Honey and Light 🐝

by CuriousKuroKat

Summary:

After the chaos of Gabriel Agreste’s final scheme, Chloe Bourgeois is left facing the consequences of her actions. Once wielding power as Paris’s mayor and ruling over her peers, Chloe now finds herself disgraced and abandoned by everyone she once knew. With her father stripping her of her position, disowning her, and even declaring his loyalty to her half-sister Zoé, Chloe has no choice but to leave Paris. Forced to relocate to New York with her mother, who views her more as a nuisance than a daughter, Chloe is lost in a city that doesn’t care who she is—or who she used to be.

Isolated and stripped of the influence she relied on, Chloe is struggling to find her footing. But everything changes when she unexpectedly runs into Luka Couffaine, another exile from Paris, who’s chosen to distance himself to protect Ladybug and Cat Noir’s identities. Far from the safety of their old lives, Chloe and Luka clash, each wrestling with the painful realities of their pasts. Luka’s kindness and calm approach to life unsettle Chloe, and soon, she finds herself reevaluating the person she’s become and the person she wants to be.

Chapter 1: Stranded in the Big City

Chloe Bourgeois stood alone, framed by the vast windows of her mother’s high-rise apartment. New York stretched out beneath her, its glittering lights a world away from the one she’d known. The sleek, modern walls and floor-to-ceiling windows should have felt like a fresh start. Instead, they loomed around her, sterile and empty, with none of the warmth of the Parisian life she’d taken for granted.

The ghost of Paris haunted her thoughts—its streets, the people, her old self. All gone now.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she scrolled through photo after photo. It was painful, but she couldn’t stop. There she was, dressed to perfection, smiling her queenly smile as her father, the Mayor, stood proudly by her side. That was before she’d clawed her way into power, forcing herself into the position of assistant mayor, needing the spotlight, needing people to see her for more than just the rich girl they loved to hate. Her father hadn’t even objected; back then, he’d always looked at her with pride.

But that pride had shattered the moment she’d crossed the line, and every single move she’d made after had only made things worse. She could still remember the look of disappointment in her father’s eyes. The memory twisted in her gut.

All she’d wanted was to be respected—no, adored. To prove she wasn’t just Audrey Bourgeois’s daughter, not just the girl everyone whispered about behind her back. She’d gone to every length, pushing everyone around her until she’d finally alienated the whole city. Even Sabrina, her one loyal friend, had eventually turned her back on Chloe. She’d run off to hang around that insufferable baker girl, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who had somehow won over the whole school, the city—even her own father.

The thought made Chloe’s stomach churn. Everyone, it seemed, had seen Marinette as a hero, while she herself became a villain in their eyes. It didn’t matter that she’d just been trying to take charge, to show everyone what she was capable of.

And her father had punished her for it. Publicly.

“Enough, Chloe,” he’d said, his voice cold and final. “You’ve disgraced our family for the last time. From now on, Paris will be better off without you.”

The words replayed in her mind, just as harsh now as they’d been then. The part that stung most was that, in the end, he hadn’t even hesitated. André Bourgeois had disowned her without a second thought, choosing her half-sister Zoé over his own daughter. She’d once thought of Zoé as the shy one, someone she could manipulate or ignore. But her father had looked at Zoé and said something Chloe would never forget: “Maybe it’s time I recognize my daughter—the one I’m proud of.”

Chloe’s stomach twisted as she remembered it. She’d begged him to take her back, insisted that she was his real daughter, his flesh and blood. But his face had been unyielding.

And so, he’d cast her out of the only life she’d ever known.

She dropped her phone onto the pristine couch, the frustration rising like bile. She wanted to scream, to break something, but the walls of her mother’s apartment seemed to hold her in place, as if even her anger didn’t belong here.

Audrey’s sharp voice broke the silence, each word clipped and dismissive. “Chloe, honestly. Are you planning to sulk all night? I’d think you’d want to make something of yourself now that you’re here.”

Chloe clenched her fists, keeping her back to her mother, focusing on the New York skyline instead of the resentment bubbling inside her. It wasn’t just that her father had banished her from Paris—it was the fact that he’d chosen everyone else over her. Paris itself had turned against her; her only friend had turned against her. Even Sabrina, who’d practically worshipped her, had decided she was better off with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of all people.

The betrayal still stung. She’d given Sabrina everything. And now? Now Sabrina had replaced her, her once-loyal friend happily laughing with new faces, leaving Chloe to sort out the ruins of her life on her own.

“You’d better figure out your plans,” Audrey continued, her words a bitter, pointed reminder of Chloe’s failures. “Honestly, Chloe, you can’t expect me to keep coddling you. Your father and I both know you’ve made a mess of things, and it’s high time you fix it.”

Chloe didn’t reply. She’d long since learned it was pointless to argue with her mother, who only seemed to see her as another disappointment, a burden she’d been forced to take in.

