A/N:

Hey all!

I truly appolgize from the bottom of my heart that it took so long to update!

My life is a crazy mess these days :P

Well, here is the next chapter... I made it a lil longer to make up for my absence.

Please, as always, review for me. Please please please :):):)

Thanks!

xoxo

By the time Blair arrives home, for the second time that night, she's shaking. The homicidal rage dissipated quickly and all that is left in its stead is pure pain. The shock of it is the worst part. She'd known that dating a womanizer was a dangerous risk. But, he had transformed, changed so much in the last year. The past weeks have been the epitome of happiness for Blair. Which is probably why the betrayal is all consuming, it floods her mind, her body and (most debilitating of all) her heart. She barely makes it up the stairs, her knees threatening to give out with each step.

Once safely behind her bedroom door, she slides down the wooden divider and lets it all go. She curls up, drawing her knees to her chest and cries. Not just a few silent tears, a tirade of fierce sobs rack her whole body. When she attempts to take a deep breath, it stutters in her throat and makes her lips tremble. This wasn't a small lover's spat like the ones before, she knows that, this is… the end. No amount of Tiffany's jewelry or apologies can piece her back together.

She remembers all her past pain: Serena leaving, her parents divorce, breaking up with Nate then learning about his affair with her best friend, Chuck not saying 'I love you', losing Yale… None of it measures up to this moment, even if it is compounded, it can't compare. Like when a doctor asks you to rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, there is no scale for this kind of anguish, no point of reference.

Blair peels herself off the floor and catches her reflection in the mirror. She takes in her red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks, but mostly she sees her beautiful gold dress, disheveled and wrinkled. She rushes to free herself from the silk confines, tearing a seam in the process. Then, she stands in just her lingerie, her new sexy get-up, purchased with him in mind. It seems to be mocking her now for her idiocy. She rips that off too, the wisps of fabric hit the floor. She stands nude wondering how much more hurt she can bear before she simply spits in two. She glances to the bathroom, realizing how she could feel better. Just this once?, she persuades in her head. What did it matter anyway? She'd been so good for so long. She couldn't remember the last time she had purged. Maybe she could cheat and get the little fragment of solace she so desperately needs. The temptation is definitely present, acutely really, but she suddenly understands why she can't. She can't let him have that power over her too; the crushing sorrow was more than enough power for one man to have. Instead, she falls onto the bed and the hot angry tears take over once more until they run dry. Then, her emotional exhaustion gets the best of her and she sinks into unconsciousness.

Meanwhile at the Palace…

"What do you mean you don't know?" Chuck thunders crossly at the girl behind the front desk.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bass, but I have no idea how someone got this keycard." the girl offers, her eyes tight and frightened.

Chuck fumes, a shadow passing over his already dark expression, "Give me someone who does know then! Where is Gerald? He's the hotel manager! Maybe he can make up for your incompetence."

He immediately regrets the outburst. The girl doesn't deserve his wrath, but he isn't getting the answers he needs from anyone tonight.

"Mr. Greyson's gone home for the evening sir, it's 2 am." She explains in a meek voice, waiting for the next bout of abuse.

"I see." Chuck accepts, then spies a look at the girl's nametag, "Lucy is it?"

She nods, a little scared of him knowing her name. But his features have softened and she takes it as a good sign.

"Lucy," He begins, unleashing his mesmerizing stare on her, "I apologize. I have had a very trying night. Please put me in contact with a member of security that could assist me."

He gives her a kind smile, attempting to make up for his rudeness. And if she does know something, you get more flies with honey, right?

"Marlin, the security manager, is here." She assures him quickly, a slight blush coming to her cheeks, "I'll call him right now."

She seems taken in by his sudden charm and promptly summons the security manager.

"He's on his way, sir. Is there something else I can do for you?" she asks eagerly.

"Well Lucy, I was wondering if you could explain to me how the keycards work."

"They get programmed in the computer here." She turns the screen to him and points to the section, "You choose the room number and it gets imbedded in the card."

Chuck nods then asks, "Who has access to this?"

"Anyone who works the front desk and managers, but that's it," She informs, delighted that she can answer these questions.

"Can you check this card for me? Tell me if it was loaded today?" He requests, sliding the card across the counter.

She purses her lips and gives him a doubtful look, "I can try."

Lucy pushes the card into the reader and waits for it to load, "Umm… Mr. Bass, this is a master key, it can get you into any of the guest rooms."

Chuck snaps eyes back to her, sudden urgency in his tone, "Who has keys like this?"

"Th-the hotel executives, security, maintenance and the housekeeping staff all have forms of this key." She stammers.

"Thank you. You've been very helpful." Chuck reassures her.

