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So, Thea was right. Modelling is not just about standing in front of a camera and posing. I mean, it looks easy, simple and straightforward on paper, but it's way more complicated than I anticipated.

I've spent the entire morning standing, posing and listening to every instruction and direction Thea had been giving me while also giving me tips here and there. And one thing I've learned from this is that I don't do well with excessive posing since I hate feeling stupid and silly while holding the pose for the damn photo. I don't particularly like being in the spotlight. I'm not a shy guy, it's just that I get weird and awkward when the attention and focus are on me, and I don't know what to do with myself in moments like those.

But Levi, you're a pole dancer. You're constantly in the spotlight the moment you step on that stage and get on that pole. That's literally your job. I know that and I've grown used to having women stare at me like a piece of candy every night I perform, but that doesn't mean that I like it.

Thea commented that I'm too practical and I should be a bit more creative or at least have a creative approach and outlook. She did praise me for how quick and adaptable I am, but she suggested I try to loosen up and not be too serious. She had been patient with me, and she did make me feel comfortable, but that didn't stop her from giving me the most impractical instructions for the poses she wanted me to do. Her camera clicks rhythmically, the soft sound punctuating the silence of the studio. She was doing it on purpose, and she didn't even hide it. I don't know if it's to make her point about modelling known or if she loves seeing me suffer for her own entertainment. Whatever the case is, those evil and amused smirks did not go unnoticed by me.

"Alright, I think we can end it here," Thea lowers her camera with a satisfied smile. The room's ambience seems to shift as the tension eases. "You can relax now."

I let out a sigh of relief and trudge towards the plush couch that's at the corner of the studio. The cushions sink comfortably beneath my weight.

"So, how was the experience?" Her tone is playful and slightly taunting. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's talking to me like a kid who tried something for the first time. She's mocking me.

"Well, you certainly proved how complicated modelling is alright," I remark dryly as I slide down the backrest, head facing the ceiling and eyes closed.

She snickers mischievously. "You did well for a first timer. You've got potential."

I look at her, her jade eyes piercing through me. "Is that your professional opinion or are you just being generous?"

She shrugs, a smirk tugging her lips and her glinting with playfulness. "Take it however you want, darling. But remember, potential doesn't mean much if it's not refined. Some areas need improvement. For instance, you need to stop overthinking and relax a little. And you need to be a little more expressive."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "I can deal with the overthinking and relaxing part, but don't expect me to be smiling. Smiling isn't exactly my thing, and you'll have to live with it."

She narrows her eyes slightly and her lips are pressed in a thin line. I can't tell if she's upset or annoyed with me. "So, I take it you're one of those people who either don't like showing their emotions or have trouble expressing themselves emotionally."

I don't give her a response. Instead, I click my tongue and stare at the ceiling.

She sighs. "You have to understand that in the world of photography and modelling, every expression, every movement, tells a story. You as the model or muse are supposed to become the canvas upon which that story is painted."

Something about her words strikes me. I don't know if she's being poetic and sentimental or if it's her enigmatic presence, but they just do. I'm not very sentimental and I could have brushed off her words easily because I don't deal with fantasy and fiction, I deal with reality. But her words and the way she expressed and articulated herself intrigued me.

"Thea?"

Our attention turned to the door, where Pieck is standing, looking cautious. She appears to be wary about something. Almost as if she's about to announce someone's death or something.

"There's someone here to see you," she speaks in a low voice that could almost have been a whisper.

Thea's response is swift, her tone carrying a hint of indifference, "Who?"

"Your husband."

The word hangs in the air like an unexpected revelation. I lift my head a little, raising an eyebrow in surprise, my curiosity deepening. Erwin's never told me anything about Thea's personal life or at least delved into it. I never asked because I wasn't interested, and it isn't my business anyway. But this unexpected visitor seems to stir up more questions than answers.

"I don't know have a husband. Call the police," Thea dismisses her, turning her attention back to her camera. Thea's words are sharp, a defence mechanism against an intrusion she isn't prepared for. She seems calm, but her eyes betray a flicker of unease.

On cue, a man appears behind Pieck and says, "Your ex-husband."

My curiosity intensifies as I observe Thea's reaction. She appears composed on the surface, yet there's a subtle tension in her stance that doesn't go unnoticed by me. Her jaw is clenched, and her expression shifts into an intricate blend of surprise and annoyance. The sudden change in atmosphere intrigues me; it's as though a hidden layer of Thea's life has been unveiled before me.

"I'll call the police," she replies distastefully.

The mysterious man chuckles, "Good to see your sense of humour hasn't changed."

She sighs heavily before turning to the man with a fake smile already tugging her lips. Her tone is as cold as ice but yet so polite. "Hello, Nile."

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