Location: A cafe overlooking the Met Year: 2011 POV: Ren (First Person)
The midday sun bathes the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in a golden, expensive light. It's the kind of light that makes tourists feel poor and the Upper East Side elite feel justified. I'm sitting at an outdoor table of a ridiculously overpriced cafe across the street, sipping a macchiato that costs more than a week's worth of food in my previous life. The irony is delicious.
I haven't slept. The adrenaline from last night, mixed with caffeine, has me in a state of amused alertness. Every few minutes, I glance down at my forearm, hidden under the cuff of a pristine designer shirt. The skin is still tender. Property of Blair Waldorf. I still can't believe the absolute, glorious stupidity of it all. It was a move straight out of the "how to cause maximum chaos with minimum effort" playbook. And it worked beautifully.
My phone has been buzzing non-stop since the Gossip Girl blast. Friend requests, DMs, invitations to events I didn't even know existed. Overnight, I've gone from "the handsome, mysterious new guy" to the center of a hurricane of speculation. Who was I? A secret billionaire? A Chuck Bass rival? Blair Waldorf's new toy? The truth was much simpler and much stranger. I was a ghost with a very healthy bank account and foreknowledge of the future, and I was bored.
I check my watch. It's 12:03. Three minutes late. For Blair Waldorf, that's the equivalent of an eternity. She must be preparing for battle. Choosing her armor (an Oscar de la Renta dress, probably), sharpening her weapons (witty insults and scathing glares), and planning her attack strategy. The thought makes me smile into my cup.
And then, I see her.
Location: Sant Ambroeus Cafe POV: Third Person
Blair Waldorf didn't walk, she glided. She crossed the street with the determination of a general inspecting her troops, the heels of her Louboutins marking an authoritative rhythm on the asphalt. She wore a Chanel tweed day dress, white leather gloves, and sunglasses so large they hid any hint of the hangover or panic she felt inside. She was the image of composure and control. A walking lie.
Inside, her mind was a whirlwind. Every time her wrist brushed the fabric of her glove, a sharp reminder of the ink beneath made her wince. Property of Ren Ishikawa. It was vulgar. It was permanent. It was a mark of the impulsiveness she had sworn to leave behind when she accepted Louis's ring.
And Ren. He was the catalyst for everything. Last night, he hadn't looked at her like everyone else. He didn't see her as a prize to be won or an enemy to be defeated. He looked at her as if she were a fascinating spectacle, and that completely disarmed her. The way he had laughed at her panic, the way he had accepted her challenge... the way he had stood there, impassive, as her world crumbled at the sight of Chuck with that model. There was something in his calm that was both infuriating and strangely comforting.
She saw him at the table, so relaxed he seemed to have been born there. His ridiculous white hair caught the sunlight, and he was looking at the Met stairs with a slight smile, as if sharing a private joke with the city. For a moment, she felt ridiculous. She was on the verge of an existential crisis, and he seemed to be enjoying an afternoon coffee.
She stopped in front of his table and dramatically removed her sunglasses.
"You're late," he said, without even looking at her. He took a sip of his coffee.
The audacity left her speechless for a second. "Excuse me? The appointment was at twelve. You're the one waiting. I'm the one granting the audience."
Finally, his blue eyes landed on her. They were so clear as to be almost transparent, and they were full of an amusement that made her feel like a child playing dress-up.
"Sit down, Waldorf. You're making a scene. People will start to think we're on an awkward first date."
Blair sat down rigidly in the chair opposite him, placing her Kelly bag on the table like a barrier. "This is not a date. It's a damage control meeting for the worst decision of my life."
"The worst? Really?" Ren raised an eyebrow. "Worse than trusting Georgina Sparks? Worse than trying to sabotage your own mother's fashion show? Worse than selling your uncle Jack your... well, you know, hotel?"
Blair froze. She knew the rumors, of course. Gossip Girl had made sure to air most of her dirty laundry. But the way he listed them, with such indifference and precision, was unsettling. It was as if he had read her life's file.
"How do you know all that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"I do my homework," he replied simply, though a mischievous glint shone in his eyes. "And you, Queen B, are a fascinating subject. Now, to the matter at hand."
He rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing the dark, elegant calligraphy on his pale skin. Property of Blair Waldorf.
Blair looked away, as if the sight burned her. She roughly pulled off her glove, revealing her own mark of shame. Property of Ren Ishikawa.
