped, grinning through the ache. Her voice light with something close to madness. As she leaned just a breath away from Lila’s face. Her normally confident green eyes swam with something Marinette was hoping for— uncertainty. “You want my attention that badly, Lila? You could’ve just asked me out like a normal girl.”

The crack in Lila’s façade deepened, and Lila recoiled like she’d been burned. Her sneer twisted into something closer to disgust, as she gave Marinette one last shove into the bookcase, as if wiping her off. She let go of Marinette, and the amused designer slid softly onto the floor with barely disguised mirth swimming in her deep blue eyes at the turn of events. Lila wiped her hands on her skirt, as if touching Marinette was above her, as if the girl was something filthy.

“You’re such a fucking freak Marinette,” Lila spat. Her voice shaking now. “You think just because you’ve grown a backbone, that that this makes you strong? That you’re so clever with your sad sketchbooks and wannabe designer dreams? You’re nothing but another one of Adrien’s fashion groupies.”

Marinette met her gaze, steady and cold beneath her toothy grin. She was already brushing the dust from her blouse. “The only groupie here is you, Lila.”

The brunette’s face darkened, her hands trembling from where they were clenched at her sides. “Ohhh! But watch this—”

Lila eyes shined with unshed tears, her hair a mess from their scuffle and her wrist red from where Marinette grasped it. She was the perfect image of a victim. Her snarl contorted, into a trembling pout.

“Everyone!!! Marinette was threatening me! I was just defending myself from her, when she just attacked me! I-I don’t know why she’s so jealous of me and hates me so much, I just want to be her friend—"

“Oh, cut the crap, Rossi.” Aurore’s voice rang, clear and as sharp as glass. She stepped forward from behind the shelves, the dark shadows around her recoiling from the soft blue glow of her phone. Marc and Mireille stepped forward, flanking her sides.

Lila blinked, and her expression shuttered into one of perfect fragility. But before she could speak, Marc’s voice cut through the air. “Save it. We saw everything.”

Mireille stood beside him; eyes wary.

Lila, huffed. And placed her hands on her hips. “Fine, you caught me! So what?”

She stepped forward to them. Menacing, and powerful. She flipped her hair, her voice turning brittle. “I only tell people what they want to hear. You think anyone, cares what you nobodies think? What are you going to do? Oh! Aurore, forecast my downfall on the weather report? Start some pity party on your lame little blog?”

“Don’t make me laugh.”  Lila sneered.

The blonde weather girl only smiled sweetly in response, but her eyes were heavy with promise. “Guess we’ll find out together then.”

Lila’s expression twisted, but she recovered fast, as she looked over to where Marc hovered protectively by Marinette’s side, helping her steady herself. Mireille came to stand in front of the designer in an effort to shield her from the liar’s withering gaze.

The model rolled her eyes, and tossed her hair back with a scoff. She took a step back, brushing the dust from her terracotta jacket.

“I wouldn’t say anything if I were you. You’re not important for anyone to listen to.” Lila kicked more of Marinette’s things across the floor, as she walked off, breaking a pen or two. She waved a dismissive well-manicured hand in the air; her high-pitched laugher rang hollow in the empty aisle.

“See, where being brave gets you? Enjoy your fifteen seconds of courage. It won’t last.” Her voice hissed, low and venomous. With one last condescending glance, she turned and strolled away. “This war’s not over, Marinette. This is just the start.”

And with that, she stalked away. Leaving the aisle cold in her absence, and the three around Marinette stunned. The click of her expensive burgundy ankle boots against the polished floor was the only indication that she was ever there.

That and—

“We got everything on camera, Marinette. Lila’s not going to get away with this.” Mireille said her voice light and sweet. But conviction burned in her warm hazel eyes.

“Thanks, guys. Really”

Marinette brushed dust from her pants as she let Marc and Mireille help her to her feet. She let out a slow breath, as the tension slipped from her shoulders like a long overdue sigh. It was just as she planned…. mostly. She gave the trio a tired crooked smile and a breathless laugh, as little Marc— ever the gentle boy, brushed the hair from her face.

“S-she’s insane.” His hands were shaking. Either with rage, or from fear, Marinette didn’t quite know.

“She’s predictable.” Marinette replied softly. Allowing herself to lean on him for support, as Marc helped her up.

She could feel it—the universe shifting, timelines rewinding and colliding. The threads of fate already tangling and pulling tight. Lila— ever the power-hungry, was already chasing the spotlight, clawing her way towards the Agrestes like it would fill the hollowness inside her. And that’s exactly where Marinette needed her to be.

Good. Let her chase him. Lila can wrap herself in the Agreste’s name, if Marinette played her cards right. She had bigger things to build.

But now, she looked at the three before her. Aurore’s fire, Mireille’s kindness, Marc’s quiet courage—and felt something catch in her throat. Their faces were still pale from adrenaline, but their eyes were wide and burning with resolve. Marinette knew that they would help her the moment she had planned this whole encounter. And they did.

And— they were just... kids. Like she once was. Funny, how easy it was for her to forget that she wasn’t one anymore. That she was an adult trapped in teenage chaos, playing a game— far older than any of them could understand.

Marinette smiled, small but real. Warm in a way that made the cold in her bones retreat for a moment.

Then, with a gentle nod, she added. “Alright, let’s not tempt fate. That’s enough excitement for one day. Come, let me take a look at that video.”

She took the phone carefully, weighing the moment in her palm. But in her mind, she was already filing it away. Not to release yet, not until the moment where it would count the most and turn the tides.

This wasn’t the time to burn her best card. There was a right time to strike, she could see it on the horizon, waiting for her patiently. So, not yet. Not today.

But one day soon... it would be.

But Mireille, Marc and Aurore didn’t need to know that. They deserved to be safe from Lila’s ire. For now, she’d protect them the way no one protected her.

“Let’s keep this safe, alright?” she said softly. Her voice tender with pride. “You guys did great today. Really brave.”

And for the first time in a long time, she meant it.

The morning bell rang, for their first class.

Marinette’s walk to class felt lighter than it should’ve, almost unreal. It felt like a distant memory barely visible, like a faded photograph— like she was drifting through someone else’s life and remembering their memories. Her back still ached faintly where the shelf had bruised her, but her mind was calm, working 2 steps ahead of every present moment.