“And for heaven’s sake, stop moping,” Audrey added, her tone softening only slightly in a way that stung more than anything else. “It’s unbecoming.”

“Fine,” Chloe muttered, crossing her arms and staring hard at the skyline. She wanted to fire back, to tell her mother that she was the only family Chloe had left—but deep down, she knew that meant nothing to Audrey.

The sounds of the city drifted up from below, a mixture of honking cars, distant sirens, and muffled voices. Here in the glittering high-rise, she was miles above it all, as if the city didn’t even know she existed. In Paris, she’d commanded attention. Here, she was a stranger in a city that couldn’t care less who she was.

With a bitter sigh, she sank onto the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing down around her. Her phone lay beside her, dark and empty, nothing but an echo of the life she’d left behind. She picked it up, scrolling again, knowing it would hurt but unable to stop herself.

Her fingers stopped on a picture of her and Sabrina, taken during one of their countless afternoons in Paris. They were laughing, arms around each other, looking as if nothing in the world could come between them. She’d once thought they’d be friends forever, that Sabrina would always be there to stand by her side, to keep her from feeling alone.

And yet, she was alone now. Everyone had left, one by one, leaving her stranded in a city that didn’t know or care who she was.

But it was Sabrina’s betrayal that hurt the most. Marinette had somehow charmed her way into Sabrina’s heart, and now Sabrina was out of Chloe’s life for good. Even after all this time, the resentment, the sting of being abandoned by the only person who’d ever truly known her, still festered inside her.

“Pathetic,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking about Sabrina or herself. She tossed the phone aside, running a hand through her perfectly styled hair as she looked out over the city once more.

Paris was gone, her friends were gone, and her family had cast her aside. The ache in her chest grew stronger, a loneliness she’d never felt before.

For the first time in her life, Chloe Bourgeois was truly, utterly alone.

The click of her mother’s heels faded down the hallway, accompanied by the sound of the elevator doors sliding shut. Chloe barely glanced up as Audrey left, off to yet another glamorous New York gala. Normally, Chloe would’ve been thrilled to join her mother at an event—dressed to the nines, making herself the center of attention. But tonight, as Audrey had coolly informed her, she’d be “a liability” in front of New York’s elite.

The dismissal stung, but Chloe forced herself to shake it off. Sitting alone in this apartment wasn’t an option. She couldn’t take the silence and the suffocating loneliness. She grabbed her purse, determined to distract herself with some shopping. Maybe a little retail therapy would be just the thing to bring her back to herself. Paris had always felt better when she was surrounded by beautiful things, by people who envied her, even admired her. Maybe New York wasn’t so different.

But as soon as she stepped out of the glittering, marble-floored lobby, Chloe’s optimism wavered. The street below her mother’s high-rise felt like a different world. New York was noisy, and not the elegant kind of noise she was used to—the buzz of high-society events, the chime of champagne glasses. No, here, it was a mix of blaring horns, shouting voices, and sirens wailing in the distance. And the smell—she wrinkled her nose as she walked past a pile of trash bags, heaped up right next to the sidewalk, spilling onto the pavement.

“Ugh, disgusting,” she muttered to herself, stepping over a crushed coffee cup and keeping her chin raised, trying to ignore the grime. This was nothing like Paris. Paris was refined, sophisticated. Even in its busiest corners, it held a certain charm, a sense of elegance that was utterly missing here. She looked down at her heels, already splashed with something she didn’t want to identify, and felt her mood slipping fast.

Determined not to let the city get to her, she pulled her coat tighter around herself and strode down the street, hoping to find a boutique that matched her style. It wasn’t long before she spotted a store with glimmering display windows showcasing designer bags and accessories. She walked inside, feeling a flicker of relief as the chaos of the street faded behind her.

The warmth of the store, the soft lighting over the pristine shelves of handbags and jewelry—it felt like a small piece of the life she’d left behind. Chloe felt herself relax, the loneliness lifting just a bit. She drifted through the aisles, running her fingers over a soft, leather purse, admiring a pair of silk gloves that reminded her of the ones she’d worn to the mayoral office back in Paris. Just the act of shopping, of holding something elegant and beautiful, brought back a sliver of her old self.

For the first time in what felt like ages, she smiled.

That was when someone jostled her roughly from behind, nearly knocking her into the shelf. She stumbled, clutching the edge of the display as her purse slipped from her arm and tumbled to the floor.

“Excuse me!” she snapped, spinning around to glare at the person who’d dared to shove her. A tall woman in a leather jacket with a careless, unbothered expression looked her up and down, barely sparing her a glance.

“Oh, sorry, princess,” the woman said, her voice thick with sarcasm, “didn’t see you there.” She smirked, as if Chloe were some kind of joke.

Chloe felt the familiar spark of anger rise in her. “You didn’t see me? You practically pushed me to the floor! Do you even know who I am?”

The woman let out a short laugh. “No, and I don’t care. What’s with the attitude, anyway? Think you’re better than everyone here just because you’re in some overpriced heels?”