"It has to come off," she said, her voice strained. "I've done my research. There's a dermatologist on Park Avenue who specializes in laser tattoo removal. It's expensive and painful, but it's the only option. I have an appointment for both of us tomorrow at nine."
Ren looked at her and then burst out laughing. Not a giggle, but a full, carefree laugh that made people at nearby tables turn their heads.
"Laser? Waldorf, you're incredible. Do you always look for the most complicated and painful solution for everything?"
"And what's your brilliant solution? Let this... this cattle brand, stay on my skin forever? I'm engaged to a prince, in case you forgot!"
"Ah, yes. The prince. How is Louis? Still pretending he doesn't know your heart belongs to a tortured mogul with a penchant for scarves?"
The hit landed. Blair's jaw tightened. "My relationship with Chuck is none of your business. And my relationship with Louis is my future. A future that doesn't include being marked as the property of an... of a..."
"An incredibly handsome and charming adonis with a net worth that would make your prince cry?" Ren finished for her, with a cheeky grin.
"An arrogant clown!" she snapped.
"Also. But back to the tattoo. Why remove it? Think about it. It's a story. It's a battle scar from the night Queen B decided to be a little less predictable. It's... fun."
"There's nothing fun about this. It's a permanent reminder of an alcohol-induced lapse in judgment."
"Was it a mistake?" he asked, his voice suddenly softer, more serious. He leaned across the table, his face closer to hers. The world seemed to shrink around them. "For a moment last night, you weren't thinking about princes or moguls. You weren't planning or scheming. You just... were. Wasn't that liberating?"
Blair stared at him, lost in the intensity of his eyes. For an instant, the answer was yes. It was the most liberating thing she had done in years. But admitting it was giving him power. And Blair Waldorf didn't give up power.
She was about to deliver a scathing retort when a third voice interrupted the bubble that had formed around them.
"Blair? Chérie? What are you doing here?"
POV: Third Person
Prince Louis Grimaldi stopped by the table, an amiable smile on his face. He was handsome in a classic, European way, with a perfectly tailored suit and an air of effortless nobility. His meeting at the Monaco consulate had ended earlier than expected, and he had decided to surprise his fiancée for lunch.
Louis's smile faltered when he saw the man sitting opposite her. A strikingly handsome man, with an air of confidence that bordered on insolence.
"Louis." Blair's voice was a choked squeak. She jumped up, her face a mask of poorly concealed panic. "What... what are you doing here? I thought you'd be busy all day."
"I finished early. I wanted to surprise you," he said, his eyes moving from Blair to Ren, and then back again. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your... friend?"
Ren slowly stood up, extending a hand. He was noticeably taller than Louis, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the prince. "Ren Ishikawa. A pleasure."
Louis took his hand, his grip firm, but his eyes were full of suspicion. "Prince Louis Grimaldi."
"Oh, I know," Ren said with an easy smile. "I've heard a lot about you."
At that moment, Blair's movement as she stood up caused the sleeve of her dress to slide up slightly. Just an inch. But it was enough. The sun caught the black ink on her wrist.
Louis's gaze fixed on it. He narrowed his eyes. "What is that?"
Blair instinctively pulled down her sleeve, but it was too late. Her heart hammered in her chest. "It's nothing. An ink stain. I'm clumsy."
But Louis wasn't listening. His eyes had moved to Ren's arm, which was still exposed on the table. He saw the same calligraphy. The same words. Although he couldn't read them from his angle, the connection was undeniable.
"What... is... that?" he repeated, his voice losing its amiable tone, becoming hard and cold. He stepped closer to Blair and, before she could react, grabbed her wrist, pulling the fabric away.
There it was, for the world to see. Property of Ren Ishikawa.
Color drained from Louis's face. He looked as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He released Blair's wrist as if it burned and turned to Ren, his face contorted by a mixture of disbelief and fury.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. He pointed at Ren's arm. "You have one too!"
Ren didn't even bother to cover it. He simply looked at his own tattoo with an expression of mild interest. Property of Blair Waldorf. Then he looked up at Louis, with a calm that was almost inhuman.
"It means exactly what it looks like it means, Your Highness," Ren said, his tone light, almost conversational.
Louis's fury reached its boiling point. He was a prince. He was a Grimaldi. Nobody mocked him. Nobody disrespected his fiancée that way. The public humiliation, the betrayal... it was too much.