She was still riding the quiet clarity of the confrontations she had with Lila and Adrien that morning. 2 short hours, and yet Marinette felt aged somehow.

Sunlight filtered through the skylight in thin fractured lines. Everything looked the same as before. The same posters on the plain walls, the same old paint. The same cracked tile by the third window. And the same shadows which ran across the concrete floor every morning.

But everything had changed. Timelines were unravelling ahead of schedule, and conversations were happening sooner than Marinette had expected in just 3 short days. Was she pushing the limits of time travel too far? Or was this the universe’s way of telling her that timelines and events were shifting and changing faster than Marinette could predict them?

In the first timeline, the cracks hadn’t shown until years later. Lila had maintained the façade of perfect innocence for longer and Adrien smiled more genuinely— comfortably. Or maybe, Marinette was too blind to see it? Maybe too hopeful. Too naïve.

But regardless, events that should’ve happened years into the future— Lila’s rage and violence, Marinette’s conflict with Adrien, the class starting to fracture — they were happening now ahead of schedule. Lila—her cruelty was the same as before, but back then, it had been hidden beneath her fake smiles and subtle scheming. But now that Marinette had torn back the curtain, Lila had shown her spiteful self. There was also the matter of her own personal career. Being on retainer for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale’s music video— the generous commission from Graham Films.

Everything was all tangled together. A mess of events rushing towards something she couldn’t predict, but hoped, was right.

But that was fine, she didn’t need to control everything. She just needed to control herself.

Marinette slid into class, that buzzed with low mutters and the rustling of pages. Across the room, Alya and Lila were whispering fiercely, heads bent together like twin vipers. Caline Bustier sat listening raptly, the look on her face an unfamiliar image of uneasiness and confusion. The normally sunny-faced teacher, folded her arms and knitted her brows together as she regarded them both.

“…. she’s not even doing her job!” the bespectacled girl huffed. “The class rep is supposed to keep the peace, Mme Bustier, not stir up petty drama!”

Lila nodded sympathetically; her voice pitched loud enough for the whole class to hear. “Oh Als, don’t be too harsh on her, it’s not Marinette’s fault! Poor thing is probably just so overwhelmed, balancing all of her duties. I mean, I was so exhausted when I organized the Environmental Youth summit. Not everyone’s cut out for leadership.”

For a moment, the liar looked pensive before looking pleadingly at Mme Bustier. “Maybe…maybe it’s time that Marinette gets a little help? Two deputies instead of one? Me and Alya, could share the role, balance the workload so Marinette isn’t as stressed.”

Marinette tried not to roll her eyes as she quietly slinked her way to her seat. But already, a few heads nodded. While some of her peers looked hesitant, some looked relieved to avoid another week of tension. A few murmured uncertainly, while someone whispered, “Maybe Lila should run for class rep…”

Alya, ever the opportunist, straightened with a spark in her eyes. Her voice firm with misplaced admiration. "Yeah—maybe what we need is a fresh start! And I could help out as Lila’s deputy. You know, really make a difference for the class.”

That was all it took for a few more heads to turn, curiosity piqued.

But then, Chloe, gave a sharp, sudden laugh. The unexpected sound slicing clean through the classroom’s uneasy murmurs. She leaned back in her chair, arm draped over the backrest like she owned the room. Chloe flipped her ponytail with a sharp, precise snap. Her face was all smug amusement, but her eyes narrowed dangerously— razor sharp beneath her mascara.

“Oh please,” Chloe spoke, every word soaked in mockery. “A leadership duo? Spare me the comedy act. What is this, the Cirque de Dupont?”

The room froze.

“Let me guess your campaign slogan — ‘Vote Lila, the girl who lies for world peace’? I thought we wanted some actual leadership; not whatever half-baked reality show you two clowns are staging.”

A few stifled laughs broke out—Kim’s and Alix’s— but quickly hushed. Alya’s face flushed and Lila’s smile faltered slightly before she smoothed it back into place.

Pressing a hand to her heart— Lila spoke, all gentle grace. “Oh, I could never try to replace Marinette! I respect her too much for that. Honestly, I’m already stretched thin with my charity work and modelling at Gabriel. I just hate seeing anyone struggle alone, it’s wrong to let someone fall when you could be helping them up!”

Lila shot Marinette a sweet, pitying glance— as if waiting for her reaction. But Marinette only tilted her head, utterly calm. It was the same script, played out on a faster timeline.

But this time— Marinette’s eyes trailed to look at Chloe— there was something new.

The blonde in question, with her arms crossed and her proud chin lifted high, turned hesitantly to look at Marinette Their eyes met. And for a flicker of a second, something like…. embarrassment crossed the heiress’ face. Awkward, defensive and shy. A faint blush bloomed across Chloe’s cheeks before she ducked her head— scowling to cover it. Marinette’s heart gave a quiet and unexpected ache.

Chloe's voice, when it came again, was loud and clear.

“Just spare us the speech, Saint Rossi.” Chloe rolled her eyes and arms tightened across her chest. “If you’re so busy pretending to save the world and strutting around in last season’s hand-me-downs, maybe stop auditioning for Class Martyr while you’re at it.”

Chloe leaned forward on her desk, smirking. “It’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous! If you really wanted to help, you’d stop turning every crisis into a main-character moment in front of your entire fan club.”

A few gasps rippled through the room, and Alya stepped forward. Her voice rising, fierce and unwavering in Lila’s defence.

"Wow. Chloe, jealous much? Just because you’re not the center of attention anymore doesn’t mean you have to tear down people who are actually trying to help.” Alya shot back. “Lila’s being kind—offering her support! Even after everything Marinette’s put her through. You’re just bitter that it’s about time we re-evaluate who’s actually fit to lead this class. And spoiler alert— it’s definitely not you!”

That earned a few nods around the room, and Lila, predictably seized the moment to soak up sympathy as she gave a humble smile, dipping her head in rehearsed modesty. As if the praise embarrassed her. “Please Alya, I’m just doing what anyone would do. I don’t hold grudges— I just want peace in the class.”

Chloe’s smirk deepened, her eyes glimmering with delight, like she was savouring a private joke.