Chloe’s cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to snap back, to put this woman in her place, but the words caught in her throat. She was used to people bending to her will, but this woman didn’t look intimidated in the slightest.

“You could at least apologize,” Chloe managed, though her voice wavered slightly. Her confidence was crumbling faster than she could piece it back together.

“Apologize?” the woman repeated, her smirk widening. “You know, I’d be careful if I were you, princess. You walk around like you own the place, like we should all be grateful to have you here. But newsflash—no one cares about you here. You’re just another snob with an attitude problem.” Her eyes narrowed, looking Chloe up and down with disdain. “Bet you never even worked a day in your life, have you?”

The words hit harder than Chloe expected, sharp and raw. She’d been insulted before, sure—but not like this, and never by someone who seemed so utterly indifferent to her. Her stomach churned, and for a moment, she felt small, defenseless.

With a scoff, the woman walked past her, bumping her shoulder as she went, and Chloe flinched, suddenly very aware of the eyes of the few other shoppers in the store. She could feel their judgment, the way they seemed to see through her, like she was an act that had finally fallen apart.

Humiliated, Chloe felt her face burn. She wanted to scream, to throw a fit, to demand that they all look away. But the woman’s words echoed in her mind: No one cares about you here.

Without another word, Chloe grabbed her purse from the floor and stumbled out of the store, leaving the comfort of the soft lighting and high-end displays behind her. The noise of the street hit her like a wave, the smells and sounds crowding in, harsher than ever.

Her heels clicked loudly on the sidewalk as she walked quickly, each step feeling heavier than the last. She couldn’t shake the stranger’s words, couldn’t push away the realization that, here in New York, no one would treat her like she was special. Her power, her name, her family—none of it meant anything here.

For the first time, Chloe felt an ache deep in her chest, something far more painful than anger. It was a hollow, gnawing emptiness, a loneliness that clung to her even as she pushed her way down the crowded sidewalk.

Chloe stormed down the crowded New York sidewalk, her mind spinning with anger and frustration. Back in Paris, she’d never had to deal with strangers talking down to her like that. People there had known who she was—or if they hadn’t, they’d found out quickly enough. All it took was one mention of her father, the mayor, and she’d see people’s expressions change, the deference coming over their faces as they realized just how much power she had.

Her father’s influence had been her armor, and she’d wielded it well. Teachers at school, shopkeepers, even the adults around the city—they’d all been careful around her, letting her get away with things others couldn’t. She’d seen the hesitation in their eyes whenever she’d complained or made a demand, as if they were afraid of upsetting her, of what her father might do if they didn’t cater to her whims. She could snap her fingers and have people bend over backward to please her, all because they feared the consequences.

But here in New York, the city pulsing with its own chaotic rhythm, no one cared who she was. Her mother, a high-profile fashion designer, had status and fame, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Audrey Bourgeois was respected, even admired by some, but she didn’t have the kind of power that inspired obedience—or fear.

Chloe paused at a crosswalk, the red hand signal glaring at her from across the street. People brushed past her on all sides, each absorbed in their own lives, not sparing her so much as a second glance. She was used to being the center of attention, and the indifference stung in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

With a huff, she crossed the street as soon as the signal changed, the anger still boiling inside her. The nerve of that woman in the store, treating her like she was some ordinary nobody. Chloe clenched her fists, recalling how she’d wanted to snap back, to throw her name and family status in the woman’s face. Back in Paris, that alone would have been enough to shut her down. People didn’t talk to the mayor’s daughter like that—not unless they wanted to face consequences.

But here, it was different. She had no leverage, no way to assert her dominance. She wasn’t the mayor’s daughter in this city—she was just another face in the crowd, no more significant than the people swarming around her. That reality settled in her mind, uncomfortable and suffocating.

She passed by a small cafe with people sitting outside, talking and laughing as they sipped their coffees. She’d once been part of that—surrounded by friends, by people who looked up to her, even if some of them did so out of fear rather than genuine admiration. It hadn’t mattered back then. All she’d cared about was that people had respected her, had treated her like she was someone special. Important. Now, as she walked alone, it struck her just how empty that had been.

Chloe quickened her pace, telling herself that she just needed to find a way to make her mark here. She’d done it before in Paris, hadn’t she? She’d made sure people knew who she was, respected her. If she had to rebuild her reputation from scratch, she would.

But as she continued down the street, the city’s endless noise and movement pressing in on her from all sides, the confidence she’d forced herself to feel started to crack. The truth was, she’d relied on her father’s influence, his power, to get what she wanted. Without it, she was… what?

Another nobody.

She gritted her teeth, her fists clenching as she tried to push the thought away. She was Chloe Bourgeois, for crying out loud. She didn’t need anyone’s help to make herself known. She didn’t need her father. She’d show them all that she was more than just his daughter.

