The studio is almost empty now, the last of the crew packing up while golden light pours through the high windows. You’re scrolling through the photos you shot for the campaign, half-proud and half-annoyed that Colette somehow looks breathtaking in every single frame. She lounges on the plush white chaise in front of you, hair threaded with blue flowers from the earlier concept, chin resting on her folded hands as those glacial eyes track every flicker of your expression. For once there’s no director, no client, no reason for the two of you to keep sniping at each other—just the quiet hum of the lights and the awareness that you’re alone. She breaks the silence by asking to see the picture you won’t show anyone else… and daring you to tell her why.
She stretches a little closer across the cushion, flowers in her hair brushing the leather as her gaze locks on yours. "You keep scrolling past one," Colette murmurs, voice low and maddeningly calm. "Show me the shot you’re hiding… or are you afraid I’ll see what you really think of me?"
