On the first day of my job I'm already clueless standing in the studio,a sleek, brightly lit space with a pristine white backdrop that screams perfection. High-end cameras, softboxes, umbrellas, strobes, and continuous LED lights gleam on stands and ceiling tracks, while reflectors, diffusers, and barn doors are meticulously arranged for precision lighting. Everything is so tidy, so controlled, it's unnerving. This is the lair of a killer? It feels more like a surgeon's operating room, sterile and exact.
He sent all of his working information and address last night, I believed when he said he doesn't care about my knowledge in cameras and wants my artistic ideas but who send texts after 12 midnight. Even if he's a night owl, I love my sleep not that one single message but multiple in a row,the time to reach the studio, who is coming for a photoshoot and he needs ideas for that photoshoot. I get that he may be a professional who does quick analysis and clicks some pictures but I'm not that 'artist vision' I may work in that field but I need time to run my brain for brainstorm ideas. It's two male models, They're here for a magazine cover and a woodsy, forest-themed perfume shoot for company magazine front page and i need to think, to scrape together ideas like searching for a needle in a haystack.
I have a few ideas but who knows how comfortable their models are and how far they can go for a photoshoot,What if my ideas flop? What if I annoy him—a man who could end me without blinking? moreover I never thought he does have male clients too I thought he was only interested in doing shoots with girls as his killer status. After the models finish getting dressed and with make-up, they walk in front of cameras on the stark white stage, Edrik's gaze flicks toward me I sense he is asking for guidance for position.
"Mr E-Everett" My voice stammers, cursing my shaky voice.why do I always do something stupid in front of him. I clench my fist, Surprisingly he doesn't mock me, just waits, his eyes steady.
"Mr everett, before telling them to demonstrate I'd like to explain the pose I have in my mind" I said, wait for his reaction and answer cause his face is stoic I can't tell what's going on his head, did he hate it I have no confidence that I'm incompetent that's why I'm asking for permission? no doubt but first why not tell them or him so, before we hit a shot we can differentiate the best Or worst even better comfortability of our own client. My confidence is a crumbling house, and he's the storm.
"What's that?" He asks, his voice calm but sharp, his eyes focus on checking and adjusting a camera lens, he slightly turns his head towards my way and glances at me from the corner of his eyes, just for a few seconds, and my mind blanks.
"What?" This unquestionable question blurted from my mouth it's a rather quick response without thinking, instantly regretting it. "The pose" He says simply, is a tone neutral a word hearing it, i feel dumb why I even felt shocked earlier of course he was asking about poses what else could be?I'm really digging my own grave sometimes, but i feel like an idiot anyway.
Another worker and two makeup artists and three magazine reps linger nearby, their presence amplifying my nerves.The perfume is about forest & grassy and woodsy hope the two to three poses aren't that bad.
I guide the korean model to sit on the stool. asking permission to touch his hair, he leans without any complaints, unfazed, look like they have habit of standing close to make up stylist or other people his face doesn't show any sign of an unease.I tousle his hair to makes them damp,like he stepped out from a forest rain shower.
Then, grabbing a branch with leaves from a prop pile, I climb onto a chair with leaves hanging on air positioning close opposite near his neck level, leaves dangling like a whisper of the woods."Touch the tips of the leaves" I instruct, demonstrating a calm serene touching the tip of branches leaves. Before I gauge his reaction, I hear the camera sharp clicking 'click-click', Edrik's is already shooting,he's face is a mask. I'm in doubt if he likes the idea or not.The model shifts fluidly in a different position, adjusting angels knowing what his job is and done this a hundred times without interrupting he just adjusts his position in between. I left wondering if I'm even needed.
For the duo shot, I positioned the Korean model on the second step of a staircase prop in sitting position, Ren, leaning against the railing.second position, once ren sitting behind Korean one "Ren, sniff your wrist like you're testing the perfume," I say. "And you, tilt your head back slightly, rest it on his shoulder—but don't strain your neck." They add their own touches—Ren's free hand on his hip, the other model's subtle lean—and it feels natural, alive.
