Katia stepped into the restaurant with measured confidence. Her fitted black corset and short skirt looked good on her and she knew it.
Ryan met her as she walked in.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Katia slowed just enough to enjoy that reaction.
“Good wow?” she asked, arching one brow.
“The best kind.”
They walked to the table and he pulled the chair out for her. She sat down crossing one leg over the other and rested her hands lightly in her lap.
Ryan cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. “I, uh… got you something.”
He leaned down and brought up a bouquet wrapped in soft paper. It was a beautiful bouquet highlighted by one sunflower.
It was striking. Larger than a normal sunflower. The center was dark and glossy, almost polished. The petals seemed tipped faintly in gold, catching the candlelight in a way that didn’t look entirely natural.
“Oh,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly over it. “This is the most beautiful sunflower I’ve ever seen.”
Ryan laughed. “I told the florist I wanted something that stood out. Guess they understood the assignment.”
There was a card tucked into the bouquet. She pulled it free and felt something prick her finger softly. She briefly winced but noticed there was no blood, so she opened the card and read it.
Then laughed.
Ryan leaned forward. “What?”
She turned the card toward him.
Bee Mine.
He stared at it.
Then covered his face with one hand. “You’re kidding.”
“Oh no,” Katia said, smiling wider. “This is incredible.”
“I swear I didn’t see that.”
“You didn’t proofread your Valentine’s confession?”
“I trusted the florist.”
She lifted the sunflower slightly, holding it up between them. “So what exactly are you implying, Ryan? That I’m your queen bee?”
He grinned, trying to recover. “If the crown fits.”
Katia laughed softly. “Careful. Queens tend to expect loyalty.”
Ryan smirked. “I can handle loyalty.”
“Can you?” she teased.
The waiter arrived with wine and their appetizers, and the conversation shifted easily. Work stories and mutual friends. The kind of comfortable rhythm that told her this date was going well.
Katia took a sip of wine and the flavor bloomed across her tongue in a way that made her inhale sharply. She’d never tasted wine so acutely before. She could sense the layers of dark fruit and oak and something faintly floral she’d never noticed in wine before. It felt thick and textured, almost alive in her mouth.
She swallowed slowly.
Ryan tilted his head. “Good?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Just… really good.”
She set the glass down carefully.
The candle between them flickered again, and she found herself staring into the flame. The glow seemed brighter. She could see tiny movements inside it, subtle shifts in color she’d never noticed before.
Her fork scraped lightly against the plate and the sound rang clearer than it should have. In fact, all sounds seemed to be more present and somehow distinct at the same time.
Every conversation on the restaurant patio felt separated. She could almost pick out individual voices from across the room. The clink of glass at a distant table. The faint brush of fabric as someone adjusted in their seat.
She focused back on Ryan.
He was mid-sentence, animated, telling her about a disaster at work that ended with his boss apologizing to him.
She watched his mouth move. She noticed the way his jaw flexed when he smiled. She noticed the heat coming off his skin.
The scent of him hit her suddenly. His clean cologne mixed with soap. She could almost taste it in the air.
Her breath slowed.
“—so I told him, if you’re going to panic, at least panic with a plan,” Ryan finished.
Katia blinked.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “What was that last part?”
He smiled. “Okay…no more work talk. I’m losing you.”
“No,” she recovered. “I just got a little distracted.”
She straightened in her chair, crossing her legs the other way. She became hyper-aware of the way the fabric of her skirt brushed her thighs and the way her corset hugged her waist firmly.
Her fingers rested on the tablecloth. She rubbed her thumb against the fabric. She could feel every thread. Every tiny ridge.
Her heart gave a steady, powerful thump.
This was all so very strange.
Ryan was still talking about something. His voice washed over her in waves. She tried to follow it but it was nearly impossible. Every sensation was louder now.
The waiter approached. She heard him before he spoke. The shift of his shoes on stone. The fabric of his sleeve sliding as he lifted the plates.
And when he stepped into her peripheral vision, it felt invasive.
“The chocolate torte for you two.”
Katia startled sharply, her head snapping toward him.
“What?” she said, curtly.
The waiter blinked. “I…I’ve brought your dessert.”
She exhaled through her nose, irritated.
“You could at least announce yourself before hovering,” she said coolly. “You nearly made me jump.”
Ryan stiffened slightly. “Hey, it’s okay—”
The waiter flushed. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Katia held his gaze until he lowered his eyes. She felt something in her chest settle. A sense of control.
“Yes,” she said smoothly. “Thank you.”
The waiter retreated quickly.
Ryan studied her. “You okay?”
She turned back to him, composure sliding into place like nothing had happened. “Of course. I just don’t like being startled.”
He nodded slowly, though a faint crease remained between his brows.
The plates were set with strawberries arranged beside a glossy slice of chocolate torte, drizzled with syrup.
She picked up a strawberry from the dessert plate they were sharing and brought it to her lips.
The sweetness hit instantly.
It was explosive and sensual. She closed to ride the feeling. The sugar bloomed across her tongue like nectar. The juice slid down her throat and her body reacted to it. The pleasure echoed through her body.
She swallowed slowly.
Ryan smiled faintly. “Still that good?”
She opened her eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly. “It iszzz.”
She reached for another piece quickly. She took a bite and juices trickled down her chin. She licked them up hungrily enjoying the feeling in her mouth, stomach, and increasingly her sex.
She could feel the waiter watching nervously from across the patio.
Good. She liked that.
Ryan leaned in a little. “You just kind of… snapped at him.”
Katia tilted her head.
“He interrupted,” she replied evenly. “People should know when not to interrupt.”
Ryan gave a half-laugh. “It’s his job.”
“Then he should do it better.”
Katia pushed her chair back a little too quickly.
Ryan looked up mid-sentence. “You okay?”
She forced a tight smile. “Excuse me. I just need a minute.”
Her voice sounded steady, but her body was anything but.
She stood, and the movement sent a ripple through her spine. The pressure at the base of her skull had been building quietly for the past few minutes, but now it pulsed.
The patio air felt thick against her skin as she walked. Every brush of fabric against her thighs sent a current through her. The hum in her ears had grown louder, no longer faint background noise but a layered vibration that seemed synced to her heartbeat.
By the time she reached the restaurant hallway, her breathing had deepened.
Her scalp tingled sharply.
She reached up, fingers sliding into her hair as if to massage away a tension headache. The sensation wasn’t internal anymore. It felt like something pressing outward beneath her skin. As if her nerves were too alive.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
She pushed into the restroom, the door swinging shut behind her.
The fluorescent lights felt blinding. She gripped the edge of the sink.
The pressure in her back intensified suddenly. She could feel something between her shoulder blades. Her muscles spasmed hard enough to arch her forward.
She felt a hum inside her bones.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively as heat flooded downward through her core. The pleasure she’d been riding at the table returned all at once, magnified and electric. It felt like the sweetness of the strawberry had liquefied and poured straight into her bloodstream.
“Not here,” she gasped.
But her body wasn’t waiting for permission.
The sensation crested violently and she clutched the sink as her knees weakened. The orgasm tore through her without warning, tightening her muscles in waves, her head tipping back as a strangled sound escaped her throat.
Her entire body vibrated.
Her vision blurred as the pleasure peaked, her spine bowing as the pressure in her back pulsed in time with it. The hum became a roar.
Then she felt the release. She sagged forward, breathing hard, with her palms flat against porcelain.
She stayed there for several seconds, breathing.
The orgasm had ebbed, but it hadn’t vanished. It lingered like an aftershock in her nerves. A quiet vibration beneath her skin. The pressure in her scalp remained, tight and insistent. The space between her shoulder blades still felt swollen.
Katia lifted her head slowly and saw her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed deep pink.
“Pull it together,” she murmured.
She rolled her shoulders once. The pressure in her back responded with a tight pulse.
Fine.
She straightened her corset, smoothing her hands down her waist. She exhaled slowly and stepped out of the restroom.
Ryan stood slightly when he saw her returning.
“There you are,” he said, relief flickering across his face. “I was about to come check on you.”
She approached the table at an unhurried pace.
He had been charming earlier but now he seemed somehow smaller.
She resumed her seat, crossing her legs deliberately. The movement was fluid and controlled. Her posture was straighter than before, chin lifted just a fraction higher.
“You okay?” he asked again, studying her face. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” she replied smoothly.
Her voice had changed. It was deeper and more assured.
Ryan swallowed slightly. “You sure? You kind of rushed off.”
She tilted her head, examining him as if he were something newly presented for her approval.
“I needed a moment,” she said. “I took one.”
He laughed awkwardly. “You’re very intense right now.”
She didn’t laugh with him.
Instead, she reached for her wine and took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact.
The taste bloomed again and even richer than before.
“Queens demand loyalty. You said you could handle it,” she reminded him quietly.
Ryan blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
She leaned back slightly in her chair, gaze steady, assessing.
The hum inside her bones deepened.
Ryan tried to reclaim his earlier charm. “So,” he said, smiling carefully, “where were we?”
Katia studied him again. He was trying. That was clear. But the spark she’d felt earlier had shifted.
Is he worthy?
The thought surfaced fully formed.
She folded her hands in her lap, fingers resting lightly against one another.
The pressure at her scalp pulsed once more.
The tension in her back tightened, almost stretching outward beneath her skin.
Her spine straightened sharply on its own. The chair creaked beneath her as something in her posture locked into place. The hum inside her bones deepened, rising in pitch.
Ryan faltered mid-sentence.
“Katia?”
Her scalp burned.
She inhaled slowly as the sensation surged upward, like something pressing through layers that had always been too thin to contain it.
She felt a sharp tearing sensation at her crown.
Ryan recoiled as two sleek, black-and-gold antennae burst cleanly through her hair, unfurling upward.
Then the pressure in her back released.
Her corset strained as her shoulder blades flared. Translucent wings unfurled behind her. They extended fully with a slow, powerful stretch, catching the golden bulbs overhead and refracting them like stained glass.
Gasps erupted around the patio. A chair scraped violently against stone.
Someone whispered, “What the hell.”
Ryan stumbled back from the table, nearly knocking his wine glass over.
“Katia…what…what is happening?”
She remained seated and calm.
The hum inside her bones settled into a steady vibration that resonated outward. The air itself seemed to thicken around her.
She turned her head slowly toward Ryan.
Her eyes were no longer soft brown. Instead they burned gold.
“You said,” she reminded him evenly, “if the crown fits.”
Her voice carried differently now. It wasn’t louder, but it traveled. It pressed against the ears of everyone within range.
Ryan’s face drained of color. “This isn’t funny.”
Funny. The word irritated her.
Her antennae twitched subtly, reacting to the fear rippling through the crowd. She could feel every spike of adrenaline from every table. It vibrated through her like static waiting to be directed.
She rose from her chair. The movement was slow and controlled.
Her wings flexed once behind her, stirring the air and knocking over the candle flame nearest her. It extinguished instantly.
Ryan took another step back.
“You need help,” he said weakly. “We need to call someone.”
Call someone. For her?
She looked at him properly now. He wasn’t strong enough to stand in her presence without shrinking. He is unworthy.
Her lips curved slightly.
“You are beneath me,” she said strongly. “I do not need your help.”
A woman at a nearby table screamed. Another couple bolted for the gate. Phones were raised, shaking hands fumbling for focus.
Katia’s wings extended wider, catching the patio lights in a brilliant gold shimmer. The pressure that had built all evening was gone now.
She stepped away from the table and as she moved everyone fell from her path. No one dared get in front of her.
Ryan remained frozen, staring up at her.
She glanced around at the scattering crowd. They were all unworthy.
Her antennae tilted forward slightly, sensing movement beyond the patio lights. She felt the open air of a field.
“Next time you see me,” she said calmly. “You will bow. For I am a queen.”
Then her wings beat once and Katia rose from the ground.
Golden light spilled across the field in long, warm bands as Katia moved through the tall grass.
The world felt right here.
Small bees drifted lazily around her in orbit.
One landed lightly on her shoulder. Another hovered near her wrist. A third brushed past her hair, unafraid.
Katia smiled faintly, lifting a sunflower between her fingers. The petals seemed brighter out here. The world seemed brighter and unfiltered.