“Oh please,” her voice dripped with contempt. “Jealous? Me? I’m just stating facts. If anyone’s trying to be the center of attention, it’s the girl who can’t even keep the rest of you peasants in order without turning everything into a circus. But by all means, keep drinking the Kool-Aid.”

The air was thick with tension, and Marinette could only be grateful for the fact that Gabriel was in Milan for the rest of the week. Otherwise, Hawkmoth would be having a field day with all of the emotional turmoil.

Of course, that was when Adrien finally decided to speak. His voice firm, as it pierced through the silence. His hands raised in a slightly calming gesture.

“Chloe, that’s enough. There’s no reason to be cruel. Can you just—"

The blonde’s head snapped toward him.

“Oh— I’m sorry Adrikins.” She said, tilting her head with a smile, as if daring him to say another word. “I didn’t realise that honesty was a crime now, but I guess it’s only when it makes your little friend look bad.”

A hush fell over the room, and Adrien’s peacemaker smile slipped from his face, genuinely taken aback. The look in his eyes swam with disbelief. Which was when Mme Bustier finally intervened. Standing up for order, for the perfect façade of a happy well-behaved class. 

Marinette tried not to roll her eyes.

Bustier cleared her throat and rubbed her temples. She turned to the young heiress first, her tone firm but measured. “That’s enough Chloe. Even if your intentions are better than your delivery. I appreciate you for wanting fairness, but insults won’t solve anything.”

The teacher’s gaze then shifted to Alya and Lila. Sharper now. “And you two— leadership means bringing people together, not tearing them apart. If you truly want to help Marinette, start by setting a better example.”

Alya opened her mouth, but bit back whatever defence was forming from her tongue at Bustier’s sharp gaze. Lila’s sweet smile wobbled around the edges as she let her arms drop to her sides, feigning defeat. Both girls slunk back to their seats. Whispers crackling like static between them as they sat. Chloe huffed, and went back to checking out her manicure.

Mme Bustier clapped her hands twice, silencing the low chatter as she gave a wide smile. Dismissing any lingering tension that hung like a dark fog of smoke over the class.

“Alright— now that we’ve…. cleared the air—” Bustier said, with a tired sigh as she looked around the room. “—we have some important class announcements to get through before we begin our class.”

She paused, as she glanced towards the door. “First, I’d like you all to welcome a new student joining our class. As we all know from Lila, who joined us in the middle of the school year— I hope that we can all give him a warm welcome.”

‘What.’

Murmurs rippled across the room. But Marinette sat straighter in her seat, her heart going still and the blood growing colder in her veins as she silently panicked. Her mind raced for answers. There were more changes, more shifts— but they’ve never received a new student ever since they welcomed Lila. So why now? Who—

Bustier gestured toward the open doorway, beaming. Her voice warm and professional. “You may come in.”

The teacher’s voice carried, like an echo of false cheerfulness, as silence fell over them like a blanket. For everyone else, anticipation and curiosity. For Marinette, her uncertainty bordered on fear as her eyes darted desperately, trying to catch the first glimpse of the new variable thrown into the equation.

Footsteps echoed from the hall, and the door creaked gently as a tall, slender figure stepped inside.

The universe tilted on its axis and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. No. Impossible. She knew that face. Had seen it in passing fleeting moments in her old life, years from now.

“Everyone! Please welcome your new classmate, Félix Graham de Vanily.”

Chapter Text

A hush fell over the classroom as Felix stepped in.

The Graham de Vanily heir stood poised, like he was plucked straight out of a luxury menswear catalogue. He sported a pristine charcoal-grey vest which he layered over a black dress shirt, accentuating his lean frame with effortless elegance. His deep green eyes were glacial, like two precious jade stones; and they stared unflinchingly ahead—cool, and distant.

A murmur of whispers swept across the room.

The seats creaked faintly as a few students shifted upright, their imploring gazes dragging toward him with something between interest and caution.

“Wait…Felix, isn’t that Adrien’s cousin?”

“Isn’t he supposed to be in England?”

“Why’s he here?”

Felix’s eyes skated over the classroom with the kind of cold, empty and disinterested precision of someone who was regarding chess pieces rather than people. The faint arch of his brow, betrayed nothing more than his disdain.

It was only when his stony gaze collided with Marinette’s own, that his expression caught and stuttered.

For the briefest instant, they flickered with a flash of recognition, and—something unreadable, that didn’t belong on a face so young. Then, it was gone as quickly as it came. A veneer of calm veiled over his expression, pulling it inwards and away like a swirl of mist. He stood straighter, and turned away as if the class was no more remarkable than the chipped paint on the walls.

Marinette’s pulse surged in her chest like a jackrabbit, climbing up her throat in a swell of distress.

‘Why are you—how are you— No, this is nothing, it—’ the mess of her thoughts screamed. She exhaled softly, earning a curious side glance from Nathaniel.

‘Mon dieu.’

Not wanting to make her seat mate uneasy, she offered a small smile. It did nothing to extinguish her worry. She forced herself to breathe evenly, even as her fingers tightened around the edge of her table.

Her careful plans for the future were still yet made out of glass. She silently prayed to Gimmi, that Felix’s unexpected arrival wasn’t the stone cast into its center.

Classroom chatter blurred into meaningless buzz, and she felt a cold prickle travel down her spine. As if fate itself had leaned close to toy with her, and was exhaling a breathy laugh against the back of her neck.

The click of Felix’s tongue—the sound as sharp as the heel of his polished shoes against the hardwood floor—broke through the buzz of the classroom.

Satisfied, he turned to languidly regard their homeroom teacher. His crisp accented voice rose over the whispered chatter that remained.  “If you’re quite finished playing children’s politics, I’d like to be seated now.” He stated matter-of-factly, as if the class had already exhausted his patience.

Bustier blinked, unused to such bluntness. She floundered under his gaze like a deer caught in headlights, before adjusting her posture. “Ahem—yes, thank you for your patience, Felix. You may…you may take a seat at the back, next to Ivan. We’ll discuss your schedule after class.”

The teacher hastily gestured to the hulking boy, who shyly raised a hand, and gave him a sheepish smile.

However, Felix didn’t move. Largely ignoring Ivan, his brows drew together slightly and his expression rippled faintly with a shadow of displeasure. His eyes darted once more—sweeping past a wilting Ivan— and searched to meet Marinette’s again.

