Thompson's office was quiet when I arrived—too quiet, almost intimidating.
The walls glowed softly under the warm lights, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air. I had changed back into my simple pink gown, but my makeup and wavy hair still glimmered, giving me a strange mixture of elegance and simplicity.
A staff member led me inside, and the moment the door opened, I saw him.
Mr. Thompson was on a call, standing beside his table with one hand in his pocket and the phone pressed to his ear. His voice was calm and firm, the voice of a man used to being obeyed.
When his eyes lifted and met mine, he didn't speak.
He simply gestured toward a chair with a subtle movement of his eyes—an unspoken instruction.
I sat quietly.
He continued his call for a few more seconds, but I noticed something.
Though he was talking, his gaze kept drifting back to me.
Like he still couldn't believe I was the same Chantel who had walked into the studio earlier.
When he finally ended the call, he remained silent for a moment.
Then he slowly lowered the phone and looked straight at me.
His eyes were soft… almost gentle.
"Chant," he said finally, his voice lower than usual, "you really amazed me today. And I want to say thank you."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks.
I looked away almost immediately—too shy to meet his gaze.
I could feel his eyes still on me.
Still studying me.
Still trying to understand the transformation he witnessed.
"Chant," he said again, softer this time, "thank you once more."
I nodded quietly.
There was a short silence, then he leaned back in his chair.
"Would you like lunch?" he asked suddenly.
"We could go out and eat."
My heart fluttered, but I shook my head gently.
"No sir, I'm okay. I just came to tell you that I'm done for today."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay, then do you want to sta—"
He didn't finish.
The office door opened abruptly.
Dave walked in.
The moment he stepped in, his eyes fixed on me instantly.
Not on Thompson. Not on the table.
Just me.
His gaze swept over my face, then my hair, then back to my eyes.
His surprise was written clearly—no effort to hide it.
He walked closer and sat beside me, still staring.
"Chant…" he breathed out.
"Wow. You really look beautiful."
I nodded politely, unsure what else to do.
Thompson cleared his throat lightly.
"She is really fast," he said, folding his hands on the table.
"She learned the walk immediately. Everything."
Dave turned to me again, wide-eyed.
"Do you know about modeling before?" Thompson asked, curious now.
I shook my head.
"Not really, Mr. Thompson. But I have knowledge of the walks. Mrs. Johnson always taught me whenever I was with her."
His face changed—like he had remembered something important.
He leaned back slowly, processing my words.
"Yes," he murmured.
"My mother used to train models too. She taught them everything—the walk, posture, elegance…"
He looked at me again, the corner of his lips lifting.
"I almost forgot," he continued softly, "you're my mother's daughter."
The words felt warm.
Comforting.
Like he suddenly saw me as something more than a maid, more than an employee—something connected to him in a deeper way.
I smiled shyly and nodded.
Silence settled in the room.
Not an uncomfortable one—but a thoughtful one.
Dave eventually broke it.
"Chant, are you ready to go?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Yes, I'm ready."
Before Dave could speak further, Thompson cut in.
"I'll instruct my driver to take you home."
I nodded again, waiting patiently as Thompson picked up his phone and made a quick call.
While he talked, I could feel Dave's eyes still on me.
Studying me.
Admiring me.
When Thompson ended the call, he said,
"You can go. The driver is waiting outside."
I stood up gently.
Both men's eyes followed me as I walked to the door.
Their expressions—different but intense—lingered in the air long after I stepped out.
As soon as the door closed behind me, Dave exhaled loudly inside the office.