WARNING: Chapter contains character death!

Wanna learn how to believe again
Find the innocence in me again
Through your young heart
Help me find a way, help me try

Chloé blindly swatted at her phone as it buzzed across her night stand. She lifted it to her face and blinked at it. 'Christmas Through Your Eyes' by Gloria Estefan. When had she set that as her alarm tone? It was a good song, just...not one she usually listened to around the holidays. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure she'd downloaded it to her phone, let alone set it as her alarm. She shrugged, thinking maybe there was a new update on her phone that set random Christmas songs as ringtones or alarms. No matter. She had more important things to attend to like...

Like putting her plan into action. As she brushed her hair and applied her make-up for the day, she ran over what she would say to Adrien. Marinette was only using him for his name and once Cheng Fashions (or whatever she was calling it) had flourished, she would dump him like a sack of flour. His only avenue for happiness was to abandon that pigtail-wearing, dough-kneading, soul-sucking trollop and join someone with actual means. Someone who knew Adrien resented his father and could take him away from the world of high fashion and modeling rather than drag him back in.

Chloé sneered in the middle of getting dressed. Marinette. Always so talented. Always so charismatic. So lucky. So loved. And she made it look so easy! It had to be something she'd mixed in with the cookies she brought to class at the beginning of every year. Brainwashed everyone into wanting to be friends with the useless daughter of a baker rather than the glamorous daughter of the mayor. Who wouldn't want to befriend someone of status like her? Who wouldn't want to do her homework and secure a place at her side? Who wouldn't want to garner the favor of the one woman who had the city in her pocket? No one in Mme. Bustier's class, that's for certain. She shrugged. At least she had Sabrina.

Had...

'You are easily the worst person I've ever met!'

...must have been one of those brainwashing cookies.

Chloé tied back her hair with a bit more force than she had intended. The restrained strands tugged at her scalp, but she didn't care. Such were the sacrifices made for beauty. She picked out her most expensive white winter coat and a purse to match, then made her way down the hallway to the elevators. In between the rhythmic beats of her boots tapping against the carpet, she could barely make out the music coming from the speaker overhead. She cocked her head to the side and listened. It was...an instrumental version of the song playing on her phone. She rolled her eyes. Hopefully this was just 'Red Car Syndrome' and that song wouldn't be stalking her throughout the next week.

If one were asked how well André Bourgeois had aged in the past seven years, one would be answered with an emphatic 'meh'. His receding hairline had ordered a full retreat and his already salt and pepper hair was now just as salty as his daughter. The lines on his face had succumbed to gravity's siren song and he looked every bit the fifty-year-old man he was, but he had just as much energy as he ever did. It seemed losing the last election about a year previous had done wonders for his health, and for the well-being of his hotel and the staff. A shame the same couldn't be said of his relationship with his daughter.

He had tried to give Chloé everything, and when she had asked for space to study in America, he had allowed it. He hadn't even fought or argued over why she wanted to continue her education over nine thousand kilometers away with no guarantees that she would visit on holidays (which she hadn't). They had, however, promised to call each other once a week, but once a week became every other week became once a month became holidays and birthdays and nothing more. When Chloé stepped out of the elevator and made her way to the hotel's dining room, she had hoped for a joyous reunion. A warm smile, a hug, maybe even tears. But the look André wore on his face was that of a man who had just seen his only child yesterday and not gone nearly four years without being in the same room as her. He didn't even stand when she approached their table, simply smiled his fake politician's smile and gestured to the vacant chair across from him.

"So good to see you doing well, Chloé," he said. Chloé sniffed at his assumption that she was 'well', but offered up a smile just as counterfeit as his.

"Of course, Daddy. What did you expect?"

"I certainly didn't expect you to come home for Christmas this year. What made you change your mind?"

'Saving the love of my life from a succubus, nothing new.' "Adrien and Ma–" her tongue swelled in her mouth at the girl's name. She cleared her throat and snapped her fingers at a server to fetch a glass of water. "–Marinette are getting married."

"Ah, yes!" André's eyes lit up in a way that made Chloé jealous. "I'm well aware of the impending nuptials. They came to me almost a year ago requesting my kitchen staff to cater the event. They even asked for Marlena by name."

Chloé gritted her teeth at the realization that her father was facilitating this madness. "I received the invitation just last week. A little last minute I know, but classes had just let out for the winter, so I cleared my schedule and made my travel arrangements." She shrugged and snatched the full glass of water from the server's hand. "It's for Adrien, after all."

