1930. New York City.

"Damn these rich, old fashionistas. Here I am, offering a grand price for this building and the lady won't even acknowledge my existence. I'm Chuck Bass, real estate extraordinaire; you would think she had more common sense with her age and all. Women." Chuck sighed with a hint of frustration, looking up at the building he so desired, sure it would have no impact on his thriving career, or would be his new home of choice, but something about it, made him want it desperately.

"Chuck, people really aren't looking to sell. Especially for the people on Bond Street." Eric Schmitt, his trusted friend and confidante explained rather bitter sweetly while also looking at the aged building.

"Please, anyone is looking to sell, no one can have too much money Eric, and you know this, do you not?" Chuck implied. Eric did know this, to an extent. He had grown up in the city his whole life, and obviously he had seen plenty of businessmen, hoarding money until they eventually went mad.

"Chuck." He snapped. "If you want the damn building to bad, go on up there and talk with the old hag, as you so love to call her, even though you've never met the dear woman."

"I suppose I will, thank you once again for your wise words of encouragement, dear friend. " Chuck drawled sarcastically." I'll take it from here, don't wait up."

With that, Chuck stepped inside the building. Eric was steaming at his friend's blind stupidity. At this rate, Chuck would definitely go mad, and miss out on some of the greatest things a man could encounter. If the guy could, he'd marry his own money. Of course, money can never love you back, or return any affection, but Chuck was too indifferent for love, for anything significant.

Finally, making his way up the first step, Chuck walked into what looked and seemed like a true fashion house, young women scattering around and sweating at the sewing machine. The distinct clicking of the machines was downright annoying. Long behold, as fate would have it, sitting at a luxurious desk was Eleanor. Yes, Eleanor was Blair's grandmother, fate was a cruel thing. Memories soon resurfaced of Blair talking to him for the first time, Blair at the train station, Blair hugging him, and finally Blair's screams as she was left behind. Chuck shut his eyes and demanded his brain to cast away the horrifying memories, at least until he was at home, and it would lead him into another sleepless night.

An aged voice cut through his trance. "You must be that kid who wants to buy my building, don't waste my time, I'm not selling, I never will, so please get you and your wise-ass personality out of my fashion house." Well, she was blunt.

"Excuse me...Eleanor is it?"

"It's your grace, the duchess, to you."

Chuck was ready to play the part. He angled his head and put on his mask." I had the pleasure of knowing your granddaughter..."

She snapped at him quickly with an angry tone, "We don't speak of her!" He felt bad for the woman, Blair was her granddaughter after all, who knows how long it had been since she had last seen her before that horrible night. Water gathered in Eleanor's eyes and she finished, "Why must you bring her up, you must know that is a sore subject."

Chuck coughed. "I beg your pardon, madam; losing Blair, who was a friend, was hard on me too, even more so because I saw it happen."

Eleanor's eyes remained narrowed. "That is unfortunate, it must have been traumatizing at such a young age."

Chuck nodded wistfully and somewhat subconsciously, "What if I told you, she could be alive, at this very moment...?"

Eleanor shook her head adamantly and spoke, "Mr. Bass, you should know better, my poor granddaughter is a part of the past, she's gone." A tear rolled down her cheek.

"But a body was never found, nor a trinket signifying her death. For all you know, she could be shacking up with commoners or even worse..."

"Don't speak ill of the dead!" She shrieked.

"The little duchess may not be dead." he even doubted his own words, but a scheme was a scheme. "Eleanor, if I brought back the young duchess, alive and well… what do you suppose you could offer as a reward of sorts? An award, an honor, take your pick."

"If you did bring her back, a reward seems reasonable. Good Lord, I can't even believe I'm even considering this; I would only give you anything once I see her and prove it is indeed Blair. Is that clear?" Eleanor asked disapprovingly.

"Crystal. Forgive my bluntness, duchess...-"

"I cannot deny any small chance if my poor granddaughter is out there. If you find her, you'll get a grand reward that will keep you happy in your solitude, I might even sign over this building to you." Eleanor mused.

"But why give me everything you claim so close to your heart?"

"Having Blair back, would be everything I need. Hopefully someday, you will learn how it is indeed possible to put a person before money, but I somehow doubt you will be fortunate enough."

Chuck scoffed. "Do you need me to sign for anything?"

Eleanor in her wise stature shook her head, "I'll have it drawn up for when you return, with or without her, and you then can decide if it's worth it."

"What do you mean worth it?" Chuck questioned suspiciously.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bass."

Muttering a quick profanity, he stormed out of the building, strictly to find Eric. They had a boat to catch and an imposter to find. As he said before, one could never have too much money, and he would lie to get it. He already had a feeling Blair was dead, but that would only help him get his great reward from Eleanor.

1930. St. Petersburg

She was almost done perfecting the dress she had been slaving over the past two weeks. It was a perfect sky blue frock with elegant black lace covering it in tasteful fashion. She had been working in as a seamstress for the army since she could remember. She had been practicing making dresses without the employer's permission. But to her, making army pants and jackets was not where she wanted her life to amount to, sure she had been doing it for years but she was meant for more.

Gathering up her things, she raced home. The sun gave her some warmth despite the chillier temperature in January. Despite frosty mornings, Blair loved weather like this, she had no childhood to remember but days like these made her feel as if these were more memorable. Her worn clothes blew in the wind and her hair beautifully swept across her face.

