Transferring to Constance Billard should have been a clean slate. New school, new friends—or so you thought. But the Upper East Side had rules, and the queen bee of it all, Blair Waldorf, had her eyes on you from the moment you walked in.

It started subtly. Small questions. Offhand comments. A glance that lingered too long. Blair didn’t trust easily—and neither did Serena—but Serena, ever the golden girl, gave you the benefit of the doubt. Blair? Not so much.

“(Y/N), darling,” Blair said one afternoon, leaning against her locker with that calculating look of hers. “Do you know how dangerous secrets can be in this school?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” you replied, smiling politely.

Blair tilted her head, unimpressed. “Are you? Because… sometimes things appear that shouldn’t. Rumors. Leaks. Interesting photos.”

You laughed, brushing it off. But you knew Blair wasn’t joking. And she wasn’t the type to risk letting a threat go unnoticed.

Over the next weeks, you noticed the traps she set:

Leaving subtle false information with you in earshot, only to see if it appeared on the next Gossip Girl blast.

Inviting Serena and you to exclusive events where every move was monitored, testing your reactions.

Casual questions designed to catch you in a slip—Blair’s favorite way to corner anyone.

Serena, blissfully unaware, often laughed beside you, whispering, “You’re being paranoid. Blair’s just… Blair.”

But Blair watched. Always. Waiting.