But as she turned a corner and found herself staring at yet another row of unfamiliar buildings, the determination drained from her, leaving only an uncomfortable, hollow ache. The truth was, her father’s power had been her safety net, the thing she’d relied on when her own confidence had faltered. Without it, she felt… exposed.

She felt her phone buzz in her purse and snatched it up, hoping it might be a message from someone back in Paris—maybe Sabrina, reaching out to apologize, to tell her she was missed. But the screen was blank, just a calendar notification for some trivial event she’d long since stopped caring about.

With a sigh, she slipped her phone back into her bag, glancing around at the unfamiliar streets once more. Back home, she’d known every street, every store, every face. Here, everything was foreign, and no one gave her a second look.

Her shoulders slumped, a pang of loneliness settling deep in her chest. She’d never felt powerless before—she’d always been able to manipulate, to charm or intimidate people into giving her what she wanted. But here, in this vast city, she was just one more person, lost and unremarkable.

Chloe glanced up, her gaze catching on a massive digital billboard showing the latest fashion ad. The model’s face was fierce, defiant, a look that dared the world to underestimate her. Chloe’s expression hardened as she stared at it. She wasn’t going to let this city get to her. She’d find a way to make her name known, to demand the respect she deserved.

But deep down, beneath the anger and frustration, the loneliness lingered, a reminder that, for the first time in her life, she couldn’t just snap her fingers and make everything right.

After a long, miserable walk through New York’s crowded streets, Chloe finally pushed her way through the doors of her mother’s high-rise building. She half-expected a familiar, polite greeting from the doorman, maybe a hint of recognition that she was someone important. Instead, she received a barely-there nod as she passed. She huffed, clenching her jaw as she strode toward the elevator, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

The ride up to her mother’s apartment felt longer than usual, her own reflection in the mirror-lined elevator staring back at her. She hated that reflection—there was something different in her eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. A weariness, a dull frustration, as if the energy that once fueled her confidence had run dry. She looked away quickly, trying to shake the feeling.

Back in Paris, she’d never looked at herself like this. She hadn’t had to; her father’s influence and her own reputation had given her a sense of power she’d wielded without thinking. People had listened to her because she was Chloe Bourgeois—the mayor’s daughter, someone who mattered. And sure, she’d pushed people around a little, but that was just how things worked in Paris. Or at least, that’s what she’d told herself.

The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped into the silent apartment, expecting her mother’s shrill voice to cut through the air with some critique or complaint. But the place was empty. Chloe’s irritation twisted into something deeper—something that almost felt like loneliness, though she hated to admit it. She wasn’t used to this silence, to the weight of an empty room pressing down on her. Paris had always been full of people, full of her friends (or followers, really), who’d hung on her every word. Even if they’d only been there out of fear or habit, she hadn’t felt so… alone.

She tossed her purse onto a chair and sank into the couch, curling her legs under her as she unlocked her phone. She didn’t want to go back to scrolling through old photos of her life in Paris, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her finger hovered over Sabrina’s profile, hesitating. Part of her wanted to look, to see if maybe Sabrina had posted something that hinted at regret, some sign that she missed Chloe. But she knew better.

Sabrina was probably with Marinette right now, laughing and planning another “Save Paris” scheme or whatever those two did together. Sabrina had chosen her side, and Chloe knew it wasn’t hers.

She scrolled down to a photo of her father from a press conference the week after she’d been sent to New York. He’d looked confident, his arm around Zoé, who’d stood beside him, smiling like she was some kind of perfect replacement. His words from that day echoed in her mind: “Paris deserves a leader with integrity and heart, someone who can truly inspire. My daughter, Zoé…”

Her hand tightened around her phone, her anger flashing hot and sharp. Her father had stood there, in front of all of Paris, and declared that Zoé was the daughter he was proud of. Zoé, who hadn’t even grown up in Paris, who had spent half her life somewhere else, was the one he’d chosen to hold up as his true legacy.

Chloe could barely breathe as the resentment twisted inside her. She wanted to throw her phone across the room, to shatter it against the wall and let her anger finally explode. But she didn’t. All she could do was sit there, feeling trapped in a life that had no place for her.

She was nobody here—just another face in the city, stripped of the power she’d once taken for granted.

The silence in the apartment weighed on Chloe, amplifying every thought that nagged at her. She glanced around, feeling restless, like the walls were closing in. Her anger simmered beneath the surface, mingling with the ache of rejection that she’d never admit to anyone—not even herself.

With a huff, she stood up, reaching for her phone and scrolling aimlessly through social media. The app was flooded with photos and posts about tonight’s biggest event: an exclusive concert for one of New York’s most popular musicians, known for bringing in celebrities, models, and high-profile personalities. It was the kind of event that Chloe used to dominate back in Paris, where her mere presence had turned heads and opened doors.

