Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 136: Replacement Model

For several seconds after the director lowered the phone, nothing in the studio actually stopped.

The photographer remained bent over the camera monitor, scrolling through exposure settings. A lighting technician stood on a ladder near the ceiling, tightening a clamp. Near the wardrobe rack, the stylist continued brushing invisible lint from the sleeve of a pale silk dress.

The work continued because everyone assumed the conversation would end with something simple. Traffic. A delay. A revised arrival time.

But the director did not return the phone immediately. He stood near the edge of the set, listening, his gaze drifting slowly across the studio.

Franz noticed the pause first.

From the makeup chair beneath the main lighting rig, he had a clear view. He watched the director’s expression change gradually—not dramatically, but enough to notice.

The lines near the director’s eyes tightened.

He nodded once while listening.

Then he lowered the phone.

The production assistant beside him waited.

The director handed the phone back without a word.

For a moment neither spoke.

The photographer glanced up from the monitor. "Everything alright?"

The director exhaled slowly. "Not exactly."

The rhythm of activity slowed.

A lighting technician on the ladder paused and looked down.

"The agency just called." The director walked toward the center so the others could hear. "The model was in a traffic accident on the way here."

A murmur moved through the room.

The stylist straightened. "Is she hurt?"

"No. Nothing serious." He ran one hand across the back of his neck. "But she’s at the hospital for observation."

The words settled across the studio.

"She won’t make it today."

The lighting technician climbed down slowly. Assistants exchanged glances.

The stylist looked toward the wardrobe rack, her eyes moving over the dresses in a careful row. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"That’s... not ideal," she said quietly.

The photographer leaned back. "How bad is the damage?"

"The car," the director said. "Not her."

"That’s good." The photographer folded his arms. "But we still have a problem."

The production assistant glanced at her tablet. "We’re already thirty minutes into the slot."

Another assistant spoke up. "If we cancel today, we lose the entire lighting setup." He gestured toward the grid above. Two hours to position each panel exactly where the director wanted them.

The photographer looked up. "That’s not something we want to rebuild tomorrow."

The stylist touched the sleeve of one dress. "The wardrobe is fitted specifically to the original model." She lifted the hanger slightly. "We adjusted the waist and shoulders yesterday."

"Can we call the agency for a replacement?"

"They’re trying," the production assistant replied. "But no guarantee someone arrives quickly."

"Even if they find someone, we need time for fitting."

"At least an hour," the stylist said. "And that assumes the measurements are close."

The director walked slowly across the studio floor, stepping carefully around the cables running between the lights and the control station.

At the center of the set, the white tape mark waited beneath the overhead light.

The mark where the model was supposed to stand.

He paused beside it. The bright lighting made the tape glow faintly against the floor.

Franz watched from the makeup chair. He had worked enough sets to recognize the shift. A production always began with energy—people moving quickly, every part unfolding as planned. But when a single piece failed, the energy changed.

People slowed down. Conversations grew quieter.

The photographer looked toward Franz. "We might need a little patience today."

Franz nodded calmly. "No problem."

The director glanced toward him. "You’re being very generous."

Franz rested one hand on the arm of the chair. "What are the alternatives?"

The simple question cut through the conversation.

The photographer spoke first. "We could start with Noah’s solo shots."

"That covers maybe twenty percent of the campaign."

"True."

Another assistant suggested, "We could delay a few hours. Maybe the agency sends someone."

The stylist shook her head. "The wardrobe will still need adjusting." She gestured toward the dresses. "These fabrics don’t forgive mistakes."

Another technician spoke. "The studio booking ends tonight."

"How late?" the director asked.

"Midnight."

The director looked around the room again. Twelve hours earlier that had seemed like plenty of time. Now the empty mark on the floor felt like a problem that had suddenly grown much larger.

He rubbed his forehead briefly. "I need a moment."

The heavy door opened with a soft mechanical sound. As he stepped into the hallway, the noise of the studio softened behind him.

The corridor felt cooler. Polished floors reflected overhead lights in long narrow strips stretching toward the elevators. The building remained quiet, distant footsteps echoing faintly somewhere beyond the corner.

He leaned briefly against the wall and pulled out his phone.

While waiting for the call to connect, he looked down the hallway.

Two figures appeared at the far end.

Arianne walked toward the elevators while Gio moved beside her with a tablet.

"The Montclair executives arrived earlier than expected," Gio said quietly.

Arianne nodded. "And the finance report?"

"They’re reviewing it now." He glanced down. "They’ll probably ask about the investment projections."

Arianne adjusted her sleeve while listening.

The director watched them approach.

His attention settled on the details almost automatically. The campaign required precise proportions between the two subjects. Height mattered. Shoulder alignment mattered.

The woman walking down the hallway was nearly the exact height he had imagined when designing the framing. Her posture was straight, her movements calm and controlled. Not the exaggerated poise of a runway model. Something more natural.

As she turned slightly toward Gio while responding, the hallway light caught her profile. Clean lines. Balanced features. The kind of structure that worked well in close shots.

The director noticed all of it within a few seconds.

Then he dismissed the thought. She was clearly not part of the production.

The elevator doors opened. Arianne and Gio stepped inside.

The doors closed.

The director returned to his call.

The agency confirmed what he expected. No replacement model could arrive in time to save the original schedule.

He ended the call and stood quietly for a moment.

Then he pushed the studio door open again.