After school, Marinette and Gurvinder returned to her home, immediately diving back into working on her dress. The room was scattered with fabrics, sketches, and sewing tools, yet amidst the creative chaos, there was an unspoken harmony between them.
Marinette sat at her desk, carefully pinning fabric together while Gurvi stood beside her, holding a reference sheet and helping her measure. Every now and then, he'd glance at her with admiration—watching how her mind worked, how her fingers danced over the materials, bringing her vision to life.
"You're seriously something else, y'know," Gurvi muttered, resting his chin on his palm as he leaned on the table.
Marinette smirked, not looking up. "Says the guy who plans like a mastermind and takes punches for fun."
He chuckled. "Fair. But this?" He motioned to the half-formed dress. "This takes real talent."
She paused, feeling her heart warm at his words. Looking up at him, she smiled softly. "Then I guess we make a good team."
Gurvi grinned, nudging her playfully. "The best team."
As they continued working, neither of them noticed the shadows looming over their happiness—schemes brewing behind their backs, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The days kept closing in, and Marinette was almost done with her work. The dress was coming together beautifully—each stitch, each detail reflecting her passion. She barely had time to think about anything else, completely absorbed in her creation.
Gurvinder stayed by her side through it all, helping however he could—holding fabric, giving suggestions, even making her take breaks when she got too lost in her work. It felt natural, effortless, like they were building something together, not just a dress but a moment in their lives that mattered.
One evening, as Marinette carefully stitched the final details, she leaned back with a deep breath. "Almost done," she murmured, staring at the dress with tired but satisfied eyes.
Gurvi, sitting across from her, smirked. "Told you you'd pull it off."
She turned to him, smiling. "Not without you."
But as they shared this quiet victory, neither of them knew that danger lurked just around the corner. Chloe and Nathaniel had been waiting, planning—and soon, they would strike.
Nathaniel sat on Chloe's velvet couch, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. His mind was a storm, but he had already made his choice.
"So, what's your plan?" he asked, his voice low.
Chloe smirked, swirling the expensive perfume bottle in her hand before setting it down on her dresser. She turned to him, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"At the competition," she said smoothly. "You'll steal Marinette's dress before she presents it. I'll have a bottle of ink ready. We ruin it completely—stains everywhere. And then?" She flipped her hair. "We blame Gurvi. It's perfect. No one will doubt it."
Nathaniel hesitated for a split second. "And if she has proof? If someone sees?"
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Please, Nathaniel. That little goody-two-shoes? She'll be too busy panicking over her ruined dress to even think straight. And Gurvi? He's already got a reputation. People will believe anything about him."
Nathaniel clenched his fists, staring at the floor. He didn't know if he hated Marinette enough to do this, but part of him wanted her to hurt just like he was hurting. He wanted her to feel what it was like to have everything taken away.
"…Fine," he said finally, his voice empty. "I'll do it."
Chloe grinned. "Now that's more like it."
Nathaniel leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "But how are we supposed to steal it? She'll have it under lock and key."
Chloe smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please. Do you forget who I am?" She crossed her arms. "The competition is being held in one of my father's hotels. I have access to everything—rooms, security, cameras. If Marinette keeps her dress in her assigned dressing room, I can get us inside without a problem."
Nathaniel furrowed his brows. "And what if she keeps it with her the entire time?"
Chloe scoffed. "She won't. She'll have to leave it in the dressing room eventually, whether for fittings, rehearsals, or just to take a break. That's when we strike."
Nathaniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was all happening so fast. He wasn't sure if this was really what he wanted, but the idea of seeing Marinette crumble… It made the jealousy inside him burn a little less.
"…Fine," he muttered. "Just tell me when."
Chloe's grin widened. "Oh, don't worry. You'll know."
The competition day had finally arrived. The venue buzzed with excitement as designers rushed around, making final adjustments to their pieces. Marinette, with her heart pounding in anticipation, made her way to her assigned dressing room.
As she unzipped her bag, ready to take out her dress, her breath hitched. The bag was empty.
Panic surged through her veins as she frantically searched inside, hoping she had just overlooked it. But no—there was nothing. No dress, no fabric, nothing.
Then it hit her.
At home, there had been two identical bags sitting side by side. In her rush this morning, she must have grabbed the wrong one.
Her heart sank. Her dress—the one she had spent sleepless nights working on—was still at home.
Adrien noticed the distress on Marinette's face and quickly approached her.
"What happened?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Marinette looked up at him, panic clear in her eyes. "I—I took the wrong bag. My dress isn't here… It's at home," she said, her voice trembling.
Adrien's eyes widened. "Are you sure? Did you check properly?"
Marinette nodded frantically, her hands gripping the empty bag as if hoping the dress would magically appear. "I remember now… there were two identical bags at home. I must have grabbed this one by mistake."
Adrien ran a hand through his hair, thinking fast. "Okay, don't panic. We still have time. I'll call someone to get it."
Marinette swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation. This was her one chance, and she had just made a critical mistake.