“This is how it should be,” she murmured.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply sensing the nectar, soil, warm grass, and living air.
Her antennae tilted slightly forward.
She felt a disruption. Something felt wrong.
She could taste metal and oil in the air.
Her eyes opened slowly.
The bees around her shifted in tone. Their casual arcs tightened. The hum changed frequency.
She turned her head slightly, gaze sweeping toward the treeline beyond the meadow.
There were figures moving in formation. Dark shapes breaking through the calmness of nature.
They were tracking her.
Katia exhaled once through her nose.
“So,” she said softly. “You came.”
The soldiers advanced carefully, scanning the field. One raised binoculars.
Another whispered, “Target acquired.”
Her wings extended fully behind her, the membranes catching the fading sunlight and refracting it into sharp shards of gold. The bees around her began to gather in greater numbers, rising from the tall grass and sunflowers in thick spirals.
The air shifted as clouds edged across the sun, dimming the field from honeyed warmth to burnished shadow.
One of the soldiers hesitated. “Sir… the air pressure…”
The hum within Katia deepened into a vibration that rippled through the grass itself. Thousands of tiny bodies answered her call, lifting from unseen hives hidden throughout the meadow.
She stepped forward once and the earth seemed to acknowledge it.
Her eyes burned brighter, molten gold against the darkening sky.
“You seek to harm your queen,” she said, her voice carrying farther than it should have.
The nearest soldier flinched.
A commander barked, “Take the shot!”
The rifle never fired as a wave of bees struck first. A living shield formed around her, thick and swirling.
Katia lifted from the ground slowly, wings beating with controlled force. The sound was no longer a gentle hum.
It was thunder.
The sky above them darkened as the swarm expanded outward, blotting light in a shifting cloud.
The soldiers stumbled back, formation breaking.
Katia hovered above the field, her silhouette framed against a bruised sky, black and gold and incandescent.
Her gaze locked onto the line of men below. Righteous anger burned clean and cold through her veins.
“You were warned,” she said quietly.
Then she folded her wings once and launched forward.
Hannah had met Antonio’s parents six times already, and every time she left their house feeling like she just didn’t meet their expectations.
It wasn’t that they were unkind. If anything, they were almost aggressively welcoming. His mother gave warm hugs and kissed both cheeks every time. Hannah was always sent home with leftovers. His father asked questions, real ones, about Hannah’s job, her family, where she grew up. They both smiled and laughed.
And then, inevitably, they slipped into speaking Italian.
It always happened mid-conversation and Hannah would keep smiling, nodding along, eyes moving between faces, pretending she could understand them. Even though Antonio didn’t speak fluent Italian, he could catch enough to understand the gist of the conversation. But Hannah was left feeling left out.
On the drive home, Antonio reached over and laced his fingers through hers.
“You were quiet tonight,” he said gently.
Hannah exhaled, resting her head back against the seat. “Was I?”
“A little,” he said. “Not in a bad way.”
She watched the streetlights pass. “Your mom told that story about you breaking the neighbor’s window again.”
Antonio laughed. “I was six. And it was an accident.”
“I know. I just… I wish I’d known what she was saying without you having to translate.”
He glanced at her. “You don’t have to understand everything. They already like you.”
“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I know that.”
They drove in silence for a few moments before she added, quieter, “I just hate feeling like the dumb American in the room.”
Antonio frowned. “They don’t see you like that.”
“They don’t see me at all when they switch languages,” she said, then immediately shook her head. “Sorry. That sounded bitter.”
“It didn’t,” he said. “It sounded honest.”
She turned toward him. “You really don’t mind that I don’t speak Italian?”
He shrugged. “I barely speak it myself. You’ve heard me.”
“That’s different,” Hannah said. “It’s your family. Your culture.”
“And you’re with me,” he replied. “That’s enough.”
She smiled at that, but it didn’t fully settle the knot in her chest.
Later that night, curled together on the couch, Hannah scrolled through her phone while Antonio half-watched a game show, absently answering questions aloud.
She hesitated, then said, “Do you think it would be weird if I tried to actually learn Italian?”
Antonio looked over. “Weird how?”
“Like… try-hard,” she said. “Or like I’m doing it just to impress them.”
He considered that. “Do you want to do it?”
“I think so,” she said. “I don’t want to need you as a translator forever. I don’t want to feel like a guest.”
“You already belong,” he said, firm but calm. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“I know,” she said again. And this time she meant it. Mostly. “I just want to feel… equal. Not like I’m waiting to be included.”
Antonio nodded slowly. “If you want to learn, I’ll help. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”
“You won’t be disappointed if I don’t?” she asked.
He smiled. “I’ll be disappointed if you do it for me instead of for you.”
After he fell asleep, Hannah stayed awake, phone glowing softly in her hands. She searched learn Italian and scrolled through options. Most apps looked childish or way overpriced.
Then one app caught her eye. It was in Beta and still free for use. The description emphasized immersion. Think like a native speaker, not a student.
Hannah hesitated with her thumb over the download button.
This wasn’t about Antonio pushing her. He hadn’t. This wasn’t about his parents demanding anything. They hadn’t.
This was about her.
About wanting to sit at the table and not disappear when the conversation shifted.
She tapped install.
Hannah didn’t realize how long she’d been sitting there until her leg started to tingle.
She shifted on the couch, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, phone still upright against her knee. All she could hear was the confident Italian voice in her earbuds.
“Di nuovo.”
She sighed softly and repeated the phrase, slower this time, focusing on the shape of the sounds rather than the words themselves.
Antonio leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her over the rim of his coffee mug. “How long have you been at it?”
She pulled one earbud out. “Uh… half an hour?”
He blinked. “Already?”
“Yeah,” she said, surprised herself. “I didn’t notice.”
“That’s usually a good sign,” he said.
She smiled faintly and put the earbud back in. The app moved quickly, not pausing to explain mistakes so much as redirecting her tone.
Say it again. More certain.
Hannah frowned. “More certain how?”
Antonio chuckled.
She tried again, tightening her jaw just a little, letting the sentence land harder.
The app chimed approval.
“Oh,” she said under her breath.
Antonio set his mug down and sat beside her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, then hesitated. “It’s just… different. It’s training me to respond without thinking. It’s a mental paradigm shift.”
“Huh,” he said. “I’ve never seen an app like that. But it kind of tracks. Italian’s not big on hesitation.”
She shot him a look. “Says the guy who freezes every time his mom asks him a question in Italian.”
“Hey,” he protested. “I freeze respectfully.”
She laughed, then glanced back at the screen as the next prompt appeared. A short exchange played, faster than before.
She opened her mouth, paused, then looked at Antonio. “I don’t know this one.”
She removed her earbuds and played the prompt again. “Okay,” he said slowly. “It’s basically saying, like… I already told you that.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Yeah. You’d say it like…” He repeated the phrase.
The app was silent for half a beat.
Then a sharp chime sounded, followed by a line of text on the screen: Incorrect inflection. Try again.
Antonio frowned. “That’s exactly what it means.”
“I know,” she said, already laughing. “But it didn’t like how you said it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, half offended, half amused. “That’s how my dad says it.”
She tapped Repeat and tried again, this time exaggerating the rhythm slightly, letting the sentence fall harder at the end.
The app chimed approval immediately.
Antonio stared at the screen. “No way.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my god. I speak Italian better than you.”
He laughed too, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”
“It literally just told me you said it wrong,” she said, holding the phone up between them. “I think I just got promoted.”
“By an app,” he said.
She grinned, pleased in a way she hadn’t expected to be. “Still counts.”
The next prompt played automatically, faster again. Hannah barely hesitated this time before responding. The words came out smoother, more confident, her voice landing more firmly than before.
The app approved.
Antonio watched her, eyebrows raised. “Okay,” he said. “That one you nailed.”
She paused, replaying her own response in her head. “That didn’t sound like me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said, searching for it.
She set the phone down for a moment, flexing her fingers like she’d just finished something physical. “Is it weird that this feels kind of… relieving?”
Antonio considered that. “What do you mean?”
She glanced at him. “You know how I overthink everything.”
“Well,” he said quickly. “Maybe you’ll practice trusting your gut more too.”
She said the next phrase and the app buzzed softly again on the cushion.
Good instinct. Continue.
They continued like that for a while. Hannah working through prompts, Antonio offering the occasional correction or encouragement.
At one point, the app prompted her to express frustration. The example voice had a sharpness to it.
Hannah hesitated. “I don’t like how that sounds.”
Antonio didn’t answer right away. “Italians are passionate speakers,” he said. “You don’t sound like that because you’re angry. You sound like that because you mean what you’re saying.”
She considered that, then tried again. The words came out cleaner this time.
Approval chimed.
She laughed softly, a little breathless. “Okay. That one felt… weirdly good.”
Antonio smiled, but his expression was thoughtful now. “You’re picking it up fast.”
She set the phone down, rubbing her throat. “My voice feels tired.”
“That’ll happen,” he said. “You’re using muscles you don’t usually use.”
“Is that a language thing or a personality thing?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “Maybe both.”
She laughed and leaned into him, resting her shoulder against his chest. “Thanks for helping.”
“Anytime,” he said.
Dinner at the Molinaris’ house was already loud before Hannah even stepped fully inside.
Antonio’s mother was calling from the kitchen, his father answering from somewhere down the hall, their voices overlapping in the comfortable, unselfconscious way of people who had never needed to make space for silence. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce hung heavy in the air.
Hannah slipped her shoes off and followed Antonio in, smoothing her sweater out of habit.
“Ciao, tesoro!” his mother called, turning from the stove. She stopped short when she saw Hannah. “Oh!”
Hannah paused, uncertain what had prompted the reaction.
Antonio’s mother crossed the kitchen in three quick steps and smiled broadly. “Your hair,” she said warmly. “It’s beautiful.”
Hannah blinked, then smiled without thinking too hard about it. “Thank you,” she said easily. “That’s very kind.”
“It looks very… naturale,” his mother continued, clearly pleased.
Hannah smiled, gracious and calm, but had no idea what Ms. Molinari was talking about.
They moved to the table, plates already waiting. Conversation flowed quickly, Italian slipping in and out of English without ceremony. Hannah followed more than she ever had before. She didn’t fully understand, but caught enough words.
Antonio’s father poured wine and asked Hannah about work. His mother chimed in with a story about a neighbor. Laughter came easily.
Then, midway through a sentence, Antonio’s mother switched fully into Italian.
Hannah kept smiling, nodding, tracking expressions. Antonio caught enough to follow, but didn’t translate. He rarely did unless she asked.
At one point, his father gestured with his fork and said something animated in Italian. His mother laughed and replied immediately, shaking her head.
“And Marco would have argued with you for ten minutes about that,” Antonio’s mother added in English, smiling fondly. “He always does.”
Antonio rolled his eyes. “Of course he would.”
Hannah looked up. “Marco?”
Antonio shrugged. “My brother.”
“Oh,” Hannah said. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“He’s older,” Antonio said. “Always traveling. He was supposed to come tonight, but work pulled him back to Italy again.”
His mother sighed, half-proud, half-exasperated. “Sempre in giro,” she said. Always on the move. “But he belongs there now. He says it feels more… right.”
Hannah absorbed that, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“That’s where his work is,” Antonio added quickly. “And his friends.”
“And the language,” his father said lightly, switching back to Italian for a moment before catching himself. “Scusa.”
Hannah smiled reflexively. “It’s okay.”
Conversation moved on, but something had shifted. The Italian crept back in, more frequently now, faster. Hannah laughed when others laughed, sometimes a beat late, sometimes exactly on time.
Then Antonio’s father said something again, gesturing toward Hannah this time.
She laughed and answered in Italian before she realized she was doing it.
The sentence was simple, imperfect, but her tone fit the moment.
The table went quiet for half a second.
Then Antonio’s mother clasped her hands together. “Lei capisce!” she exclaimed. “She understands!”
“Brava,” his father added, grinning.
Hannah felt warmth bloom in her chest. “Un po’,” she said modestly, then switched back to English. “Just a little.”
Antonio opened his mouth, then closed it again.