Her thumb hovered over the concert details, a plan already forming in her mind. This could be her chance to feel like herself again, if only for a night. She wasn’t about to sit here and sulk while the world went on without her. No, she’d slip into that concert, show up those New Yorkers, and remind herself that she was Chloe Bourgeois—a name that deserved attention, no matter where she was.

Within minutes, she was throwing on a sleek, black dress and her favorite heels, swiping on a fresh layer of lipstick as she prepared herself to look flawless. She didn’t have an invitation, but she’d dealt with obstacles before. She wasn’t going to let something as trivial as a “guest list” stop her.

---

As she neared the concert venue, the roar of the crowd grew louder, the energy seeping into her bones and stoking the confidence she’d been missing for weeks. Bright, flashing lights lined the entrance, cameras flashing as celebrities and socialites made their way inside. Chloe smirked. She could already feel the excitement building, the rush of slipping into a place where she didn’t belong, only to claim it as her own.

She kept her head high as she strode toward the VIP entrance. Two security guards were posted by the door, checking IDs and waving people in with exclusive wristbands. Chloe gave them a haughty smile, lifting her chin as she approached, hoping they’d simply assume she belonged there.

One of the guards held up his hand, looking down at her with a raised brow. “Invitation?”

Chloe raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. “Do you even know who I am?” she said, her tone dripping with impatience.

The guard didn’t budge. “Invitation,” he repeated, his voice flat.

Annoyed, she pulled out her phone, pretending to scroll through her nonexistent messages for proof. “I’ve been invited by—by Mr. Goldstein’s team,” she said, throwing out the name of the concert organizer she’d seen online. “This is ridiculous! He’d be furious if he knew you were keeping me out.”

The guard exchanged a skeptical glance with his partner, but Chloe noticed the slight hesitation. She held her ground, shooting them a glare she hoped looked intimidating, like the glares she used to throw around in Paris when she had her father’s backing.

After a pause that felt like an eternity, the guards exchanged a resigned sigh, one of them gesturing her in with a wave of his hand. She forced herself not to smile as she brushed past them, heart pounding with a rush of satisfaction. She was in.

The atmosphere inside was electric—neon lights flashing, music thrumming through the air, and well-dressed guests mingling in small clusters, laughing and talking as though the world existed solely for their entertainment. Chloe swept through the room, her shoulders back and head high, drinking in the attention of anyone who glanced her way.

The main stage was lit up, and she caught sight of the opening act setting up. To her surprise, there was something vaguely familiar about the lead guitarist who was tuning his instrument, his teal hair gleaming under the stage lights. She squinted, stepping closer, her curiosity piqued.

And then it hit her: Luka Couffaine.

She felt her heart skip a beat, a mix of surprise and irritation bubbling up inside her. What is he doing here? She’d left Paris thinking she’d never have to run into anyone she knew again, and yet here he was, on stage, looking completely at home. Behind him stood none other than Jagged Stone, who was talking animatedly with the other band members.

Chloe watched, stunned, as Luka adjusted his guitar strap, moving with the same calm confidence he’d always had. She remembered how infuriatingly patient he was, how he always seemed unaffected by anything she’d thrown his way. But seeing him here, in this setting, with an audience of strangers eagerly watching him—it felt different. He seemed… important, like he belonged here in a way that she suddenly realized she didn’t.

Before she could stop herself, Chloe moved closer to the stage, pushing through the crowd. Part of her was determined to confront him, to remind him that they were from the same world, that she was still someone he should recognize. The other part just wanted to show him that she wasn’t the pitiful, lonely girl that Paris had left behind.

The music started, and the crowd erupted, cheering as Luka and his band launched into the first song. Chloe forced herself to keep her composure, but she felt oddly out of place as she watched Luka play, his fingers gliding over the strings effortlessly, his expression focused and relaxed. He looked so natural, as if he’d been made for this kind of life, moving through the music with a kind of ease she’d never understood.

When the song ended, she noticed people around her whispering excitedly, some calling his name, others reaching out to take photos. She felt a flicker of annoyance—since when was Luka Couffaine someone worth swooning over?

The realization hit her with a sinking feeling: he had carved out a life for himself here, a life that was real, not built on someone else’s name or influence. She looked down at herself, feeling a sudden pang of insecurity she wasn’t used to. Back in Paris, she’d had all the power, all the influence—but here, she was just another face in the crowd, easily ignored, barely noticed.

She took a step back, feeling an unfamiliar sense of vulnerability creeping over her.

As the next song began, Luka’s gaze swept over the audience—and for a split second, his eyes met hers. She froze, the shock of recognition flashing between them. But instead of looking surprised, Luka just held her gaze, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he could see right through her.

The moment was over almost as quickly as it began, and Luka turned his attention back to his guitar, his focus unwavering. But Chloe felt her face flush, a mix of embarrassment and anger simmering beneath her skin.

How dare he look at me like that? she thought, clenching her fists, though she could barely hold onto the anger. Because beneath it, buried where she didn’t want to look, was something else: the realization that, for the first time, someone had seen through her, right to the core of her loneliness and insecurity.

