The 1814 social season was already chaotic.

But the moment Blair Waldorf arrived in London, chaos became an art form.

No one knew exactly where she’d come from. Some said Paris. Some said Vienna. Some whispered she was royalty in disguise. But what everyone agreed on was this:

Blair was the most dangerous mind the Ton had ever seen.

And unfortunately—or fortunately—you had somehow become the one person she trusted.

Or at least, the one person she schemed with.

Soft music drifted through the air, perfume mixed with rose blossoms, and ladies in pastel gowns glided around the garden like floating confections.

Blair walked beside you, lace parasol tilted perfectly over her shoulder.

“Smile,” she whispered. “Lady Danbury is watching.”

You forced a polite smile.

Blair rolled her eyes. “Not like you’re being held hostage by your own facial muscles. Try looking pleased to be seen with me.”

You huffed. “I am pleased.”

“Good,” she said, pleased herself. “Because today’s mission requires many things—but first impressions are everything.”

You sighed. “What exactly is the mission?”

Blair stopped walking, turning toward you with a delighted, wicked grin.

“To secure your place in society,” she said, “and destroy the people who tried to ruin your reputation last season.”

You blinked. “Blair, I told you—I’ve moved on from that.”

Blair snapped her fan closed with a sharp clack. “You moved on. I did not. And the Ton should never be allowed to forget whom they’re dealing with.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And who are they dealing with?”

Blair’s smile was razor-sharp. “Blair Waldorf. Their worst nightmare wrapped in silk.”