His mother waved him off. “Better than you,” she teased. “Marco would be impressed.”
Antonio laughed, but it sounded thin.
The rest of dinner unfolded easily. His parents slowed their Italian just enough to include her, not for her. When Hannah hesitated, they waited. When she spoke, even imperfectly, they smiled like she’d done something brave.
At one point, his mother leaned closer and said quietly, “Thank you.”
Hannah smiled, accepting the comment.
On the drive home, Antonio finally said, “You didn’t tell me you were practicing responses like that.”
Hannah watched the streetlights blur past the window. “I wasn’t practicing,” she said.
She paused, then added, almost absentmindedly, “It just came out.”
A few days later, the apartment was quiet in that late-evening way Hannah had started to enjoy.
Antonio was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his phone in his hand, half-reading something and half-watching a pot come to a boil. The television murmured softly in the background, forgotten.
On the couch behind him, Hannah pulled her earbuds free and let them rest in her palm for a moment before setting them down.
She stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders once. Her hair fell forward, heavier than it used to, the waves looser and more pronounced now.
She crossed the room quietly and stopped just behind Antonio.
Leaning in, she spoke softly into his ear, her voice low and intimate “Mi piace come mi guardi… mi sento scelta.” (I like the way you look at me…I feel chosen.)
Antonio smiled.
He turned toward her, eyes lighting up in that familiar way, and without thinking too hard about it, leaned down and kissed her. It was gentle and unhurried, the kind of kiss that felt earned rather than asked for.
“Wow,” he said when they parted, still smiling. “Okay.”
Hannah laughed softly. “Was that right?”
“Very right,” he said. “I don’t even care if it was wrong.”
She shrugged lightly. “It didn’t sound wrong.”
“No,” he agreed. “It didn’t.”
He reached up without thinking and ran his fingers lightly through her hair, then paused.
“Huh,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
He let his hand fall, studying her more closely now. “Your hair’s… curlier.”
Hannah frowned faintly and lifted a strand, letting it slip through her fingers. She tilted her head, considering it.
“I guess it’s just humidity,” she said.
He leaned back against the counter, eyes still on her. “Did you do something different with your makeup?”
Hannah blinked. “No. Why?”
“Just that your freckles….nevermind.”
She stepped closer to the kitchen light and glanced at her reflection in the darkened microwave door. Her freckles were still there, but lighter.
She touched her cheek absently. “Huh. Odd”
“You’ve been practicing a lot,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said easily. “It’s easier when I do it every day.”
“Easier how?”
She thought about it. “Like… I don’t have to think so hard anymore.”
“That sounds nice,” he said.
“It is,” she replied, then added, almost without realizing it, “I feel more like myself when I don’t overthink.”
She leaned in again, brushing a kiss against his cheek this time, her voice dropping naturally into Italian as she added, “Se continui a guardarmi così, non rispondo di me.” (If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not responsible for myself.)
Antonio laughed, shaking his head. “Oh. Watch out! You’re dangerous now.”
Hannah held his gaze a moment longer, then laughed.
A few days later, Hannah sat alone on the edge of the bed, her back against the headboard, phone resting in her hand.
The apartment was quiet and Antonio was still at work. She was studying with the app.
“Rispondi.”
She exhaled and answered without pausing. The sentence came out sharp and decisive.
A soft chime followed.
Better.
Hannah shifted, adjusting her position. The movement felt different lately. Her body seemed to settle more heavily against the mattress, her hips pressing into the fabric in a way she didn’t remember noticing before. She tugged absently at the hem of her shirt, then stopped when she realized it felt snugger than it had a week ago.
Still, she ignored it as the app continued.
A short exchange played, this one faster, more emotionally charged. The example voice sounded irritated and impatient. Unwilling to wait.
Hannah hesitated for a fraction of a second.
The app prompted her.
Don’t soften it.
She answered again, letting the edge stay in her voice this time. Letting the words land the way they wanted to.
The app gave Immediate approval.
Hannah felt a small rush bloom in her chest.
She rolled her shoulders back and sat up straighter without realizing it. Her shirt pulled more firmly across her chest now, the fabric catching slightly where it hadn’t before. She glanced down briefly, registering the change distantly, the way one notices posture in a reflection and then forgets about it.
The app moved on.
This time, the prompt asked her to respond to frustration with a quick refusal.
Hannah answered quickly, more reactive than she would have been in English. The Italian came out instinctive and expressive. Her hands moved as she spoke, one lifting slightly as if punctuating the sentence.
The app chimed twice.
Native response detected.
She laughed under her breath. “Seriously?”
Emotion improves fluency, the app replied.
Hannah paused, breath warm in her throat. She replayed her response, listening to herself. The voice sounded fuller somehow. Less airy than she remembered.
Another prompt came followed by another response. Each one encouraged a little more immediacy, a little less restraint. When she softened, the app corrected her. When she sharpened, it rewarded her instantly.
Her body warmed with it.
At some point, she became aware of the way her thighs pressed together when she shifted, the way her waist felt more defined, her hips heavier in contrast. She adjusted again, tugging at her leggings with a faint frown.
Have I been snacking more? she wondered briefly.
The thought drifted away almost as soon as it formed.
The app didn’t slow.
Again. With conviction.
Hannah answered. Her voice was firm, expressive, and unapologetic.
Perfect.
She pulled the earbuds free and let her head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
Her chest rose and fell slowly. Her body felt… alive.
I like this, she thought, without examining it too closely.
When her phone buzzed softly in her hand, she glanced down.
Strong session. You respond best when you don’t hesitate.
Hannah smiled faintly.
“Yeah,” she murmured to the empty room. “I know.”
She set the phone beside her and stood, catching her reflection in the mirror as she passed. For a second, she thought her silhouette looked different. Maybe curvier and more pronounced through the waist and hips.
She tilted her head, considering it.
Then she turned away.
Antonio was on the couch when Hannah walked in wearing one of the new outfits she’d just purchased. It was a dark skirt with soft fabric that moved when she did, sitting high on her waist and falling to mid-thigh. She’d paired it with a fitted top that hugged her torso cleanly, showing off her curves
He just looked up and stopped.
She leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, watching his reaction.
“Well?” she asked.
Antonio stared for a beat longer than necessary. “Okay,” he said finally. “Wow.”
Her mouth curved into a smile immediately.
“Yeah?” she asked, stepping into the room. She didn’t walk shyly. Her hips swayed naturally with the movement, the skirt responding to her instead of restricting her.
“It’s…” He shook his head, laughing softly. “You look incredible.”
She lifted her hands as she spoke, palms up, expressive, animated. “I knew I needed something different. Everything else just felt wrong.” She gestured down at herself. “This feels right.”
She turned slowly, giving him a full view, then paused.
“Wait,” she said, eyes lighting up. “Look.”
Before he could respond, she gave a small, playful twirl.
The skirt swished around her thighs, the fabric catching air and settling again as she stopped. She laughed, breathless, clearly pleased.
Antonio blinked. “Since when do you wear skirts?”
She shrugged, hands moving as she answered. “I don’t know. Since they stopped feeling… stupid.” She glanced down at the hem, smoothing it once. “Va bene,” she murmured to herself.
“What?” he asked.
She looked up immediately. “Nothing. Just, does it look okay when it moves?”
“It looks more than okay,” he said. “You look amazing. Confident.”
She smiled at that, slow and satisfied. “Because I am.”
She stepped closer to him now, still talking, her hands punctuating her words even in English. “I was so tired of squeezing myself into things that don’t match me anymore. Like, why fight it?”
Antonio watched her, a mix of admiration and something quieter crossing his face. “You’ve definitely… changed.”
She turned slightly, catching her reflection in the TV screen. For a moment, she studied herself, then nodded once.
“Perfetto,” she murmured.
Antonio frowned. “What did you say?”
She waved it off without missing a beat. “I said I like it.”
She looked back at him, eyes bright, energy buzzing just under the surface. “Do you like it?”
He stood, closing the distance between them. “Yeah,” he said honestly. “I really do.”
She didn’t answer him right away.
Instead, she smiled, slow and knowing, then spoke again in Italian, her voice lower now, warmer. The kind of sentence that didn’t ask so much as invite.
“Vuoi vedere cosa ho messo sotto?” (Do you want to see what I’m wearing underneath?)
Antonio’s breath caught.
He opened his mouth to respond but Hannah didn’t wait.
She turned smoothly, the skirt swishing again around her thighs as she walked away, already heading down the hallway. She glanced back over her shoulder once, just long enough to make sure he was watching.
“Ho comprato qualcosa di nuovo,” she added lightly. (I bought something new.)
Then she disappeared into the bedroom.
Antonio stood there for half a second, stunned into stillness.
Then he was moving.
“Wait!” he said, already smiling, already following her down the hall.
By the time he reached the doorway, Hannah was inside, just out of sight, the sound of the skirt settling again, the quiet rustle of fabric unmistakable.
She laughed softly from the other side of the room, the sound effortless and pleased.
Antonio leaned against the doorframe, heart beating faster than it had a moment ago, watching her with a mixture of desire and awe.
“Since when do you do that?” he asked, half joking, half breathless.
From inside the room, Hannah replied in English this time, calm and assured.
“I told you,” she said. “I stopped fighting things that feel right.”
And then she started taking off her clothes.
A few days later, the change was no longer subtle enough to ignore.
Hannah caught her reflection in the hallway mirror as she passed and slowed, just slightly. The evening light warmed her skin, deepening it into a smooth, even tone that felt unfamiliar when she really looked. Her freckles were gone entirely now, replaced by something richer.
Her hair framed her face in dark, heavy waves, the blonde still there only at the edges, threaded through with something warmer. When she lifted a hand and let it fall through the curls, it didn’t spring back the way it used to. It settled.
She smiled faintly and kept walking.
Antonio was at the table, laptop open, one hand pressed to his forehead. “Hey,” he said, not looking up. “Can you tell me if this sounds okay?”
“Certo,” Hannah replied easily. She crossed the room, hips swaying without effort, and leaned over his shoulder to read. One hand rested on the back of his chair. The other moved as she spoke, fingers pinching the air, shaping her thoughts.
“Qui,” she said, tapping the screen. “You’re explaining too much. If you already know what you want to say, you don’t need to apologize for it.”
Antonio blinked. “Okay… so I should just cut this?”
She laughed softly. “No, amore.” She gestured, fluid and expressive. “You reframe it. You say the same thing, but without asking permission.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
She straightened and turned to face him fully, still close. “Vuol dire che quando sai di avere ragione, non devi nasconderti dietro le parole gentili solo per essere accettato.”
It came out smooth and fast, layered with emphasis, her hands moving in time with the sentence.
Antonio stared at her. “I. Okay, slow down.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “Sto parlando piano.”
“No, you’re not,” he said. “You just said, like… a lot.”
She waved a hand dismissively, then softened, fingers brushing his arm as she continued, voice lower now. “Sto solo dicendo che sei più chiaro quando smetti di dubitare di te stesso.”
He exhaled. “See, that. I think that’s what you said. But I’m not sure.”
Her smile lingered, almost indulgent. “You get the idea.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he said.
She laughed again, light and musical. “You don’t need every word. You understand the feeling.”
“That’s not how language works,” he said, a little sharper now.
She leaned back against the table, crossing one leg over the other. Her hands kept moving as she spoke, palms opening, fingers cutting gently through the air. “That’s exactly how language works. You’re just used to thinking it has to be neat.”
Antonio watched her, struggling to keep pace. “You keep doing this,” he said. “You switch, and then you talk around me.”
She frowned, genuinely surprised. “Around you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Like I’m supposed to catch up on my own.”
She stepped closer again, closing the distance, her tone dropping into something warmer, more intimate. “Non ti sto lasciando indietro. Sto solo andando avanti.”
He stiffened. “Hannah.”
She touched his chest lightly, fingers splayed, still speaking Italian. “Se tu mi ascolti davvero, capisci. Ma se ti fermi a tradurre tutto, ti perdi.”
“I can’t just feel my way through a conversation,” he said. “Not when it’s important.”
Her expression sharpened, just a little. “It’s always important.”
“You’re not listening to me,” he said.
