Blair's eyes are immediately drawn to Chuck's from across the ballroom.
Locating him is effortless. He's always the first one she sees in any crowd.
Blair watches the lazy disinterested smirk spread across Chuck's face.
She briefly takes note of the woman attempting to capture his attention—blonde, bubbly, and clearly making a big mistake. No one can compare to Blair Waldorf in Chuck Bass's eyes, and she knows it.
Unperturbed, she makes her way toward them.
To be fair, Blair can't blame her. Her husband is gorgeous– radiating sensuality, charm, and an inherent magnetism that was all his own. The King of Manhattan. The most powerful man in any room.
Her man.
Chuck catches sight of her for the first time since pressing sleepy goodbye kisses to her neck that morning. His face brightens, and his eyes darken with desire.
To him, Blair is equal parts paradise and inferno.
His attention widens before zeroing in on her with laser sharp precision–drawn to her, as always, like a moth to the flame. Chuck sees confidence in the straightness of her spine, the arresting determination in the purse of her lips, and the blazing fire in her eyes. A stunningly proud lioness in rare runway vintage Versace.
All eyes in the ballroom turn to Blair–as they should. CEO of Waldorf Designs. Arbiter of taste. The Queen of Manhattan.
His wife.
Always a passionate man, the fire in the pit of Chuck's stomach is a constant presence. Just beneath the surface. Waiting for the slightest provocation.
From her.
His grip tightens on his glass of scotch as he observes Blair approaching, her gaze fixed on him with unwavering intensity.
Chuck opens his mouth to greet her, but she cuts across him and addresses the blonde directly.
Blair smiles at the other woman, all sweetness and steel. She offers her left hand and the Harry Winston on her finger gleams–a diamond almost as clear and charismatic as the woman who wears it.
"Mrs Blair Bass. And you are?"
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Chuck stands a bit taller– a mix of amusement and pride crossing his features.
While it's not Blair's usual manner of introduction, when she does use it, it's a clear statement. A statement of possession.
He belongs to her. She belongs to him. Anything else is unimaginable to either of them.
Chuck smirks and the blonde woman immediately retreats, acknowledging her place.
The woman smiles, nods, and offers her name – a name that neither Chuck nor Blair bothers to remember. After a few icy moments, she hastily stammers out her farewells and disappears into the crowd.
"Mrs. Bass?", he teases when they're finally alone.
Chuck's voice is soft and almost conspiratorial as he leans in close to Blair, hands finding the curve of her waist. His posture adjusts to accommodate her, and although Blair knows his ego will be insufferable for the rest of the night, she can't help but lean eagerly into his side.
Unable to hide her own satisfaction, Blair playfully swats Chuck's shoulder.
Rolling her eyes, she sparkles with triumph.
"Shut up."