You’d been working for Blair Waldorf for almost six months—her new W Magazine offshoot project was everything she’d dreamed of: independence, influence, and luxury on her own terms. You admired her drive, her obsession with perfection, and the quiet fragility she hid behind it.

But there was something strange about the finances. Some invoices never matched. Anonymous transfers showed up at the right moments—large enough to save Blair’s project more than once. You dug deeper and found the name hidden in the shadows of offshore accounts.

Charles Bass.

You almost didn’t believe it at first. Chuck had sworn to everyone—including Blair—that he had nothing to do with her new venture. He’d let her go, supported her dreams from afar, and stayed out of her way. But now, you knew better. He wasn’t out of her life at all. He was the reason she was still afloat.

When you found him at The Empire, he wasn’t surprised. He was expecting you.

“You’re sharper than most,” Chuck said, swirling his glass of scotch. “Blair always had an eye for talent.”

“You’re funding her,” you replied quietly. “Why hide it?”

“Because she’d never accept it. She wants to believe she built it all herself.” He smirked faintly. “And maybe she should.”

There was something different in his tone—genuine affection, almost painful to hear. Chuck Bass wasn’t a man who did selfless. But for Blair Waldorf, it seemed he was willing to rewrite his nature.

You swore you’d keep his secret. But that promise came with consequences. You started spending more time at The Empire, relaying updates, signing anonymous transfers, and quietly watching him watch her from a distance.

And somewhere in the midst of the secrecy and quiet glances, something began to shift. His charm—once sharp, almost arrogant—softened around you. He’d ask about your day, your thoughts on Blair’s designs, your opinion on everything.