Sophie was striking a series of dramatic poses all around the house, each one more outlandish than the last.

She arched her back by the grand staircase, contorted herself like a yoga pretzel in the lounge, and even attempted a sultry look by the kitchen sink.

Eddie, meanwhile, stood behind the camera, eyes widening with each new pose.

"Sophie, try to act natural—like . . . just relax a little?" he suggested, his voice slightly desperate.

But there was no stopping her. She tilted her head at a 90-degree angle and squinted at the camera like she was spotting some mysterious object in the distance.

"Maybe . . . uh, no squinting?" Eddie mumbled, scratching his head as she leaned against the wall like it was a long-lost lover.

The next moment, she was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over her forehead as if she''d just fainted from reading a particularly scandalous romance novel.

Eddie sighed. "Sophie, you don''t have to look like a Victorian heroine dying of a broken heart."

"I''m going for

mystique

," she whispered, dramatically.

"Well, you nailed . . .

something

," Eddie muttered under his breath.

Eddie''s patience was on the brink. All he wanted was one, just one normal photo.

Instead, he was capturing what looked like an interpretive dance of invisible emotions, and he genuinely didn''t know if he was losing his mind or if Sophie was a misunderstood genius.

"Alright, next!" Eddie called out, throwing in the towel. They''d already burned through over an hour of posing, coaching, and praying for miracles. There was no saving Sophie''s individual shots.

"What now, boss?" his assistant asked, looking thoroughly exasperated.

Eddie took a deep breath, half pleading with the photography gods. "I''ve taken hundreds of photos. Maybe, just maybe, there''s a miracle hidden somewhere in there that we can work with. Remember, she''s the Rosette heiress, so we need these photos to look . . . at least half-decent."

"Doesn''t really

feel

like she''s a heiress, though," the assistant muttered.

Zen, watching this spectacle, cleared his throat. "Young Master, you really don''t need to take so many photos of her," he said, struggling to keep a straight face.

Cole waved him off without taking his eyes off Eve. "I don''t trust that so-called photographer to do her justice. I''ll handle this myself."

Zen sighed, shaking his head. "They''re professionals, you know. Pretty sure they know how to take a photo or two."

Cole raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Maybe. But they don''t have . . . my

vision

."

Zen tried not to laugh. "Your vision? Young Master, you''re not exactly known for your . . . expertise in photography."

Cole ignored him.

Zen rolled his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that Cole''s "

vision

" was likely here to stay, along with the hundred-plus photos he was now uploading to his personal album.

On the sidelines, Eddie and his crew were positively overjoyed. Working with Eve was like a dream come true; she barely needed to pose or adjust, and yet every shot looked effortlessly flawless.

The lighting seemed to follow her, the gown catching just the right glint in the camera lens, and every movement created a frame-worthy picture.

"She doesn''t even have to try!" one of the crew whispered, awestruck. "It''s like the camera loves her."

Eddie nodded, grinning ear to ear. "She was born for this."

The assistants around him scurried to adjust lights and reflectors, though it quickly became clear that even without them, Eve would still look like she belonged on the cover of a magazine.

The photographer barely needed to direct her; a slight tilt of her head or a natural turn of her shoulders was enough to send his camera shutter clicking nonstop.

"Alright, everyone, stay sharp!" Eddie called, glancing at the dozen or so photos he''d already taken. "I''m pretty sure every one of these could make it into the final cut."

His assistant leaned over, scrolling through the shots. "Boss, you could publish these as-is."

Eddie chuckled. Their eyes were finally healed — until Sullivan stormed over, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his tone sharp as a blade, fixing Eddie with a look that promised anything but good news.

The crew exchanged wary glances, knowing immediately that this was not going to be a friendly chat.