Marinette's hands trembled as she pulled out her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. Without hesitation, she dialed Gurvinder's number.
He picked up on the first ring. "Marinette?" His voice was calm, but she could hear the concern in it.
"I—I took the wrong bag," she admitted, her voice cracking. "The dress… it's at home. Gurvi, I don't know what to do!"
There was a brief silence before he responded, firm and steady. "I'll get it. Don't worry."
Marinette let out a shaky breath. "But the competition starts soon—"
"I'll be there," he cut her off. "Trust me."
She didn't know why, but just hearing him say that made her feel like everything would be okay.
Adrien placed a reassuring hand on Marinette's shoulder. "There's still 30 minutes before the competition starts, and you have at least an hour before it's your turn. Gurvi can make it."
Marinette took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I just… I don't want anything to go wrong."
Adrien gave her a small smile. "You trust him, don't you?"
She nodded immediately. "More than anything."
"Then believe in him now," Adrien said firmly. "If anyone can pull this off, it's Gurvinder."
Marinette clutched her phone tightly, her heart still racing, but Adrien's words helped. She had to believe in Gurvi—because he had never let her down before.
Meanwhile, Nathaniel stood near the backstage entrance, his mind clouded with doubt, yet he still found himself walking toward Chloe's private seating area. He had overheard Marinette's panicked conversation and knew Gurvinder was on his way with the dress.
Chloe smirked when he told her. "Perfect. We'll make sure he never even reaches here."
Nathaniel felt a pit in his stomach. "What do you mean?"
She flipped her hair and rolled her eyes. "Ugh, don't be so dramatic, Nath. I'll just have some guys intercept him on the way. He'll be too busy dealing with them to play hero."
Nathaniel's fingers clenched into a fist. "That sounds—"
She cut him off, leaning in closer. "You wanted Marinette to realize he's bad for her, right? That she belongs with someone who actually cares about her?"
Nathaniel hesitated. He did, but… something about this felt wrong.
Chloe sighed, irritated. "Just keep an eye on Marinette and Adrien. Make sure they don't suspect anything. Leave the rest to me."
Nathaniel swallowed hard. He had already come this far. There was no turning back now.
Gurvinder sprinted down the busy streets, the bag clutched tightly in his hands. His breath was steady, his focus sharp—he was almost there. Just a corner away from the hotel. Just a few more steps, and Marinette's dreams would be safe.
But then—
From the shadows of a nearby alley, a group of men stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking his path. Their faces were obscured by caps, their hands gripping steel rods. The way they moved, slow and deliberate, sent a warning straight to Gurvinder's gut.
This wasn't random.
His grip tightened on the bag as he took a step back, scanning for an escape.
One of the men smirked. "Hand it over, kid. No need to make this messy."
Gurvinder exhaled, shaking his head. His heart pounded, but his stance was firm. "I don't have time for this."
Another man chuckled darkly. "Oh, but we do."
And just like that, they lunged.
Gurvinder tightened the strap of the bag across his chest, securing it firmly. His muscles tensed as he anticipated the first move.
The first thug swung his steel rod straight at his ribs—Gurvinder twisted his body, the rod slicing through the air just inches away. Another came from behind, aiming for his shoulder. He ducked, the impact missing him but slamming into a nearby lamppost with a loud clang.
They weren't amateurs, but they weren't fighters either.
Gurvinder took a step back, analyzing their movements. They were relying on brute force, expecting him to panic. But he wasn't just some scared kid. He had fought in rings, taken hits harder than this, and still stood tall.
One of them charged, aiming a wild swing at his head. Gurvinder sidestepped smoothly, catching the man's wrist and twisting it just enough to make him yelp and drop the rod. Without missing a beat, he shoved him back into his own men, making them stumble.
He didn't want to fight—he just needed to get past them.
But they weren't letting him go that easily.
The fight turned brutal fast. The men, frustrated by his quick dodges, became more aggressive, their swings wilder, more reckless. Gurvinder barely had time to breathe before another rod came crashing toward him.
He raised his arms instinctively, blocking the strike with his forearm. A sharp crack echoed as pain shot through his bones, but he clenched his teeth and didn't let go of the bag. Another strike came from the side—he twisted his body, but it still clipped his shoulder, numbing his arm.
One of them swung low, aiming for his legs. He jumped back, but the tip of the rod caught his knee. He stumbled slightly. That was all they needed.
Another rod slammed into his side, knocking the air out of his lungs. He gasped, staggering back, but still—he held onto the bag, his fingers locked around the strap as if his life depended on it. Because in a way, it did. It wasn't just a dress. It was Marinette's dream, her future, her everything.
One of the men sneered, seeing him struggling. "Just drop the damn bag, kid," he taunted.
Gurvinder's vision blurred for a moment from the pain, but he only tightened his grip. He wasn't letting go. Not now. Not ever.
Then, as another rod came swinging towards him—he did something they didn't expect.
He charged straight at them.
