Blair Waldorf had always been known for her sharp mind, impeccable fashion, and unshakable confidence. But few knew she now held a title far more prestigious—and far more dangerous—than Queen of the Upper East Side: Ambassador to the alien monarchs.

The grand hall aboard the starship gleamed with alien architecture, light bending in colors your human eyes weren’t meant to fully perceive. Delegates from across galaxies mingled, exchanging ideas and—more importantly—secrets.

Blair walked in like she owned the place. Not just owning it—dominating it. Her eyes scanned the room, calculating alliances, potential threats, and opportunities like a chess master a move ahead of everyone else.

You followed behind, notebook in hand, assigned as her aide. You had been warned: Blair never made mistakes. She never hesitated. She always stayed two steps ahead.

“Y/N,” Blair’s voice rang clear, confident, and just a little sharp. “Remember, these monarchs respect strategy. Subtlety is key. Never show your hand too early.”

“Yes, Ambassador Waldorf,” you replied, trying to keep up as she navigated the crowd with effortless grace.

A delegation of three tall, insectoid monarchs approached. Their voices buzzed in unison, a language you couldn’t begin to understand. Blair tilted her head, listening, reading the subtext in their gestures.

You scribbled notes furiously, but Blair barely glanced at your pad. One subtle lift of an eyebrow, one carefully measured smile, and the conversation tilted completely in her favor.

“Of course,” Blair said, voice honeyed but firm. “We can accommodate your demands—provided your resources are allocated in exchange for mine. Fair, don’t you think?”

The monarchs buzzed among themselves, clearly impressed. Blair didn’t wait. She pulled out a small device from her clutch, projected a holographic map, and pointed out trade routes and concessions. Every possible objection had been anticipated—every outcome planned.

You could barely keep up. Blair’s mind moved faster than light, her poise unflappable

Once the monarchs left, Blair turned to you, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

“You see, Y/N?” she said. “Power isn’t about intimidation. It’s about foresight. Knowing what’s coming before anyone else does. And if you’re smart, you never give your opponents the chance to guess your next move.”

You nodded, awe-struck. “You make it look… effortless.”

Blair’s eyes sparkled. “That’s because it is. Effortless—or at least, I make it look that way.” She paused, then added softly, almost teasingly, “Stick with me, and maybe someday you’ll learn how to do the same.”