🚨 The Summer I Turned Pretty Season 3 FINALE: Belly’s standing at a Paris crossroads, heart pounding, with two paths that could rewrite her forever—one leads to a love that’s haunted her for years, the other to a fresh start that feels like freedom. 😱💖 Will she say yes to the boy who’s always been her summer, or the one who’s teaching her to shine on her own? The choice that’s breaking hearts everywhere is HERE—tap the link in bio for the tear-soaked truth!

The Gilded Age has mastered the art of turning velvet-gloved slaps into seismic shifts, and Season 3’s finale delivered one that still echoes through New York’s gilded halls. Airing on August 10, 2025, the episode “My Mind Is Made Up” capped a season of opulent balls, cutthroat deals, and family fractures with a gut-wrenching twist for the show’s most magnetic power couple: Bertha and George Russell. Bertha (Carrie Coon), the indomitable force clawing her way into old-money society, finally claimed her crown at the Newport Ball, outmaneuvering the formidable Mrs. Astor (Donna Murphy) and welcoming divorced women back into the fold like a benevolent queen. But as fireworks lit the sky and daughter Gladys (Taissa Farmiga) glowed beside her duke husband Hector (Ben Lamb), the morning after brought devastation. George (Morgan Spector), fresh from surviving an assassination attempt that left him bleeding in a rail yard, packed his bags and rode off, telling Bertha their marriage hangs by a thread. “I’m not so sure what I want anymore,” he confessed, his near-death epiphany clashing with her unyielding ambition. Fans on X erupted, one post capturing the raw shock: “George leaving Bertha after she WON? That’s the real Gilded Age gut-punch—power without love is hollow.” With HBO’s swift Season 4 renewal announced July 28, 2025—midway through the season’s run—the stage is set for a reckoning that could redefine the series’ heart. Expect betrayals that ripple from drawing rooms to boardrooms, testing whether the Russells can rebuild or if Bertha’s solo ascent will forge a new era of female ferocity.

The Russells’ fracture isn’t some sudden snap; it’s the culmination of Season 3’s slow-burning fault lines. George, the railroad tycoon modeled after William K. Vanderbilt, spent the year teetering on financial ruin—overleveraging deals that nearly cost him everything, only to face a bullet from a disgruntled worker amid labor unrest. Bertha, his equal in cunning if not in boardroom access, pushed relentlessly for Gladys’s union with the Duke of Buckingham, a strategic match that elevated the Russells to aristocracy but at the cost of their daughter’s tears. “I admire your ruthlessness—it’s what we share,” George told her at the ball, his words laced with admiration and accusation. But survival sharpened his gaze: he couldn’t stomach Bertha’s willingness to sacrifice family for status, echoing the very Vanderbilt scandals that inspired their arc. Creator Julian Fellowes, in a Wrap interview, explained George’s pivot as a post-trauma clarity: “He looks at his life and isn’t pleased by everything he sees,” contrasting Bertha’s laser-focused drive. Executive producer Sonja Warfield doubled down, noting Bertha’s moves empowered women in 1884’s rigid world—arranging the marriage gave Gladys leverage, just as inviting divorcees like Aurora Fane (Kelley Curran) chipped at societal chains. Yet to George, it felt like betrayal, a violation of the instincts he claims Bertha overrode.

Season 4, greenlit for eight episodes like its predecessors, picks up in the sweltering summer of 1884, with production slated to begin late 2025 in New York’s opulent recreations. A premiere in early 2027 seems likely, following the 18-month gap from Season 2’s December 2023 finale to Season 3’s June 2025 debut. Plot details remain shrouded, but the finale’s breadcrumbs point to a marriage on life support. Carrie Coon, in a THR sit-down, hinted at Bertha’s “nascent feminist awakening,” suggesting her efforts to normalize divorce aren’t just altruistic—they’re a shield for her own potential fall. “The train hasn’t left the station,” Coon teased about reconciliation, but Bertha’s self-serving streak means she’ll fight dirty to hold her gains. Morgan Spector echoed the ambiguity to TVLine, musing on a season of the couple “figuring out how to get back to each other,” implying George’s return isn’t a given—his character’s survival alone was a miracle, and whispers suggest Spector’s availability hinges on scheduling. If George stays away, Bertha could pivot to mentoring Gladys’s impending motherhood (the finale’s joyful reveal: she’s pregnant), channeling her empire-building into a matriarchal dynasty that challenges the era’s paternal grip.