This time, his gaze lingered. Too long to be polite, but too far away to be obvious to anyone—except her. She watched something flicker in him, as he drew a breath and his lips parted. As if words hovered just behind them unsaid.

The moment fractured when, predictably, Lila’s hand shot up, her voice bright and giddy.

“Um, Mme Bustier? Wouldn’t it better if Felix sat up front? He and Adrien are cousins, so we could get him get settled in.” Lila suggested, her voice taking on a sweet purr. Turning to stare at the suddenly tense Felix, she smoothened her skirt and shifted slightly to make space beside her.

Lila offered him an impish smile, with a coy tilt of her head. “I was the new girl too. So I know that it can be overwhelming here in Dupont. If you’d like, you can sit next to me.”

Felix’s face shuttered, his mouth curving downwards with a dismissive frown and didn’t so much as offer Lila’s words a flicker of acknowledgement or if she was even there at all. He stood perfectly straight, his expression a perfect image of restraint, like a man forced to endure an unpleasant cold draft of air rather than the unwanted invitations of a teenage girl.

Silence stretched and grated against the classroom chatter when he made no moves to turn his head towards Lila, not even to glare, but acted as though she had never spoken up at all.

Alya’s head shot up, the reporter making a move to whisper something sharp to Mylène while Rose pressed her hands together in a soft gasp, appalled by his rudeness. Adrien’s face twitched, a faintest hint of tension breaking through his model-perfect features.

Around, a new ripple of whispering threaded through the air, with classmates exchanging looks. A few even murmured praises for Lila’s kindness and patience, the words crackling in the air like static. Even Bustier, seemed to seriously contemplate Lila’s words.

But Felix still hadn’t moved. Instead, his hand that rested loosely on the strap of his bag tightened near-imperceptibly with tension that he didn’t betray anywhere else.

He cleared his throat a few moments later, the noise cutting clean through the classroom hum, demanding attention.

“My apologies, Mme Bustier,” he said evenly. His tone was polite but spoken with with an undertone of finality in his voice that bore no negotiation. “But I’d prefer to be seated with someone who knows the ropes.”

He paused deliberately, then his gaze drifted across the classroom until it landed—

“Perhaps the class representative?”

The classroom rippled with surprise, fracturing into a dozen little reactions. Half-gasps and whispers tripping over one another.

Marinette couldn’t hear them while her own breath hitched. The frantic sounds of her own heartbeat thumping steadily in her ears. Heat prickled her skin, and she resisted ducking her head away when she felt the weight of his stare.

He wanted to sit next to her?

“O-oh! Of course, Felix!” Mme Bustier’s cyan eyes widened in surprise and she quickly relaxed her expression with a tight smile, scrambling for any scraps of authority she can salvage. “Nathaniel, you can come to sit down here next to Ivan.”

Nathaniel looked up from his drawing, confused. “But—” he said with a start, frowning. His freckled face scrunched in protest and he glanced at Marinette with worry.

“It’s okay Nath, I’ll be fine,” She murmured, and gave him a look that she hope didn’t give away her anxiety. “See you at lunch?”

Thankfully, his expression softened, albeit a bit morosely.

“Okay Nette.”

Nathaniel rose to gather his things. He smiled back, a little mournful, when he passed their shared desk on his way to Ivan’s.

Marinette watched as the redhead settled in his new seat just across from her, when Felix stepped forward. As he shuffled past to reach the empty seat beside hers, his dark grey sleeve brushed her arm, and Marinette caught the faintest whiff of his cologne in the air.

She didn’t mean to breathe him in—but the moment she did, the scent cracked something open in the depths of her memory. It was warm, hauntingly familiar, and hit her like a whisper of déjà vu.

The day had been long.  

Today was meant to be her day off with Adrien. A quiet morning, curled beneath the duvet. Her head on his shoulder, their limbs tangled together under the covers as sunlight crept lazily across their bedroom floor. She would make blueberry souffle pancakes for breakfast, and they would put their favourite show on.

That was the plan.  

But by 8am, their morning had been hijacked by a mess of emergency meetings, urgent emails that demanded her input, production setbacks, and botched deliveries meant for next week’s Gala. It was a PR disaster just waiting to happen.

None of it was her job. But as usual, she was the only person remotely competent to keep the company and Gabriel’s image from falling apart.

Again.

Thank Kwami for small mercies. By some miracle, she was let out early at 5pm instead of at 7pm while the sun was still up, with no akumas plaguing her city’s skies.

Marinette stood by the revolving doors of the Gabriel building, wrapped in her favourite pink pea coat. The soft warm wool kissed her skin beneath the collar. Her thin slender fingers were curled around her phone.

A sad frown ghosted at her lips as she stared at the messages, she had sent hours ago. Her phone screen glared back at her—last seen, eight hours ago.

 

[8.40a.m.]

I promise it won’t take long today. I’ll try to be home earlier than usual. Maybe we can still do that dinner? Just the two of us? (sent)

[8.45a.m.]

I love you <3 (sent)

[12.00p.m.]

I made your favourite passion fruit macaroons. It’s in the fridge if you don’t want to wait for me. I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise :(  (sent)

[2.30p.m.]

The office says I’ll be done by 7. I’m sorry again, I’ll be sure to hurry straight home after to make us dinner. (sent)

[2.35p.m.]

We can even open that wine we’ve been saving? For special occasions? (sent)

[2.36p.m.]

I love you… (sent)

 

That morning when Marinette left, Adrien’s eyes had been on his phone even as she softly kissed his cheek goodbye. Her hand brushing against his arm, went unnoticed.

Until now, all of her messages were still left unread.  

She frowned, her thumb hovering over the keypad. She exhaled a long sigh before locking her phone and slipping it into her coat pocket. When had she become a ghost in her own marriage?  

Suddenly, a flicker of movement in her periphery caught her eye. Someone was watching her.

Marinette turned—and locked eyes with him for the first time.  

Felix.

Marinette tilted her head.

She’d always seen Felix around the office, and during joint events with Gabriel. Always in passing, always at a distance. Ghosting in the crowd, or disappearing into elevators. Their paths rarely crossed— and yet, Felix was her strange, but familiar silhouette in her increasingly lonely world.

She remembered catching glimpses of him before—at galas, boardrooms and joint events. But Marinette had never spoken to him during those times, not once. And yet, he had always been there. Always silent, but always there.

And now, impossibly, he was in front of her.

Felix was leaning just past the corridor leading to the boardroom, the low distant discussion carrying through the hallway. His posture appeared relaxed, but his gaze was trained directly on her. Felix’s hands were tucked into the pockets of his black coat, the collar upturned. And his normally slicked-back sandy blonde hair was slightly tousled, like he had been running his fingers through it.

Marinette blinked. Then tentatively she lifted her hand, and offered a small wave. “Hi… Felix.”

There was a faintest flash of surprise in his eyes at being addressed. As if Marinette had just broken an unspoken rule between them.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he nodded. His voice was polite, and undeniably British. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m heading home early,” Marinette smiled demurely as she adjusted the collar of her coat with her left hand. “Thought I’d surprise Adrien. He’s home today, so I was hoping to make us dinner.”

“That sounds….” His voice trailed, flicking to the gold band around her finger, “nice.” He said reluctantly. Like the word tasted like ash in his mouth.

A look crossed Felix’s face. Like someone struck a match, but had snuffed out the spark before it had a chance to burn into a flame. There was tension in his face and his hand shifted restlessly in his pocket— as if he desired to say something—more than something, as a storm brewed behind his eyes, like a dam threatening to burst.

Felix shifted on the balls of his feet slightly, his eyes wandering before they found hers again.  

“Adrien’s lucky to have you.” He spoke. His voice not betraying what his face yearned to say.

“Let’s hope he thinks so too,” Marinette laughed softly. Though it lacked any real humour.

The corridor hummed faintly with the low mechanical whir of air conditioning, Felix’s steps echoing softly against the polished tile as he stepped a fraction closer. Sunlight spilled in through the windows, catching gold flecks in Felix’s hair like precious stones in the dim orange glow of the late evening.

Where Adrien’s bright green eyes and lemon hair was like sunshine, Felix’s jade eyes and ash blond hair was like the moonlight. They stood facing one another. The space between them was big enough to not be touching, but close enough that Marinette could smell the scent of his cologne which clung to his coat.

It floated in the air between them—vanilla and sandalwood.

She breathed it in, without meaning to and she shivered, as it sunk deeply into her lungs—warm and sacred, an anchor to this moment. A small current of safety threaded through her.

Marinette blinked up at Felix.

Her eyes followed his gaze that shifted to look outside of the window behind her. The dark of the evening was beginning. Already fragments of the dim orange sky were turning black, and the soft blinking streetlights were slowly being urged awake.

“You should go— before it gets dark.” He said softly, not quite meeting her eyes.

She smiled, just a little. “Well…see you tomorrow?”

Felix stared for a moment longer, his figure illuminated by the soft orange glow of dying the rays of the evening sunset, peeking out from the windows. His expression remained unreadable, jade eyes reflecting the dimming light.

And then, with a smallest breath of something—but not quite a smile—with a subtle tilt of his head, he nodded firmly.

“Tomorrow.”

Her smile this time was bright, and optimistic. Felix was still a stranger to her, yet somehow, in the smallest of unspoken gestures in their brief conversation, he had shown that he cared.

She waved Felix goodbye. The promise of tomorrow sitting strangely warm in the hollow cavity of her chest, and she turned away until the revolving doors swallowed her whole.

She never thought that would be the first and last time she would speak to him.

As Marinette laid dying, the earlier scent of vanilla and sandalwood still clung to her like a prayer. It hit her gently, like a memory…or a dream. It didn’t belong here, not in the dark—not in death.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng! Marinette! Mar—"

“Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Her name landed softly like how a feather would, as if the speaker feared, that her name might dissolve if spoken too loudly. It brushed the edges of her thoughts, and broke her from memories of a future that no longer existed.

Marinette turned sharply, an exhale on her tongue. Felix sat a breath too close; his hand half-extended looking as though he was about to touch her shoulder in some breach of etiquette, but thought better of it. At her gaze, his fingers recoiled against his palm.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said, softer this time, and devoid of the cool calculated contempt he had shown earlier. His stare lingered on her face. There was a faintest trace of sardonic amusement ghosting over his mouth. “You were staring rather intently on that page. Forgive me, if I intruded.”

Marinette’s lips parted, startled briefly by his earnestness. “You…remembered my name?” She replied, steadier than she felt.

A shift in his expression was slight. “Names stick, if one listens,” he replied smoothly. With an undertone of hesitance in his voice, he added, “And…that ah…video. Not exactly a flattering introduction, was it?”

A surprised flush crept up her neck as Marinette cringed. Of course, it would be—that. Her eyes dropped to glare at her notebook, as though it could open up and swallow her and clear the mortification biting her face.

“That was a mistake. I’ve moved on,” she blurted, her voice barely audible.

“Oh. I wouldn’t have guessed.” The blond was silent for a beat, like he was processing the truth of her words. When she stole a glance at him, his impenetrable mask flickered—surprise—and something else. But he recovered quickly, murmuring with a softness that landed heavier than any teasing, almost indulgent. “But I’m glad to be mistaken.”

It was a small sound, but she felt the weight of the words in the air like heavy stones dropping in a pond. In her first life, Felix had never transferred, never sat beside her. He’d been a shadow—a name wrapped in rumours; Adrien’s reclusive cousin from London. And yet, this moment…this pause... between them, felt oddly familiar. Like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

Time was strange. Which was what rattled Marinette the most about Felix’s appearance. The designer could only hope that the future was still malleable; that variables were still within her realm of control. That his presence was a blip, and nothing more.

At the front, Mme Bustier cleared her throat and read through the page with a theatrical flourish. “Alright class, let’s resume our reading of Julius Caesar. Everyone, turn to Act III,”

Marinette tapped her fingers on the wooden surface of her table, a nervous tick, with her cheek turned to nestle in the palm of her hand. Her side-eyed gaze drifted back to Felix, who sat stiff as a statue beside her. The designer wondered if he had always looked like this. So serious. So unlike the lonely, angry child she watched impersonate Adrien in the video all those years ago.

