Marinette seems on the brink of collapsing, considering what she just experienced. Taken a 2-hour power nap before heading to the biggest event where her family will be the patisserie provider in the grand celebration.

Yes, she works here as a server. Skirt that flares out. Hair arranged in a bun. And put on makeup to mask her swollen eyes. She looks like she’s about to doze off. She needed to work, look after guests, and be a good daughter.

Also, did she overlook the event at the grand Paris hotel where former mayor Borgoise was in charge?

Okay, she didn’t.

Upon entering the hotel’s room, did she remember the charity gala’s aim to honor the late Gabriel Agreste with a posthumous award, just 6 months after his passing, as he was her fashion hero?

Her obsession with his son stems from that. Adrien.

Longing for a girl to soothe his loneliness. Like a heroine, she lived out her fantasy. Ready to save the prince. She’s incredibly naive to think that giving him everything will work. Gifts and Affection. He will then look at her. It’s selfish of her to take advantage of his weakness.

Her thoughts broken when.

‘‘Mon Cherie. Do you feel well? The event has not started yet. Take a moment to orient yourself.”

Her eyes twinkle when she looks at her father, a warm and happy presence eager to aid her whenever needed.

“Sure, Papan. Thank you!”

Guilt washed over her. Does she appear worn out? Aagh, maybe she really needed to seat.

She headed to the staff room across from the event. The grand hall boasts floral decorations. An extravagant affair.

She is aware of the ways the rich function. Throw the biggest charity gala and make them the stars of the show. Bragging about helping the underprivileged. A scoff escaped her lips; she doubted money could resolve the problem.

She walked into the room, flung herself onto the chair, and breathed out a sigh. It’s her turn to unwind.

The scent of coffee makes things more bearable. She picks up a cup of espresso and takes a sip. The fragrance of heaven, if there is one. Even the low-cost one is a blessing.

She’s ready to skip this affair and sleep here.

While fastening her apron, she grabbed the phone. She brought it. Moving it across.

She’s lying if she said she’s not interested in this rich guy’s phone too modern for her stylish, Exude money.

If she can crack it. check what’s inside.

Let her self be drown In this point in time with curiosity.

The green eyes are what she remembers. The shape of the jaw. He has broad yet slim shoulders. She blush at the strong-looking biceps , the sweat that poured into him while she’s running away on the rooftop.

Kwami. Bad Marinette is not the time to drool over a stranger.

When she’s lost in thought.

Her fingers, moving automatically, burrowed into the phone, searching desperately for a way to unlock it.

Her curiosity about Adrien drove her to become proficient in technology, pushing her to study programming and hack into his phone. and her overly zealous self-assurance in stealing and memorizing his schedule, down to reciting each of his movements.

She is quite a strange, odd girl. Huh.

Her face glued to the phone, one eye closed, mouth puffed, her serious face appears comical outside.

A beeping sound. A flash.

A blinding glow came from the phone. The phone took a snapshot of her face, with one eye closed and her mouth hanging open, capturing her wacky expression.

Merde!

Identity denied. Facial recognition. Putain!

Does the phone had biometrics of course!

In her panic, she threw it into the air and fell to the floor, sliding under the table. Her clumsiness caused her to bump into it, “Ouch,” even the phone seemed to be a jerk.

Her surprise caused the phone to ring loudly and flash red once more.

Quickly, the screen blurs in green, glitches, reveals numbers, opens an encrypted file, and floods with documents - what’s going on?

Driven by curiosity, she read the first one.

Her blood runs cold.

Initial proceeding report potential candidate ladybug identity Alya Caseaire,No no no.

Her face contorted into a mask of dreadful horror, her eyes shrinking and welling up with tears, her features twisting in agitation and convulsions, while cold sweat ran down her arms.

Their secrets . The miraculous faces danger. She had to inform Alya instantly, however, her phone was unavailable.

She needed to remain calm.

Dread unadultered dread.

With Hawk Moth vanquished, a new wielder of the Butterfly Miraculous has appeared, claiming to be everywhere, prompting Alya to believe in the existence of accomplices.

And it scares her more, if this guy is connected to Chrysalis.

She’s drowning in a struggle for breath, deeply gasping. Unbidden flashbacks of Chrysalis’s persistent attack on ,unsure how to overcome them.

A server’ voice stops her from spiraling.

“Your needed in the front Marinette the gala is starting.”

“Of course” wiping her tears.

She shifted then readied herself, clean up her appearances.

The guy is investigating the miraculous. Without a doubt. He poses a threat.

Knuckles white, fist clenched tight.

Marinette civilian hero aide. She would not let it slide. Should this guy harm her friend, he’s in for a world of pain.

As she enters from the back, she sees the gala filling up with more people in lavish suites and gowns, exuding extravagance. To her surprise, the problematic smell makes her scrunch her nose and she can’t help but sneeze from the strong perfumes worn by the older ladies.

It’s excessive; she tried to muffle her sneeze in an undignified manner.

Her eyes narrowed; embarrassed, she retreated, quietly moving to her parents.

As everyone’s voices grew louder, she glanced at the entrance, thinking it might be another celebrity that had arrived, which excited the peanut gallery. She heard the whisper the Wayne heir, ooh, His here.

She’s curious—a Gotham elite, here in the City of Love. She has an idea of what Gotham is: the crime capital of the world. Taking the tray, she composed herself, tiptoeing to get a better glimpse.

“Excuse me, coming through,” she said, excited at the prospect of gossip to share with her friend Alya, momentarily forgetting the phone’s data in her head.

She saw the man from behind—dark navy-blue suit, accented with white. Nice taste, not bad for her stats. His hair was brushed up neatly.

She squinted. Something about him seemed familiar.

“Mhhh...”

When the Wayne heir turned his face toward her—beep—those familiar green eyes locked with hers.

Oh. Putain!