Nathalie Sancoeur had written enough monthly reports for a lifetime.

It was a nice change of pace, she thought, to at least be organizing another fashion show again. Far too long had gone by since their last, and only a significant drop in profits had been able to convince Gabriel Agreste that it was high time he released a new adult line. The designs were more simplistic than normal, having been rushed, but with an excited camera crew, packed audience, and full set of models who were not Adrien, the line was bound to sell. All Nathalie had left to do now was confirm a few journalist appointments and watch the show the next day: an easy job, for once.

"Nathalie!"

…Of course, things were never as easy as they were supposed to be. Nathalie groaned, knowing the worried tone of her boss's voice meant something was severely wrong.

"Yes, sir?" she asked as the tall, intimidating man walked in with his hands behind his back. He stood short of her by several feet and paused before relaying his information, which wasn't like him.

"I need you to model for me."

Nathalie stood with a start. Her master wasn't one to make jokes.

"Excuse me, sir?!"

Mr. Agreste sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologize for how sudden this is, but I have no other choice. One of our models has supposedly fallen ill and is unable to attend tomorrow."

"Supposedly?" Nathalie raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, well, she's associated with a particular rival brand of ours in the past. I wouldn't put it past them if they bribed her to throw off my plans. I'm sure you'll recall Ms. Yang?"

Nathalie tried to stop her head from spinning. Ms. Yang was a slender, pale woman with short, dark hair and stunning amber eyes, and she was in the program as the model for the Empty Heart dress— the last in the collection. "Yes, of course. Do you truly believe foul play was involved?"

"All's fair in love and war, Nathalie, and fashion is both. I've tried to get in contact with her, but her calls have been mysteriously blocked since she left the message."

"One moment, sir," Nathalie said, reaching for a file on her desk and fanning through it. "How could I have been unaware of this? All calls are screened through me."

Mr. Agreste gritted his teeth and held up his cell phone. "Her agent somehow got ahold of my number. Another reason we can expect that she won't be recovering from her 'illness' any time soon."

Nathalie slid a piece of paper out of the file and handed it over. "That's terribly unfortunate, sir, but we have a list of models that only just didn't make the cut. Surely one of them will suffice."

The designer batted away the paper with curt annoyance. "You don't think I would've thought of that? If it were any of the other dresses, perhaps we could use a replacement. But Empty Heart was the final piece of the show; my coup d'état. It was designed to stand out from the others while blending into a crowd— that was its cutline."

Suddenly, Nathalie remembered something. "That's the halter-style one, is it not?"

"Yes, and I'd hope my own assistant would remember my designs."

Nathalie bowed her head. "Sorry, sir."

"Because of that, it requires someone with a specific shape, color, and complexion," the master continued, "and you happen to fit the bill. Besides, to teach someone new the whole routine in less than a day would wreck my schedule. You already know what has to be done; you put the whole event together."

"Yes, but, sir—" Nathalie started, then stopped herself. "I mean, are you sure you wouldn't rather find a replacement? I could teach them the routine myself; there isn't too much to do."

"And what about the posing afterwards, and the interviews with the reporters?" Mr. Agreste asked gruffly. "There's too much sensitive information that only you and I know how to handle. And I'm hardly fit to model the thing myself. It may be unusual, but we'll just have to make do." He started to turn away, as if the matter were settled.

"Sir, I— I can't," Nathlie blurted out. Her master froze and turned back halfway.

"What did you just say to me?"

Nathalie shrank down in horror as she realized she'd just refuted an order. In a much quieter voice, she repeated, "I— I can't wear the dress. Trust me, it won't work."

Mr. Agreste scoffed. "What is this, an insecurity fest? I told you when I hired you that your physique was in top shape. I'm a fashion designer; I have a reputation to uphold. I'd never offer a job that was tied to my name to someone who couldn't dress the part."

Yes, she did remember him telling her that, and she tried every day to forget it. "Sir, you have to believe me," she stated shakily. "A suit, I can pull off. Even if we had another dress that needed to be filled, I might be able to do the job. But I guarantee that if you saw me in that dress, you'd realize I'm not suited to model it."

Her pleading did seem to have some effect on the man, but it wasn't the effect desired. He seemed angered worse than before.

"I don't know what's prompted you to behave in such a manner, but I am giving you an order, not a request. Go change into the dress and I'll decide for myself whether or not you're 'fit' to model the most important piece of the entire collection."

Nathalie lowered her head and nodded meekly, pushing in her desk chair and slinking away from the stacks of papers and bills. She tried to reassure herself as she walked: it was going to come out sometime, better to have it over with now than continually fear his finding out.

A few minutes later, the click of the bathroom lock could be heard, and Nathalie Sancoeur began to change.