She never claimed to know the boy. In fact, Marinette didn’t know him. And yet, she also felt like she did. Not from the video, not from her brief encounter with him as Ladybug, not from gossip or the tight-lipped stories Adrien used to tell her about his unfeeling cousin. Not even from that evening in the darkness of the Gabriel lobby. It was something deeper—something that she didn’t have words for.

But for someone who had always struck Marinette as aloof—the younger Felix before her was too still; his shoulders, too straight.

In the front row, Lila’s voice rang out, already spinning tall tales about her noble British ancestry and her deep, ancestral ties to Shakespeare. Like a bow; Felix stiffened, with every inch of him tightening with practiced restraint. There was a surprising flash of disdain in his eyes then—sharp like a glint of steel.

“You… tense up when she talks,” Marinette murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

There was a long pause. His stare pinned forward, sharp like an arrowhead embedded in oak.

“I dislike liars,” Felix murmured back, as if it were no more than an observation about the weather. But Marinette noticed how white his knuckles had gone. “And she is as paltry as they get.”

“You’ll be having the time of your life in Dupont, then.” She joked, hoping to lighten the mood, between the two of them.

Surprisingly it worked, as a ghost of a smile touched his lips, and vanished before it could fully form. “I’ve learned to pick my battles.” He muttered, his slender fingers fidgeted almost imperceptibly against the desk.

“And yet you chose to sit here. This—” Marinette hummed lightly while she nodded subtly towards the space between them, “—doesn’t seem like the safest battlefield for avoiding conflict.”

His eyes flicked towards her with quiet amusement, that was both cool and appraising. “And here I thought I was making a strategic alliance.”

More surprisingly, his words had earned a small snort from Marinette that was more genuine than intended. So, he was funny. “You’re not who I thought you were”.

Felix had been many people in her head, both past and future. The boy that impersonated Adrien, the reclusive cousin in London, the shadow that lurked in her peripherals—and the sombre man she spoke to in the darkness of the Gabriel lobby who gave her the promise of a tomorrow that never came.

Whereas present Felix stood as a blur, like a distant washed-out photograph in black and white.

The boy in question slid her eyes toward her briefly, and he almost smiled again. Marinette wondered how many ‘almosts’ she’d be able to needle out of him. His eyes then shifted toward Lila and her circle in the front row where laughter bloomed. Felix’s gaze towards them was glacial, annoyed, but when he spoke to her again; his voice drifted softly, almost delicate.

“And you’re not who they say you are.”

Marinette’s heart stuttered—the words landing heavy. As expected from Felix, he was always more astute than what people, even Adrien, gave him credit for. Even as a child. He had been in this classroom for less than a few minutes, and already seemed to see more than her own classmates had in years.

But before she could respond, Bustier’s voice rang in the background. 

“Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar.” The red-headed teacher recited passionately; her voice oozing with rehearsed tragedy. “Betrayal between friends— Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar explores the very spine of tragedy. Brutus loved Caesar, but no more than he loved Rome….”

Her breath stifled a laugh that threatened to escape—that had struck a chord within her. While meant for literature, they might as well have been ripped from Marinette’s obituary. The irony wasn’t lost on her, to sit here years later, reborn into the same scene.

Maybe if Marinette paid more attention six years ago to this lesson, she would’ve known the knives always come from those you trust the most. As if her first life wasn’t already the epitome of tragedy—that somewhere in between the chorus of betrayal from the life that she no longer lived, Marinette was somehow carved as the fool. And such was her life; a modern-day Shakespearean tragedy.

But this time, her Brutus already had a name. A few names in fact.

“Friends becoming enemies,” whispered musings twisted softly on Marinette’s tongue like coiled snakes. Her gaze flitted to her former friends— the former love of her life, and the liar who made it possible. Her friends had loved Marinette, but no more than they adored and worshipped Lila. Their blind devotion, and Marinette’s own foolishness—an act of sheer folly—that had ultimately led to her downfall.

“Enemies becoming friends,” She hadn’t realised that the blond had heard her silent musings when Felix suddenly echoed softly beside her.

Marinette tilted her head at the passive-faced blond, and gave him a rueful smile. “Careful, you make it sound like we might be friends.”

To her surprise, he extended a hand towards her. “We were never really enemies”

Marinette stared at it for a breath. She never knew Felix, even as 20-year-old Felix—who was a graphite smudge creeping around in her world full of false light. 14-year-old Felix was a bigger enigma.

Not friends, but not quite enemies.

Her eyes searched his impassive face as the low drone of soliloquys, metaphors and imageries filled in the silence between them like mist.

Then, slowly, she grasped his hand, her soft supple skin tingled as it grazed Felix’s. His grip was gentle, and his touch was warm, almost fevered. The brush of his pulse humming beneath her fingers, felt louder than Bustier’s words. She felt him tremble slightly under the contact of her fingers, the slight twitch in his brow giving away a margin of surprise in his face. The moment between them stretched, then ended as their hands drifted apart.

“This doesn’t make us friends,” Marinette said, her fingertips buzzing when she tucked them into her lap.

“Acquaintances then,” Felix replied, smoothly as he clasped his hands together to rest on the desk. And considering how normally cold and stoic the boy was, those words might as well have been a declaration of friendship. Somehow, the implication that the blond wanted them to be friendly, for reasons Marinette wasn’t sure of yet—A temporary alliance? A tactic? — didn’t unsettle her as much as she thought that it should.

That didn’t mean she trusted him—no. She knew better than to bend like paper, not when the memory of her death still pressed like the phantom pain against her ribs.   

Even still, the corner of her lip betrayed her with the faintest twist, and before she could stop it, her expression softened into something close to mirth. Even as the unease nagged at the back of her mind, for a heartbeat she allowed herself the dangerous indulgence of wondering whether Felix meant what his silence suggested—that he was here beside her as a friend.

While the silence stretched between them, Marinette turned her attention back to Bustier, though her mind refused to settle, circling back to the boy now seated at her side.

As the tales of Julius Caesar and Brutus whispered from centuries past swept across the room, something in the air shifted as the hands of fate—persistent and unseen continued to quietly weave their threads.

And Marinette, against all reason, felt the threads tightening around them both.

