𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 │ 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭

𝐈𝐈. 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋

II. 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋

ONCE LUNCH had wrapped, the hours seemed to slip away, and before Yelena knew it, she was back home, preparing for the evening ahead. She had already perfected her outfit, her hair falling in soft waves, and her makeup applied with precision. Now, perched on the edge of her bed, she fastened the last strap of her black open-toe heels, the delicate buckle clicking into place. Just as she secured it around her ankle, the sharp vibration of her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

She reached for it, her gaze flickering to the screen. It was a notification from Instagram. Normally, she had her Instagram alerts turned off—too many of them, too often, and entirely too disruptive. But today, she had switched them back on, expecting to be tagged in yet another photo by Julien or Luna.

She was wrong.

(yelenawindsor): @gossipgirl tagged you in a post.

Yelena blinked, her perfectly lined eyes narrowing in brief confusion. For a moment, she thought she had read it wrong. Then, a quiet laugh escaped her lips—soft and disbelieving.

Gossip Girl? Now that was a throwback.

The post's caption was as dramatic as ever:

gossipgirl: Hello, followers. Gossip Girl here. Your one and only source for the truth behind the scandalous lies of New York's elite. Been a minute. Did you miss me? I know I've missed you. Though you're probably gonna wish I stayed away when I'm done. Because I can see you. Not the you you've not-so-carefully curated. The real you. The one hiding just outside the edge of the frame. Well, it's time to reframe that picture. You've gotten away with everything a little too long. Now that I'm back, I'm gonna feature your finstas, surface those subtweets, and crack your caches. You can't hide from me. Never could. And to prove it, there's a big secret amongst the ruling class at Constance Billard. And as you'll soon come to know, no good secret goes unpublished. Watch this space. Or don't. You'll hear about it soon enough either way. Til then, XOXO, Gossip Girl.

Yelena smirked, a single brow arching as she finished reading the lengthy proclamation. She leaned back slightly, her manicured fingers still curled around her phone.

Cute.

There was something almost endearing about the post, in an absurd, try-hard kind of way. It was funny—adorable, even—that someone thought reviving Gossip Girl after all these years would be taken seriously. If people hadn't heard from her in almost a decade, why would they start caring now?

It was a naive effort, really. Someone clearly craving attention, desperate to be the next big thing. Too bad they wouldn't last long. Not once everyone realized how fake it all was.

Rolling her eyes, she tapped her screen a few times, disabling her notifications once more. No need to clutter her night with irrelevance. With that, she stood, smoothing down the fabric of her outfit before grabbing her purse. It was time to go.

☆★☆

ONCE YELENA felt good enough to leave, she signaled for her driver, Lou. She only called on him for certain occasions, and tonight was one of them. She knew she'd be drinking—not to excess, but enough to warrant caution. Better safe than sorry.

As the sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of Dumbo Hall, Yelena stepped out with effortless grace, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. Thankfully, the private venue meant no paparazzi lurked outside. As much as she loved a well-lit photo op, tonight wasn't one of those nights. She was here to drink, unwind, and enjoy herself with her friends.