The atmosphere of the entire studio at the haute of couture fashion show was a symphony of controlled chaos. Makeup artists, stylists, and designers each moved with precision. They were like performers on the stage and you were working as a model for one of them.

Fyodor was a fashion designer and you were practically his right hand. His taller figure stood behind you, zipping you up in one of his newest designs. It was a red laced dress and it fit you perfectly.

“Hm, how about that?”