When the bell rang for their lunch break, the classroom erupted into motion with students shuffling across the creaking floorboards. Students clustered in chattering knots, loud and careless as a thrashing swarm of tuna.

Marinette moved through them with the ease of long practice, her steps quiet, automatic and invisible. She slipped around grasping arms and careless shoulders without effort. Just another shadow slipping away.

All except one.

She really should’ve known better than to think that her act of drawing the proverbial line in the sand that morning would be sufficient to deter Adrien. He had never been easy to push away. Marinette didn’t know what exactly drew them together the first time around, but she had never outright questioned his convictions, never overstepped. They had fights, but she always forgave him in the end—too worried of his disappointment, too afraid of being abandoned—after all, she had loved him too much to deny him.

However, it seemed like this time, her former husband wasn’t so easily shaken. As though fate itself still refused to break their pattern.

In the absence of Nathaniel acting as her buffer, and Lila doing all but throwing herself at Felix who locked in a stiff exchange with Bustier—Adrien had taken notice of this gap, and slid smoothly in her path like it was his right.

But Marinette was faster, deftly ducking and weaving around the model. His fingers grazed her shoulder—just a whisper of contact—enough to make her skin crawl. Behind her, she dimly registered the indignant squawk of her peers, Alya’s voice sharp with outrage, but Marinette did not slow. The seasoned heroine shrugged Adrien’s touch, before making a hasty retreat into the bustling corridor, vanishing into the press of bodies.

The corridor outside was crowded and buzzed with noise typical of Dupont’s lunch hour. At her locker, she spun the dial and let the metal door creak open. Haphazardly nestled between a stack of beaten-up textbooks and crumpled balls of paper, was a pristine powder pink binder. Pulling it out, the echo of mockery and laughter pulsed fresh, unbidden in her mind as she let the familiar weight settle in her hands, the felt smooth beneath her fingertips. This binder had once been her lifeline.

As Ladybug, she was Paris’ heroine. But as a civilian, Marinette, had no such honours, no titles to show for. She was a bakers’ daughter, aspiring fashion designer, model student. But being class representative had meant that she could be useful and needed, to be deserving of praise as Marinette— not as Ladybug by virtue of her miraculous. As a civilian, she had only this: the class representative’s binder. Proof that she was needed, proof that she was worthy.

And she had lost it, lost it all in a public ousting of Lila’s design. She was crushed at the loss and never socially recovered from when the position was pulled right from under her.

Marinette pressed the binder to her chest, deeply in thought. Things were moving faster than she’d anticipated.

Lila had already begun manoeuvring earlier than expected. When originally, the auburn-haired model only began vying for the position a little after Marinette and Adrien began dating. But that was fine. If fate wished to hand Lila the rope and nudge her towards the fiery pit which was the designer’s former life—well, Marinette would not interfere. Who was she to deny the weavings of fate when it had so graciously accepted her offering? Marinette had long decided that she would not be reprising her role of class representative in this life, the liar had always coveted things that belonged to Marinette after all.

So, the burden of class representative will be the first of many gifts, the designer would be giving her once the time was right.

This time, there would be no ousting, no tears. Bustier’s—surprisingly—vehement support of her that morning while self-serving, made it very evident that this timeline’s Marinette still remained in her good graces. Bustier, naïve and delusional as she was, was useful on her side.

Marinette exhaled quietly, and tucked the binder carefully into her bag.

While all class representatives received their own school-mandated binders, Marinette had always found Dupont’s binders lacking so she had made her own which included forms, documents, meeting minutes, lesson plans and personalised information lists for every single student in class—everything that the school files lacked. Everything that Lila and Alya could not, and would not have in this time.

The last time she lost her position, she had lost the binder too. And from that point on, every success Lila flaunted as class representative might as well have been hers. They were a product of her structure and systems—but somehow Marinette’s efforts still had been forgotten. But every time Lila failed, the blame still found its way back to the former class representative, as though she was still the one in charge. It still grated, the way her efforts were dismissed the moment someone else wore the crown, while her failures lingered long after she stepped down.

Marinette adjusted the strap over her shoulder, and stepped into twisting her way around the crowd of students, her eyes trained for the side entrance. Sentimentality had no place here. No praise or pity would be found dwelling about a life that was no longer hers, not that she wanted it.

She was halfway down the hall, nearly free, when a hand shot out in front of her, low and precise—and gripped the edge of her sleeve. It pulled her firmly but gently around the corner to fold her out of the hallway and guide her into the narrow alcove between two tall trophy cases. Her body collided with a solid chest, and she stiffened from the contact. Her Ladybug instinct flared and she twisted, ready to break away, until the scent of vanilla and sandalwood stilled her. 

“What—are you serious?” she glared up at Felix, shooting him a flat look but made no move to wrench her sleeve out from his fingers. Her jaw clenched. “Do you make a habit of dragging people into random corners?”

Felix’s expression didn’t change. If anything, an echo of amusement touched his eyes as if this was all perfectly ordinary. “Hardly a habit. Only when necessary.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she muttered a reply, narrowing her eyes.

“It should, it means you’re not just anyone.”

She sputtered, and the corner of Felix’s lip twisted slightly. Was that…a smirk? The absolute nerve of this guy!

Marinette’s mouth opened, an irritated retort bubbling up in her throat—but the blond lifted a slim finger to his lips, in the barest gesture for silence. She froze, her frown deepening, until she heard it too: footsteps, voices drifting down the hall—slow and searching.

While she held her breath, Felix, didn’t so much as blink as he shifted the both of them further into the corner, their bodies disappearing entirely from sight. He stood still as marble. Pushed together like this, the distance between them closed, dangerously small, and intimate.

“—he just ignored me again. I don’t know what I did wrong…”
“—and just walked away from Adrien like that! Can you believe her?”
“—probably upset, poor thing. Maybe we should talk to her Als—”

Their voices ebbed and then vanished altogether. As Felix exhaled a breath, Marinette felt her cheek fluster where it was pressed flush against his shoulder—her button nose almost buried in the collar of his creaseless vest. Once the hallway noise returned to its usual murmur, Marinette cleared her throat. This prompted the boy to finally face her. Realising their compromising position, he quickly stepped away, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“My apologies, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Felix coughed, readjusting his tie. He avoided her eyes, opting to stare off where a soft peal of high-pitched laughter drifted faint and distant, down the hall. “You seem to attract the attention of…. unsavoury characters.”

