Dear Readers,

Thank you for your continued support. Never fear, this is a Chuck and Blair story. There might be some bumps and bruises along the way but keep faith!

Eva's POV

Flashback, Christmas

He looks exactly the way I remember him, soft russet locks over a wide expanse of a forehead, a curving half smile that's not a smile, it's a grimace almost. He looks angry.

The only thing that has changed are his eyes. They used to be such a soft brown when he looked at me. Now they are anthracite. Dark, hard, unrelenting.

Barely gripped patience controls Chuck Bass. The lapels of his black overcoat ripple in the wind. He moves towards me, fighting the wind, hiding beneath a bowler black hat.

He really does not want to be seen with me.

He's so handsome it makes me want to weep. I remember him even now, in his plain white shirt and black vest, scrubbing the floor of a diner to make amends.

"I'm Chuck Bass," he told me when he got out of that limo. But he'll always be Henry to me.

"I heard you named your son Henry," I tell him, smiling softly.

"Eva," he says, his darkened eyes meeting my beseeching clear, blue ones. "It's Christmas. What's the dilemma?"

I laugh at how desperately he wants this over with.

"He's lovely, just like you. He looks like you," I can't help but say.

Chuck doesn't blink. "More like Blair, or so I'm told," he says gruffly.

Ah, Blair. The love of his life. The bone of contemplation between us. Even when Chuck was my Henry he was never truly mine. And now even Henry is Blairs'. Have I no claim on my Chuck Bass?

His irritated face tells me, I do not.

"And she," I continue, swallowing softly. "She too, looks just like you. She's a doll. A beauty."

Chuck looks even more irritated now. "Belle? Belle looks just like Blair. Not like me. Her hair has started to curl. She's not just a beauty, she's a jewel. But enough about my children. What is that matter, Eva?"

I look up at his hard face.

"She," I say, fighting not to cry. "She does look like you. Just like you."

Chuck is about to say something but then he freezes. He stares into the icy pit of my eyes like a scientist stares at his discovery in both awe and horror.

Einstein's atom bomb was after all a revelation, a triumph and yet enough to take down the world.

Who wants to face a discovery like that anyway?