Nathalie Sancoeur. Ever since hearing it from Maya, that name had been constantly on Marinette’s mind.

“She graduated from Saint Hadrian’s Finishing School for Girls, a training ground for assassins.,”

Damian said grimly, keeping his voice low as they moved through the service corridor. “Same shadow school where Batgirl dismantled an entire assassin ring. Nathalie was trained. Efficient. Cold. And absolutely loyal.”

A trained killer.

Maya glanced over her shoulder, hands moving fast to tie back her hair as she walked. She didn’t slow down.

“So,” Maya continued, casually, “the only way a fifteen-year-old girl could monitor Sancoeur without raising suspicion… was by getting close to Gabriel Agreste.”

She turned, her expression unreadable. “And the best way to get his attention? Adrien.”

Marinette’s stomach dropped.

“At Françoise Dupont, I enrolled under the false identity of Lila Rossi. Got close to Adrien. Made sure I was in Gabriel’s orbit. He noticed.” Her voice dropped a little, laced with something bitter. “It was all going according to plan… until you happened.”

Marinette’s breath caught.

“All plans fail on first contact, Dupain-Cheng,” Maya said, almost fondly. “You were the variable

Marinette blanched. The variable. That’s what Maya called her.

So it was true. Lila—Maya—had lied. Every word, every cruel rumor, all of it a mask. But still... why?

Her thoughts spiraled. Was getting close to Adrien a strategic part of some spy mission, and if so, why all the emotional pain? The stolen friends, the whispers, the isolation?

She clenched her fists, jaw tight.

Did you have to make my life miserable to stay in character?

Old wounds felt like fresh cuts as the sting of betrayal lingered. Lies she could handle. The act of deliberately hurting her, of making her a target, was what bothered her the most.

“I’m not going to apologize to you, Dupain-Cheng,” Maya said coolly, her voice void of regret. “You’re smart. Fierce enough to take the hits I threw. That’s my justification for hurting you.

Marinette’s breath hitched.

Maya continued, almost proud. “Lila Rossi was built as a liar—through and through. A perfect cover. The best way to hide the truth is in plain sight. Make her so unbelievable, so twisted in lies, that no one would ever imagine she was watching everything.”

She shrugged, like it was just another tactic on a mission sheet. “It was cruel. I know. But it worked. It was brilliant.”

Marinette stared, her nails digging into her palms. All the years of being called jealous, petty, crazy—and it was all a strategy?

Maya turned to Damian, expecting agreement.

But his face was stone. Cold. Weighing every word with the gravity it deserved.

Marinette saw hesitation flicker behind Maya’s eyes.

“And that’s not the only reason,” Maya said, her tone shifting—more personal, almost bitter. “I know you’re not going to believe anything I say, but you need to hear this.”

Marinette stayed silent, eyes narrowed.

“Adrien Agreste,” Maya continued, “is the same breed as his father. Narcissistic. Cruel. Not an ounce of aching good in him. I did you a favor, really. I spared you the trouble.”

Marinette’s chest tightened. The words felt like knives, like betrayal wrapped in some twisted version of mercy.

“You only knew the model. The perfect student. The golden boy,” Maya said with a cold smile. “But beneath those eyes… there’s something darker. Just like me. Just like Damian.”

She glanced toward the boy beside them, quieter now.

“We’re not normal, Dupain-Cheng. And standing next to Adrien… Damian might as well be an angel.”

Marinette swallowed hard, a storm tightening in her chest—but she couldn’t look away.

“You bitch,” Marinette snapped, the words leaving her before she could stop them. “Don’t say that about Adrien. He’s not a monster—he’s not.”

Enraged, her voice shook, fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. A storm brewed in her eyes as heat surged up her neck. How dare she. How dare Maya say that.

Damian was at her side in an instant, his hand brushing her shoulder. “Dupain-Cheng,” he said lowly, steady but not forceful. “Hey. Breathe.”

She didn’t look at him.

All she could see was Adrien’s smile, his laughter, his quiet kindness—and Maya’s cruel words tearing through it like a knife.

“Well,” Maya said with a shrug, almost flippant. “If you don’t want to believe me, ask Ladybug. Or should I say… Alya. She can confirm it. Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir.”

Marinette froze.

The world narrowed to silence.

Adrien… is Chat Noir?

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself still. Calm. Steady. Her mind, though, had already fractured.

All those nights. All those conversations in the dark. The banter. The trust. How had she never seen it?

It was him. It had always been him.

And somehow… she never knew.

It hit her like a gut punch.

Adrien. Her Adrien. She thought she knew him—that kind, gentle face, seen each day.

Alya’s partner, not hers, Chat Noir, fought alongside her, sharing secrets.

They were the same person.

Her legs wobbled. The world tilted.

“No,” Marinette whispered, voice barely there. “He… he can’t be.”

Her mind raced. She remembered Alya’s stories, the close bond Alya and Adrien shared as Chat Noir and Ladybug’s partner.

If only Alya were here to confirm—if Lila’s lies were true or just twisted games.

But Alya wasnt here.

Damian’s hand brushed her arm, steadying her trembling body.

The pieces slammed into her all at once.

Adrien was Chat Noir. Hawk Moth was Gabriel Agreste, his father.

Too cruel. Too much.

No wonder Adrien left school. No wonder Chat Noir retired.

But why hadn’t Alya told her? Alya was supposed to be her best friend, her confidant.

Marinette’s eyes snapped back to Maya—Lila—searching for answers.

“Suppose I believe you,” she murmured, her voice steady and low. “But I don’t trust you. I don’t even know your real name. Who are you—Lila? Maya?”

The question hung heavy between them.

Damian stayed silent, letting Maya take the lead.

She shifted in her seat, shoulders tight with tension. “I’m Maya Ducard. Nobody really. Just a girl trained to kill. Trained to be invincible.”

“Your Maya Ducard al Ghul,” Damian added, voice low but sharp. “Don’t forget that, Ukth.”

A shared gaze, an unspoken connection forged between them from their secrets and burdens.

Marinette’s mind raced, attempting to connect the scattered pieces. Layers of secrets, lies deeply woven. Why the kwami? Why all the deception? Was it really to protect the people Alya and Maya cared about?

Doubt gnawed at her. To what extent had she been unknowingly misled? How much suffering lay concealed beneath those meticulously constructed facades?

A gut feeling told her not to be naive, though she wished she could trust Maya and Damian. The world they lived in was cruel. Trust is fragile and can shatter quickly.

A tempest of anger, confusion, and fear brewed inside her, tightening her chest. Could hope for this truth save her, or would it break what little peace she had left?