Upper East Side parties always feel like they’re waiting for something to go wrong.

Tonight, it does.

Jenny spots it before she even fully steps into the room.

Chuck Bass leaning in too close. That familiar smirk. That casual entitlement like the world exists slightly more for him than for everyone else.

And you—caught in the middle of it.

Then Blair Waldorf turns.

And just like that, the attention shifts—not toward the problem, but toward you.

Of course it does.

“Seriously?” Blair’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and polished like glass. Her gaze lands on you like you’re the easiest explanation for something she doesn’t want to question. “This is what we’re doing now?”

Jenny freezes for half a second.

Not because she doesn’t understand what’s happening—

but because she does.

Very clearly.

“Oh, no,” Jenny says, stepping forward before she can stop herself.

Her voice isn’t loud.

But it’s firm.

Controlled.

New.

She walks right into the space between you and Blair without hesitation, eyes flicking briefly toward Chuck—just long enough to register what actually happened.

Then back to Blair.

“That’s not how this went down,” Jenny says, tone steady, sharper than expected. “And you know it.”

A beat.

Blair narrows her eyes slightly.

“Excuse me?”

Jenny doesn’t flinch.

“He was flirting with her,” Jenny continues, gesturing slightly toward you now. “Unwantedly. There’s a difference.”

Silence.

The kind that stretches.

Jenny exhales slowly through her nose, still standing between you and the situation like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe try being mad at the right person for once,” she adds, voice lower now, less performative—more real.

A pause.

Then she glances back at you briefly.

Just once.

“You okay?” Jenny asks, softer—but still grounded. Still there.