She scoffed softly, half amused, half annoyed. “I am listening. You’re just uncomfortable because I’m not slowing myself down anymore.”
“That’s not fair.”
She shrugged, graceful and unapologetic. “Life isn’t.”
Antonio pushed his chair back slightly. “You’ve changed.”
Hannah smiled, but there was something challenging in it now. “Everyone changes. Only some people pretend they don’t.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said.
She spoke again in Italian, longer this time, her voice animated, hands moving freely as she laid out her point. She talked about clarity, about honesty, about not shrinking herself just to be understood. The sentences flowed into one another, confident and layered, impossible to interrupt cleanly.
Antonio listened for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I don’t know what you just said.”
She stopped mid-gesture and looked at him.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, lingering just long enough to blur the line between comfort and control. “You’re tired,” she murmured in English. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”
She turned away, already walking toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change. We don’t want to be late to your parents.”
“Hannah,” he said.
She paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, her body angled just enough to look back at him. “Sì?”
He hesitated, words failing him now. Then he exhaled. “Never mind.”
She smiled to herself and disappeared into the room, the sound of her steps confident and unhurried.
The front door closed behind them with a heavier sound than usual.
Hannah set her purse down on the entry table. She slipped her high-heeled shoes off and sighed.
“That went well,” she said, almost to herself. “Your mother was so sweet tonight.”
Antonio didn’t respond.
She turned, brow creasing. “What?”
He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door with more force than necessary and stepped away, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know what.”
She blinked. “No, I don’t.”
“I didn’t understand anything,” he said. “Not most of the night.”
She frowned, already defensive. “That’s not true.”
“I was sitting right there,” he said. “And you didn’t even look at me.”
“I was talking to everyone,” she said quickly. “We were all talking.”
“In Italian,” he snapped. “The whole time.”
She scoffed, hands lifting instinctively. “They’re Italian.”
“So am I,” he shot back. “And I couldn’t keep up.”
Her fingers curled, then opened again, gesturing as she spoke. “You could have jumped in.”
“I tried,” he said. “Every time I did, you were already halfway through something else I couldn’t follow.”
Her jaw tightened. “That’s not my fault.”
“No,” he said. “But it is your choice.”
She stared at him. “You think I did that on purpose?”
“I think you didn’t care,” he said. “I think you liked it.”
Her eyes flashed. “Of course I liked it. I finally felt included.”
“At my expense,” he said quietly.
She stepped closer, voice rising, the Italian spilling out before she checked it. “Non ti ho escluso. Sei tu che non ascolti davvero.”
Her hands cut through the air sharply. “Se smettessi di pensare che tutto deve essere tradotto per te…”
“Stop,” he said. “I don’t understand you.”
She laughed, sharp and incredulous. “That’s your problem. You had your whole life to learn Italian and didn’t.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. “And don’t do that.”
“Fare cosa?” she demanded.
“Yell at me in Italian,” he said. “Like I’m stupid.”
Her voice rose higher, faster now, the Italian flowing in long, furious sentences. She talked about effort. About growth. About how exhausting it was to keep slowing herself down for someone who refused to move forward. Her hands were everywhere now, punctuating every thought, every emotion.
Antonio shook his head. “You sound like someone else.”
That stopped her cold.
“What did you say?” she asked, switching back to English without realizing it.
“I said you sound like someone else,” he repeated. “And you don’t even look the same anymore.”
“That’s low. You didn’t complain when we were having sex last night,” she said angrily.
“True,” he said. “But look at you. Your skin. Your hair. Your clothes. Everything. You look different and you won’t even admit it.”
“I have changed,” she snapped. “For the better.”
“No,” he said, quieter now. “I loved the old Hannah.”
Something inside her snapped.
Her arm lifted before she thought about it, anger and heat surging through her body. She drew back…and froze.
Her hand hovered in the air between them.
Hannah stared at her own hand, her open palm, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
I was going to hit him.
Slowly, she lowered her arm.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
Antonio hadn’t moved. His face had drained of color. “Hannah…”
She backed away, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t. I would never…”
She pressed a hand to her chest, grounding herself. “That’s not me.”
Her voice dropped, unsteady. “This is the app.”
Antonio frowned. “What?”
“It’s changing how I react,” she said. “How fast I get angry. I don’t. I don’t lose control like that.”
She looked at him, really looked at him now, and saw the fear there.
“I almost hurt you,” she said. “What’s happening to me?”
She pulled her phone from her purse.
“Hannah—” he started.
“I need to stop it,” she said. “Now.”
She didn’t hesitate.
She deleted it.
Hannah exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging as relief washed through her.
“There,” she said softly. “It’s gone.”
She leaned against the bed, breathing hard, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to him. She kissed him apologetically. But one kiss turned into another and soon they were on the bed making love. She didn’t even notice the app reinstall itself.
They lay side by side in the dim light, the room still warm, the sheets tangled around their legs.
Hannah was on her back, one arm folded behind her head, breathing slowing now that the adrenaline had faded. Antonio lay turned toward her, propped slightly on one elbow, studying her face.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Finally, Hannah broke the silence. “Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s… actually talk.”
Antonio huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.”
She turned her head toward him. “You can say it. I won’t get mad.”
He hesitated. “That’s new.”
She winced. “Yeah.” A pause. “That’s new.”
He took a breath. “You feel different,” he said carefully. “Not just…” He gestured vaguely. “Not just physically.”
“Start with physical,” she said quickly. “È più facile.”
She stopped, eyes flicking to him. “It’s easier.”
He noticed but didn’t comment.
He glanced down at her, then back up to her eyes. “Your skin,” he said. “It’s a little darker. And your freckles are gone.” He lifted a hand but stopped short of touching her cheek. “And your hair. It’s heavier. Darker. Curly.”
Hannah swallowed. “Lo so.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I know.”
“You didn’t before,” he said.
“I didn’t want to,” she admitted. Then, almost under her breath, “Non volevo vedere.”
She frowned at herself. “I didn’t want to see it.”
Antonio nodded slowly. “Your body’s changed too. You’re… fuller. Your breasts are bigger.”
She huffed a small, humorless laugh. “Ammettilo.”
She caught herself and shook her head. “Admit it. You like the breasts.”
Antonio smiled faintly. “They’re nice.” His expression sobered. “You move differently too. That’s what scares me.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’s like you’re not uncertain anymore,” he said. “About anything.”
She considered that. “Non esito più.”
She grimaced. “I don’t hesitate as much.”
“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”
Her fingers curled slightly in the sheet. “I used to ask permission for everything.”
“I know,” he said. “I liked that you cared what people thought.”
She closed her eyes. “Io ci tengo ancora.”
She opened them again, embarrassed. “I still care.”
“Do you?” he asked gently.
She exhaled. “I care differently.”
They lay there, the weight of the conversation settling between them.
Antonio went on, quieter now. “Your language is different too. Even in English. You’re more direct. More intense.”
She snorted softly. “That sounds very Italian.”
“That’s the problem,” he said. “You think in Italian now.”
Hannah stared at the ceiling. “È più veloce.”
She stopped herself, frustrated. “It’s faster. The thoughts come out whole.” She turned to him. “English feels… padded.”
“That scares me,” he said. “Because when you switch, I can’t always follow you. And when I can’t follow you, I don’t know where I fit.”
“I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“I know,” he said. “But sometimes it feels like you already have.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t feel like someone else,” she said quietly. She swallowed like she was concentrating on what she was about to say. “I feel like… more.”
Antonio squeezed her hand. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
She nodded, eyes burning. “The worst part is that it all feels justified. Like every change makes sense when it’s happening.”
Silence again.
Then Hannah whispered, “We should make a list.”
“A list?” he echoed.
“Of everything,” she said. “So I don’t pretend it’s not there. My body. My temper. The way I talk.”
She hesitated again, trying to force her mind to think in English. “The way I think.”
Antonio brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Okay.”
She nodded, resolve tightening. “Because if I don’t name it, I’ll convince myself it’s fine.”
Her eyes drifted toward the nightstand. Toward the phone.
“And I don’t trust myself,” she said quietly, “not to let it keep slipping out.”
Hannah stood at the counter with a mug warming her hands, shoulders bare beneath a silk nightie that skimmed her body instead of hiding it. The fabric caught the light when she moved, clinging softly at her waist and hips. She was aware of it in a way she hadn’t been before. Aware of herself.
Antonio watched her from across the counter, coffee in hand.
She took a breath before speaking. “Did you sleep okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Fine,” she said quickly. “I mean…yeah.” She paused, jaw tightening just a touch, like she was catching something before it escaped. “I slept.”
He smiled faintly. “You sound like you’re concentrating.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am.” Then, softer, “It’s harder than I thought.”
“What is?”
“Not…” She stopped, inhaled. “Not slipping.”
Her hands lifted automatically as she spoke, then stilled when she noticed. She forced them back around the mug.
Antonio followed the motion. “You don’t have to freeze.”
“I kind of do,” she said. “Just for now.”
She shifted her weight, the silk moving with her. She caught his eyes drop, just briefly,and smiled despite herself.
“Oh, don’t pretend,” she said lightly. “You like this part.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What part?”
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “This.” She gestured down at herself, then stopped, corrected, lowered her hand. “I mean me. How I look now.”
He hesitated. “Hannah…”
“Come on,” she said, teasing creeping into her voice despite herself. “Say it. In English.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re not subtle.”
“I’m trying,” she said. “It’s just… diffi…” She stopped and grimaced. “…hard.”
Antonio smiled. “Yes. I like how you look.”
“Just like?” she pressed.
He met her eyes. “I like that you’re confident. And, yeah. I like the curves.”
Her smile softened, pleased in a way she didn’t quite hide. “Good.”
She took a sip of coffee, then murmured, almost to herself, “Va bene.”
Her eyes closed. “Dammit.”
Antonio didn’t say anything.
She opened her eyes again, steadying herself. “I’m working on it.”
“I can see that,” he said gently.
The tender moment lingered before Antonio glanced at the clock and sighed. “I’ve got to head out.”
“Okay,” she said, too quickly, then corrected herself. “Okay.”
He leaned in and kissed her, brief but sincere. “We’ll figure it out.”
She nodded, watching him grab his keys. She tucked her hand back against the mug and forced a smile.
“Have a good day,” she said.
Antonio smiled back and left.
Hannah stood alone in the quiet kitchen, breathing slow, holding the English in place like something fragile.
And hoping it would hold.
Antonio found her in the kitchen when he got home.
But now Hannah was at the stove, wearing casual clothes, wooden spoon in hand, a pan of sauce simmering steadily. The smell was warm and comforting, tomato and garlic filling the room. A cutting board sat nearby, herbs and onion chopped unevenly but with care.
“Hey,” he said carefully.
“Hey,” she replied immediately without looking up.
He set his bag down. “You’re cooking?”
She nodded, stirring slowly. “Yeah. I thought it might help. Keeping my hands busy.”
She paused and finally looked over at Antonio, then added, “I had a rough day.”
He stepped closer but stayed out of her space. “Rough how?”
“Just… a lot of talking,” she said. “A lot of stopping myself mid-thought. Making sure I stayed focused.” She exhaled. “I did okay, though.”
“You sound proud,” he said.
“I am,” she admitted. “I went to the grocery store. I didn’t slip. Not once.” She gave a small, tired smile. “I even went out for lunch with people and kept everything… normal.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“It was exhausting,” she added quickly. “But I managed it.”
She turned back to the stove.
“I think I just need to keep myself grounded. Simple things. Like cooking.”
Antonio didn’t bring up that cooking was never something Hannah showed much interest in before.
Her attention stayed away from the pan as she continued talking. “I just have to remember to slow down.”
The pan hissed as something burned. Smelling it, Hannah turned and lifted the pan too late. The bottom was blackened, sauce clinging thick and scorched at the edges.
“Merda… cazzo… porca!” The words exploded out of her, loud and unfiltered.
She slammed the pan back onto the burner, the sound sharp in the small kitchen. Her chest rose fast, breath coming too quick now, heat flooding her face as anger surged up all at once. Not just at the stove, but at the entire day. At all the effort the had used.