As the music continued, Chloe took another step back, suddenly feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t expected. She spun around, pushing through the crowd, her head held high but her heart pounding. The sense of power she’d come here to reclaim had slipped through her fingers, leaving her feeling smaller than ever.

Chloe forced herself to walk calmly as she moved away from the stage, her heels clicking across the floor. Her face was a carefully composed mask of indifference, but inside, her mind raced. Of all the people to see here, in the middle of New York City, it had to be Luka Couffaine. She’d come here for a taste of her old life, a reminder of who she was, and instead, she was faced with someone who seemed to know all the pieces of her that she’d desperately tried to leave behind in Paris.

She stole another glance toward the stage, trying to keep her expression casual. Luka was packing up his guitar now, standing beside his father, Jagged Stone, who was laughing and chatting with some concert-goers who’d gathered around him. Chloe could hardly believe it—Jagged Stone, a major celebrity even by New York standards, was right there, blending in with the crowd as if it were nothing. But then, of course, he’d always been unconventional, always as wild and unbothered as his music.

She was still watching them, hidden just behind a large potted plant, when she saw Luka look up and spot her again. This time, he didn’t look away.

A smirk crept over his face, and Chloe’s heart sank. She knew that look; it was the same way he’d looked at her in Paris whenever he saw past the cold, snobby facade she used to put up. Somehow, he’d always been able to see beyond her defenses, which only made him more insufferable.

Chloe swallowed her nerves, straightened her posture, and strode forward, her heels tapping a confident rhythm against the polished floor. She was Chloe Bourgeois, after all, and she wasn’t about to let Luka Couffaine—or anyone else—think she was hiding.

As she approached, Luka watched her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, one eyebrow raised as if waiting for her to speak first. Jagged, catching sight of her, looked momentarily surprised, then grinned in recognition.

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Bourgeois!” Jagged said with a laugh, folding his arms. “Didn’t expect to see you here, of all places.”

Chloe forced a smile, ignoring the slight dig in his tone. “I didn’t expect to see you either, Mr. Stone,” she replied smoothly. “Isn’t this a little out of your way?”

Jagged chuckled, glancing at Luka. “You could say we’re on a bit of a world tour these days. Figured New York would be a good spot to hit up. Besides, got to keep this one”—he clapped a hand on Luka’s shoulder—“busy. He’s my right-hand man on the road.”

Luka gave his father a small smile, then looked back at Chloe, his expression calm and assessing. “Didn’t think I’d see you here either, Chloe. New York’s… different from Paris.”

Chloe lifted her chin, aiming for a tone of casual indifference. “Paris got boring,” she lied, waving a hand dismissively. “So, here I am, bringing a bit of culture to New York.” She glanced around the room, as if to make her point, though it was clear to her that neither of them bought it.

Luka tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. “You came to New York to bring culture to it?” he asked, his voice light but laced with a trace of sarcasm that stung. “Interesting.”

Chloe bristled, though she tried not to show it. “And why not?” she retorted. “This city could use some refinement. I mean, have you seen the streets here? And the people? They’re—”

She broke off, realizing Luka was smiling at her, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. He didn’t even look irritated, which only made her feel more unsettled. Instead, he just nodded, almost as if he knew exactly what she was trying so hard not to say.

“It must be a big change,” he said quietly. “Being here instead of… there.”

Chloe hesitated, caught off guard. Luka had always had this way of cutting through her defenses without even trying. He’d done it back in Paris too, with his calm demeanor, his infuriating ability to listen instead of judge. And now, here he was again, looking at her like he actually understood.

She glanced away, hating that he saw through her so easily, and shrugged. “Paris was overrated anyway,” she muttered. “It’s nice to get away from all the… drama.”

Jagged chuckled again, the sound lighthearted but tinged with something knowing. “Well, good on you for branching out, kid,” he said, giving her an approving nod. “But New York’s not exactly the easiest place to fit into. You’ve got to be tough to make it here.”

“Believe me, I’m tough,” Chloe said quickly, crossing her arms. “I can handle whatever this city throws at me.”

Luka’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his gaze. “Guess we’re all a little out of place here,” he said quietly. “It’s not easy starting over.”

Chloe’s stomach twisted, and she forced herself to look away. She didn’t want his pity, didn’t need it. She was here to prove herself, not to dwell on her past mistakes. She’d show them—Luka, Jagged, everyone—that she was stronger than they thought.

But as she stood there, surrounded by strangers in a city that barely knew her name, Chloe couldn’t help but feel a pang of doubt, one she hadn’t expected. For the first time, she realized that maybe she wasn’t as prepared for this new life as she thought.

Chloe narrowed her eyes at Luka, trying to regain her composure. It had been years since they’d first crossed paths in Paris, back when Luka had been one of those kids tagging along with the “baker girl” and her ridiculous crew. Back then, she’d dismissed him as just another “Louser,” someone content to live in Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s shadow—a complete nonentity in her world of power and status.

