Chapter 135/A Delicious Humiliation

Chapter 135: 135/A Delicious Humiliation

Chapter 135

**Stephanie’s POV**

I stepped inside behind him, my feet freezing right at the threshold from the sheer bewilderment seizing my features. It wasn’t merely a closet; it was an entire room, massive and exceptionally spacious in a way that truly triggered astonishment.

Across its walls stretched glass shelves and wooden cabinets painted in a deep, dark black, holding dozens of suits lined up with strict military precision, grading through every possible color and shade. Right in the dead center sat a luxurious black leather sofa, dominating the space like a small throne.

I stood dead in the center of the room with a stiffened body, feeling the coldness of the floor seep right through my shoes. I joined my palms together in front of my stomach, desperately trying to stabilize my exhausted stance, pressing my fingers tightly against the fabric of my loose white shirt to somehow mask my trembling.

"What exactly are we doing here?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly though I fought to keep it steady.

He turned around slowly, closing the physical distance between us with quiet, calculated steps that triggered absolute dread inside me, until the space separating our frames shrank to a suffocating degree. He made it so his hot breath explicitly fanned the skin of my face. His eyelids narrowed with biting sarcasm as he scrutinized my features with his burning, hawk-like eyes.

"Miss Miller... are you actively attempting to lure a werewolf to your position?" he asked in a gravelly, deeply mocking tone.

I blinked in total, utter blankness, my eyes widening with an outrage that violently slammed into my pride. Jerking my head back slightly with a sharp twitch, I stated in pure surprise: "Excuse me?!"

He leaned his upper body back slightly, thoroughly enjoying the utter disorientation invading my features, and pointed his long index finger directly toward my neck, stating with dry coldness: "I am speaking about this overwhelmingly powerful perfume you are wearing."

A hot flush of intense embarrassment ignited across my face, and I felt the blood rush violently into my cheeks. I gripped the strap of my crossbody handbag with highly tensed fingers, digging my nails into it to suppress my boiling fury as I snapped back audibly: "Are you seriously going to interfere even with the perfume I choose to wear?!"

He took a small step forward, confidently adjusting his tight black button-down shirt, which prominently showcased the sheer mass of his chest. "I possess every right to maintain the absolute safety of my sinuses," he delivered in a superior, commanding tone that accepted no debate.

I aggressively ground my teeth in sheer, overwhelming rage, my shoulders shaking with a visible agitation I could no longer conceal due to his excessive insolence. "And does my perfume genuinely threaten your safety to this extreme extent, Mr. Vincenti?" I shot back.

A flash of biting mockery gleamed in his eyes. He tilted his head with agonizing slowness, leaning in close to my ear to whisper in a highly provocative hiss: "I merely fear that werewolves and vampires might descend upon this property to claim your person."

The absolute bastard! Was he seriously mocking the scent of my perfume in this highly aggravating manner?! I felt the blood of pure rage boiling like a cauldron inside my veins. Taking a ragged breath, my chest heaving up and down, I stated in a sharp tone that I restrained with immense difficulty: "Mr. Vincenti... please tell me clearly, what exactly is my actual work here?"

He turned his entire torso toward the elegantly hung suits, scanning the fabrics with freezing eyes, completely bypassing my emotional outburst with utter detachment. "I have an important appointment tonight," he stated with an infuriating calmness. "And I want you to select the exact clothes I will be wearing today."

I froze dead in my tracks as though a physical missile had struck my body. My mouth fell wide open in absolute, crushing bewilderment as I stared at his back with wide eyes, completely unable to believe what my ears were processing. My intellect fundamentally refused to grasp the concept. Had he forcefully summoned my person in this frantic manner merely to choose his clothes?!

"Mr. Vincenti... please tell me what my real labor is so I can finish it and head straight to my house!" I stated, my voice deeply suffocated and trembling from the sheer weight of the shock.

He spun around to face me with lightning speed, his eyes narrowing with a dry, rigid harshness that landed heavily upon my senses. "Are you mentally deficient, Miss Miller?" he stated with unmerciful coldness. "I spoke entirely clearly. Your labor right now is to select my attire for this night."

I remained staring at him in a state of violent shock that I couldn’t possibly mask from my pale face. My hands shook with a highly visible instability as I questioned him in pure condemnation: "You actually called me and brought me all the way here just to choose your clothes for you?!"

He nodded his head with dominant, unshakable calmness a tranquility that nearly drove me entirely insane. "Yes."

I lifted my head with wounded pride, knitting my brows together in overwhelming frustration. "And am I your private maid to execute such a task?!"

He crossed his arms with infuriating stubbornness, leaning his torso back firmly while anchoring his sharp blue eyes eyes like razor-sharp daggers deep into the depths of my own. "You are my personal assistant, and these stylistic arrangements fall squarely within the perimeter of your duties, Miss Miller," he delivered with absolute finality.

I dug my nails ruthlessly into the palms of my hands so much so that I felt the skin of my palms practically tearing from the sheer oppression and humiliation he was actively executing against me. Letting out a burning, ragged sigh as I desperately fought to restrain my exploding rage, I dropped my gaze and muttered: "Fine, Mr. Vincenti... can you at least disclose the nature of this important appointment so I can select something appropriate for it?"

His rock-solid rigidity didn’t waver for a single fraction of a second. His long fingers calmly adjusted the cuff of his black shirt as he responded flatly: "I have a date."

My mind completely reeled in utter bewilderment, a strange, bitter knot suddenly tightening inside my chest. I frantically questioned myself in pure secrecy: Who on earth is the brainless, idiotic, completely dignity-deprived woman who would actually agree to go out on a date with this rigid, arrogant, narcissistic psychopath?!

Slowly releasing my tightly clenched fingers, I stated with absolute detachment: "Fine... I will select an appropriate outfit for this date."

He advanced with measured, highly confident strides toward the leather sofa positioned in the center.

Seating himself with absolute ease, he crossed one leg over the other with supreme superiority and sickening arrogance, locking his eyes onto my frame, actively practicing his favorite hobby of silent observation a gaze that tautened every single nerve in my body.

With heavily trembling hands, I set my handbag down on a small adjacent table. I closed my eyes for a single second to frantically gather the scattered pieces of my breaking composure, whispering deeply within my soul: *Stephanie... calm down. This is an easy task. Just pick any random suit for him and depart immediately for your house. This will absolutely be easy.*