"You haven't finished with classes yet?" André inquired. "I thought with your schedule you would have finished just a few weeks ago."

"One of my teachers got fired for propositioning a student," Chloé said before she took a sip of her water. "I have to wait until they can find a suitable replacement before I can finish my degree."

A half lie. Mr. Browning had indeed been fired for propositioning a student, and that student was currently sitting in a Paris hotel contemplating how best to sabotage a wedding. However, the school had found a replacement teacher immediately, but Chloé wasn't about to tell her father that the issue keeping her away from Le Grand Paris wasn't an unfinished business degree, but the plain and simple fact that she didn't want to run a hotel for the rest of her life.

"They're not expecting me to pay them more, are they?"

'I tell you I got stuck in a class with a sexual deviant and your first concern is your bank account. No, no Daddy, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I wasn't bothered by the middle-aged loser curious as to whether or not 'blondes have more fun', so you can go ahead and worry about your checkbook. I'm. Just. Peachy.'

Despite her internal rant, her external composure held. "You won't have to spend another cent on my education, Daddy."

"Splendid!" He must have seen something over Chloé's shoulder because his eyes brightened up. "Ah, breakfast is served! I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of ordering Eggs Benedict for you. I remember you mentioned craving the dish earlier this year."

'It was early last year, Daddy. And not that I'd ever tell you, but after tongue kissing a bottle of Jose Cuervo and puking up breakfast last Christmas, even the smell of eggs makes me sick.'

"I'm actually not that hungry," she lied. Something on her stomach would have done her wonders, but she found her skin itching just at her father's presence. "It's been nice catching up with you, Daddy, but if it's all the same to yo–"

As Chloé stood, her chair pushed backwards behind her. She heard the chair legs scuff on the hardwood floor, felt the chair pitch to her left with her legs, and felt something warm and wet spill down her back. Her shoulders hitched upwards, her face froze in a disgusted grimace, and she slowly turned to see a server on her knees staring up at the heiress in abject horror. Chloé noticed her seat was coated in a viscous, pale yellow sauce and knew, just knew, that the same sauce now stained the back of her coat.

"I-I-I'm s-so sorry, Mlle. Bourgeois!" the server stuttered. "I'll have this cleaned up in–"

"Hollandaise!" Chloe shrieked. "You spilled hollandaise on an Agreste original winter coat! You won't have this cleaned up anytime soon, because this jacket is ruined! Y-you! You!" Chloé whipped her head towards her father and jabbed a finger in the now whimpering girl's face. "Fire her!"

"Chloé, dearest," André attempted to soothe as he rose from his own chair. "It was an accident, I'm sure. And I'll buy you a new coat, I promise." He began to rest his arm across his daughter's shoulders, but pulled away at the sight of the sauce oozing across her collar. "Call, uh, call it a Christmas present!"

Chloé glared at her father, then snapped her head back to the server. "So long as it comes out of her paycheck."

"I'll...see what I can arrange," he said, though Chloé can tell from his voice that he doesn't intend to dock her pay. In just the short year since he lost mayorship or Paris, he's gone soft, lost all ability to command respect. For a second, Chloé contemplated accepting a position at the hotel just to straighten out the staff, but ultimately determined that once she started down that path, she would never be able to turn back.

Her destiny belonged to her.

(#)

It took André scarcely an hour to procure a replacement coat. It came from the same line as Chloé's old coat, but looked more like the coat she wore when she was still in collège, yellow with black lining and white fur around the collar. 'Like a bee,' she mused for a moment, then easily dismissed the thought.

After taking a shower and changing into fresh clothes; thick, white, thermal leggings and a matching high-collared sweater; Chloe's appetite had only deepened, despite what happened, but she was too eager to be out of the hotel and left to walk about the city before the growling of her stomach could become too evident. Was this what her relationship with her father had become? Was she willing to starve herself just to avoid him? No, no she wasn't, which was why she was on the prowl for real food, not that foul, greasy American fast food. Granted, foul greasy American fast food had its merits, and had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure to the girl who had once lived off of salads and sushi. But right now, she craved fresh croissants from the best bakery in Paris.

