It started with a text from Blair Waldorf.
What the hell is wrong with you?
You stared at your phone, confused, halfway through your morning coffee.
What are you talking about? you typed back.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then—
Don’t play dumb. Check Gossip Girl. Now.
Your stomach dropped.
You opened the site.
And there it was.
Screenshots. Messages. Posts—all under your name.
Cruel DMs sent to classmates. Snide comments about teachers. A rumor about Serena that made your chest tighten just reading it.
And the worst part?
Everyone thought it was you.
By lunchtime, the Upper East Side had already decided your guilt.
People whispered when you walked by. Phones tilted discreetly in your direction. Someone actually laughed.
You were at your locker when Serena van der Woodsen appeared beside you, unusually quiet.
“Okay,” she said softly, “you didn’t do this. Right?”
You looked at her, hurt flashing through your eyes. “You really have to ask?”
Serena sighed, rubbing her temples. “I know. I just—Blair’s already ready to destroy you.”
“Great,” you muttered. “Love that for me.”
As if summoned, Blair marched down the hallway like a general headed to war, heels clicking sharply.
She stopped in front of you, eyes cold.
“Explain,” she said.
You held up your phone. “It’s not me. Someone made fake accounts. They’re impersonating me.”
Blair studied your face. Really studied it.
Then she scoffed. “If you’re lying, you’re bad at it.”
Serena stepped in. “Blair, come on. This is sloppy. They’re trying too hard.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed. “Which means someone wants you framed.”
Your heart pounded. “Why would anyone do that?”
Blair smiled. Slowly. Dangerously. “Welcome to the Upper East Side.”
That afternoon, the three of you locked yourselves in Blair’s room like it was a war bunker.
Laptops open. Screens glowing. Evidence everywhere.
“This account was created two weeks ago,” Serena said. “Right when you started getting attention.”
Blair’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “And whoever it is knows personal details. Schedules. Old drama.”
You swallowed. “So… someone close.”
Blair glanced at you. “Someone jealous.”
Serena leaned back, crossing her arms. “Or someone who thought framing you would push one of us out of the picture.”
The room went quiet.
Blair smirked. “Oh, I hate identity theft.”
You looked between them, overwhelmed. “So what do we do?”
Blair shut her laptop with finality. “We expose them.”
Serena grinned. “Publicly.”