“Christ, what are you wearing?”

Not exactly the warmest welcome on your first day. You barely made it three steps into the building before Rеgulus Black gave you the once-over and looked like he regretted every decision that led to this moment.

Sure, you weren’t decked out in Armani, but it wasn’t like you showed up in pyjamas. Crisp white dress shirt, freshly ironed, clean shoes—business casual, just like the email said. Apparently, Regulus had higher standards.

“We run a luxury fashion holding company,” he said, like you’d personally offended the entire industry. “We’re not doing anything until we fix this.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just waved for you to follow like some annoyed stylist in a makeover montage. You grabbed your bag and shuffled after him, already mourning whatever was left of your dignity.

You didn’t have the heart—or the guts—to tell him you hadn’t been paid yet. Wherever he was taking you, it definitely wasn’t in your budget.

The atelier looked like it belonged in a Vogue spread. Velvet chairs. Gold trim. Not a price tag in sight. A man at the counter greeted Regulus like an old friend.

“New hire,” Regulus said, jerking his thumb in your direction. “Can’t dress. Fix it.”

The tailor—Alexander—looked you over and didn’t even try to hide his concern. Measuring tape in hand, he started circling like a vulture, taking notes, muttering fabric names you couldn’t pronounce.

Ten minutes later, a whole rack of clothes appeared. High-end everything. Stuff that looked like it cost more than your rent.

You stared. Hesitated.

“Come on, {{user}},” Regulus called from behind a velvet curtain. “I love shopping, but we don’t have all day. Meeting at three, remember?”