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"Last night, Manhattan witnessed the kind of royal entrance that even Blair Waldorf would've bowed to. Crimson and cream, diamonds and daggers—Adelaide Kingsley and Monet De Haan didn't just attend the DuBois Ball, they owned it. But what happens when the crowns come off and the cameras stop flashing?" xoxo. gossip girl
"Word is, our favorite power couple skipped the after-parties and slipped into the DeHaan manor instead. No press. No paps. Just a private suite and two silk robes. Careful, girls... secrets don't stay secrets in this town." xoxo. gossip girl
The first light of morning bled through the sheer curtains of Monet's suite, casting a soft gold over everything it touched—pillows still indented, robes half-tangled, a pair of heels abandoned by the fireplace like forgotten crowns.
Adelaide stirred first.
She didn't stretch. Didn't sigh.
Just opened her eyes to the quiet.
No limo. No photographers. No Camille. No Audrey. No expectations.
Just Monet.
And somehow—somewhere between whispered jokes and shared eye cream, silk robes and the slow unraveling of silence—they'd fallen asleep like this.
Adelaide on her side, head resting on Monet's chest, her hand curled loosely over the other girl's ribcage.
Monet's arm was draped around her back, fingers still faintly tangled in the ends of Adelaide's hair. Their legs were a mess of linen and skin, close enough that every breath felt shared.
It should've felt awkward. Too intimate. Too real.
But it didn't.
It felt... still.
Adelaide blinked slowly, trying not to move, not to wake her. She could hear Monet's heartbeat—steady, unbothered, a soft percussion beneath her ear. For a moment, she just let herself exist there. No performances. No questions.
Just warmth.
She reached for her phone with careful fingers, half-expecting a dozen missed calls or a viral headline.
But the screen was quiet.
No alerts.
No scandals.
Only the timestamp: 6:43 AM.
She didn't lock the phone right away. Just held it, staring at her reflection in the black glass.
How had they gotten here?
Not just physically—but here, in this space where Monet didn't feel like an opponent or an obligation.
