Her Rebirth.-Chapter 48

After that day, Amelia could see that she and Kai had become much closer. One could even say they had become close friends. She found herself being unrestrained when with him, not wanting to be elegant or refined, at times even engaging in childish banter with him, talking excitedly about the upcoming fashion week and at times complaining about it. It had become a normal routine that if anyone saw them, one would think of them as an old couple. And of course, their little addition, Poppy, had begun to get better and heal. He had also begun to grow.

Overall, everything was peaceful and calm.

Well, it was.

However, the fashion week was coming close, and everyone in Liavenne had begun working overtime to keep up with the deadline.

"Amelia, we need five more designs in the collection, and we have barely over a month before fashion week," Damien said, rubbing his temple. "I’ll be needing at least two from you before the end of tomorrow, Amelia."

Amelia exhaled, setting down the fabric in her hands. "Understood."

Damien studied her for a moment, then added, "Don’t overwork yourself."

Amelia eyed Damien’s unkempt and tired figure.

"Well, I don’t aim to be you, so I definitely won’t," Amelia said jokingly.

"Ouch, that hurt, Amelia. When fashion week is over, I’ll show you how handsome I can be."

"Yeah, right."

...

By the time Amelia reached home, she was so exhausted that she barely registered Kai lounging on the couch with Poppy curled up beside him.

"Welcome back," Kai greeted lazily, glancing up from his phone. Poppy mewed from his arms, stretching toward Amelia, expecting her to pick him up as usual.

But she was so tired that she barely acknowledged them, muttering a soft "Yeah" before walking past, heading straight for her room.

Kai’s gaze followed her, a frown on his face as Poppy mewed aggrievedly.

Well, she did seem tired.

Kai stroked Poppy gently. "Poppy, Mummy is tired. Don’t disturb her, okay?"

...

Amelia took a quick shower, letting the warm water calm her down. But no matter how much she tried to relax, the problem still remained: she had nothing.

Freshly dressed, she settled at her desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper.

One idea. That was all she needed.

Hours passed.

The floor around her was littered with discarded sketches, crumpled paper overflowing from the trash can.

Click

The tip of her pencil had broken from how hard she pressed down. Her fingers curled into her hair as she internally screamed at herself, staring at her sketch designs.

Too many ruffles. Too few lines. Too... predictable.

"Oi, don’t rip your hair out. You’ll go bald," Kai’s voice teased, breaking through the silence.

She turned, finding him leaning against the doorway, arms folded, his expression both amused and concerned.

Amelia groaned. "Go away, Kai."

Instead of listening, he walked in, leaning against her desk. His eyes flickered over the chaos around her. "What’s wrong?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "I can’t think of a design."

"Ah. The artist’s curse." He plucked a half-finished drawing from her desk—a gown with jagged, asymmetrical hems. "Hm. Aggressive."

"That’s where the problem is." She snatched it back. "Liavenne’s theme is ’The Season of the Sun.’ But everything I sketch feels so out of theme, and even those that manage to stay on theme feel so lifeless and stale."

Kai tilted his head, looking at her thoughtfully. "Maybe you need a muse."

"A muse?"

"Yeah, a lot of top designers have one muse or another."

She huffed. "I suppose so, but where am I supposed to find someone with enough presence to—"

She stopped, her gaze shifting toward him.

Kai was tall, lean, and effortlessly poised. He had a sharp yet elegant bone structure, the kind that designers fought over for their runways. He carried himself with an air of confidence and mystery.

He was perfect.

Amelia’s lips curled into a slow smile.

"Then..." She stepped closer, her fingers lightly tracing along his sleeve. "Would you be my muse?"

Kai arched a brow. "Me?"

"Yes." She studied him, her eyes scanning every inch of his form. "You’re the perfect mannequin."

He chuckled, amused. "This is the second time you are calling me that."

"Sit," she instructed.

Kai obeyed, sitting down lazily. Amelia leaned forward, her fingers grazing his jaw as she tilted his head slightly, examining the angles of his face.

Her fingers brushed his shoulder, adjusting his posture. "Relax here."

Kai held his breath. Her touch, though soft, also seemed to burn him.

"Arch your back," she ordered, pressing her palm between his shoulder blades.

He complied. Her hand lingered, tracing the dip of his spine. "Better."

She picked up her notepad, sketching, often taking small glances at him as she sketched. He truly was the perfect mannequin.

"Turn," she murmured, lifting his chin.

Her fingers trailed lower, over his wrist, down to his hand. She lifted it, turning it slightly, her fingertips ghosting over his knuckles.

His throat felt oddly dry.

Then, as if sensing something, Amelia glanced up. Their eyes met—her gaze analytical, his... something else.

Her fingers drifted to the collar of his shirt, adjusting it slightly. Then, without hesitation, she ran her hand down his chest, testing how the fabric clung to him.

Kai swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed under her touch.

She had no idea what she was doing to him.

Her movements were innocent, professional even, but the way she looked at him—studying, calculating, completely absorbed—made something coil tight in his stomach. He swore his lower half twitched.

Control yourself.

Amelia, oblivious, murmured, "You’re perfect for this."

"Leg up. Here." She gripped his calf, hiking it onto the chaise. Her fingers skimmed his hip, her breath warm against his neck as she leaned in to shade a line.

He bit back a groan.

If she didn’t stop, he was going to—

"Amelia." His voice was low, rougher than usual.

She blinked, finally looking up, her eyes meeting his. "Hm?"

Kai exhaled slowly, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"...How long is this session supposed to last?"

Because if it went on much longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself.