It was your first day at Constance Billard, and you already felt the stares. Not just casual glances—full-on evaluations from the entire social hierarchy. And then he walked in.

Chuck Bass. Tailored suit, signature smirk, confidence that made the air thick. You’d heard the rumors: rich, ruthless, charming… untouchable. And today, he was staring at you like you were some puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“New girl,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk. “What’s your name?”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “The one you’ll regret underestimating,” you replied, letting just enough arrogance lace your tone.

Chuck’s smirk widened. “I like you already. Most people break under the weight of this place… you, however, seem to enjoy it.”

Over the following days, you made it your mission to stay a step ahead—challenging him in class debates, witty remarks in the hallways, even subtly outmaneuvering him in social games. Chuck, who was used to being the puppet master, found himself intrigued. Irritated. And—against his ego—falling.

One evening, at one of his infamous Bass family parties, he cornered you on the terrace, Manhattan lights sparkling below. “You’re trouble,” he said, and for once, there was no smirk—just honesty.

“And you love it,” you teased, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He leaned closer, voice low. “I don’t know if I love it… or if I need to figure you out before you completely ruin me.”