Gurvinder lunged forward, his instincts taking over as he slammed his fists into the guts of two men, forcing the air out of their lungs. They staggered back, giving him just a second to shift his stance, dodging another incoming rod. His arms went up in defense, absorbing the blows, but the impact sent a sharp, searing pain through his bones. Blood trickled down his forearms, staining his skin, but he didn't let it slow him down.
Another man swung at his ribs—he twisted, barely avoiding the full force, but the edge of the rod scraped against him, leaving a burning sting. He gritted his teeth. Not now. Keep moving.
With each hit, each dodge, his body screamed in protest, but his mind didn't waver. Marinette's dress was in his grip. He wasn't letting go.
The men kept coming, overwhelming in numbers. He barely had time to counter before another blow aimed for his head. He ducked, landed a brutal uppercut to one of them, sending him crashing into another. His knuckles split open from the force, but he didn't stop.
They tried to pin him down, swarming from all sides. His bruised, bloody arms took hit after hit, but he kept fighting, breaking through their attacks with sheer willpower. The throbbing pain in his bones felt distant now—his body had gone numb, running on pure adrenaline.
One by one, they fell. Some groaning in pain, others completely knocked out cold. The last man standing hesitated, seeing his comrades defeated. That was all the opening Gurvinder needed. He picked up a fallen steel rod, gripping it tight despite his trembling fingers, and with one final swing, he struck.
Silence.
Bodies littered the ground around him. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling heavily. His vision blurred from exhaustion, and he dropped to his knees. Every inch of his body was screaming, his arms barely able to move.
But he didn't have time to stop.
With sheer determination, he pushed himself up. His legs were unsteady, every step felt like fire, but he forced himself forward.
The hotel doors loomed ahead. He staggered in, clutching the bag tightly against his chest.
As soon as he entered, the entire lobby went silent.
Collective gasps filled the air as people turned to look at him—his bloodied shirt, his bruised and battered arms, his torn and dirtied clothes.
The security guards immediately moved forward, ready to throw him out.
But before they could even lay a hand on him—
"Wait!"
Adrien's voice cut through the commotion, stopping them in their tracks.
Adrien's breath hitched as he took in Gurvinder's state—bloodied, bruised, barely standing. His white shirt was torn and stained deep red, his arms swollen and covered in gashes, his knuckles raw from the fight.
"Gurvi… what the hell happened?!" Adrien rushed forward, but Gurvinder took a step back, shaking his head.
The security guards hesitated, looking between them. Adrien quickly turned to them. "He's with me." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. The guards backed off, but their eyes still lingered on Gurvinder's battered frame.
Gurvinder didn't waste another second. He pulled the bag close to his chest, his grip tight despite his trembling hands, and shoved it into Adrien's arms.
"Take this to Marinette," he said, his voice strained. "Make sure she gets it."
Adrien frowned, concern evident in his eyes. "You need to sit down—"
"No." Gurvinder cut him off, his breathing heavy. His body ached to collapse, but he pushed through. "Don't tell her about this. Not now."
Adrien clenched his jaw. "Gurvi, you're literally—"
"She has enough to worry about." His voice was quiet but firm. "Just… give her the dress. Tell her I'm fine."
Adrien looked at him, conflict in his eyes. But Gurvinder's stare didn't waver.
Finally, Adrien exhaled sharply and nodded. "Alright."
Gurvinder let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He took one last glance at the entrance, his vision swaying slightly. Then, with whatever strength he had left, he turned on his heel and walked away before Adrien could stop him.
Adrien walked through the competition hall, his mind swirling with thoughts, his grip tight on the bag. He could still see the image of Gurvinder—bloodied, bruised, and barely holding himself up. How the hell did this happen? And why did Gurvi refuse to tell Marinette?
His steps slowed as he spotted her. Marinette was pacing near the dressing area, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, her eyes scanning the entrance every few seconds. When she finally noticed him, her face lit up with relief.
"Adrien!" She rushed toward him, almost grabbing his arm. "Did you—?"
He nodded and handed her the bag. "Here. Safe and sound."
Marinette exhaled sharply, clutching the bag to her chest. "Thank god… I was so scared." She looked up at him with grateful eyes. "Thank you, Adrien. You don't know how much this means to me."
Adrien forced a smile, but his mind was still stuck on Gurvinder. Should he tell her? No—he promised Gurvi. But seeing Marinette so relieved, so focused on the dress, made his chest tighten.
"Is he okay?" she suddenly asked, breaking his thoughts.
Adrien blinked. "What?"
"Gurvi. I called him, but he didn't pick up. Did you see him?"
Adrien hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Yeah. He—uh—he handed me the bag and left. He said he had something to do."
Marinette frowned slightly but didn't question it further. "That idiot… didn't even wait for me to thank him." She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head before turning back toward the dressing room.
Adrien watched her go, his smile fading. The image of Gurvinder's bloodied form flashed in his mind again. He clenched his fists.
Gurvi, what the hell happened to you?