"You..." he hissed, taking an aggressive step towards Ren. His body was tense, his fists clenched. Violence gleamed in his eyes. He was going to hit him. He was going to defend his honor.
POV: Ren (First Person)
I feel the shift in the air. The prince's rage is almost palpable. It's the fury of a man who has never had to fight for anything in his life and who suddenly finds something he cannot control. It's pathetic.
I don't move. I don't tense a single muscle. I stand there, looking at him. Not with defiance, not with anger. I look at him with something much worse: indifference. A slight smile, almost compassionate, plays on my lips. It's the look you'd give a child throwing a tantrum.
He takes another step, his face inches from mine. I can smell the expensive cologne and impotent rage.
"I'm going to..." he begins, but his voice trails off.
Because now he's truly seeing me. Not just the man who was with his fiancée. He's seeing my six feet three inches of height. He's seeing that I haven't backed down a single millimeter. He's seeing that my eyes show not a hint of fear. In fact, they show nothing at all. Just an empty, bored calm.
And that's what breaks him.
A man preparing for a fight expects a reaction. Tension, fear, anger. Something that reflects his own agitation. But I give him nothing. My complete and utter lack of concern throws him off balance. It's like trying to hit smoke. His brain, programmed for the deference and respect his title commands, doesn't know how to process someone who simply doesn't care about him at all.
I see the exact moment it happens. The fury in his eyes flickers, replaced by hesitation. Hesitation turns into doubt. And doubt slides into something he hasn't felt since he was a small child: fear. Fear not of a punch, but of the unknown. Fear of someone who operates by a completely different set of rules.
He takes a step back. It's a small, almost imperceptible movement, but in the tense silence between us, it's as loud as a gunshot. His posture deflates. The rage dissipates, leaving only humiliation.
POV: Third Person
Blair saw it all in slow motion. She saw Louis, her prince, her future king, puff out his chest with righteous fury, ready to defend his honor. And she saw him shrink.
She saw the moment Louis's rage crashed against the wall of Ren's calm and shattered. She saw fear bloom in her fiancé's eyes. A genuine, primal fear. Louis looked at Ren not as a rival, but as a predator, something fundamentally more dangerous than himself.
And then she looked at Ren. He had done nothing. He hadn't threatened, he hadn't provoked. He had simply existed in his space, so self-assured, so imperturbable, that he had won the fight without throwing a single punch. He looked at Louis, not with contempt, but with utter apathy. As if the Prince of Monaco were a minor inconvenience, a fly buzzing too close to his coffee.
In that instant, something broke in Blair's fantasy. Her fairy tale had always had a strong, noble prince. But in that moment, her prince seemed weak. He seemed like a scared child. And the arrogant, white-haired clown looked like a king.
Louis cleared his throat, awkwardly regaining his dignity. He avoided Ren's gaze and turned to Blair.
"I... I have to go," he stammered, the words tumbling out. "I remembered... another meeting. A very important one. We'll talk about this later, Blair."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned and hurried away, almost running, a prince fleeing the battlefield.
The silence he left behind was heavy and thick. Blair stood there, looking at the spot where Louis had disappeared, feeling the foundations of her carefully constructed future crack beneath her feet.
Slowly, she turned to Ren, who had already sat back down and was taking another sip of his macchiato as if nothing had happened.
He looked at her over the rim of the cup, his blue eyes gleaming with unbearable amusement.
"Well," he said, his voice breaking the silence. "That was awkward. Were you saying something about laser removal?"
Blair sat down, her body moving mechanically. The tattoo problem suddenly seemed trivial, a concern from a previous life. The problem now was the man in front of her. The man who had made a prince back down with just a look.
Her phone, and Ren's, vibrated on the table almost in unison. A new alert had arrived.
Spotted: A prince, a queen, and a usurper in a midday showdown. Looks like Queen B's new "property" isn't sitting well with Monaco royalty. But when it came to defending his crown, Prince Louis seemed to abdicate. Does the new guy on the block have more power than he lets on, or is the crown sometimes just too heavy? Careful, B. You might have tattooed yourself into more trouble than you think.You know you love me.XOXO, Gossip Girl.
Blair didn't read the message. Her eyes were fixed on Ren. Louis's fear, Ren's calm, the look of indifference. It all spun in her head.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. It was no longer a demand. It was a real question.
Ren set down his cup and gave her a slow, enigmatic smile.
"I'm the guy with the matching tattoo to yours," he said. "And I think I just made your life a lot more interesting."