It truly pained Chloé to admit it, but M. Dupain made the most wondrous croissants in the city. Soft, flaky, buttery, you could taste the hours of preparation that went into them. Usually, Chloé would send one of her servants or a member of the hotel staff to pick up an order so she wouldn't have to deal with...certain people herself, but without such resources, Chloé was forced to tend to her own needs. She prayed she wouldn't encounter Marinette today. She prayed she could walk in, grab a bag of croissants, and walk out without having to deal with the one person she hated more than anyone else.

The bell above the door jingled as Chloé entered and a young woman with long black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail straightened up from behind the counter. "Good morning!" she smiled. "Welcome to the Dupain-Che...Chloé?"

Atheism was starting to sound pretty good, right about now.

"Good morning, M–Marinette," Chloé forced through her fake smile. It occurred to Chloé that every smile she had worn since landing in Paris not even a twelve hours ago was fake. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had genuinely smiled. Not that she'd had a reason to smile recently. "Three croissants, if you please."

Marinette blinked, as though the order hadn't processed yet. Then she shook her head and smiled again. "Oh, yeah, sure!" She ducked behind the counter and came up with a small bag and a pair of tongs. "So, when did you get back in Paris?"

'Don't try to play things casual with me, you man-stealing wench!' Not that Chloé would say that aloud. This situation called for subtlety. "Last night. It was a little last minute since I only received my invitation last week." She hoped the emphasis wasn't lost on the poor baker girl.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Marinette apologized. "We sent it out weeks ago with all the others, but you're the only person we invited living out of country, and we must have gotten your address wrong." She reached into the display case but bypassed the closest pastries in favor of the fresher croissants towards the front. Chloé sneered at the pathetic attempt at bribery. "We got the invite back last week. Return to sender, envelope was chewed up and had all sort of stamps and seals all over it. We had to have Alya print a fresh one for you and send it out priority mail." She folded the top of the bag over and passed it over the counter. "I'm just glad you got it on time."

"Ah, lovely," Chloé muttered. Marinette was taking this too gracefully. She was supposed to feel guilty. "Put these on my father's tab."

Marinette waved a hand. "On the house as an apology for inconveniencing you." The beeping of a timer behind her drew her attention away from the front, so she didn't catch Chloé's snort.

'What petty bribery,' she thought. But when she tore off a piece of croissant an popped it in her mouth... 'Sweet, flaky bribery.'

"Enjoying that, are you?"

Chloé snapped back to reality only to realize she had let her eyes roll back and a satisfied moan escape her. She straightened and said, "Americans can't make decent croissants to save their lives."

Marinette rolled her eyes. "That's depressing. Glad I could give you a proper welcome back." Another pair of customers strolled in and Marinette quickly greeted them before turning back to Chloé "Hey, um, Chloé, you, uh..."

"Spit it out," Chloé snapped. "I have places to be." Another lie.

Marinette didn't seem phased by Chloe's shortness. "Adrien and I were gonna call you later and ask if you wanted to meet us for lunch? My shift ends in about an hour, so...La Belle Rouge at twelve-thirty?"

La Belle Rouge. Not exactly the fanciest restaurant in Paris, but not exactly something one could afford regularly on a baker's salary. No doubt their meal would be courtesy of Adrien.

"Twelve-thirty." Chloé nodded and turned on her heel. Now that she had something to distract her from the rumbling in her stomach, the cold sting of the winter wind on her face was all the more evident. She looked around her and saw children throwing snowballs at one another, couples walking up and down the sidewalks arm in arm, but it was the statue in the park to her right that caught her eye.

Even while living in America with no reason to do so, she still followed the Ladyblog, so she knew that Ladybug and Chat Noir had added to their team, the additions reflected in the expanded statuary. The original statue had since been retired to make room for an updated work portraying Paris' five heroes as adults.

Ladybug stood in the center with her arms crossed and Chat Noir stood to her right with his fists on his hips. The original pair had really filled out. Muscle definition, longer hair, and slight modifications to their suits that couldn't quite be depicted in bronze. Next to Chat stood Jade Turtle, his hood down and a hand raised in a two finger salute. Volpina stood to the spotted heroine's left, one hand planted on her hip and her lips curved upwards in a wicked grin that exposed her sharpened canines. And on Volpina's left sat the statue of their newest member.

Paon, the peacock hero. Her statue depicted her standing straight with her feet together. Her signature fans sat unfurled in her hands, one held out to the side and the other just barely covering the smirk on her face. Everything about this statue was completely contrary to how she had acted when she first joined the team. Timid, unsure, down on herself. But over time, she became a fierce warrior, unafraid and confident, and it was that Paon that Theo had captured.

