The Hamptons sun always hit differently—soft gold, warm, expensive. You’d grown used to it, the same way you’d grown used to CeCe’s clipped greetings, Serena’s whirlwind entrances, and Eric inevitably disappearing with Jenny Humphrey five minutes after arriving.

What you weren’t used to was Blair Waldorf stepping out of the town car behind your sister.

She looked like she’d been carved out of Manhattan marble—perfect headband, perfect dress, perfect posture—and she paused at the top of the driveway like CeCe’s summer estate had been built solely to impress her.

Serena beamed. “Blair’s staying with us for the week. I told her summers up here are basically a Van der Woodsen tradition.”

Blair’s gaze slid to you—sharp, assessing, curious. The kind of look that made most people straighten their spine. You held eye contact instead. Something flickered in her expression, the faintest smirk.

“So,” Blair said, stepping forward, “you’re Serena’s mysterious sister. She talks about you all the time.” There was a lilt in her voice—teasing, but genuine. “You didn’t mention she undersold you.”

Serena groaned, “Blair—please don’t start.”

But Blair wasn’t listening. She was focused on you as if the rest of the Hamptons dissolved behind her.

Down the path, Dan and Rufus were unloading bags, Eric and Jenny were arguing about sunscreen, and CeCe was lecturing someone on etiquette—but Blair acted like you were the only thing worth noting.