Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

Cole leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as if preparing for a full-blown lecture. "The layout is all wrong. The colors clash, the font choices are amateurish, and don't even get me started on the photography. It's a disaster."

I flipped through the pages, squinting. "It looks fine to me. It's a magazine, not the Sistine Chapel."

"It's not fine," he snapped, exasperated. "There's only one picture of you in the whole thing, and that maid practically dominates every other page. It's nauseating."

I glanced back at the magazine and noticed for the first time that most of the pages were indeed filled with Sophie's pictures. But honestly? I wasn't all that interested in the magazine to begin with.

"Cole, I've been buried in paperwork all day. Forgive me if I don't have the mental bandwidth to critique fonts, and pictures right now," I said, rubbing my temples.

He sighed. "Fine. I'll fix it myself."

Your next read awaits at empire

Before I could protest, he grabbed a pen and started scribbling notes on the magazine mockup, muttering under his breath about design principles and brand identity.

I watched him for a moment, torn between annoyance and amusement. "You know, for someone who pretends not to care about anything, you're awfully invested in this."

He glanced up, smirking like he'd just discovered a life-altering revelation. "They've dared to feature your picture in this magazine, but they've done an

absolutely

abysmal job. It's up to me to save your image here."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't entirely suppress a small smile. "Suit yourself."

His grin faltered, and his tone turned oddly serious. "You're right . . . I shouldn't have bothered you about something so minor."

"Uh-huh . . ." I muttered distractedly, waving a hand as I buried my nose back into the paperwork. I had neither the time nor the energy to care about whatever nonsense Cole had deemed urgent today.

His overbearing presence was something I'd long since adapted to—like background noise that occasionally decided to become surround sound. Ignoring him saved my sanity most of the time.

"I'll take matters into my own hands," Cole announced, his voice carrying danger that immediately made me pause mid-signature.

I set my pen down slowly and looked at him. "Why does that sound like a threat?"

He didn't answer, already on his phone and taking a few steps back like a villain orchestrating some grand scheme.

"All I could hear were snippets: "Yes, acquire that publishing company . . . I don't care what it costs . . . make it happen."

I gawked at him. "Wait,

whatNôv(el)B\\jnn

are you doing?"

He hung up and turned back to me with a satisfied smile, the intense gleam in his eyes melting back into a pool of liquid ice. "Handling it. Don't worry about a thing."

"Define

handling it

!"

"I'll explain over dinner," he said breezily.

I frowned, pointing at the mountain of paperwork on my desk. "I don't think I'll be leaving this spot anytime soon."

Cole waved a dismissive hand. "I'll send someone to handle all of that for you."

"Wait, wait, wait." I narrowed my eyes. "I don't want your help if it comes with strings attached. If this is some weird ploy to get me to go to dinner with you—"

"I'm helping you without expecting anything in return," he interrupted. "I won't force you to go to dinner either. I just don't like seeing you troubled and stress."

I blinked, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice. For a moment, I felt something warm and bubbly rising in my chest, but I quickly shoved it down.

"T-thanks, then," I muttered under my breath, fiddling with my pen as he headed for the door.

"Of course," he said with a casual shrug. But just as he reached the exit, he paused, glancing over his shoulder with a devilish grin. "If you won't come to dinner, then I'll bring dinner to you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already gone, leaving me sitting there in stunned silence.

"Why do I feel like I've just been outmaneuvered?" I muttered, glaring at the door as if it had personally betrayed me.

And then it hit me—he'd probably just bought an entire publishing company

just

to fix some photos. The thought was so absurd I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.

He couldn't be that overbearing and foolish . . . could he?

=== 🤍 ===

[COLE]

Eddie was a top photographer in Élysée Luxe with a stellar reputation for capturing luxurious family moments.

Right now, Eddie was on his way to meet the owner and CEO of Élysée Luxe. He'd been summoned, and he had a good idea why.

Promotion.

He'd done his part, sent the preliminary layout to Sullivan Rosette, and he had thought that Sullivan had already poured a fortune into the company, and had spoken highly of him to the boss like what he had promised.

He'd been a photographer for Élysée Luxe for years, consistently delivering hit after hit for their magazines. It was about time his work paid off.

His colleagues and even some subordinates had already started congratulating him for a job well done, and Eddie could barely contain his smile as he stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor.

The polished doors of the executive office opened, and there stood Mr. Luxe, the owner of the company. But something was off. The unease on his face was impossible to miss, and it made Eddie pause in his tracks.

"Sir? Did you call for me?"

Mr. Luxe loosened his tie, as if it were choking him, and spoke in a strained voice. "Eddie . . . you're the photographer for the holiday issue, right? The one featuring the Rosette family?"

Eddie's smile returned, confident. Sullivan must've come through. "That's right," Eddie said. "We've already printed samples, and I believe you've seen them. If there are no changes, we can start the final print run anytime."

Mr. Luxe swallowed hard and exhaled heavily. "Eddie . . . I'm sorry, but the magazine has to be reworked. I want the whole thing changed."

Eddie blinked, his mind blank for a moment. "Changed? Should I call the editorial team here, then?"

"No, no . . . it's not the articles. Just the photos and their focus. They need to emphasize Eve Rosette more."

". . . Excuse me?" Eddie's smile vanished. This didn't make sense. Sullivan had explicitly demanded that his daughter be front and center on every page. Why the sudden shift? Unless . . . this wasn't Sullivan's doing.

"But sir, I don't understand. Didn't Mr. Sullivan—"

"You don't need to understand," Mr. Luxe cut him off, looking almost apologetic. "It's the new boss's orders."

"New boss?" Eddie repeated, confused.

As if on cue, the swivel chair at the head of the room turned around, revealing Cole Fay sitting casually, like he owned the world—and, apparently, Élysée Luxe.

"That's right," Cole said with an infuriatingly calm tone, as if he were announcing the weather. "I'm the new owner of this publishing company." He leaned back in the chair, his expression stoic. "Oh, and by the way, you and the head of the editorial team in charge of this issue? You're both fired."

Eddie's jaw dropped, but before he could respond, Cole was already pulling out his tablet, casually scrolling Eve's photos to publish in the magazines. "You can leave now."