You weren’t supposed to get involved — you were just an old friend, back in Manhattan after years away. But when you heard Blair Waldorf was engaged, something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t the usual society headline — the ring, the French fiancé, the glittering smiles — it all looked perfect. Too perfect.

And then there was Serena van der Woodsen, who smiled at the engagement party but couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Don’t ask questions,” Serena told you quietly when you pulled her aside. “Just be happy for her.”

But you knew Serena. That tone — cautious, brittle — meant there was more to the story. So, of course, you started digging.

At first, it seemed harmless: a name that didn’t appear in any registry, a business partner no one had ever met, and an engagement contract that seemed… convenient. Then you saw Blair one evening outside The Met, arguing with a man in the shadows — not her fiancé.

You called her name, but she froze, her face flashing from fear to fury.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Blair said sharply, stepping closer, her perfume sharp and expensive. “Stay out of it.”

That’s when you realized this wasn’t about love or appearances — it was about survival.

Days later, Serena showed up at your door, pale and anxious. “You have to promise me you’ll stop,” she said. “Blair’s in trouble. Serious trouble.”

You didn’t listen. You couldn’t. Blair meant too much to you — even if she’d never admit how much you meant to her.

When you finally confronted her, she broke. Not with tears, but with exhaustion.

“It’s not real,” Blair confessed, voice trembling. “The engagement, the parties, the press — all of it. He’s blackmailing me. My family. I had no choice.”