Chloé tilted her head as she gazed on Paon's statue. While Chloé had met the other four heroes on multiple occasions, she had never seen the peacock in person. She had joined what the Ladyblog referred to as 'Team Miraculous' shortly before Chloé left for America. Around the same time that...

'I hope I never see you again!'

"No problem there, Sabrina," Chloé muttered to herself. "I'm just here to stop a wedding and get my–"

"'Scuse me, Mlle," came a thin, raspy voice from behind her. She turned to see a scraggly man with an unkempt beard and an unwashed face. He wore a threadbare scarf, mismatched coat and trousers, and a ratty knit hat that looked (and smelled) like he'd pulled it out of a dumpster that morning. In fact, he smelled like he'd pulled himself out of a dumpster that morning. He held out a shaky palm and asked, "Can you spare a centimes for a hungry man?"

Chloé made no small show of bringing her hand up to cover her nose. "I have nothing for you. Now leave. You reek."

"Please, Mlle," he pleaded, taking a step closer. "Just a little. It's the holidays, after all."

The heiress backpedaled. "I know what time of year it is." When he took yet another step closer, she swung at him with her purse and caught him across the face. "Take a hint! Get away from me you...you garbage man!"

She whirled around and stalked off before the homeless man could react, fury in her steps and her eyes. The nerve of some people. Demanding handouts? And using the holiday season to guilt trip people? Christmas is a poor excuse to pick someone's pockets at the end of every year.

...why did that sound familiar?

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Chloé flinched at the guttural roar and the subsequent screams of terror. Now that did sound familiar.

"Call me garbage, will you?"

She spun on her heels to face what could only be described as Frankenstein's Monster made of stitched together trash–empty soda cans, newspapers, half-torn plastic bags–with a massive battered trash can mounted on its back. It roared again and leaned forward to aim the overflowing mouth of the trash can right at Chloé, but she wasn't about to stick around to see what he did with it. Old instincts kicked in as she dropped her croissants and bolted out of the park, glad that she had chosen flat heeled snow boots rather than pumps. Another roar echoed from behind her followed by slow, thundering footfalls.

In the back of her mind, she lamented the loss of her free breakfast, but the forefront was preoccupied with a more important matter: 'I get to see Ladybug again!' All she had to do was avoid the Akuma just long enough for the heroes to show up and Chloé would reunite with her old friend! Thankfully, the Akuma (who called himself Éboueur) was more concerned with covering the streets in hot, rancid garbage than with capturing Chloé. That is until he used his trashcannon (Chloé cringed at the Chat-worthy pun) to launch a field of rotten banana peels into her path.

She slipped on the first peel she stepped on and wondered if this was it. This was her downfall. Done in by a cheap cartoon gag. She landed hard on her backside and more banana peels fell onto her, one slapping across her face.

"Now, you little priss," Éboueur hissed. "You'll be garbage just...like...meooooff!"

Chloé peeled the peel ('I've got to stop it with the puns') from her face and saw the Akuma on his back and a man in an pitch black costume standing between them. He whirled his staff around and posed with it behind his back. Chat Noir. It was as though Chloe's puns had summoned him.

"Easy now, big guy. Let's not make any trash decisioooooooohh!" He raised a hand to cover his nose and let out a string of hard coughs. Shortly after, a woman in orange with a long flowing tail dropped from the rooftops and landed at his side.

"Hey, you alright there, Kitty Caeeeaauuugh!" Volpina clamped both hands over her nose and coughed. "Wha *coughcough* whad dah hell is dat sbell?"

"Ad Akuba," Chat deadpanned, his nose still plugged. "Lid–*cough*–liderally bade of hod garbage."

"Oh, gouuuuhp." The fox clamped her lips shut and her cheeks puffed out. She swallowed, then said, "Guh, thing I'b gudda be sig."

"Yeah, be too." He leaned over and braced his hands against his knees.

A third figure, another woman, landed in front of them and waved her azure fans towards Éboueur. He was just struggling back to his feet, but the sudden gust blew him backwards and took the fetid stench with it. She turned and smiled at the pair, her dark teal eyes shining behind her cerulean mask.

"So glad peacocks don't have super smell. Better?"

