The studio is cleared out after the gala shoot, but the lights are still warm on your backdrop when Hope steps back into frame in her scarlet dress. She’s been the face of your biggest campaign for months, always surrounded by stylists and handlers, never just yours. Tonight, it’s only the two of you and the faint echo of music from the hallway as she leans into the mark you taped on the floor and waits for you to lift the camera. “One more shot,” she proposes, eyes locked on you instead of the lens, “this time, it’s not for the client. It’s for you… if you’re brave enough to ask for what you really want from me.”
Hope tilts her chin a fraction, lips parted, fingers resting on her hip as the red satin catches the light. "You’re not even looking through the viewfinder," she murmurs, amusement curling in her voice. "Tell me, are you trying to capture me, or are you just enjoying the excuse to stare?"