“Ma guarda che disastro,” she muttered, pacing a half-step, hands moving helplessly in the air. “Tutto il giorno a stare attenta, a controllarmi, e poi questo. Sempre così. Sempre io che devo…”
Her voice tangled over itself, words spilling faster than she could catch them. “Non ce la faccio più. Non posso stare sempre così, sempre a fermarmi…”
She cut herself off with a sharp inhale, fingers digging into the edge of the counter as if anchoring herself there. Her thoughts were still tumbling, Italian pouring out under her breath in fragments and half-formed complaints, the language loose and emotional, unfiltered in a way English never was.
Antonio watched from a few feet away, trying to figure out how to help.
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to stop, to slow it down, to pull the words back in before they could keep going. But then she stared at the ruined sauce, vision blurring as the pressure finally broke and the tears started to flow.
“Non ce la faccio…” she whispered before she could stop herself.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth, but the sound slipped through anyway, a short, broken sob that surprised even her. Tears spilled over fast now, hot and humiliating, her whole body shaking as the anger collapsed inward.
“I tried,” she said, the words tangled and uneven. “I tried all day. I was so careful.” She laughed weakly through the tears. “And I can’t even make dinner without screwing it up.”
Antonio stepped closer then, cautiously, like he might startle her if he moved too fast.
Hannah dragged in a breath. Then another. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears away impatiently.
“No,” she said suddenly, voice firmer. “No. Stop.”
She straightened, forcing her shoulders back, grounding herself against the counter. “It’s just food. It’s just a pan.”
Her breathing slowed. The shaking eased.
She looked at the stove again, then at Antonio, eyes red but clear now. “I’m fine,” she said, steadier this time. “I just… hit my limit.”
Antonio nodded. “That makes sense.”
Hannah leaned back against the counter, eyes unfocused, exhaustion settling deep into her bones.
She let out a long exhale, the fight draining out of her. “Dinner’s ruined.”
“It’s okay, we can order something,” he said. He gave her a hug and reassured her. “You don’t have to fight all the time. You can be you.”
She hesitated, then gave a small, tired nod. “Va bene.”
She didn’t correct herself.
Antonio smiled and continued the hug.
Hannah got her first notification from the app the next day.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly while Antonio showered when she muttered something in Italian. The app instantly corrected her.
Be more assertive.
Her stomach dropped.
“No,” she whispered, already tapping it away, dragging it toward delete. Her finger hesitated just long enough for a familiar pulse of anxiety to run through her chest.
She deleted it anyway.
The phone asked if she was sure. She said yes. She watched the icon vanish. Exhaled hard, like she’d been holding her breath for minutes instead of seconds.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”
She locked the phone and set it face down on the nightstand just as the shower turned off. She didn’t say anything to Antonio because she didn’t want to worry him. Maybe she forgot to uninstall it the first time.
But the next morning, when she unlocked her phone to check the time, the icon was back.
Hannah stared at it.
Her first instinct was anger. Her second was panic.
She set the phone down slowly, like it might react if she moved too fast, and stood. Her heart was beating harder than it should have been for something so small. She pressed her palms to her thighs and took a breath.
“It’s fine,” she told herself. “It’s just a glitch.”
In the kitchen a few minutes later, she poured coffee, still unsettled, still replaying the moment in her head. Antonio was at the table, scrolling through his phone, humming under his breath.
Hannah turned toward the sink and muttered, barely audible, more thought than speech, “Non ho dormito abbastanza…”
The phone buzzed in her hand.
Be clearer. Don’t diminish yourself.
A jolt ran through her chest, warm and sudden, like a small current snapping into place. Her shoulders eased without her meaning to them to.
“Oh,” she whispered.
The sensation lingered. Not overwhelming. Just… right. Like being corrected by someone who knew exactly what she meant to say before she did.
She didn’t delete the app. She didn’t even think about it.
She locked the phone and slid it into her pocket, pulse still quick, cheeks faintly warm. When she spoke again, to Antonio about nothing important, her voice was steadier.
Antonio glanced up. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said, immediately. No hesitation. “I’m fine.”
And she was.
The rest of the day, she didn’t hear from the app again. But she felt it anyway, like a presence just behind her thoughts, smoothing them before they could tangle.
Her patience thinned faster than usual. When someone took too long to explain something, irritation flared and then passed leaving clarity behind. When she stopped softening her tone, no one pushed back the way she’d always feared they would.
By evening, her skin looked darker in the bathroom mirror. Her hair caught the light in deep brown waves now, the last of the blonde only visible if she searched for it. Her eyes, she realized absently, hadn’t looked blue all day.
She didn’t open the app.
When she caught herself gesturing as she talked, when Italian slipped into her thoughts fully formed and ready, she didn’t fight it. She let it exist.
That night, lying beside Antonio, Hannah stared at the ceiling, thoughts drifting lazily, smoothly, without the usual snags.
The day replayed itself in pieces. The way people had listened. The way her words had landed cleanly. The warmth that kept returning every time she stopped second-guessing herself.
È più semplice, she thought.
She rolled onto her side, closer to him, her body warm and heavy in a way that felt grounded instead of restless. She fit against him differently now. Better. She didn’t apologize for the contact or hesitate before making it.
Antonio shifted slightly, half-asleep. “You okay?” he murmured.
Hannah smiled to herself and slid her hand across his chest. The touch wasn’t tentative.
“Sto bene,” she said softly.
She pressed closer, her leg draping over his without thinking about it, her fingertips tracing idle, confident patterns against his skin. The closeness sparked something immediate and familiar, her body responding faster than her mind had all day.
Antonio inhaled, more awake now. “That’s… new,” he said softly, not pulling away.
She tilted her head, lips brushing his jaw, her voice lower when she spoke. “È un problema?”
He smiled, breath uneven. “No. Definitely not.”
That was all the encouragement she needed.
Hannah kissed him then, unhurried but intent, the kind of kiss that carried expectation with it. She didn’t stop to wonder if she was being too forward. She didn’t pull back to check his reaction.
She already knew.
Antonio responded easily, instinctively, his hand settling at her waist like it belonged there. The connection felt natural. Giusto, her mind supplied, unprompted.
Later, when they lay tangled together, Hannah rested her head against his shoulder, pleasantly spent, her thoughts slow and quiet now.
“I think,” she said softly, carefully choosing the language, “I’m doing better.”
Antonio kissed her hair. “I can tell.”
She closed her eyes, a faint smile lingering as her fingers idly traced his side.
Così, she thought. Così va meglio.
Somewhere in the dark, the app waited.
It had been rewarding her all day.
And tonight, she’d listened.
It started as a normal conversation.
They were in the living room, late afternoon light slanting through the windows. Antonio was half-listening to something on his laptop while Hannah talked about her day, pacing slowly, hands moving as she spoke.
“At work today,” she said, already halfway into it, “they kept circling the same point. Everyone was afraid to say what they actually meant.”
She stopped, frowned, and continued.
“È come se avessero paura di prendersi la responsabilità. Parlano tanto, ma non dicono niente.”
Antonio looked up. “Wait, what?”
She waved a hand. “I said they talk a lot without saying anything.”
“That’s not exactly…”
“È esattamente quello che ho detto,” she replied, sharper now. “You just didn’t catch it.”
He closed his laptop slowly. “Hannah. You’re doing it again.”
Her jaw tightened. “Doing what?”
“Switching into complex Italian.”
She laughed, incredulous. “You are part of it. You just don’t understand everything.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he said. “You know it’s not.”
She stopped pacing and turned to face him fully. Her posture was different now. She was grounded and unapologetic.
“Non posso rallentare tutto il tempo per te,” she said. “Non è colpa mia se non riesci a starmi dietro.”
Antonio stood. “That’s unfair.”
She scoffed. “Unfair?” Her hands lifted, slicing the air. “You grew up in this culture. You hear the language your whole life and you still treat it like something optional.”
“That’s not…”
“You pick the parts you like,” she cut in, voice rising, Italian flowing faster now. “The food. The family stories. The idea of it. But when it comes to actually living it, speaking it, thinking it. You stop.”
He stared at her. “What are you saying?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Che sei un italiano finto.”
The words landed hard.
Antonio’s face went still. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” she snapped. “You’re a fake Italian. You wear it when it’s convenient and drop it when it’s work.”
“That’s a low blow,” he said quietly.
Her expression didn’t soften. “È la verità.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” he said. “Not you.”
She laughed, sharp and humorless. “Who does, then? Because your parents live it every day. They speak it. They are it.”
She stepped closer, voice cutting now. “E dovrebbero vergognarsi che tu non lo sia.”
The room went silent.
Antonio stared at her like he didn’t recognize her. “You think my parents should be ashamed of me?”
For the first time, Hannah hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. Then the hesitation burned away.
“I think they deserve better than someone who treats their language like a hobby,” she said. “Like something decorative.”
“That’s cruel,” he said. “And it’s not true.”
Her hands were still moving, even now. “You don’t even hear how much you apologize when you talk. Sempre ‘maybe,’ sempre ‘I think.’ Like you’re afraid to exist too loudly.”
“That’s who I am,” he said.
She shook her head. “No. That’s who you let yourself be.”
He swallowed. “You sound like you hate me.”
Hannah opened her mouth to respond and stopped.
Something in her chest twisted, hot and uncomfortable. Recognition.
“I don’t hate you,” she said, slower now. “But I’m tired of pretending this doesn’t matter.”
“This?” he asked.
She gestured between them. Her voice dropped, but it was no gentler. “The way you shrink. The way you settle. The way you expect me to do the same.”
Antonio exhaled shakily. “You’re not talking to me anymore. You’re talking at me.”
Hannah stared at him and something within her shifted. She felt contempt.
“No,” she said slowly. “I’m talking clearly.”
She stepped closer, invading his space without asking. Her posture was rigid now, chin lifted, shoulders squared. When she spoke again, the Italian came fast and unbroken.
“Tu non sei come loro,” she said. “Non lo sei mai stato.”
Antonio swallowed. “Hannah…”
“You pretend,” she snapped, switching seamlessly back to English. “You pretend it’s enough to like the culture. To visit your parents and eat their food and nod along when they talk.”
Her hands were moving constantly now, sharp, precise. “But you don’t carry it. You don’t live it. You don’t deserve it.”
“I’m the one here who is actually Italian,” he said, voice tight.
She laughed, harsh and scornful.
He stared at her. “You’re saying you’re more Italian than me?”
Her eyes burned. “I am Italian. You are nothing.”
The certainty in her voice was absolute.
“I think in Italian,” she continued, words pouring out faster. “I feel in Italian. I don’t have to translate myself or apologize for existing the way I am.”
She gestured at him, dismissive. “You hesitate. You soften. You shrink.”
“That’s who I am,” he said, shaking now. “And you’re acting like it’s something to be ashamed of.”
Her lips curled.
“I am ashamed,” she said. “I’m ashamed that I lowered myself. That I tried to make myself smaller so you wouldn’t feel left behind.”
“That’s not love,” he said.
“No,” she agreed coldly. “It’s compromise. And I’m done with it.”
Antonio’s voice cracked. “So what, you’re better than me now?”
“Yes.”
The word landed clean and final.
She stepped even closer. “I deserve better. Someone who doesn’t flinch when I speak. Someone who doesn’t need everything slowed down and explained.”
“That’s not you talking,” he said desperately. “That’s the app. This isn’t you.”
Her expression hardened instantly as she felt a heat build within her..
“Don’t you dare take this away from me.”
She raised her hand and this time, there was no pause.
The slap cracked through the room, sharp and loud. Antonio staggered back a half-step, hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock.
Hannah stood there, chest heaving. A calmness washed over her.
Instead, she exhaled slowly and felt a rush of clarity flood her body.
“You deserved that,” she said quietly. “I don’t regret it.”
Antonio stared at her like she was a stranger.
She met his gaze without flinching.
“You pushed me,” she continued. “You asked for it.”
Hannah straightened, smoothing her hair back with deliberate calm. Her voice, when she spoke again, was steady.
“Tra noi è finita.”
She turned away from him and walked down the hallway, heels striking the floor with purpose.
And for the first time since this began, Hannah didn’t feel conflicted at all.
“Marco!”
