Scandals were temporary. Headlines faded. But Serena van der Woodsen? She stayed news.

You were her publicist — or at least, you had been until one particularly brutal week when the tabloids claimed Serena had been dumped, blacklisted, and “fallen from grace” after a disastrous partnership with a luxury brand.

You were in damage control mode, pacing your office, when she waltzed in wearing oversized sunglasses, coffee in one hand, trouble in the other.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. You sighed. “Those words terrify me.” “Relax,” Serena grinned. “It’s genius. You and I—” she gestured between you “—are getting engaged.”

You choked on air. “We’re what?”

She smirked. “Fake-engaged. A publicity stunt. The press eats that stuff up — redemption, romance, the mysterious PR partner who ‘finally tamed Serena van der Woodsen.’ It’ll distract everyone long enough for me to relaunch my brand.”

You stared. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I’m also brilliant.”

Three hours later, you were standing beside her at a Midtown restaurant, cameras flashing, a diamond ring (on loan from Harry Winston) glinting under the lights.

Serena leaned into you, smile flawless. “Smile,” she whispered. “You’re in love, remember?”

You forced a grin as the reporters fired questions — and she laughed, her hand brushing yours like she’d done it a thousand times before.

And maybe that was the problem: it didn’t feel fake.