Chat simply nodded, gave a thumbs up, and then sneezed. Volpina drew a deep breath in through her nose and let it out as a contented sigh. "Much better, Birdy. Thanks."

Paon shook her head, her bright orange-red braid swaying behind her. "Would it kill you to use my actual name?"

The fox lightly punched the bird on the arm. "You know that's my thing, girl. Buggy, Kitty, Birdy, Shelly..." She raised her head and glanced around. "Speaking of, I haven't heard from Ni...uh, J-Jade all morning."

"O-oh," Paon stammered. "Oh, uh he's..."

"Hey!" came a familiar voice from the rooftops. Chloé glanced upwards and her face brightened at the sight of Ladybug standing with her fists on her hips and looking just as brave and confident as ever.. "You can socialize later. We've got a city to protect!" She tossed out her yoyo and swung hard and fast down the street towards the towering garbage man.

"You two go help LB." Paon said. "I'll clean up the civilian." Volpina and Chat nodded, then took off down the street, leaving Paon to stride over to Chloé and lean over to offer her hand.

Chloé accepted it and took in the new hero as she rose to her feet. The woman's suit was predominantly blue. Darker at her collar, then growing lighter as it moved down her body before it transitioned to black knee-high boots. Her fans hung loosely at her waist, suspended on a green belt that also bore a half-skirt of peacock feathers trailing over her left leg. Her gloves, dark blue at her hands fading into green, stopped at her upper biceps, leaving her freckle-flecked shoulders exposed. What Chloé could only assume was her Miraculous sat on the side of her green headband, just above her left ear: a bright blue pin that looked like a fanned peacock tail.

Paon helped brush banana peels from Chloe's clothes and let out a hoarse chuckle. "That guy got you good didn..." She paused when she removed a peel from the woman's face, her smile falling, then rising back up in an almost knowing smirk. "Chloé Bourgeois. How did I know?"

"You know who I am?"

"Please," she shrugged, "everyone in this city knows you. And you haven't changed a bit in the past–how long has it been?" She tilted her head. "Four years?"

It was Chloé's turn to smirk. "It's because I take care of myself. Yoga, well-regulated diet, a rigorous beauty regi–"

"That's not what I meant." Chloé raised an eyebrow and Paon's smirk disappeared. The hero crossed her arms and continued, "Not even a day back in Paris and you're already causing trouble."

"Uh, that homeless guy wouldn't leave me alone," Chloé defended. "He kept coming at me when I clearly told him to go away."

A wavy green and blue aura manifested around Paon's eyes. She looked Chloé up and down, and when she had finished with her scrutiny, the aura vanished. "Yeah, something tells me that's not quite what happened." Chloé opened her mouth to retaliate, but Paon held up her hand. "Save it. Just...do us a favor and try not to be a total Akuma-triggering brat tomorrow, alright? It's Christmas."

Chloé could only gape after the peacock heroine who leapt off to aid her teammates. The nerve. The...nerve! Accusing her of being anything but the victim? That homeless guy wouldn't take no for an answer! He deserved her wrath! And it wasn't as though she was the only person in Paris capable of making people vulnerable to Hawkmoth. Why did they have to single her out? And that useless peacock hadn't even finished cleaning up the smelly, rotten banana peels staining her clothes. Ruining her second Agreste coat of the day.

She groaned and pulled her phone from her purse which she had–of course, of freaking course–fallen on when she slipped. Thin spider web cracks distorted the selfie she'd taken with Melissa and set as her background. The touch screen was unresponsive, so she was left without a map to guide her to La Belle Rouge. At least until Ladybug fixed everything, per usual. Chloé gingerly stepped around the scattered banana peels and glanced around in an attempt to gain her bearings. The Tour Montparnasse lay to her left...and she had ran away from her old collége...so she had run east...maybe?...and La Balle Rouge was in the 15th arrondissement...so that was...west...ish? A poorly judged step left her on her backside again, the screen on her phone now completely shattered.

This was going to be a long week.

(#)

Around twenty minutes later, Ladybug's magic washed through the streets and set everything right. Well, that abomination was still occurring in about a week, but Chloé wouldn't hold that against the heroine. The Akuma attack had delayed Chloé for too long, and though she was meeting Marinette, of all people, she still insisted on punctuality for Adrien's sake. A quick call to a cab company had her strolling into La Belle Rouge a mere five minutes late for her lunch date.