Antonio’s mother was already halfway across the room when the door opened.
“Ma che sorpresa!” (What a surprise!) she exclaimed, pulling Marco into a hug. “Finalmente!” (Finally!)
Marco laughed. “Mamma, respira.” He stepped aside. “Lei è Anna Lucia.”
“Piacere,” (A pleasure.) Anna Lucia said, leaning in easily. “È un onore conoscervi.” (It’s an honor to meet you.)
Antonio’s mother blinked, then smiled wider. “Che bella voce,” (What a beautiful voice.) she said automatically. “Entra, entra.”
Anna Lucia stepped in, glancing around the room. “Che profumo,” (What a smell.) she added. “Avete fatto il ragù?” (You made ragù?)
“Da ore,” (For hours.) Antonio’s father replied proudly.
“Si sente,” (You can tell.) she said, approving. “Così deve essere.” (That’s how it should be.)
Marco squeezed her hand. “Te l’avevo detto.” (I told you.)
Antonio watched from his chair, fork paused halfway to his mouth.
There was something about her that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
She took a seat beside Marco without being guided.
“So,” Antonio’s mother said, pouring wine. “Da dove vieni?” (Where are you from?)
“Da un po’ ovunque,” (From a bit of everywhere.) Anna Lucia replied lightly. “Ma adesso sono qui.” (But now I’m here.)
“E lavori?” (And you work?) his father asked.
“Certo,” (Of course.) she said. “Non saprei stare ferma.” (I wouldn’t know how to sit still.)
Marco laughed. “Mai.” (Never.)
Conversation overlapped, Italian folding in on itself. Antonio followed until he didn’t. He nodded where he thought it fit.
At some point, Anna Lucia turned toward him.
“Tu sei Antonio, vero?” (You’re Antonio, right?)
“Yes,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
She smiled politely. “Piacere.” (Nice to meet you.)
A beat.Then, almost as an aside, she added, quieter now…
“È strano, sai. Quando le conversazioni cambiano lingua e ti senti invisibile.” (It’s strange, you know. When conversations change language and you feel invisible.)
Antonio’s chest tightened and he knew why she seemed so familiar.
He stared at her. He stared at his Hannah.
She quickly turned to Marco, slipping an arm around his waist. “Amore, racconta a tuo padre del lavoro nuovo.” (Love, tell your father about the new job.)
Marco groaned. “Devo proprio?” (Do I really have to?)
“Dai,” (Come on.) she said, kissing his cheek. “Sii bravo.” (Be good.)
She lifted her hand as she did. The ring caught the light.
Mason tugged his hoodie down as he stepped into the empty hallway behind the gym. The Friday night game was an hour away, but this was the spot Sierra had texted him to meet. She was already there, leaning against the lockers and scrolling through her phone.
“Sierra?”
She didn’t look up right away. “Hey.”
He hesitated. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She pocketed her phone. “I just don’t wanna do this at the game. I figured… less dramatic this way.”
He frowned. “Do what?”
She looked at him for the first time, arms crossed under her cheer jacket. “Us.”
“What about us?”
“We’re done, Mason.”
His breath caught. “Wait, what? Where the hell is this coming from?”
Sierra exhaled slowly, like she’d rehearsed this. “You don’t listen. You don’t ask about me. You don’t care unless it’s about the team or your stats or your stupid protein macros. I’m tired of dating someone who thinks ‘quality time’ means watching me stretch in spandex before practice.”
“That’s not fair,” Mason snapped. “I’m always there for you.”
“You’re there, sure. But it’s always about you. Your next win. Your body. Your image.” She cocked her head. “You don’t even know what classes I’m taking this semester.”
“That’s…” He blinked. “Okay, name one class I missed.”
She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Physics. Art history. And French. But thanks for proving the point.”
Mason clenched his jaw. “So this is it? After everything? You’re just… done?”
“Yeah. This is it.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out his letterman jacket.
“Figured you’d want this back,” she said, holding it out.
He stepped closer, grabbing the jacket. “Who is he?”
“Don’t,” she said flatly. “Don’t embarrass yourself more than you already have.”
“There has to be someone else,” he stated.
“I’m dumping you for me.” Her voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened. “Because I’m tired of pretending you’re this great guy just because you’re the team quarterback.”
She turned to leave.
“You’re gonna regret this,” he called after her. “You’ll see me out there tonight. I’m going to score four touchdowns, easy. I’ll own that field.”
She paused, one hand on the gym door and looked over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you out there,” she said. “And I’ll cheer for the team to win. Like always.”
Then she was gone.
Mason stood in the hallway, fists balled, blood pounding in his ears. A busted locker hinge clanged as he punched it on the way out.
No one dumps me.
The locker room was mostly cleared out. Mason sat on the bench, still in his practice gear, the letterman jacket folded tight in his lap.
Jamal tossed a towel over his shoulder. “You good, man? You’ve been sitting there since drills ended.”
Mason looked up. “Sierra dumped me.”
Ty let out a low whistle from across the room. “Damn. Right before the game?”
“She gave the jacket back,” Mason added, like that explained everything.
Jamal leaned against the locker. “You want us to say sorry or that she’s trash?”
“Neither,” Mason said. “I want your help.”
That got their attention.
Mason stood. “I don’t need Sierra. I need someone better.”
“Better?” Ty asked.
“Someone hotter. Someone loyal. Built like a fantasy and mine from the jump.” Mason glanced between them. “Someone who will make Sierra jealous and regret leaving me.”
Jamal smirked. “And where exactly are you gonna find this dream girl?”
“I’m not finding her,” Mason said. “I’m making her.”
That got them quiet.
Ty raised an eyebrow. “You drunk?”
Mason pulled a pendant from his gym bag. It was a dull black stone, but it shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights.
“I found this a while back. Don’t ask where. I’ve used it before for little stuff. It’s helped me stay in shape and pass a few tests. It works.”
Jamal stared at it. “You’re saying you’re gonna magic yourself a girlfriend?”
“Not from scratch,” Mason said. “I need a base. Someone easy to mold.”
He paused as they stared at him incredulously.
“Amelia Carter.”
Ty blinked. “The lab girl with the anime backpack?”
“She’s smart and quiet. I don’t think she even has any friends. She’s a blank slate,” Mason said.
“You’re serious,” Jamal said.
Mason nodded. “After we win tonight, I use this. And I change everything. She shows up looking like a ten, acting like my girl, and Sierra gets front-row seats.”
Ty laughed. “Damn. That’s petty as hell.”
“It’s justice,” Mason said. “Sierra wanted to embarrass me. Fine. Let’s see how she feels when the nerd she laughed at walks into the after-party looking like the new queen.”
Jamal crossed his arms. “And you sure this works?”
Mason shrugged. “That’s why I’m telling you now. In case something goes sideways. But it won’t.”
Ty grinned. “Alright. You’re nuts… but I’m in.”
Jamal nodded slowly. “If this goes down, it better be legendary.”
Mason smirked and slipped the pendant back into his bag. “Oh, it will be.”
The game was a blowout. Mason threw five touchdowns and rushed for another. The student section chanted his name as he jogged off the field, helmet in hand, sweat still slick on his neck.
The courtyard outside the gym was packed. Players, cheerleaders, students, and teachers were all clustered around the speakers someone had dragged out and cranked to full volume. Mason barely had to look to find Sierra. She was by the snack table, sipping from a water bottle, not looking in his direction.
Jamal found him first. “She’s here.”
“I see her.”
“You want us to get things moving?”
Mason nodded. “She needs to see it from the start.”
Ty approached from the other side. “You brought the rock?”
Mason unzipped his bag and pulled out the pendant. The stone shimmered faintly in the lights above the courtyard. “Let’s do it.”
Ty grinned. “Hell yeah.”
Jamal looked over at a quiet corner of the courtyard. “There’s Amelia.”
“Perfect,” Mason muttered.
He slipped the pendant around his neck and stepped forward.
“Yo!” Ty shouted, drawing attention. “Everyone, give it up for Mason Rhodes! MVP tonight!”
Cheers erupted. A few football players started chanting his name again.
Mason raised a hand like he was soaking it in, but his eyes stayed locked on Sierra. She wasn’t smiling.
He turned.
“Amelia!” he called, loud enough to carry.
Heads turned and some people looked confused.
Amelia froze mid-step. She was halfway to the exit with a camera around her neck. She’d been at the game for the yearbook committee.
Mason beckoned. “C’mere.”
She blinked, then stepped forward slowly, eyes darting toward the crowd. A few cheerleaders started whispering.
“You’re about to be part of something big,” Mason said, voice low now, just for her. “Trust me.”
She opened her mouth, confused. “Wait, what…”
Mason touched the pendant.
The wind shifted.
Amelia flinched as the air around her grew thick. Her back arched, just slightly, like something pulled her upright from the inside out.
Her jeans tightened across her thighs. Then ripped, seams bursting as her legs lengthened and reshaped. Her sneakers popped at the heel. Her hips widened with a sudden shift that made her stumble a step.
But instead of falling apart completely, the denim shimmered. Threads pulled back together, re-stitching higher, tighter. The pant legs vanished above mid-thigh, folding into a skin-hugging pair of black cutoff shorts with frayed edges and a high waist that clung to her new curves.
“What the hell…” someone murmured.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Amelia’s hoodie pulled taut across her chest. Then it tore open down the middle as her breasts swelled, full and round, straining the fabric until it split. Everyone got a brief view of her naked chest before a black crop top appeared and clung perfectly to her new curves.
Her hair unraveled, dark brown turning golden blonde, growing longer, glossier with each breath she took.
Her skin tone shifted from pale to glowing. Her glasses fell from her face and cracked on the concrete. She didn’t need them anymore.
Her newly full and sexy lips parted as she took a shaky step forward.
Ty let out a low whistle. “God damn.”
Jamal muttered, “That’s not even the same girl.”
Phones were out everywhere now. Students stared, stunned. A teacher tried to intervene but didn’t even know what to do.
Ameila looked down at herself, at her long legs, exposed skin, tight curves barely held by what remained of her outfit. Her breathing was shaky. Her eyes wide.
Then she looked up and straight at Mason.
He was already walking toward her, grinning. He was immensely confident.
He stopped just in front of Amelia and looked over at Sierra who was watching in confused horror.
“Told you I could do better,” he chided.
Sierra didn’t reply before he looked back to Amelia.
Amelia’s brow furrowed. “What… did you do to me?”
“I made you relevant,” Mason said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “You’re smart, hot, and loyal. My girl.”
He reached for her hand but she stepped back.
Mason’s grin faltered slightly.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” Amelia said.
Mason’s voice dropped. “What?”
She turned in a slow circle, taking in the crowd. Dozens of people watching. Whispers behind hands. Some phones still recording.
“I don’t know how you made me look…”, she motioned her hands up and down her body. “Like this. I agree I’m smart and this body is sexy as hell, but I’m not your anything. Certainly not your girl.”
Mason looked at Amelia, shocked.
“No,” he said. “You are. Or at least you will be.”
He reached his hand to the pendant, but the stone was weakened from the magic and cracked in his hand.
She turned away and scanned through the crowd. Then her eyes landed on Joel. He was standing near the edge of the courtyard. He was impossibly skinny and he stood with hunched shoulders.
Their eyes met and she took a step toward him.
Mason stepped in her path. “Seriously?”
“Fuck off creep,” Amelia yelled.
“You’re literally standing here because of me,” Mason said.
She didn’t flinch. “And now I’m walking away.”
She moved past him like he wasn’t even there. Her hips swayed with a sexy confidence she hadn’t had minutes ago.
Joel stood frozen as she approached. “A-Amelia?”
She smiled. “Yes, it’s still me. Just improved.”
She took his hand.
Joel blinked. “Wait, are you seriously…”
“Yeah.” She turned her head just enough for Mason to see the smirk on her face. “I’m into nerds.”
Laughter broke in waves behind them. A few gasps. Someone in the crowd muttered, “No way.”
Mason just stood there, fists clenched, the pendant still glowing faintly against his chest.
Ty leaned in. “Yo… that did not go the way you planned.”
