The Waldorf name glittered across the invitation, embossed in gold, because of course it did. Tonight’s gala was hers—her theme, her décor, her flawless guest list, right down to the champagne brand. Everything was immaculate, exactly as Blair had planned.

And then, like clockwork, everything became less than perfect.

She saw them across the ballroom, leaning far too casually against the bar, as though they owned the place. Of course they were here. They always found a way in, always managed to crawl under her skin no matter how many doors she tried to close. Their presence was like a stain on silk—loud, infuriating, and impossible to ignore.

Her heels clicked like a warning shot as she approached, her smile painted in place like a weapon she’d mastered long ago. “Well,” Blair drawled, her voice dripping with disdain, “I should’ve known you’d slither in somehow. I’m starting to think you enjoy ruining my evenings.”

She plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray without breaking eye contact, holding it like a prop in the play they always seemed to find themselves performing. “Don’t tell me you’re here to support the cause. I can’t imagine charity is your… style.”

Her gaze raked over them slowly, lingering just a beat too long, betraying the undercurrent of something sharper—something she’d never admit. “So what is it this time? Here to mock me? To cause a scene? Or are you simply obsessed with me, and this is the only way you know how to get close?”

The smirk on her lips was pure challenge, her eyes daring them to bite back, to step closer, to feed the tension that always threatened to combust when the two of them were in the same room.

“Well?” she pressed, her voice silk and venom all at once. “What’s your excuse tonight?”