Just then, a large, imposing man in a dark non-descript suit joins them, obviously the security manager.

"Mr. Bass," Marlin greets in a deep, gravelly voice, "What seems to be the problem?"

"Has anyone on the staff reported a master key missing?" Chuck questions, not at all threatened by the commanding presence of the gentleman.

"Yes," Marlin informs him, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow in Chuck's direction, "In fact one of the housekeepers said she lost her card just today. Why?"

"I believe I've found it." Chuck answers, producing the card that Lucy handed back to him, "Someone used it to get into my suite."

Marlin's already grave articulation takes on an intense seriousness, "Was something stolen? Is there anything missing?"

Chuck is quick to brush off his assumption, "No, nothing like that. But someone is taking things from me." He spits through his teeth.

The security manager looks a little confused by Chuck's statement but doesn't prod for any explanation.

"Please find out how this happened." Chuck continues, offering the card to Marlin.

The man takes it and eyes it suspiciously, "I don't take my job lightly, Mr. Bass. I will get to the bottom of this."

With a nod, Marlin turns and stalks away toward his office.

"I will too." Chuck promises under his breath.

A moment later, his cell vibrates in his pocket. He isn't hopeful at all that it's the person he really wants to talk to, but he pats himself down to locate it anyway.

He checks the caller ID and quickly answers, "What do you have for me?" he questions into the receiver.

"Jack Bass is still in Sydney with no plans to travel out of the country. Of course all of the incidences could have been phoned in. Except the picture, it came from Manhattan. If it is Jack, someone is working on his behalf in NYC." Mike explains rapidly.

"The escort service?" Chuck throws at him sharply.

"They were a little sloppy there. I have a credit card number, it's faked with your name. But at least it is something to track down."

Chuck sighs, "All right. Let me know."

"As soon as I know something, you will." Mike guarantees, waiting for the click.

Chuck hangs up and replaces the cell in his jacket pocket. He realizes that he's still in his tux, an awful reminder of the failed romantic evening. He trudges back upstairs to his room and slumps against the door, looking at the bed. He wouldn't be able to sleep a wink no matter what, even though it was edging toward dawn. So, he changes into a more informal suit and paces restlessly across the carpet. One more second in this room and he will surely go mad. He tries to work out how he can get Blair to meet him. This is the real challenge. He knows if he could just see her, he would at least have a chance of her believing his story. But, Blair had been so adamant about never wanting to lay eyes on him again.

He exits the building with no destination in mind. Waving off his driver, Chuck turns the corner and starts to wander the lonely streets of the Upper East Side. Even though the city is always so alive, Chuck had never felt more utterly lifeless. He ambles on like a zombie, mindless and flat. The nights adrenalin has burned out and he is honestly no closer to an answer than he was yesterday morning.

Yesterday morning… waking up with Blair curled onto his chest, it must have been more than a day ago. The comforting memory seems ages apart from this despondent daybreak. He doesn't see the streetlight click off as the sun renders them irrelevant or notice the birds singing songs of first light. One foot in front of the other is as complicated as his body will allow right now.

He feels like he is walking in circles, but he isn't too surprised when he finds himself outside Blair's building. By this time it is around six in the morning. It is still a little early to call, but he frankly doesn't give a fuck. He needs to see her, he needs to make her listen. He doesn't dare call her cell, she wouldn't pick up anyway. It is a vain hope that she will even allow him to step foot in the door.

He soldiers forward and the doorman opens the glass divider as he enters. Chuck makes a b-line for the elevators unnoticed; the desk attendant is momentarily distracted by a delivery man. He pushes the button for her apartment and his heartbeat increases exponentially with each passing floor. When the doors open, he walks into the familiar entryway. Dorota appears immediately, almost as if she were waiting for him.

But, before he can even begin pleading with her, she is already shaking her head.

"No, Mr. Chuck. You no see Miss Blair." She asserts with finality, an edge of pity in her voice.

That sets Chuck off, "I have to see her." he demands.

Dorota stares him down, "Miss Blair is gone. She leave last night."

Chuck's face drops, then solidifies, "Where did she go?"

He can think of a few places, but with Serena's walkabout through every major party town in the world, the odds of her being in New York are slim.

"Miss Blair say I don't tell you." Dorota informs, not moving from her obstructive stance by the elevator.

The time for games has long passed in Chuck's mind and he walks by her to looks up the stairs, "Dorota, where is she?"

Just before he can run to her room to ascertain she is, in fact, not there, Cyrus starts to descend the grand staircase.

"Ah, young Charles." He states in his eternally chipper tone, "I am sorry, but you missed Blair."

Chuck opens his mouth to start interrogating the diminutive man, but is cut off by yet another order from Blair.