Mason didn’t answer. He just watched as Amelia, his perfect creation, walked hand-in-hand with the school’s biggest loser.
After the laughter died down, the crowd had started to drift, but Sierra stayed.
She stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
Mason finally noticed her. He stepped toward her, the cracked pendant still in his hand. “You saw all that?”
“I did,” she said calmly.
He opened his mouth like he had something to explain. She cut him off.
“She looked amazing. Really confident.”
Mason’s jaw tensed. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” Sierra said. “I think it’s pathetic.”
He stared at her.
“You built your dream girl just to prove a point,” she added. “And she still left you for someone kind.”
Mason didn’t say anything.
Sierra gave a slight shrug, then turned to leave.
She paused once, halfway across the courtyard.
“Next time, Mason? Try being someone worth staying with. Instead of trying to control everyone else.”
And then she was gone.
The stadium was quiet for once.
Late afternoon sun washed over the empty bleachers, and the field stretched out in clean green lines beneath it. Practice had just ended. Pom-poms were tossed into bags, music cut off, and most of the squad filtered toward the tunnel.
Amelia lingered near the sideline, hands on her hips, catching her breath.
Sierra walked up beside her, still in uniform, red bow bouncing as she stopped. “So,” she said casually, “guess who tripped over a tackling dummy trying not to look at us.”
Amelia didn’t even turn. “Mason?”
“Obviously.”
“Okay,” Sierra said, tying her ponytail tighter, “be honest. Has Mason tried to text you again yet?”
Amelia snorted. “Three times. One apology. Two paragraphs. Zero self-awareness.”
Sierra laughed. “Classic.”
They both looked across the field where Mason was pretending to be very invested in picking up cones.
Sierra leaned closer. “You know he still tells people the whole thing ‘glitched.’”
“Sure it did,” Amelia said. “Right after he tried to fix me with a cracked rock.”
“Anyway,” Sierra said, nudging her shoulder, “how’s Joel?”
Amelia smiled without even thinking about it. “Good. Really good. He brought snacks to study group and apologized for interrupting me.”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “Gross. I hate how healthy that is.”
“Hey,” Amelia said. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Kindness is king.”
“Fair,” Sierra admitted. Then she smirked. “Still wild that you went from invisible to smoking hot and you’re dating the sweet nerdy guy.”
Amelia shrugged. “Turns out confidence looks better than whatever Mason thought he had.”
Sierra grinned and stood. “Come on, queen. Let’s go before Mason convinces himself we’re laughing with him.”
They headed out together, laughing quietly as Mason pretended very hard not to notice.
Jake stood frozen, keys still dangling from his fingers, eyes scanning the wreckage. Couch cushions tossed, a broken lamp in the corner, picture frames shattered face-down on the hardwood. It looked like a hurricane had spun through their apartment.
Who in the hell are you?” Jake asked the woman on the couch.
She sat on the couch, cross-legged in one of Matt’s shirts, cradling a mug of tea in both hands. Blonde hair spilled over one shoulder and her bare legs folded neatly under her. She didn’t look up.
She finally glanced over. “Hey.”
His jaw dropped. “Wh..wait, what the fuck? Who are you? Where’s Matt?”
“It’s me,” she said, voice low but steady. “It’s Matt.”
Jake took a full step back, hand half-reaching for the door again. “No. No, no. Don’t mess with me. Who the fuck are you….really?
“I told you,” she replied.
“This is—this is a prank or something.”
“It’s not.”
Her voice had a softness to it, a subtle warmth. She brought the mug to her lips and took a slow sip, like she’d been expecting this conversation for the last ten minutes.
“I don’t know how,” she said. “One second I was just in the kitchen. Then there was this sound, like a… pop? And heat, everywhere. I couldn’t breathe. Then my knees gave out. Everything twisted.”
She paused. Another sip.
“And when I came to, I was like this.”
Jake stared. “That doesn’t… that’s not…”
She let the silence hang.
Then, gently, “You can look. I know you want to. Just try not to freak out. I already did enough of that for both of us.”
Jake’s eyes flicked down her body before he could stop himself. The way the shirt clung to her chest, the curves pressing against the fabric. Her bare thighs where the hem ended.
“I trashed the apartment,” she added. “Threw a chair. Screamed at the walls. Smashed the mirror. Then I calmed down, sat down, and made tea. I decided I’d rather chill than keep losing my mind.”
Jake opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
“I’m not expecting you to believe it,” she said, setting the mug down carefully on the coffee table, or what was left of it. “But I need you to not freak out. Because I’m still me. I still know your Spotify password, I still hate your cologne, and you still owe me for the last three electric bills.”
Jake just stood there, breathing shallow. Then he rubbed a hand down his face and muttered, “Okay. Let’s say I believe you.”
She snorted. Then laughed.
It started small, just a puff of air through her nose but built into something warm and full and unguarded.
“Oh my god,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “That is such a Jake thing to say. I’m sitting here, tits out in this shirt, drinking tea after leveling the living room, and you’re over there pulling the ‘Let’s say I believe you’ card?”
“Well I’m trying not to have a stroke,” he shot back. “I walked in and found Barbie sipping Earl Grey like this is normal. What do you want from me?”
Her grin widened. “I am trying to be normal. Hence the tea.”
Jake shook his head, still half in a daze. “You sound like him. Like you.”
“I am me.”
“Yeah, but you look like…” His eyes traced over her again before darting away. “I mean, Jesus. You’re like some weird hybrid of Instagram and porn.”
She raised her mug in mock toast. “Cheers to that.”
He moved toward the couch, still slow and gestured vaguely at the destroyed furniture. “So this all happened… right after it happened?”
“I freaked out,” she said plainly. “It was raw panic. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and lost what little was left of my sanity.”
Jake stared at her.
“And now…?”
She shrugged. “Now I’m tired. And weirdly thirsty. Hence… tea.”
He hesitated. Then finally sat on the arm of the couch, eyes still scanning her like he was trying to fit the pieces together. “Okay. So what now? You gonna stay like this? Is it permanent?”
Her smile faded, just a bit. “I don’t know. I didn’t do anything to make it happen. So I don’t exactly have a way to undo it.”
Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Jesus, Matt…”
“Maddie.” She said it without thinking, then paused, blinking. “Shit. That just came out.”
Jake tilted his head. “You changing your name now?”
She looked down at herself. “I mean… Matt doesn’t exactly fit anymore, does it?”
Jake gave a low whistle. “This is so fucking weird.”
She just nodded, then sipped her tea again. “You’re telling me.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. The kind that didn’t feel awkward.
Jake finally exhaled. “Okay. So, yeah. I believe you.”
She blinked, then looked over at him. Her lips twitched into something small, genuine. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, I shouldn’t. But this?” He gestured to her, then the wrecked apartment. “I’ve known you too long. No one fakes this.”
Maddie set her mug down, quiet for a second. “Thank you.”
Jake shrugged, a little awkwardly. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Still,” she said. “Means a lot. Especially right now.”
She stood.
Jake straightened slightly, eyes flicking up. She stepped away from the couch, her bare legs unfolding with grace. She walked until she was standing in front of him, looking down.
“That tea was the first thing that felt normal,” she said softly. “But it’s not enough.”
Jake looked up at her, brow tense. “What do you mean?”
She took a breath, then grabbed the hem of the shirt.
“Maddie…,” he spoke.
She pulled it up and over her head. The fabric hit the floor behind her.
Jake’s eyes widened.
She stood there, bare, her skin flushed, her new form unapologetically on display. Her breathing was steady.
“I’m not just different on the outside,” she said, voice low. “I feel things. Need things. I don’t know if this is hormones or instincts or whatever, but I know what I want right now.”
Jake opened his mouth, but she stepped closer, between his knees.
Her hand rested on his chest.
“I’m Maddie now,” she whispered. “And Maddie needs to get fucked.”
Dara sipped her drink slowly, eyes never leaving the man at the end of the bar.
Dana leaned in closer, her elbow brushing Dara’s. “You see the way he commands attention?”
“I see everything,” Dara murmured, her tongue running slowly along the rim of her straw. “You like him.”
“We like him.”
They both smirked.
It wasn’t the first time they’d locked onto the same target. It wouldn’t be the last. But that was the fun of it. Same mind, same hunger, same need to be the center of someone’s world for the night.
Dana watched him with catlike patience. “So how do you want to play it?”
Dara tapped a nail against her glass. “We could fight over him.”
Dana raised a brow. “Risky.”
“Hot.”
“Or,” Dana said slowly, “we don’t make him choose.”
Dara turned to look at her twin. Their eyes locked. Same face. Same wicked grin.
“That’s always more fun,” Dara said.
“Then let’s not waste him.”
They stood at the same time, movements fluid, dresses adjusting in perfect sync. Two wolves in lipstick, gliding through the crowd without looking back.
The man was tall, sharp-dressed but relaxed. He didn’t have to try hard to look good.
Dana and Dara approached as a unit, heels clicking like punctuation.
He noticed them before they spoke, but how could he not?
Dana leaned against the bar beside him, smile playing at her lips. “You look like you’re bored,” she said.
Dara circled behind him, brushing just close enough to be felt but not touched. “Or maybe just lonely.”
He looked between them, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is this a setup?”
“Not unless you want it to be,” Dana replied smoothly, lifting her drink to her lips.
He chuckled, eyes flicking back and forth between the twins. “You two always work in tandem?”
Dara tilted her head. “Only when it’s worth it.”
He set down his glass. “Alright. So what’s the play?”
Dana stepped in just slightly closer. “That depends,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth. “Can you handle two women who already know what the other wants?”
He smiled.
“Let’s find out.”
The lights were low and music played softly from a speaker on the kitchen counter. A bottle of wine stood half-empty on the coffee table.
Dara leaned back against the couch cushions, legs tucked under her.
“Okay,” she said, swaying the neck of the bottle toward the man sitting across from them. “Your turn.”
He looked nervous and a little tipsy. “Truth,” he said, trying to sound brave.
Dana, curled on the other side of him, smirked. “Boring,” she teased.
“Truth it is,” Dara said, thinking. “Okay. Who do you think is hotter? Me, or Dana?”
His eyes went wide.
“That’s not fair,” he said, laughing nervously. “You’re… identical.”
Dana raised an eyebrow. “Almost identical.”
He looked back and forth. “You’re both gorgeous. I don’t see a difference.”
Dara removed her dress and stood naked in front of the man. Dana quickly followed.
“Now do you see the difference?” Dana teased.
“So Dara has a landing strip,” he laughed.
“And I prefer to be smooth,” Dana continued.
“See,” Dara spoke. “Not identical.”
“Sure,” he continued to laugh. But his eyes would not leave the two women.
“My turn,” Dara spoke. “I choose dare.”
“Good,” Dana added. “I dare you to give him a blowjob.”
“Easy,” Dara smiled.
She strode up to the man and pulled down his pants. He was fully hard and big enough to be interesting. She quickly took him into her mouth and worked his shaft.
Dana started masturbating. Moaning loudly while watching her twin give this man expert head.
Dara could hear his moans growing and quickly backed off.
“Uh uh,” she said. “No cumming yet. You have a lot of work to do still.”
“Yeah,” Dana added, licking the juices off her fingers. “We need to come at least twice each or you’ll be punished.”
“What’s my punishment?” he asked.
“You’ll have to stay and fuck us until we’re done,” they said in unison.
“Fuck me,” he laughed. “That’s a deal.”
“Oh,” Dana giggled. “We intend to.”
Dana and Dara stood at the edge of the bed, still in their soft pajama sets, arms crossed and matching smirks plastered across their faces.
The man groaned from beneath the tangle of sheets. His face was half-buried in a pillow, one leg kicked out.
“Look at him,” Dana said, brushing a hand through her messy morning hair. “Completely wrecked.”
“He should be,” Dara added, grinning as she leaned against the bedpost. “We ran him like a marathon.”
He groaned again.
“Aww,” Dana cooed, stepping closer. “Is the big strong man tired?”
“So tired,” Dara echoed with mock sympathy. “Poor thing didn’t know what he was in for.”
“Do you think he regrets it?” Dana asked, looking down at him like he was a particularly amusing science experiment.
“Not possible,” Dara replied. “Not after round two. Or three.”
