You are a writer for a local paper, desperate to find your big break. Given a new assignment with a high paying client, you are whisked into the presence of the mysterious Mr. Ren, a man whose power holds no bounds.
Sessions with him can only take...
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WARNING: mentions of death, grief and use of hypnosis
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How were you going to tell your editor that you broke rule number one?
You weren't going to. Simple as that. As you sent a carefully read, and constantly backspaced message to Mr. Ren, you closed your laptop and cried like a baby. It was ridiculous, but what could have been an opportunity for better things was ruined because of being anxious for just one interview.
Not to mention, how you froze when you saw Mr. Ren. As you cried, you cringed. Hard.
You never had a person stop you dead in your tracks like that before. He was absolutely beautiful, straight from heaven. It was almost like you were mesmerized.
And yet, familiar? Chock it up to seeing him in a fleeting glance at some magazine.
An instant feeling of butterflies in your stomach, you couldn't help but let his face flash in your mind. Even when he had made his quick exit, just by walking away you felt the warm energy in the room leave. And the disappointment that followed still imbedded deep within you as you tried to keep a straight face all the way home.
"I do apologize, Miss (Y/N)." The poor assistant said, his hand on your shoulder, quickly ushering you into the hallway out of the apartment. You instantly became alarmed as you heard something slam, the reverb of metal felt from the other room.
"I mean, I know I should be apologizing, these things do happen- is he okay?" You asked, confused.
Vicrul inhaled as if to speak, then pressed his lips together. "Let me walk you down."
"No, no, don't worry, its okay." You said, offering a soft smile. "Can you have him message me? I don't want my editor to be notified of this, I would rather break it to him."
He nodded. "Of course."
Shock wore off, and there you were, crying on your bed with your late night dinner running late from the pizza shop down the street.
The next morning, you groggily got ready to face the inevitable. Telling Poe that your nails were just super sharp and you had no control was going to be a worse nightmare than the ones you had been having. Still, you grabbed that bag of unused materials and waltzed down the winding stairs to the street below. First stop was to the coffee shop by your building and then to the office. Enough time to clear your head.
Outside, the air chilled you to the bone, the sky covered in gray clouds as faint flurries bounced all around you.
You still haven't rehearsed what you were going to say when you felt a buzzing vibration from your pocket. No caller ID, but if it was who it was, you needed to take it.
"Hello?" You said, putting your phone to your ear.
"Good morning, Miss (L/N)."
Too deep to be Vicrul, so it had to be him. Mr. Ren. "I'm sorry for not replying back sooner, I was...occupied with a recent illness, and I want to send over my sincerest apologies. There should be no excuse."
