Chapter Text
«The demon queen of high school
Has decreed it
She says Monday, 8AM
I will be deleted»
Marinette twirled her glass in her hands, impatient. She had lost Alya almost an hour ago. Her friend had told her she was going to dance for a while with her boyfriend. She had invited Marinette, but she had turned down the offer. She wasn’t in the mood to dance, not today.
Honestly, she wasn’t even sure why she was at this party. Kim had invited everyone. It was their senior year, and his parents were going to be away for the weekend, so he had thrown a massive party. The music pounded against the walls, becoming more of an annoyance for Marinette with each passing second. Around her, people moved with unrestrained energy—sweaty bodies dancing, laughter dragged out by alcohol, a group in the garden sharing something that definitely wasn’t tobacco.
Alya had pushed her into coming; she had almost said no when her best friend mentioned that Adrien Agreste, her long-time crush since eighth grade, would be attending.
“Come on, girl, in a few months we’ll be graduating, and I’m not going to let you lock yourself in your room like a hermit. Adrien will be there, and maybe, with a little alcohol, you’ll finally gather the courage to ask him out.”
She had put on one of her best outfits, one that flattered her curves. The top had a daring neckline, the kind her mother definitely wouldn’t have approved of. She had let Alya do her makeup, trusting her best friend’s skills. Her eyes were lined with dark shades, creating that “smoky” effect Alya loved so much. On her lips, a bold burgundy color that contrasted with her usually shy personality. She had dressed up to look good—good for him.
That had been her only motivation to come, but now, in the middle of the party and without Adrien, she regretted it. He hadn’t even shown up. She would have preferred to stay in bed, watching movies and eating ice cream—her typical Friday night plan.
She leaned against the wall, watching the people around her, feeling strangely out of place. She glanced at her nearly empty glass and, without thinking, took one last long sip of the drink Alya had placed in her hand when they arrived. The strong taste of alcohol burned her throat, but at the same time, it soothed her and silenced the voice in her head for a moment.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a voice came from behind her.
Marinette turned so quickly that if she hadn’t just emptied her drink, she would have spilled it.
Chloé Bourgeois stood there, wearing a short sky-blue dress that looked insanely expensive and that, if Marinette didn’t hate her so much, she might have even wanted to borrow at some point. Her perfectly styled blonde hair cascaded over her chest in carefully messy curls. Her makeup was flawless, with long lashes and glossy lips, accentuating those icy blue eyes always filled with arrogance.
Her lips curled into an amused smile as she looked down at Marinette with a mix of amusement and disdain. Chloé took a sip from her glass with the expression of someone who had the entire world in the palm of her hand. Marinette, on the other hand, felt her stomach twist. The blonde’s gaze was fixed on her, shining with a cruel delight that sent a chill down her spine.
“You know, Dupain-Cheng, I’ve been thinking…” Chloé sang, twirling her phone between her perfectly manicured fingers. “What would happen if everyone suddenly saw what you hide so well under those baggy sweaters?”
Marinette frowned, her mind taking a moment to process the meaning of those words. The noise of the party became a distant murmur, as if she had suddenly been submerged underwater. Her skin prickled at the sight of Chloé’s expression, that half-smile hiding lethal poison.
“What are you talking about?”
Chloé tilted her head with fake innocence and unlocked her phone. The screen illuminated her face as she opened her gallery, and her eyes glowed with a satisfied cruelty.
And then Marinette saw it.
Her own image.
The air caught in her lungs, as if she had taken a punch straight to the stomach.
It was her, in her bedroom, in front of the mirror, wearing a dark red lingerie set she had impulsively bought. She had only taken the picture to look good, to feel good about herself. A small dose of confidence that had now become her worst nightmare.
“H-How do you have that?” Her voice trembled, but the panic kept her from reacting. A cold chill ran up her spine, her fingers gripping the empty glass tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her heart pounded against her chest, each beat echoing in her ears like a war drum.
Chloé sighed with exaggerated disappointment, as if speaking to a child who just didn’t understand something obvious.
“Oh, Marinette… it’s adorable that you think your guilt has nothing to do with this.”
She looked at her, relishing the confusion in her eyes as if it were a private show.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re stupid or just naive. Did you really think you could trust Lila Rossi?”
The blow was sharp and brutal, like a kick to the chest that knocked the air out of her lungs.
Lila.
Lila, with her venomous smile and her ability to manipulate whoever she wanted. Lila, who had spent the last year sneaking into her life, working so hard to make everyone see her as the liar, the paranoid one…
Lila, who had been the only one Alya insisted on adding to their private friend group.
Their group.
Their chat.
The chat where she had sent the picture, just for fun. Just for a second of trust. How could she have been so stupid? She had trusted her friends so blindly. None of them would have done this to her. But Lila…
Marinette felt sick. Reality twisted around her, like a cruel joke she couldn’t escape.
“She… did she give them to you?” she asked in a whisper.
Chloé scoffed, rolling her eyes in exaggerated exasperation.
“Of course not. She’s not that dumb. But all it took was her accidentally leaving her phone unlocked near me. And well… I wasn’t about to waste such a golden opportunity.”
Marinette’s blood ran cold. Lila had planned this. She had let Chloé see the photos on purpose. She had handed them to her on a silver platter.
“You know, I was going to save this for a special occasion, but seeing you here, all dressed up like you could actually belong in this world, was just too irritating.”
Chloé smiled sweetly—sickeningly sweet, enough to suffocate her. The horror in Marinette’s chest spread like an uncontrollable fire, consuming every last shred of security she had left.
“Chloé… You can’t do this.”
“Can’t I?” She raised an eyebrow, savoring every second of Marinette’s despair. “Of course I can. And on Monday, the whole world will get to enjoy this.”
Marinette’s legs nearly gave out, an empty pit in her stomach making her sway. She felt like her body wasn’t hers anymore, like she couldn’t move or think clearly.
“No… please.”
Chloé smirked triumphantly, leaning in slightly.
“Oh, you don’t have to beg just yet. Who would’ve thought sweet little Marinette would be such a slut, posing in lingerie?”
Marinette’s skin burned with rage, with helplessness. The humiliation gripped her throat like a tight rope, suffocating her.
Chloé leaned in even closer, whispering into her ear with a honeyed voice.
“At last, Adrien will see how disgusting and pathetic you really are. Thirty hours, Marinette. That’s how long you have to enjoy yourself before all of Paris finds out what color your underwear is.”
Just like that, Chloé turned around and walked away, swaying her hips with every step, radiating superiority. The sickly sweet scent of her perfume lingered in the air, haunting Marinette like a ghost.
The world closed in around her.
Her breathing became erratic, her heartbeat pounded in her chest with dizzying force. The floor beneath her feet wobbled, as if everything was on the verge of collapsing.
Thirty hours.
Thirty hours before her life fell apart.
«They'll hunt me down in study hall
Stuff and mount me on the wall
Thirty hours to live
How shall I spend»