Usually during her meal break at the sewing shop, Blair would explore abandoned houses and pretend as if she lived in them. Recently she dared to go near the most noble houses, she stumbled across a lavish mansion, long abandoned, wrecked but abandoned. Looking at the state of these beautiful monuments made her feel both frustrated and sad, but as Dorota kept telling her, at times like these it was better to keep your mouth shut. Her brows furrowed in confusion and she saw the boarded up doors and windows. Apparently, they weren't boarded well enough because Blair could easily tear off the wooden plank and step inside.

The foyer was dusty and the colour on the carpet was worn out and otherwise aged. The whole house had a stuffy smell. The aura of the place seemed familiar though. Going deeper into the house, she found a huge staircase leading into what seemed to be a ballroom or something. She stepped down, taking each step carefully when she got to the last one and looked around.

It was eerie. She felt like she was invading someone's life, someone she didn't even know. Paintings were scratched up; some were in decent shape but just showed girls with questionable fashion sense.

Blair decided she liked the place and she would return soon, and explore some more, but she had to get home to Dorota soon. She had to hurry home, Dorota would be worried and supper would be set very soon.

St. Petersburg, 1917.

Blair rolled onto her side, feeling sick. Her head was pulsing and her stomach was doing flips. Her heart was racing and she had tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes. She groaned and tried asking for her father, but no reply came. Her head started to become foggy...what father? She had hit her head so hard taking that fall. Her doll was still clutched in her hands though.

She noticed a man walking home from the docks. He was dressed in all black and carrying buckets. He looked so forlorn and sorrowful. When he caught sight of the little girl on the ground, his eyes widened and his figure speeded towards the sickly girl.

"Child!" He patted her cheeks." Little one, what are you doing here all alone?" But she could not answer, her tongue felt too heavy to move. "I take you home with me, you are sick, poor thing." He seemed kind and gentle, adding to the buckets, he hoisted her up on his back and walked her back to his modest home.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a plump looking woman with a sweet smile race frantically and mutter something to the man. The woman took little Blair and brought her into a bedroom and tucked her between warm warn out blankets.

"Vanya, what do we do?" The woman asked sadly. "What's your name, detka?" She smiled encouragingly at Blair, her eyes begging for some kind of answer.

Blair's head was pulsing so bad, she couldn't even make out a name. Too many thoughts were racing through her head, it hurt so much. She looked down at her doll, and frowned.

"A-Ana"

"Ooh, its okay Miss Ana, Vanya and Dorota take care of you, we take care." She rubbed circles soothingly on Blair's back. Blair would never forget this sort of kindness for the rest of her life, because they saved hers in more ways than one.

Blair eventually find out the reason Vanya had been so sullen looking the day he saved her, was because their daughter Sasha was accidentally shot and killed during the riot she had accidently witnessed. Dorota and Blair became friends and Dorota acted just as a mother would.

"Dorota!" Blair came barging in through the door. "I apologize for being late, the orders I've been working gave me hell! I wish I could one day work with soft silk, rather than old dusty rough marine fabric."

"Oh, Miss Ana, no need for apology, just sit and eat, you need your strength." Dorota smiled sympathetically while patting Blair on the shoulder. "You becoming a woman Ana, beautiful young woman, men must notice you, no?"

"Never. They never bother to look behind the sewing desk, that is if they bother to even come into the shop. It is quite helpful since, apart from Vanya, I despise the opposite sex. Men are unreliable miscreants, dogs who booze away their troubles and when that doesn't work, they use women as draining pipes for their frustrations. I don't need a man, and I never will" Blair said this with dignity knowing every word was truthful.

Dorota just laughed and knew she would someday change her mind, and someone would someday look at her as if she was the only woman in the world. Dorota always knew Ana was special, she always thought Ana was her second chance at being a mother, after losing Sylvia. Dorota knew that she wasn't her birthmother, and Ana's past was all a blur to her, but Dorota loved her as any mother would cherish their child.

1930. New York City.

Eric sat in his comfortable chair sipping a nice cup of coffee. The fire was going and all was peaceful in the world, at least the world he had made for himself at the moment. Of course, Chuck sauntered into the room with a glorified look on his face.

"Eric. We are leaving town, in an hour, pack your things; we've got a boat to catch." Chuck said while throwing his own things into a bag.

"Um, excuse me if I'm confused, but why the hell are we leaving, and where to exactly?"

"Your birthday is coming up is it not? Well, we are going to Europe to celebrate the precious anniversary of your birth, my friend. Get a move on!" Chuck tapped his foot impatiently and Eric finally got up and packed his things. Both raced out of the house to catch their ship.

The ships engines roared as they were now in the middle of the Atlantic. The sun was setting and the horizon never looked more beautiful. Eric looked on as Chuck stood alone against the railing peering out at the vast sea. He stepped beside him.

"So tell me, what is the real reason for us sailing of to Russia, because we both know my birthday is not for another two months, friend." Eric drawled as Chuck smirked, not even going to deny his slight lie.

"I need to find Blair."

"Chuck, you know she's de - ."

"Dead, yes I know she is dead. I mean I need to find a girl to pose as her. If I can prove to her grandmother that she is the girl, I will finally get my hands on that building I've been wanting for years." Chuck explained staring off into the enticing sunset.

"Chuck, you can't just make someone act like someone else, and why do you even need the wretched building? Why put the poor lady through painful memories?" Eric reasoned.

"When are you going to get it?" Chuck seethed. "One can never own too much property! As for the girl, she will have to deal with what comes, whoever she is."

"This will only end badly, I know it."

"You know nothing." Chuck spat, and with that he spun around and stalked inside the ship, falling into a dreamless sleep.