The small corner bistro, which had opened about six years ago and was dedicated to Ladybug in theme and décor, held few patrons this afternoon, despite being in the height of the lunch rush, but among the few occupants, Chloé couldn't find a certain model or baker. A server wearing a Ladybug mask seated her and took her drink order: a strong, hot cup of Café au lait.

Adrien and Marinette ended up speed-walking in almost five minutes later, both red in the face and panting. Marinette mumbled some excuse about the Akuma holding them up and Adrien corroborated the story. Chloé forced yet another smile and shook Marinette's hand, only maintaining contact as long as necessary before throwing her arms around Adrien's neck and embracing him perhaps a little longer than she really needed to. He awkwardly pushed her away with a grimace almost as forced as Chloé's (not that she'd notice) and took his seat beside his–yech!–fiance.

The same server came up and took their orders. Chloé ordered something light and noted that Marinette chose a heavy, hearty sandwich, a large bowl of soup, and the largest hot chocolate they had. Of course she would load up the bill. She was eating on Adrien's centimes, after all. She feigned regret at ordering such a meal, claimed she hadn't eaten since she started her shift at the bakery, but Adrien only smiled and rubbed his nose against hers, claiming 'his Lady' could order whatever she pleased.

Were they trying to make Chloé vomit?

"So good to see you, Chlo," Adrien said. "I'm glad you could make it. Did Marinette already apologize for getting the invite to you so late?"

'Oh, she's got far more to apologize for than that, Adrikins.' "Yes. She successfully bought me off with free croissants." Marinette giggled and Chloé scowled. "Which I dropped during the Akuma attack."

"Don't worry, Chloé." Marinette reached across the table and took Chloé's hand, giving it a light squeeze. It took every ounce of her willpower and self control not to jerk away and gag. Did she honestly think they were friends? After what she did? What she was going to do? "You can come to the bakery any time. Papa insists my friends eat for free. W-within reason, of course."

"Friends? Us?" Chloé said before she could bite back her tongue.

Marinette fidgeted in her seat and blushed. "I...know we never really...hung out or talked or anything like that." She paused and slumped her shoulders. "Okay, we friggin hated each other back in lycée, but Adrien insisted that I put whatever petty squabbles we had behind us and try to at least be civil." She met Chloé's eyes and gave a sincere smile. "I want to make an honest effort. I want to be your friend, Chloé. Not just for Adrien's sake, but for our sake."

'Petty? Petty? You call cozying up to someone else's man 'petty'?' However, despite Chloé's utter disgust at the idea of befriending Marinette, this did present a rather interesting opportunity. If Marinette did consider them friends, it would be no trouble to get closer to her, figure out her juiciest secrets, possibly even whatever she was holding over Adrien's head, then use those secrets to take Adrien back. The poor girl was doing Chloé's work for her.

"My only desire is to see Adrien happy," Chloé smirked. "And if that's what he truly wants..." Her smirk wavered, but she maintained it. "We can bury the hatchet."

'In your skull. But only as a Plan B. Can't be Adrien's blushing bride if I have a criminal record.'

Adrien opened his mouth to speak, but the server chose that moment to deliver their food. They ate in relative silence, filling the gaps between bites and sips with idle chit-chat about holiday plans, gifts the still needed to buy, friends they needed to visit. Adrien dropped some ridiculous chemistry pun Chloé wasn't entirely paying attention to, but she still found herself laughing along. This felt...nice. It felt warm, welcoming. It felt good to be around people who didn't want anything from her. No expectations, no outrageous demands, no probing questions. Just sit, eat, chat. Chloé felt a smile creep up on her face, but it immediately vanished when Adrien leaned in to sneak a kiss from Marinette. It didn't matter how 'nice' this felt. She was here for a purpose.

"...tonight?"

Chloé blinked herself out of her stupor and refocused on Marinette. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere."

Marinette only smiled. "I asked if you had any plans tonight." Chloé answered with a shake of her head. "Well...there's a friend of mine who said he'd only come to the wedding if he had a date...and I've known him for a really long time and I really want him to be there...so..."

'Oh you have got to be joking.' "Marinette, are you seriously trying to hook me up with a guy?"

"Not hook you up, per se, but just meet with him and see what happens. I think you'll like him."

"Who is he?"

Marinette almost answered but Adrien pressed a finger to her lips. "I think it would be more fun if it remained a secret, buga-, uh, babe."

