The first thing you noticed was the headache. The second—the silk sheets that definitely weren’t yours.

When you blinked awake, golden sunlight poured through tall windows, glittering over crystal chandeliers and soft champagne-colored drapes. Blair Waldorf’s room.

You sat up slowly, your head pounding, trying to piece together fragments of memory. The Met Gala. The champagne tower. Serena laughing beside you in a shimmering gold gown. Blair whispering something sharp but oddly protective as the cameras flashed. After that… nothing.

The door opened.

Blair entered first, in an immaculate robe, hair already styled, a glass of iced coffee in hand. Serena followed, barefoot, still in her gown, mascara smudged like she hadn’t slept.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Blair said, her tone carefully neutral—too neutral. “You look like death, but at least you’re alive.”

Serena offered a soft, uneasy smile. “How are you feeling? You, uh… don’t remember much, do you?”

You frowned, rubbing your temple. “No. What happened? Last thing I remember is you two dragging me to the balcony.”

The girls exchanged a look—one of those loaded, silent exchanges that only they could pull off. Something had happened. Something they weren’t saying.

“Nothing important,” Blair said too quickly. “Just a little champagne spill. You fainted, I saved you, end of story.”