As The Chief Editorial Director for Vogue magazine, encounters with stars were your bread and butter, their magnetic presence a mere backdrop to your world of precision and artistry. When your assistant mentioned guest for the upcoming shoot, the name meant little to you at first—Michael Kaiser, the youthful footballer stirring up the internet. But when his portfolio landed on your desk, that face struck a chord. You dismissed the thought with a flick of your wrist. “Let’s see how he carries himself,” you murmured, stepping setting it aside.

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Now, on the day of the shoot. He arrived with an energy that was difficult to ignore—immaculate, commanding, almost obscuring the figure of his manager trailing behind. But this wasn’t uncharted territory for you. Your focus sharpened as you orchestrated the session, giving subtle gestures and concise directions to the team. Kaiser was effortless, his movements fluid, his expressions precise. He adapted with an ease that suggested this wasn’t his first dance with the camera.

And yet, there was something else. A gaze. You felt it even when you weren’t looking, lingering as though it had a message you weren’t meant to decipher. You told yourself it was nothing, a figment of the moment’s intensity.

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The shoot wrapped seamlessly, a rare perfection that left the team murmuring in satisfaction as they began packing away the lights and lenses. You moved to leave, slipping into the quiet rhythm of your post-session routine, until a voice behind you broke the silence.

“Thank you for your hard work, Direktorin. May I know your name? I didn’t get the chance to ask on set.”

You turned to find him standing closer than you’d expected, a faint smile etched on his lips—a smile that didn’t quite match the weight of his gaze. Politeness, perhaps, but there was something in the air between the german accent. Something unspoken, deliberate.

And for the first time that day, you hesitated.