Luther Bianchi
920 Words
Chapter 9
The studio was already restless long before lunch.
Not in a loud, obvious way.
It was in the kind of silence that wasn’t really silence at all—filled with stolen glances, half-finished conversations, and people pretending to focus on work while actually watching one person.
Rose Carter.
She sat at her workstation near the glass windows, sketchbook open, pencil moving steadily across the page.
Calm.
Focused.
Unbothered.
And that alone was what kept pulling attention toward her.
“Is she seriously still here after what happened this morning?” one intern whispered near the fabric racks.
“She embarrassed Lucia Moretti in front of everyone.”
“Lucia Moretti apologizing… I still can’t believe that actually happened.”
Another girl leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“She’s from Toronto, right? Rose Carter?”
“Yeah. She’s worked with real fashion houses before coming here.”
“Then why does she feel so… normal?”
Across the room, Lucia Moretti heard every word.
Her posture stiffened slightly.
Her fingers tapped once against her tablet, sharp and controlled.
“She’s acting like she owns this place,” Lucia said coldly, not looking at anyone directly.
The assistants nearby immediately fell quiet.
Not because Lucia was right.
But because she sounded like she might explode if anyone disagreed.
At the center design tables, Luther Bianchi was already in the studio.
He wasn’t trying to be noticed.
He never did.
But people still noticed him anyway.
He moved between fabric samples and half-finished designs with quiet precision, occasionally adjusting a seam, occasionally flipping through a sketch page, his expression unreadable.
To most people, he was difficult to understand.
To others, he was the standard no one could reach.
“Luther barely talks during meetings,” one designer whispered.
“Yeah, but when he does, the entire room goes silent.”
“He’s intimidating.”
“More like unreal.”
Another voice cut in softly near the printing section.
“Did you hear what happened earlier?”
“You mean Lucia apologizing?”
“Yeah—but it wasn’t just that. It was the new girl.”
“Rose Carter?”
More heads subtly turned.
Not openly.
Just enough to look like coincidence.
Rose was still sketching, completely unaware—or maybe just uninterested—in how many people were watching her.
No hesitation in her movements.
No performance.
Just work.
“She’s not even reacting,” someone muttered.
“That’s the weird part,” another replied. “She should be nervous.”
“But she isn’t.”
“Or she just doesn’t care.”
Lucia’s jaw tightened slightly at that last comment.
Across the studio, Luther finally straightened from a design table.
His gaze drifted across the room.
It stopped.
Rose Carter.
Still focused.
Still calm.
Still drawing like the entire studio wasn’t slowly orbiting around her.
A senior designer nearby noticed his pause.
“You’re looking at her again,” he said quietly.
Luther didn’t respond immediately.
Then—
“She’s good,” he said simply.
Just that.
No extra explanation.
No praise dressed up in politeness.
Just fact.
And that alone made a few people nearby freeze mid-motion.
Lucia’s expression sharpened instantly.
Lunch break was announced shortly after.
The studio shifted.
Chairs scraped lightly. Bags were picked up. Conversations rose again—but softer now, more controlled.
Because even though work paused…
attention didn’t.
Rose closed her sketchbook and stood.
At almost the same time, Luther stepped away from the center tables.
They moved in the same direction without planning to.
And the entire studio noticed the timing.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But instantly.
Eyes followed.
Whispers restarted.
Rose turned slightly—and nearly bumped into him near her desk.
She paused.
“Sorry,” she said calmly, stepping aside.
Luther’s eyes briefly dropped to the sketchbook in her hand.
“That black dress concept,” he said. “You designed it.”
“Yes.”
“It’s good.”
That simple sentence sent a ripple through the room.
Not one reaction.
Many.
Barely controlled.
Overlapping whispers rising immediately.
“Did he just compliment her again?”
“He never repeats compliments.”
“That’s Luther Bianchi.”
“He doesn’t talk to people like that.”
Lucia’s chair shifted slightly as she turned her head fully toward them.
Rose tilted her head.
“Thanks.”
Luther adjusted his sleeve once, calm as ever.
“Lunch?”
The room froze for half a second.
Then broke.
Not into silence—but into chaos under breath.
“No way…”
“Did he just ask her?”
“He never asks anyone!”
“I’ve worked here a year and I’ve never seen him do that.”
“He doesn’t even eat with people.”
“He barely talks!”
“That’s not normal…”
Someone whispered behind a table,
“Is this even allowed?”
Lucia stood halfway from her chair before stopping herself.
Rose glanced briefly around the room.
She could feel it now.
All of it.
The watching.
The disbelief.
The tension.
Then she looked back at Luther.
“…Sure.”
That single word made everything worse.
Whispers doubled instantly.
“She said yes??”
“She actually said yes??”
“WHAT is happening right now?”
“This is insane…”
Lucia’s expression darkened completely.
And as Luther turned slightly,
“Let’s go,” he said simply.
They walked out together.
And the studio did not stop watching until the glass doors closed behind them.
- Writer
