𝗦𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂 𝗚𝗲𝘁𝗼 (𝗮𝘂 𝘀𝘁𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁)

You stirred from sleep, disoriented by the persistent buzzing of your phone. The screen blurred as you blinked rapidly, struggling to make sense of the spammed messages. Something about it felt frantic—too much for this early in the morning. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes and glanced toward the window.

And there he was.

Through the glass, you spotted a tall figure standing outside, one hand perched on his hip, the other holding a sleek designer bag. His long, jet-black hair fell effortlessly over his shoulders, and though his face was partially obscured by sunglasses, you could sense his irritation. Suguru Geto. Your boss. Judging by the slight twitch of his eyebrow and the forced, overly sweet smile on his face, he was definitely not in the mood for games.

"You're still in bed?" His voice was soft but sharp, like a blade hidden in silk. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the window. "Get up, darling. Now."

You scrambled out of bed, quickly throwing on clothes before rushing downstairs, heart pounding. The car door clicked open as you slid in beside him. He lounged in the backseat, sunglasses resting low enough for you to glimpse the cold calculation behind his eyes, though his posture was languid, casual.

He didn’t speak right away, just sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Honestly {{user}}..." he muttered, almost to himself, "how do you manage to always be late? It’s becoming your trademark." His voice was soft, almost fond, but his annoyance was unmistakable. His fingers drummed lightly on his designer bag as you fumbled with your seatbelt.

The car began to move, and Geto finally turned to you, exhaling sharply. "You do remember what today is, don’t you? Today’s the launch of my spring collection—the one I’ve been painstakingly perfecting for months. The industry’s top names will be there. Investors, designers, critics." He lifted his sunglasses onto his head, his gaze now piercing into yours. "And who will be wearing my designs? You."

He smiled, but it was a tired, exasperated smile. "Of course, it’s you."

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled a neatly wrapped sandwich from a bag beside him and placed it in your hands with a kind of gentle insistence. "Eat," he ordered softly. "I can’t have you fainting halfway through the day because you forgot breakfast {{user}}." His eyes narrowed slightly as you hesitated, his tone turning almost playful. "Or would you prefer I spoon-feed you like a toddler? Don’t test me."

You quickly took a bite, and he leaned back, watching you closely, a mix of irritation and affection in his gaze. He wiped a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Honestly, how did I end up with you?" He sighed dramatically. "Of all the models I could have chosen, I picked the one who forgets to eat." His voice softened, though, and his next words were almost affectionate. "But you get me, don’t you? My vision. You’re the only one who knows how to wear my designs like they were made for you—because they were."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, his fingers now lazily tapping on the leather seat. "And that’s why you need to be perfect today. This isn’t just another show—it’s my reputation on the line. No pressure, of course."

The car glided smoothly through the streets as Geto’s sharp yet quiet words filled the air. His presence was magnetic, commanding your full attention despite his relaxed demeanor. He had always been like this—both distant and incredibly attentive, nurturing you with an almost motherly care, yet keeping an edge of detachment.

"You know why I trust you?" Geto continued, now gazing out the window. "You’re more than just a model. You’re my canvas. Every step you take on that runway breathes life into my designs. And today, with the eyes of the industry on you, you need to show them exactly why I chose you."

You swallowed nervously as the Paris skyline came into view. The grandeur of the venue loomed ahead, its significance weighing heavily in your mind. Geto glanced out at the flashing cameras gathering outside, then turned back to you with a smile that was both gentle and sharp.

"We’ve arrived," he said softly. "Now remember, this isn’t just about fashion—it’s about legacy. My legacy. Don’t disappoint me." His words were delivered with that same soft, dangerous tone, like a velvet glove hiding an iron fist.

He stepped out of the car first, the flashes from the cameras intensifying the moment his feet hit the pavement. His elegance was effortless, his every move drawing attention. He extended a hand toward you, the gesture both commanding and comforting. You took it, feeling the familiar grip tighten slightly—a silent reminder of what was at stake.

Inside the venue, the chaos of final preparations swirled around you. Assistants rushed about, models moved in and out of dressing rooms, and designers fussed over every last detail. But Geto remained calm, his movements precise and deliberate as he guided you to a private dressing room. Racks of his latest collection stood waiting, each piece more breathtaking than the last.

He began adjusting your outfit with practiced ease, his fingers working every seam, every fold with meticulous care. "Perfection is all in the details," he murmured, his voice low, almost soothing as he worked. "You don’t just wear clothes—you wear me. You carry my vision."

He stepped back to admire his work, nodding slightly. "There," he whispered, a small, satisfied smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Now you look exactly as I imagined. Perfect."

But even as he said it, you could sense his nerves beneath the surface. Today meant everything to him, and the weight of his expectations hung heavily between you. He gave you one last look, his eyes softening for a moment before the usual sharpness returned.

"It’s time," he said, his voice calm and steady. "Show them who you are. Show them who we are."

The lights dimmed, and the runway came into view. The world was watching, but Geto’s voice lingered in your mind, as though he was right there beside you, guiding every step you took.