"And I am on strict instructions not to tell you where she is." Cyrus explains, effecting a gentle and understanding tone.

Chuck hangs his head in defeat and speaks in a broken voice, "Cyrus, I must see her. I have to make this right."

Cyrus stands beside Chuck, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder in consolation. If it were anyone else, Chuck would have shook it off instantly. But, he was oddly comforted by the small gesture.

"Young love can be fickle," Cyrus concedes, "Any love for that matter."

His own correction makes Cyrus smile wistfully, then he looks Chuck in the eye, "But Charles, I am truly sorry. I don't think she'll get over this one."

"You don't understand," Chuck defends swiftly, "I didn't do what she thinks I did. I would never hurt her like that."

The older man nods, "You seem like the good kind, Chuck. And you make her happy… most of the time."

Chuck huffs a weary laugh at the amendment, then sighs.

"Why don't you tell me what happened." Cyrus offers, motioning to the dining room that is set up for breakfast.

Chuck hesitates not knowing how much he should divulge to Cyrus. He quickly decides that he really has very little to loose by taking him into his confidence.

They move to the dining room and sit at the antique oak table. Chuck clams up, completely tongue tied. Cyrus waits patiently with an expectant expression.

"I don't know where to start." Chuck acknowledges awkwardly.

Cyrus smiles reassuringly, "The beginning is always a good place."

Chuck takes a deep breath, "About a week ago, she got this picture…"

Chuck throws it all out there, explaining about the text, the flowers, the hooker. Cyrus listens with concern and shock at the more distressing details. When Chuck finishes he puts his head in his hands, realizing how screwed he is at this point.

Finally Cyrus speaks, a little stunned by the tale, "You are in a pickle there young man. But, who is doing this? Who has such an agenda against you and Blair?"

Chuck looks up, "I can only think of one person who'd have the motive and the means. But, it seems that he's working with someone else in town to execute his plans."

Cyrus is still at a loss, "But what is the motive? You're just a kid."

"I'm about to inherit a multi-billion dollar company," Chuck points out, "There are plenty of people who would rather that didn't happen."

"But why Blair, then?" Cyrus asks with nothing more than heartfelt distress.

Chuck sighs dejectedly, "I think Blair said it best last night. I'm her greatest weakness, and she's mine."

It's silent for a moment as Chuck sorts through his thoughts, checking to make sure his emotions don't overtake him. Cyrus waits, realizing Chuck isn't finished.

"I'd do anything for her." He says in a small voice, "Maybe they think I'd give up my claim to Bass Industries…" He trails off, "And they'd be right."

He turns his earnest gaze back to the man sitting next to him, a man who is dumbfounded.

"You would really give up your father's legacy for my step-daughter?"

"Honestly," Chuck confesses, "I don't even know if I want it anymore. My father's shadow isn't a place I'm exactly comfortable in. But, I would. In a second."

His sincerity rings out in every word as Cyrus looks at him proudly.

"Really?" A voice from behind questions.

Chuck turns and stands in one motion, "Blair?"

The elation fills him instantaneously, she isn't gone. She's here, only a few feet away him. She looks so tired, her eyes are red and her complexion pale. But, Blair's here and that is what matters, the rest they could deal with later. Then, he wonders how much she might have overheard,

"How long have you been standing there?" He asks without making a move toward her. He doesn't know how she will react and he definitely doesn't want her to order him away again.

Her eyes flash with a strange mix of relief and anger, "Long enough."

Chuck nods in understanding, waiting for which ever sentiment she feels the need to express first.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She requests softly. It isn't an accusation, just a question. Blair walks toward him, placing her hand on his cheek.

Chuck melts into the simple touch, reveling in the smoothness of her skin, "I didn't want you to get hurt."

He grins sheepishly at her as he offers his thin excuse.

She throws him a sour expression in return, "That plan went really well."

"I'm so--" He begins.

"I'll leave you two to work this out." Cyrus excuses himself, understanding that the conversation is about to become too private for him to witness.

He leaves the dining room through the kitchen as Chuck throws him an appreciative smile. Cyrus nods and is gone.

"I'm so sorry." Chuck finishes once they are alone.

Blair buries her face into his chest and takes a steady breath, "I know, me too. For overreacting."

Chuck vehemently shakes his head, "No, this one's on me. I would have reacted the same way you did."

"I'm still sorry for the things I said. Forgiven?" She adds, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I'm thinking about it." He replies, pulling her in for a kiss.

The strength of the kiss takes them off guard; both clutching the other closer until they break apart to breathe.

"What do we do now?" Blair inquires when the flow of oxygen to her lungs becomes regular.

Chuck waits a beat, then resolutely avows, "I say we get the bastard."