Chapter 136/The agony of choice

Chapter 136: 136/The agony of choice

Chapter 136

**Stephanie’s POV**

I advanced with slow, dragging paces toward the rows of suits, the extreme tightness of my trousers weighing down my movements and pressing painfully against my waist. As a fashion designer, deciphering his taste should have been exceptionally easy for me. Since he harbored a literal obsession with black, and the entire design of his house was completely submerged in its darkness, I naturally reached for a black suit first. My hand extended and pulled out a classic black suit featuring a sharp, deeply elegant cut.

Turning back to face him, I hoisted the garment with anxious fingertips. "What do you think of this one?" I asked, trying to sound professional. "It is beautiful, and it would definitely suit you, wouldn’t it?"

He gestured with his finger in pure dismissal and arrogance, his freezing facial features completely unchanging as he stated with flat conciseness: "No... I do not like it."

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat with immense difficulty, returning the suit to its rack with a heavy hand that nearly collapsed from pure, unadulterated rage. Digging through the rows yet again, I pulled out another black piece, but this one featured a collar crafted from smooth, luxurious premium satin.

"What about this one, then?" I asked, a weak thread of hope in my voice.

He stared at the suit with dead coldness, then shifted his sharp eyes directly to my face with blatant mockery, stating in a deeply sarcastic voice: "Miss Miller... do you genuinely believe I am attending a funeral tonight?"

I blinked in burning bewilderment, my stomach twisting with irritation. "What?! A funeral?!"

He leaned his back comfortably against the cushions of the sofa, stating with flat detachment: "Is there a particular reason driving this obsessive insistence of yours on the color black?"

I desperately attempted to defend my professional choice, adopting a serious, firm tone: "Black is an immensely luxurious, beautiful color that suits every imaginable occasion, including romantic dates, Mr. Vincenti."

He fired back, cutting off the discussion with absolute finality: "I do not desire the color black tonight. Find something else."

I let out a ragged, heavy sigh of pure frustration that I could no longer physically suppress. Returning the suit with a slight tremor of agitation, I directed my steps toward the rows of grey suits. Since the interior design of his house heavily integrated this color, grey was bound to be among his preferred choices. I pulled out a highly sophisticated classic suit featuring meticulous, fine pinstripes, hoisting it up with a hidden plea in my eyes.

"And this one?"

He knit his brows together slightly, staring at the garment with an underlying disgust, before stating with flat coldness: "Hmm... the cut is outdated. I do not like it."

I returned it to its place with limbs heavily tensed from pure fury and frustration. Turning my entire frame around to confront him directly, my knuckles turning white as I clenched my fists, I stated in a deeply resentful, bitter tone: "Mr. Vincenti... do you possess a specific design inside your head so we can drastically cut down this time?"

He locked a remarkably steady, unmoving gaze onto my face, stating in an exceptionally provocative, calm manner: "No... that is precisely the reason I brought you here to select something based on your own specific taste as a professional designer."

An explosive wave of rage nearly erupted straight from my ears. I spun my body back toward the remaining colors with ragged movements. A brilliant, exceptionally elegant royal blue suit caught my eye. I pulled it from the rack and displayed it before him, stating in a dry tone: "The color blue is remarkably beautiful, alluring, and attractive."

He shot back with absolute indifference: "I do not desire to wear it today. Next."

My hand extended in genuine despair, pulling out a stark, blindingly white suit. I stated with a touch of childish defiance and sheer stubbornness: "And what do you think of white, then?"

He fired back with a biting sarcasm that utterly shattered my professional confidence: "Do you genuinely believe I am going out to get married tonight, Miss Miller?"

I aggressively shoved the garment back into its place with a slight tremor of violence. The sheer constriction of the trousers I was wearing was brutally crushing my internal organs with agonizing pain, preventing me from even moving smoothly. I felt completely trapped inside my own skin, my breath hitching as a sharp ache radiated from my pelvis.

Turning back toward him, the explicit traits of severe exhaustion and profound fatigue clearly painting my pale features, I stated in an overwhelming wave of helplessness: "Mr. Vincenti... I truly do not comprehend what exactly catches your approval. Can you please assist me just a little so I can know which direction you prefer?"

He anchored his strict, unyielding eyes deep into mine, stating with a sharp challenge: "Miss Miller... you are a professional clothing designer. You will inevitably decipher my taste if you merely focus with actual intelligence."

I let out a bitter sigh, my hands moving with deep agitation as I stated in suppressed pain: "Even if I were a literal sorceress fully aware of the unseen, Mr. Vincenti... I still wouldn’t be able to decipher this impossible, utterly twisted taste of yours!"

In that exact, precise second, I caught the fleeting ghost of a tiny smile brushing across his lips, vanishing in a literal blink. He erased it with such extreme velocity that I genuinely questioned whether he had actually smiled or if I was merely hallucinating out of sheer exhaustion.

"Come on, Miss Miller..." he delivered in his customary dry tone. "Show me these grand capabilities you always boast about."

Glancing through the long coats, I spotted an olive green suit featuring an exceptionally distinct, unique shade. I pulled it out with one final thread of hope, stating in a breathless voice: "Does this happen to align with your highly refined taste?"

He stared at it with lethal coldness, delivering a sarcasm that nearly caused me to completely lose my mind: "I would merely require a green mask over my face to become ’The Masked One’ in that thoroughly comical appearance."

I dropped my hand in absolute, crushing disappointment, my voice violently shaking with dominant agitation as I snapped: "You literally do not like a single thing! What on earth do you want me to choose for you?!"

He gestured with his hand with lethal tranquility, stating: "Keep searching. The options are vast."