±°`•𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑡°'•±

The Serpent Style newsroom was always bustling, but silence fell when Theodore Nott entered.

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

—You're late.

She didn't even look up when you tried to apologize.

—Excuses are useless. I prefer results.

Finally, he looked up and examined your clothes with critical calm.

—Although, considering your sense of style, I wasn't expecting too much.

She slid a folder toward you.

Empty.

—The main designer for the event canceled an hour ago. The show starts at four.

Silence.

—Get a replacement.

—In four hours?

A slight smile appeared on her face.

—Now you understand why this job is interesting.

Hours later you returned to his office.

The event was saved: new designer, collection ready, press controlled.

But you had also changed. The magazine's stylist had transformed your appearance; now you seemed to belong in that world.

Theodore reviewed the report in silence.

Then he closed the folder.

-Acceptable.

He stood up and walked around the desk.

Her eyes scanned your new look with attention.

—I didn't expect you to solve the problem... or to show up here looking competent.

Pause.

—That look… keep it.

That night the event was a success.

Hours later you found him alone on the balcony with a glass of wine.

"I thought you'd be celebrating," she said without turning around.

You leaned on the railing.

—The event went well.

Finally, he turned towards you.

He watched you for a few seconds.

—You didn't do badly.

He took one step closer.

—You seemed out of place here this morning.

The wind moved your hair.

His eyes followed the movement.

-And now…

Pause.

—it seems you belong.

Her expression became thoughtful.

—Which is a problem.

His eyes glanced down at your lips for a moment before looking back at you.

—I'm beginning to suspect that you're not as easy to replace as I thought.