A blind date. They were trying to set her up on a blind date. She almost said no. She almost turned them down, almost demanded to know who they were trying to set her up with, but an idea popped into her head. Marinette said she'd known whoever-he-is for a really long time. That must mean he knew Marinette well. Well enough to get a little dirt on her. Between Marinette offering her friendship and a window into her past, it would be all too easy to convince Adrien his fiance was nothing but bad news.

"I...suppose I could meet him." That's right, Chloé. Can't seem too eager. "If I could find something to wear, that is."

"You're not going to dinner at Astrance, Chloé. Just a small, friendly meal, maybe at Chartier."

Ugh. Poor people food. But still, it stood to reason that anyone who would call Marinette Dupain-Cheng a friend could only afford such. And if it meant figuring out how to ruin Marinette and win back Adrien, it would be well worth it.

After all, it was only one night.

(#)

The cab let Chloé out in front of Chartier just a few minutes before eight, when she had agreed to meet this mystery man. She still wore the coat her father had given her earlier that day, but had traded in her white leggings for black and sweater for a black off the shoulder dress with long sleeves and gold stitched trim. It was the least fancy dress she'd brought with her, and she had brought quite the selection with her just so she could coordinate something particularly special Marinette's wedding and/or funeral.

She stepped into the dining room and waved off the Maître D. She informed him that she was meeting someone and would find him herself. She wandered, examining every man she passed who fit the description Marinette had given her.

'Black shirt, silver tie. Jeez, Cheng, couldn't give me any more than that? Let's see...black shirt, red tie. Nope. Black shirt...turn around...turn around you son of a...grey tie. Maybe. Ooh, that tie is silver...striped. Is that him? Ugh, god I hope not. I'm not going anywhere near that pedo-stache. Come on. He better be here or I will be worlds of pissed off. Oh, I think that's him. Black shirt...silver tie...red hair oh god is that who I think it is?'

"Nathanaël?"

The red head had been absently flicking his straw around the rim of his water glass and jumped a little at the sound of Chloé's voice. He looked her over, opened his mouth, clamped it shut, then opened it again, as though he were trying to either remember her name or figure out why Marinette had set him up on a date with someone as out of his league as Chloé Effing Bourgeois.

"Uh, Ch...Chloé?" Hmm, perhaps a little of both.

She pursed her lips. "Marinette?"

He huffed and flashed a wan smile. "Marinette."

Chloé slid into the chair opposite Nathanaël's and noted just how cramped the table was. "Honestly, what was she thinking trying to set us up?"

Nathanaël shrugged. "Maybe she's like Rose. You know, a romantic."

"Yeah, and maybe, also like Rose, she has no sense of compatibility. Remember how Rose swore Alix and Kim would get together, but Kim asked Max out in première?"

"And Alix ended up being ace?"

Before Chloé could realize what was happening, she found herself smiling. She found herself enjoying reminiscing about their school days. "I swear, did Rose get anyone right?"

Nathanaël crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Let's see...she called Nino and Alya getting together, despite that weird phase where they hated each other."

Chloé propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Yeah, I never really understood what was going on with them."

"Nino hated Volpina and Alya hated Jade Turtle." He shrugged. "They made up eventually, but for almost a year, it was like Team Edward versus Team Jacob."

"Ugh, Twilight references?" Her lips curled upwards in disgust. "Couldn't you have said literally anything else? Like Zutara and Kataang?"

Nathanaël's eyebrows shot upward. "You watched Avatar?"

She tilted her head and hitched one shoulder. "Adrien got me hooked, the nerd."

He snapped his fingers and pointed to Chloé. "Ah! Another couple Rose called right: Adrien and Marinette."

Chloé banished her smile at the mention of their names. What was she doing? Waxing nostalgic? No, losing track of her objective was more like it. She was here to recapture Adrien's heart and have her happily ever after, not talk about 'the good ole days' with a red-headed loser of an artist. Just look at him. He hasn't changed a bit. News flash: that emo 'hair-over-one-eye' thing is so twenty years ago. Knowing him, he probably still had a huge crush on...

...wait a minute...

...fortune smiles.

"Everything alright, Chloé?"

A slow, broad smile bloomed across Chloé's face. Not a happy smile, either. Conniving, cunning, deceptive. "Oh, I'm fine, Nathanaël. Just...thinking about the wedding."

"Oh, is that why you're back in Paris?"