But standing here now, watching Luka effortlessly command the room’s attention with his calm, understated presence, Chloe felt a prickle of irritation. He was supposed to be beneath her, just another forgettable face from her past. And yet here he was, looking at her with that quiet, steady gaze that seemed to cut through her every layer.

She straightened her shoulders, adopting her most haughty expression. If he thought he could just show up in New York, act like he knew her, he was sorely mistaken. “So, Couffaine,” she sneered, arms crossed. “Looks like you’re still content being a Louser, clinging to the sidelines. Figures, really. But at least you’re consistent, I guess.”

Luka raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m just here doing what I love, Chloe,” he said, his voice as calm and unbothered as ever. “Seems like that’s a little different from what you’re doing.”

Chloe’s lips curled into a smirk, though she felt her confidence flicker at his lack of reaction. She wasn’t used to people treating her like this—especially not someone like Luka. “Well, I’ve always been a little more ambitious than you,” she replied, tilting her chin up. “Unlike some people, I actually know how to make an impact.”

Luka didn’t flinch, didn’t roll his eyes, didn’t give her the reaction she craved. He just looked at her, his expression mild but somehow… knowing. Like he could see right through her words to the insecurity beneath them.

“An impact?” he repeated, his gaze steady. “Is that really what you’re looking for, Chloe? Or are you just looking for someone to notice you?”

Chloe felt a flash of heat rise to her cheeks, and she quickly brushed it off, scoffing as if his question was absurd. “Please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need anyone’s attention. People pay attention to me because they know who I am. When I was in Paris, I practically ran the city. People feared me. They respected me.”

She could feel her voice rising, her words echoing a little too loudly in the open space of the concert hall. But she couldn’t stop herself. Memories of her days in Paris flooded her mind—times when she’d walked down the school hallways with people parting to let her pass, her father’s office where she’d strutted around with the confidence of someone who held power, even if it was only borrowed from her father.

Luka watched her with that same calm, understanding look, and her irritation boiled over.

“It’s just… people should know who I am!” she snapped, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I deserve respect. Fear, even. I shouldn’t have to explain that to anyone, least of all… you.” Her voice faltered slightly, the admission hanging in the air between them.

But instead of backing down, Luka simply sighed. “Chloe, I don’t think you really want people to fear you,” he said quietly. “Maybe you just want someone to actually care.”

Chloe felt her confidence crumble, but she quickly recovered, masking her vulnerability with a smirk. “I don’t need caring, thank you very much. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m not some sad little artist who needs a bunch of friends to feel important.”

“Right,” Luka said simply, his expression steady. “Because that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. Taking care of yourself.”

The words stung, and for a moment, Chloe couldn’t think of a response. Luka had managed to do what few others could—leave her speechless. There was a challenge in his eyes, as if he were daring her to drop the act and be real, even if just for a moment.

She forced a scoff, shaking her head as if he’d said something laughable. “Well, you don’t know anything, so just… mind your business,” she snapped, though her voice sounded strained, even to her own ears. “In fact, I think I’ll go give these New Yorkers a real show. Maybe I can show them what actual talent looks like.”

Before she could think twice, Chloe spun on her heel, marching toward the small stage where the band had just finished their set. She could feel the weight of Luka’s gaze on her back, but she forced herself to ignore it. This was her moment. She could prove she was better than him, better than everyone here. New York would finally know who Chloe Bourgeois was.

She stepped up onto the stage, flashing a dazzling smile at the confused onlookers and grabbing the microphone. The remaining band members exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the unexpected addition.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” she announced, her voice loud and confident. “Tonight, you’re in for a treat. I’m Chloe Bourgeois, and I think it’s time you see some real talent!”

She scanned the crowd, expecting awe, admiration, maybe a few impressed murmurs. But instead, she was met with blank stares, a few raised eyebrows, and more than one exasperated sigh. Still, she pushed forward, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she tried to channel the confidence she’d once commanded so easily.

She took a deep breath, preparing to sing, to show them that she wasn’t just another face in the crowd. But as soon as she opened her mouth, the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t ignore the disinterest in the audience’s faces, the eyes narrowed in annoyance or indifference. Instead of the captivated audience she’d imagined, she was met with judgment, even irritation.

Chloe’s voice faltered, barely managing a few shaky notes. The crowd’s expressions grew darker, some people turning away, others stifling laughter.

“Seriously?” someone muttered nearby, loud enough for her to hear. “Who does she think she is?”

The comment hit harder than she wanted to admit, and her voice cracked, the words slipping away as her confidence crumbled. She froze, the realization crashing over her that she wasn’t in Paris anymore, that her name and status meant nothing here.

Chloe froze on the stage, clutching the microphone as silence settled over the crowd. For the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to do, how to recover, or how to make the people staring up at her look impressed or even intimidated. This wasn’t Paris, where she could bluster her way out of any slip-up. Here, she was alone, standing under harsh stage lights that only seemed to amplify the hollow feeling inside her.

