Klaus Mikaelson Fashion Novels & Stories

At 20 years old, she was one of the youngest personal shoppers at the boutique, and landing a private session with Klaus Reinhardt — the ruthless 38-year-old billionaire known for his impeccable taste and even more impeccable reputation — was a huge opportunity. Klaus stood in the center of the room in a half-finished bespoke suit, the tailor having just stepped out for adjustments. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and commanding, with sharp features, dark hair, and piercing grey eyes that seemed to see right through her. “Miss Sabrina,” he said, voice deep and smooth. “You’re here to ensure everything fits perfectly for the gala. Let’s begin.” She nodded, stepping closer to adjust the lapel o

Why is she a nusiance? Was it because Lexy hasn't been giving her his attention when they entered the room? Or was it because his eyes were following every of my movement? I turned to go back in when I saw Lexy looking at me with his hands in his pocket. He was damn hot this night, with his body fitted shirt and jeans. "What is he doing here?" I wonder looking around. "Are you stalking me Kelsi?" His voice was laced with mockery. "Stalk you? Why should I do that?" I scoffed

"I'd like to attend." *** The polished floors reflected the light. Soft music played as people in elegant suits and gowns mingled, glasses of champagne in hand. The air was filled with quiet conversations about business and social matters. Among the crowd was Klaus, dressed in a fine black retro suit, looking dashing as usual. His hair was combed backward, his aura charming and swooning every lady that watched his movements. Whispers of admiration rolled off their tongues, but none of them were bold enough to approach him.

Klaus: I wrapped my arms around my mate and rested my chin on her shoulder as she cooked in the kitchen, wearing a light purple long sleeved shirt which reached her thighs and white leggings knowing that we would be alone and that no one would be coming to us here, I wore blue jeans and a V-neck black shirt.

His left wrist was adorned with his famous Cartier piece, and he found himself smiling at his image in the mirror. He felt like a nerdy college human boy preparing for a date with his hot athletic crush. Klaus scoffed at the thought. He shook his head and picked up his phone from his dressing table. His lips pouted as he whistled absentmindedly while searching for his best friend’s number. When he found it, he dialed the number and pressed the speaker to his right ear. Markus Dane picked up at the first ring – which was very typical of him – and Klaus could not help the broad smile that crept up to his cheeks.

A voice in the hall caused my head to lift up. Shit. This was a scene fit for being painted in the Sistine Chapel. Klaus, entirely made-up, in a brown-and-white polka-dot sundress with a gashing slash and a flash of her long, curvy legs. She'd wound her hair up in big, poufy waves and put shimmer on her cheekbones, and she wore that shiny thing on her lips and her inner eyes that made her look all dewy. "It's a donut and a giraffe," I corrected matter-of-factly. "I will not have my work thoughtlessly insulted by an amateur."

Not even my fears come close to knocking that single goal off its pedestal. I allow myself to drink in the view of him, and my breath is stolen away. From afar, I’d not seen the tiny details about him, like how his perfectly fitted suit is not black but charcoal grey with a hint of brown undertone. Or how the whole ensemble severely contrasts his pale hair, garnering attention towards his attractive face. Against my better judgement, I conclude he looks nothing less than an angel; it messes with my brain as Mikael is nothing but the devil’s incarnate.

And it stuck. Cute. “He’s smart,” I commented, filling two tall glasses with cranberry juice. “I think he got that protective streak from his dad,” Rylee commented, accepting the glass I handed over. Mikael got a lot from Klaus; his grumpiness, his looks, and his protective side were showing, too. This kid will make a lot of women cry. “Did you get settled in your room already?” I nodded, sipping my orange juice. “A bit.” my voice was solemn.

The overcoat had structured golden tips while the legs of the slacks were made from black and red fabric. Klaus's outfit was a bit more conventional being manufactured in a dark red and black tone. The supporting parts were created in gold. It matched his strict personality perfectly. "Tomorrow will be the day to present this wonder!" I said excitedly. "Everyone deserves a break. And a bonus!" "You're crazy! No one would create something like this for a red-carpet event!" Roman said, looking at me as if I had grown three heads. "I know. But I'm not just anyone!" I commented, laughing.

A dress, heels and a set of jelwery. She had also curled my hair, and did a little bit of make up, enhancing my features. “You look beautiful, ma’am,” Hannah said, obviously pleased with herself. “Thank you.” I was dressed in a baby blue gown that stopped before my knees, hugging my curves effortlessly. Klaus knocked on the door, before pushing it open. He was clad in a black Italian suit that hugged his build perfectly like it was made just for him. He stood still, his eyes widening a bit.