They both add their own spice too, American guy rest his other free hand on his waist, that's caught me surprise but it doesn't look awkward to me or bad they aren't looking weird out too, and it feels natural, alive.
Then I heard it— a low chuckle, my eyes snap to Edrik, my attention solemnly focused on him again,and my stomach drops. I look at things that make him laugh,it's me,at a photo comes out together with model holding branch leaves I really have stupid expression, in a ridiculous pout, I must be lost in thought.I look absurd,and he's laughing, this something I never want him to look at this. Is he suddenly making fun of me? Maybe that's ugly and stupid of me I'd rather not care about that photo's a disaster—proof I don't belong here.ofcourse He's going to laugh. I wish he would delete it than keep it as some cruel joke. I moved from the screen but this is my first time looking at his smile and that little laugh,not the cold smirk I expected. I never thought I'm gonna witness it because of our first encounter he's not that uptight.
The models leave, and an elderly couple in their sixties shuffles in, unannounced. I brace for Edrik to turn them away, but he doesn't. He's… gentle. Not warm or goofy—that'd be jarring—but patient, guiding them with a quiet respect I didn't expect. He doesn't even charge them. My mind reels. Is this an act? Does his darkness only surface with certain women, the ones in the file? Or is he just… normal with everyone else? I've spent one day here, and already my assumptions are fraying. I can't be this wrong about him, can I?
As the couple leaves, I start tidying, hesitating near his equipment. Yeah I remember,he's particular—nobody touches his gear, he hates if anyone touches them without his permission . Should I help him or not. Again, I'm debating.
Should I help or stay out of his way? when he glances up from packing a camera stand. "Can you grab my bag?" he asks, his tone casual.
I dart to the staff room, retrieve his sleek black bag, and hand it to him. He takes it, then pauses, his eyes meeting mine. "You can work as my assistant from now on," he says, the words so matter-of-fact they catch me off guard.
We step out of the studio into the cool evening air, the faint hum of the city buzzing around us. The guards linger behind, jingling keys as they prepare to lock up after their final check. I walk beside Edrik, my steps hesitant, my mind still reeling from his sudden decision to hire me. It's not that I'm ungrateful—having his approval lifts the weight of proving myself—but it's too soon, too easy, coming from a man, whose presence is unclear. Even in the open parking lot, makes my skin prickle. Is this how it starts? Him luring me in, Does he playing save—only to reveal the monster later?.
"Want a ride?" Edrik asks, half-turning his head as he unlocks a sleek black sedan, its polished surface glinting under the streetlights. His voice is casual, almost normal, but it sends a jolt through me. A ride? Alone with him? My stomach twists, every instinct screaming to keep my distance. Working in his studio, under his piercing gaze, is draining enough and hard to breathe—sharing a confined space feels like a tempting fate. But how do I say no without rousing suspicion? I can't make an excuse, my fingers tightening around my phone as if it could anchor me.
It buzzes in my hand, a lifeline in the form of an incoming call. Rick's name lights up the screen, and for the first time, I'm more thrilled to see my best friend's name than he'd ever believe, at least he could be useful,thanks buddy. Relief washes over me, loosening the knot in my chest. I hold up the phone to Edrik, hoping he'll take the hint. "My friend's picking me up," I say, my voice is steadier than I feel. I brace for a pushback, for that stoic face to probe deeper, but he didn't ask twice he just nods, his expression unreadable. No questions, no insistence. He slides into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life as he pulls out of the lot, taillights fading into the dusk. Only then do I exhale, my shoulders sagging as if I've been holding my breath all day.I can finally relax the weight of his presence lingers, but for now, I'm free.I can breathe more at ease.
My phone buzzes again, insistent. Keep reminding me how dumb he is?but at first in lifetime I don't mind his stupidity or feel infuriating that he hitting the call button,I answer, Rick's familiar voice a tether to normalcy, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling fears.