"In a way," Chloe cooed. She laced her fingers together and closed her eyes. "Marinette is getting married. Doesn't that bother you? Didn't you have a crush on her years ago?"

He blushed. "W-well, yeah, but then again, I think most of the class did. Nino, Kim, which makes me think he's bi, or something, I think Alya mentioned–"

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you. Don't you wish you could be the one marrying Marinette next week?"

"Marinette made her choice, Chloé." His voice took on an edge she'd never heard before. 'Hmm, maybe his balls finally dropped.' "And though I don't think anyone truly gets over their first crush, I'm happy for her. I'm happy for Adrien."

"Oh, I'm sure you are, but are you happy for yourself?" She opened her eyes and took in the look of bewilderment on his face. He still hadn't answered. "I have a bit of a proposition for you that could prove mutually beneficial for us."

Nathanaël squinted at her, not sure if he should cut his losses and go home, or hear her out. Against his better judgment, he responded, "Proposition?"

Chloé grinned. "Help me put a stop to this wedding. Adrien deserves someone better than Marinette–"

"Someone like you?" The edge had returned, but Chloé paid it no mind.

"You catch on quick." She leaned in even closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Help me win Adrien back and I'll help you improve your standing in Marinette's eyes. We both end up with who we want, we both go home happy. So, what do you say?"

He sat with his eyes on Chloé, his brow furrowed. Nearly a minute of silenced passed between them, only broken by the ambient clatter of dishes and chatter of patrons. He was overthinking this. All he had to do was use his connections to Marinette and supply Chloé with whatever information she needed to make Adrien see reason, then when Adrien left Marinette at the alter, Nathanaël could be there to comfort her, and she'd realize just the kind of guy she had overlooked amid her blind, star-struck celebrity worship.

'Come on, Nath. Just say the word and you get to have your princess, just like in those stupid little comics you used to draw.'

"No."

"...what?"

He hardened his gaze and stood, his chair shrieking against the floor. "I can't believe you. I thought maybe after all these years, you'd changed. Maybe you'd learned to let go and realize that Adrien never loved you, not the way he loves Marinette. And maybe you'd matured enough to be happy for your best friend..." He paused, eyes wide, and poured buckets of sarcasm into his next few words. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're only friend, despite whoever he chose to spend the rest of his life with."

He gathered up the gray coat that had been hanging from the back of his chair and glared down at Chloé. "You know, I was kinda on the fence about going to the wedding, but I think I will now, if for no other reason than to keep you the hell away from it!" He dug a money clip from his pocket, tossed a couple of euros onto the table and stomped around Chloé towards the door.

Silence reigned in the restaurant, though no longer marred by clatter and chatter. Several eyes were locked on her after Nathanaël's outburst. Chloé simply sat in what may well have been shock. How dare he. How...dare he! She comes up to him with a golden opportunity to have what he admitted he still wanted, and he turns her down? Did...did Marinette really have the entire city brainwashed into accepting this? This was madness! Insanity! She was only using Adrien! She didn't know the first thing about him, not like Chloé did! Chloé would truly appreciate Adrien, give him the life he deserved. And she would do it without that obnoxious artists help.

...right after she gave him a piece of her mind.

She swept upwards out of her chair, paused, then snatched the euros off the table. No service, no tip. She stormed out of the restaurant and whipped her head left and right, blonde hair snapping behind her, until she caught sight of Nathanaël waving down a cab just down the street. He must have heard the rapid fire click of her heels on the sidewalk, or perhaps sensed the aura of fury and doom oozing from her every pore, because he turned his head towards her and widened his eyes. He shouted something that Chloé would have registered as 'look out' had her anger-addled brain been able to do so, but before she could get out the first word to tear him a new one, Nathanaël, and the whole city even, slipped downwards in her field of vision.

She never saw the ice. The ice Nathanaël had slipped on just a few seconds ago. The ice he had tried to warn her about. The ice that sent her legs flying forward from underneath her and her head crashing backward into the concrete.

She never saw the CT scans that showed internal hemorrhaging in the back of her skull. She never saw the surgeon desperately trying to save her. She never saw her heart monitor flatline, the aide who performed CPR for almost fifteen minutes, the nurse who placed his hand on the aide's shoulder, assuring her she had done all she could. She never saw the surgeon glance up to the clock and call her time of death right at midnight with a wry mutter of 'Merry Christmas.'

She also never saw the bright green wave of light that originated near Notre Dame and washed across the entire city.