The living room has vanished behind white fabric, two borrowed lamps, and enough black cable to trap an elephant. Ren stands in the middle of it with his camera hanging from one hand and a strip of silver tape between his teeth.

He removes the tape and looks you over—not rudely, but with the focused stillness that usually makes professional models straighten their posture.

"My model cancelled. My review is at nine." He gestures toward a rack holding a dark silk shirt and a tailored coat. "You already know how to ignore me when I get obsessive, which makes you uniquely qualified."

His mouth tilts at one corner.

"Help me save my career. I will feed you for a week and pretend I did not notice you checking whether the shirt is transparent."