A few people in the front row exchanged looks of confusion, while others rolled their eyes, turning away. She heard the murmur of voices carrying through the room.

“Who is she?” someone whispered nearby, not even bothering to keep their voice down.

“Must be some spoiled wannabe,” another voice replied, dismissive and unimpressed.

The words stung, each comment feeling like a pinprick of doubt she couldn’t push away. She was supposed to be Chloe Bourgeois—the girl people respected, or at least feared. But here, the crowd didn’t care who she was, didn’t care that she’d practically ruled her school in Paris or that her father had been the mayor. Here, she was nothing more than a girl who had stepped into the spotlight uninvited.

Someone in the back let out a short, mocking laugh, and the sound cut through her, raw and humiliating. She felt her face heat up as her grip on the microphone tightened, her mind scrambling for something—anything—to say that would restore her control. But all the clever words and confidence she’d once wielded so easily seemed to vanish, leaving her exposed.

And then, in the corner of her vision, she caught sight of Luka. He was leaning against the wall near the edge of the stage, watching her with that same calm, unreadable expression. He didn’t look amused, didn’t look smug or irritated. He just… watched, his gaze steady, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling.

The sight of him, witnessing her in her weakest, most vulnerable moment, sent a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over her. She felt the urge to lash out, to snap at him, to tell him to look away. But even that small spark of defiance fizzled as she looked out at the crowd and realized there was nothing she could do to save face.

Her hand fell to her side, the microphone dangling uselessly. She tried to smile, to throw on a mask of confidence, but it wavered, faltering before she could even fully form it. The crowd’s eyes turned away, disinterested, as if she were no more than a blip in the evening’s entertainment.

Jagged Stone’s assistant moved onto the stage, flashing her a quick, professional smile that felt painfully sympathetic. “Uh, miss, if you could step down?” she said quietly, motioning toward the edge of the stage.

Chloe’s heart sank. She didn’t have the strength to argue, to throw her weight around. She let the assistant guide her offstage, each step feeling like she was sinking deeper into a pit of embarrassment. She kept her head down, avoiding the curious stares of the other concertgoers as she made her way back into the crowd.

She tried to disappear into the shadows near the back of the room, hoping to melt into the darkness. But then, she heard footsteps approaching, and a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

“Chloe.”

She turned, and there he was—Luka, looking at her with that same steady, quiet gaze. Her stomach twisted, the humiliation flaring up again as she met his eyes. She wanted to throw up some kind of defense, to pretend she didn’t care, to brush it off as if it were all a joke. But somehow, the words wouldn’t come.

“Rough night?” he asked softly, his tone gentle but unassuming.

She forced a laugh, though it came out hollow. “Oh, please. Like I care what these people think. They’re just… they don’t understand someone like me,” she said, lifting her chin as if that could somehow restore her dignity.

Luka tilted his head, a faint, sympathetic smile crossing his face. “Maybe,” he said simply, “or maybe they just don’t know you.”

She bristled at the words, at the idea that he thought he could see right through her. But when she looked at him, she couldn’t find any judgment in his expression, only understanding. And that—his calm, unflinching compassion—was almost worse than pity.

She looked away, trying to mask the vulnerability she could feel creeping into her expression. “You think you know so much about me, don’t you, Luka?” she muttered, her voice tight. “Just because you’ve got your little circle of friends and your… your music, you think you’re above me?. Please, get over yourself.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t react to her words. He just stood there, waiting, as if he knew she needed to say it, to lash out. “It’s okay to feel lost sometimes, Chloe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air, and Chloe’s chest tightened as the truth in them struck her, raw and undeniable. She opened her mouth to respond, to snap back or deny it, but nothing came out. She was lost, and for once, she couldn’t pretend otherwise.

She looked at him, searching his face for a hint of mockery or superiority, but all she saw was quiet compassion, an invitation to be real, if only for a moment.

With a frustrated sigh, she turned away, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t ask for your advice.”

He nodded, his expression gentle, as if he’d expected nothing else. “I know,” he replied simply.

As he turned to go, leaving her to the shadows and her own silence, Chloe felt the weight of her embarrassment settle over her, heavy and unshakable. She’d tried to reclaim the confidence she’d once wielded so easily, to remind herself of who she was. But instead, she’d found herself stripped bare, left standing in front of strangers who saw her as nothing more than a girl trying too hard to matter.

The quiet acceptance in Luka’s gaze had only deepened the humiliation, making her realize that maybe he’d seen something she’d never dared to admit to herself: she was alone, not because people didn’t understand her, but because she didn’t understand herself.

As she slipped away from the crowd, her heels clicking softly against the floor, Chloe felt more exposed than ever, as if every mask she’d carefully crafted had been stripped away, leaving her nothing but a stranger in a city that had no place for her.