“I’m used to it,” Marinette replied. She straightened her spine and desperately tried to ignore the residual warmth in her face. How infuriating. In her younger body she may be, but she was still 20 in mind. How was it that Felix, still a boy—a child—could fluster her like she was still a schoolgirl? “And while I appreciate the help, I don’t need rescuing.”

“Good. I dislike rescuing people.” Felix answered curtly. Though there was a faintest smile on his face. “But for the record, you didn’t push me away.”

She blinked, and suppressed a snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Mere observation, not flattery.” His brow arched with clinical detachment, his posture carrying the kind of poise she associated with men twice his age. She dared say the boy almost looked smug. “If you wanted me gone, I would be.”

Marinette pursed her lips and bit down on the comment that was forming on her tongue. He wasn’t wrong. She had allowed him to stay ever since he sat beside her in class, ever since he extended his hand towards her and she chose to grasp it in turn—and now this. She wondered what Felix wanted to accomplish, and if she wanted to stay out of his way, or let him draw her in.

“Merci, Monsieur Graham,” she muttered noncommittally at last, moving to brush past him.

Felix inclined his head slightly as she did. “After you, Miss Dupain-Cheng,”

He stepped forward to join her in the hallway that still hummed with students, the crowd almost swallowing them both. A knot of students spilled out, their laughter a ringing shrill against the walls, jarring in contrast to the taut quiet stretching between them. Marinette smoothed out the wrinkles in her blouse as she stalked away, acutely aware of Felix moving with her, keeping pace like a deliberate shadow in the swell of bodies.

She glanced sideways, to transfix a scrutinising gaze on him. “For someone who dislikes rescuing, you’re rather good at it.”

“Purely circumstantial,” he replied quickly, without missing a step. He avoided looking at her, his eyes shifting slightly. But something swimming in his expression softened, just a fraction, so smooth it almost looked accidental, like an echo of a thought he refused to share. “I was told the class representative is responsible for giving new students a tour.” A faint pause. “I’m merely here to collect.”

Marinette stared at him for a long tense moment. She quietly debated stepping past him and just gunning for the side entrance. But the blond was already turning as if subtly motioning for her to follow. “You’re actually serious. You, want a tour. Of Dupont. Now?”

Felix inclined his head, and folded his hands behind his back as if this was a perfectly acceptable reaction. “Lead the way, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

She let out a short incredulous breath—not quite a laugh, that would be giving Felix too much credit—and she fell into step beside him, catching up with him in two brisk steps. “You’re unbelievable.”

Felix blinked and tilted his head slightly, in mock-obliviousness. “Only moderately.”

Marinette didn’t respond, and simply marched ahead, taking the lead. She pretended to ignore the amused glint in his eyes as she did. The faster she finished this “tour” the faster she could go to the bakery and still have time left for her plans that afternoon. Plans that mattered. Plans that did not include Adrien’s cousin.

Adrien’s cousin.

Felix was a variable she hadn’t accounted for. He wasn’t the ghost she remembered from the edges of her future; the aloof figure she had only caught brief glimpses of in the corner of her eyes. Too distant to matter, too far away to know. Their paths had barely brushed in her other life—no conversations, save for that final night in Gabriel’s lobby on the day she died.

But this time, he had chosen to sit beside her. This time, he wasn’t to remain in the peripheries of her vision. No, he had stepped directly into the spotlight—into her line of sight, and refused to leave.

And worse— this time, he wasn’t a stranger.

Felix was a pebble dropped Marinette’s still water. And in just a few short hours, he had caused a ripple that she wasn’t quite sure she could contain. Already, he was a sharp interruption to the carefully controlled surface that Marinette had promised herself she would keep the moment she landed in the past.

They were becoming something else. Something close to being friendly.

Curiosity was the closest word for what she was feeling about Felix. But curiosity had killed better people than her. Had, killed her.

Still, she found her steps aligning with his easily as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The low chatter of students sunk away, as they ventured into the quieter parts of Dupont. Dust motes drifted in the slant afternoon light, golden beams streamed through the high windows, painting the tiled floor in lazy yellow as their bodies casted long twin spectres over the floors.

Marinette caught herself stealing more sideway glances of him. Just a flick of her eyes was enough to mark the clean sharp cut of his profile, the way his serene expression seemed carved in marble. He wasn’t watching her—his gaze was fixed straight ahead, unreadable, as they silently moved down the hall in unison. But his hands were still folded neatly behind his back.

There was tension in the set of his jaw, and how he held his shoulders tout like a bow. The eerie stillness about him that he seemed to wear like armour, was not lost on Marinette.

People liked to say that Adrien and Felix looked alike. Every news outlet, every article. Tabloids gushed about the cousins every opportunity they got. She paid no mind, since Felix had never been in her light.

But now that he was, they didn’t look alike at all, not really. In fact, the two cousins couldn’t have looked more different from one another.

There was no trace of Adrien in Felix. He possessed none of Adrien’s boyish charm, and sunny warmth. Where Adrien was golden light and easy smiles—who seemed to accept everyone so naively and openly, as though the world could never hurt him—Felix was a blade, who held himself at a cool and deliberate distance, and moved around as though the world had already sharpened him.

Adrien had lit up rooms with his smile, but Felix’s presence alone could drain them of noise. And yet, walking now beside him, the quiet did not feel empty.

For a moment, she imagined him fractured before her eyes. Two Felixes overlapped, impossibly stitched together. The boy she never knew, with his unyielding posture at her side—and the older shadow left stranded in the Gabriel lobby of her mind, still waiting for a tomorrow that was never allowed to arrive.

Felix Graham de Vanily’s presence unsettled her in ways she couldn’t name. Not because he reminded her of Adrien—but because he didn’t. Adrien had always been painfully transparent once she figured out where to look. But Felix was all closed doors, and mirrors turned outward. He reflected back what he wanted her to see, hiding what lurked underneath.

And that, was danger.

But in spite of this, Felix felt strangely closer to safety than anyone else. And that fact unsettled Marinette more than anything.

‘Who are you, Felix Graham de Vanily?'