The ripple effects extend far beyond the Russells’ mansion. Old money’s grip loosens as Bertha’s ball marked a turning point—Astor’s reluctant nod signals new-money’s ascent, but at what cost? Agnes van Rhijn (Christine Baranski), the dowager queen of snobbery, faces fresh horrors: niece Marian (Louisa Jacobson) reconciling with Larry Russell (Harry Richardson) after a season of miscommunications, potentially grafting Russells into the van Rhijn tree. Ada (Cynthia Nixon), ever the peacemaker, steps into philanthropy, perhaps allying with Bertha on women’s causes. Peggy Scott (Denée Benton), the ambitious journalist, seals her season with an engagement to William (Jordan Donica), but her newsroom battles against racism and sexism—fueled by Dorothy (Audra McDonald)’s quiet support—promise sharper edges, tying personal triumphs to broader societal upheavals. Side players like Turner (Kelley Curran), Bertha’s scheming ex-maid turned rival, could exploit the Russells’ split, while J.P. Morgan (Bill Camp, Season 3 foe to George) lurks as a financial shark.

The ensemble’s return is near-certain, anchoring Fellowes’ Downton Abbey-esque web of alliances and animosities. Baranski’s Agnes remains the venomous wit, her barbs sharper post-ball humiliation. Nixon’s Ada softens the edges, her arc toward independence a quiet revolution. Jacobson’s Marian evolves from scandal magnet to resolute artist, her slow-burn with Richardson’s Larry—Harvard golden boy turned architect—offering rom-com levity amid the drama. Benton’s Peggy carries the series’ moral weight, her typewriter a weapon against injustice, while Farmiga’s Gladys blossoms from pawn to empowered duchess, her pregnancy a ticking clock for inheritance intrigue. New blood like Ben Lamb’s Hector adds transatlantic flair, and rumors swirl of guest spots amplifying labor tensions or Vanderbilt parallels. Coon’s Bertha, with her steely poise and hidden vulnerabilities, steals every scene—Coon told TV Insider the finale’s window vigil was “heartbreaking” because Bertha’s myopia blinded her to the human toll of her wins. Spector’s George, brooding and principled, grounds the excess; his post-shooting vulnerability humanizes the robber baron, making his exit a tragic pivot rather than villainy.

What elevates The Gilded Age beyond corseted soap is its unflinching lens on 1880s America’s contradictions: fortunes built on exploited backs, women bartered like stocks, progress laced with prejudice. Season 3’s labor riots and suffrage whispers set the table for Season 4’s deeper dives—George’s shooting wasn’t isolated; it spotlighted railroad barons’ greed, and his departure could force Bertha to confront complicity. Fellowes, drawing from Alva Vanderbilt’s real-life maneuvers (she orchestrated her own “arranged” marriage for cachet, later championing divorce reform), infuses authenticity without preachiness. Warfield’s input adds nuance to Black experiences, like Peggy’s navigation of elite spaces where opportunity meets erasure. Visually, the show’s a feast: HBO’s lavish sets—from Astor’s marble manors to Russell’s electrified palace—pulse with era-specific detail, costumed by Kasia Walicka Maimone in silks that whisper secrets. The score, blending orchestral swells with period fiddles, underscores every betrayal’s ache.

Critics hail Season 3 as the strongest yet, with Rotten Tomatoes at 92% fresh, praising its “sharper satire and emotional depth.” Viewership peaked at 8 million globally, fueling the quick renewal—HBO knows gold when it glitters. Yet debates rage on X: Is George’s walkout hypocritical, given his own cutthroat deals? One thread dissected it as “Bertha’s villain origin—divorce makes her unstoppable.” Another fan mused, “George’s epiphany is peak Gilded Age irony—riches can’t buy back your soul.” Purists nod to history: the Vanderbilts’ marriage frayed under similar strains, Alva divorcing in 1895 for love and activism.

As 1884 unfolds on screen, Season 4 could crown Bertha’s feminist pivot—advocating for divorced women’s rights not as ploy, but purpose—or see George return humbled, their reunion a hard-won evolution. Will Gladys’s baby inherit a fractured legacy? Can Marian and Larry bridge worlds without imploding? And how does Peggy’s rising star intersect with Bertha’s potential downfall? Fellowes has room to explore “where that takes him,” per his Wrap chat, blending high-stakes romance with era-defining change. In a series about facades cracking under pressure, the Russells’ betrayal isn’t just personal—it’s the spark that could ignite New York’s powder keg, proving that in the Gilded Age, even empires bleed. Mark calendars for 2027; this one’s bound to dazzle, devastate, and demand rewatches.