It started with a message that only Serena van der Woodsen could send:

“Pack light. The Hamptons are calling. You, me, and absolutely no drama. Promise.”

You laughed out loud at the last part — because when it came to Serena, no drama was never really an option.

Still, when she texted you, you went. Because saying no to Serena was like saying no to the ocean — impossible once you’d already been pulled in.

The beach house was breathtaking. White shutters, sea breeze curling through the open doors, soft music echoing from somewhere inside. She greeted you barefoot, golden hair catching the sunlight, wearing an oversized shirt and the kind of smile that made you forget why you were nervous.

“I’m glad you came,” she said, hugging you. “I needed to get out of the city… and I didn’t want to be alone.”

You followed her to the patio, where two glasses of wine waited. The waves crashed softly in the distance. It felt like the world had slowed down, just for the two of you.

That first night, you talked for hours — about everything. Her past, your secrets, the parts of both of you that no one else saw.

“I hate that people think they know me,” she said, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. “Like I’m some story they read once and decided how it ends.”

You looked at her, really looked at her. “Then write a new one.”

Serena smiled faintly. “Maybe I already am.”