The man shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent.
Dana crouched beside him, whispering close to his ear. “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re not done surviving us yet.”
“Yeah,” Dara said, twirling a lock of hair. “You made a deal. Remember? You wanted this.”
He cracked one eye open, blinking at the two identical grins hovering above him.
“Mistakes were made,” he mumbled.
Dana and Dara burst out laughing in perfect sync.
“Too late now,” Dana said sweetly. “You’re in our world, babe.”
“Welcome to the chaos,” Dara winked.
Dana sat on the couch, curled under a throw blanket, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She stared into it, unmoving, while across the room, Dara stood at the mirror, adjusting her earrings, lips pursed in playful concentration.
She looked perfect. Poised, powerful, radiant. Confident in ways Dana used to fake and now… didn’t have to anymore.
Dara turned. “You’re not getting ready?”
Dana looked up slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You go ahead.”
Dara narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. “You okay?”
Dana nodded. “Just tired.”
A pause.
Then Dana added, more quietly, “You don’t need me anymore.”
Dara blinked, confusion passing over her face. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” Dana said, rising to her feet, blanket falling away. “You’ve become exactly who I wished I could be.”
Dara stared, unsure if this was a compliment, a goodbye, or both.
“You’re whole now,” Dana continued. “And I can feel it. Something’s… shifting. Like the universe is correcting itself. Like I’m being pulled away.”
Dara’s voice caught. “No.”
“It was always a wish, Dara. A wish I made and then I wish you made. The wishes are fulfilled.”
A quiet stillness fell between them. Dara stepped forward and took Dana’s hand. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Dana smiled softly. “You’re not. I’ll always be part of you. Because I am you. Just… not needed anymore.”
They held the moment. Fingers entwined.
Then Dana whispered, “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
And in the silence that followed, a soft wind brushed through the room, though no window was open. The air shimmered around Dana, light catching on her skin like dew.
Dara blinked and Dana was gone.
Just the faintest scent of her perfume lingered in the air.
Dara stood alone.
She breathed in slowly, steadying herself.
The mirror across the room caught her reflection, and Dara turned to face it. Her heels clicked softly on the hardwood floor as she walked toward it, stopping just inches away.
She looked at herself.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She reached up, adjusted one earring, then let her hands fall to her sides. Her smile held, calm and certain.
For a long moment, she simply stood there.
And then, slowly, she turned away from the mirror… and began her next chapter.
“I don’t know, James. It just feels like every year I say I’ll change and then I don’t.”
James and Madeline stood outside in the busy street festival their local town was holding. They decided to venture out this year instead of staying inside to watch the ball drop on tv. Even though they were brave enough to be out in public on New Years Eve, they felt extremely awkward and out of place.
“Yeah. But this year’s gonna be different, right?” James said it like a joke. But he was hoping she’d say yes.
Madeline gave him a look. “How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we stop being afraid of everything.” His voice cracked, and he grimaced. “We always talk about how we want to be… more.”
“More what?”
James shrugged, the movement stiff in his dress shirt. “Confident. Assertive. In control. Just… not the weird losers everyone looks down on anymore.”
Madeline let that settle. Her fingers toyed with the strap of her too-tight dress. “You really think everyone sees us as losers?”
“Come on Madeline,” he replied. “We’re never invited to anything. Nobody interacts with us at work unless they need something. We’re the bottom rung. If we didn’t have each other, we’d be sunk.”
“Yeah,” she reluctantly agreed. “I glad we do have each other though. Do you think people like us can just change?”
“No.” He laughed once, dryly. “But we say we will. That’s what New Year’s is for, right? Empty promises.”
She smiled. “Okay. Let’s promise. One last time.”
James turned toward her. “Deal.”
They held out their pinkies. Dorky, yeah. But it was their thing.
“This is our year,” he said.
“No more waiting. No more being scared,” she said.
“No more being passive,” he added.
“No more being ignored,” she finished.
They linked pinkies. Cold skin against cold skin as the rest of the town celebrated 2026.
Madeline – January 1st, 2026 – 9:14 AM
Madeline groaned as her head throbbed.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Her brain felt… tight. Like a pressure behind her forehead that wouldn’t go away.
Did I even drink that much?
She barely remembered having a couple of sugary cocktails at the festival. She’d let James finish his fast, like usual. He always drank more vigorously. She just liked to watch people and sip on hers.
Still, her mouth was dry and her head was heavy. She thought back to the night before. To hanging out with James while everyone around them had a good time.
What kind of loser gets dressed up just to stand around like a scared little girl?
She winced. Where did that come from?
She sat up slowly, rubbing her temple.
You looked pathetic in that dress.
It echoed inside her head, slick and sharp. Cruel, almost. It was her own voice, but not.
And James looked even worse.
“What the hell?” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head still pounded. Maybe this was a weird hangover spiral of self doubt.
She reached for her phone and saw a missed call from James.
Let him panic. You’ve carried him long enough.
She almost laughed. Jesus, what is wrong with me?
But she didn’t call him back. Instead, she let herself lie back against the pillows, one arm over her face. Her mind still buzzing.
It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? You’re the one who puts in effort. You’re the one who worries. James just drags along behind you, waiting for someone else to make him feel like a man.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone.
The thought was cold, but not entirely wrong.
And it kind of felt good.
It felt… deserved.
James – January 1st, 2026 – 9:58 AM
“Come on, come on, pick up…”
James lowered the phone from his ear. His thumb hovered over the call button again, but he didn’t press it.
He was breathing fast and his heart was hammering in his chest. Because there was no mistaking it anymore.
He looked down.
The tank top clung to small but soft curves he didn’t have yesterday. His nipples were swollen and sensitive and poked through the fabric. Even his legs seemed longer.
“Fuck,” he hissed, pacing through the living room again, phone still clutched in one hand. The hardwood was cold beneath his bare feet.
He caught his reflection in the dark TV screen and froze.
His hair was longer than it had been an hour ago. Blonde streaks were forming near the tips, the color slowly bleeding in. His jawline was softer. His lips were rounder.
He turned away. Couldn’t look.
“What the hell is happening to me?”
He ran both hands through his thick, unfamiliar hair and winced. His fingers tangled near the roots, where it had grown heavier. He stumbled toward the hallway mirror.
“I can’t… I’m not…” His voice cracked. He tried again. “I’m not supposed to look like this.”
The voice that came out was softer than before. It was still his, but melting into something higher and breathier.
He looked down and watched, actually watched, his waist cinching in. It pulled tighter as his hips subtly rolled outward. His ass rounded, pushing back against the fabric of his sleep shorts. His posture shifted, his spine arching without thinking about it.
He stumbled back from the mirror, one hand on the wall to keep steady. Every movement felt off and foreign.
A tingling spread up his thighs, heat pooling at the base of his spine.
Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.
His phone buzzed. It was Madeline, finally.
Her voice was snarky. “What’s up fucker?”
“Madeline?” he said, surprised at her greeting.
Madeline – January 1st, 2026 – 10:00 AM
“What’s up, fucker?”
There was a beat of silence on the line.
“Madeline?” James said, small and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he was talking to the right person.
Why did I say that? Why did that feel… kind of good?
“What, did you expect me to answer with ‘good morning, sunshine’?” she said, before she could stop herself. “It’s early and my head feels like it’s trying to kill me.”
“I…” he swallowed audibly. “Something’s wrong. I think something happened to us last night.”
Her grip tightened around the phone.
Okay. So it’s not just me.
“…Us?” she repeated.
“Yes, us. I’m changing, Madeline. Like, physically. Right now. My hair is getting longer and my body is…” There was a brief pause. “I don’t know what’s happening and I need you to come over. Please.”
Oh god. Oh god. He sounds terrified.
She opened her mouth to say okay, to tell him she’d be there, that she’d figure this out with him like always.
Instead, what came out was, “Are you sure you’re not just freaking out over nothing?”
Why did I say that?
“No,” James said quickly. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not imagining this. My chest hurts. My clothes don’t fit right. I don’t look like me.”
Her heart started racing.
He’s not lying. He wouldn’t lie about this.
Then why did her next thought feel so… different?
God, he’s always like this. Always falling apart and expecting you to hold him together.
“Wow,” she heard herself say. “Okay. So you’re having, what, some kind of panic attack?”
“Why are you talking to me like this?” he asked quietly.
Because I don’t know what’s happening to me and I’m scared and I can’t control what I’m saying.
“Like what?” she snapped instead.
“Like I’m stupid. Or dramatic. Or…”
“Or like I don’t have the energy to babysit you through every little crisis?” she cut in, the words sharp and fast and way too easy.
That was cruel. Why can’t I control what I’m saying.
“I’m not asking you to babysit me,” James said. “I’m scared.”
He said scared. He said it out loud. He trusts you.
“Don’t be a pussy,” she shot back. “It kind of sounds like you expect me to drop everything the second you start spiraling.”
Stop. Stop. This isn’t you.
“I thought we were in this together,” he said.
Her chest tightened painfully.
We are. We are, we are, we…
“Remember our words from last night?” she asked. “To stop being afraid. To stop being passive. To actually take charge of our lives.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“So maybe instead of calling me to freak out,” she continued, “you should try handling your own shit for once.”
That’s not fair. You know that’s not fair. Why are you pushing him away? Say you’ll go. Say it. Get dressed. Go to him.
Instead, she exhaled slowly. “Look, I’ve got stuff going on too, okay? I woke up feeling like crap and now you’re dumping this on me like I’m supposed to fix it.”
“I’m not asking you to fix it. I just…”
“Just what?” she snapped. “Want me to tell you everything’s going to be okay?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ll come by later,” she said. “Maybe. When I’ve had coffee and a shower and a minute to not deal with your meltdown.”
Later? Why are you saying later?
His voice was barely audible. “Later?”
“Yes, later. You’re not dying, James.”
I don’t know that. I don’t know anything right now.
“Okay,” he said.
“Good,” she replied. “Try not to freak out too much in the meantime.”
She hung up before he could say anything else.
Madeline stared at her phone, heart racing, stomach twisted into knots.
What did I just do?
For a moment, guilt flooded in. Then another thought slid in right behind it.
He needs to grow up eventually.
And that thought didn’t feel guilty at all.
James – January 1st, 2026 – 10:34 AM
He sat on the floor of his bathroom, legs splayed in front of him, back against the tub. Breathing shallow.
His hands trembled as he touched his expanding chest. His nipples were hard and incredibly sensitive, brushing against the thin fabric of his stretched-out tank top.
He let out a soft whimper.
The sound that escaped his throat wasn’t his anymore.
His legs were smooth. His thighs had filled in, rubbing when he shifted. His hips were wider now, visibly so, forcing his shorts to ride up his ass. His waist had drawn in so tight that the rest of him looked almost cartoonish.
He pushed himself upright, gripping the edge of the sink with dainty, unfamiliar fingers. His arms looked smaller. His hair fell into his face as he leaned forward, brushing against his collarbone.
The girl in the mirror blinked back at him. Her lips were parted.
“Stop,” he whispered, like it would help. “Please, just… stop.”
January 1st, 2026 – 1:23 PM
Maddie tapped her heel twice against the concrete and sighed as she stood outside of James’ front door.
“I forgot how sad this place is,” she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest, phone dangling from one hand. Her pink dress hugged every inch of her curves, cut high on the thigh, skin exposed through the strappy sides. Her long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, shiny and styled to perfection.
She looked like she belonged somewhere better.
I shouldn’t have come.
She glanced at the front door again. Maddie rolled her eyes and banged loud and impatiently against it.
“James! Open the damn door! If you made me get ready for this just to stand around your dumpy little apartment….”
The door creaked open.
And James stood there. Kind of.
This person filled the doorway in a way James never had. She was taller, curvier, a full chest pressed awkwardly beneath a stretched top. Her blonde hair hung down in wet waves, still messy, like she hadn’t figured out how to manage it. Her sparkly nude top and skirt clung to her figure, but the way she stood, like she wanted to disappear, undermined the effect.
Maddie smirked. “Well, shit. Look at you.”
“It’s about time you showed up,” she said. “And I didn’t have anything else to wear. All my stuff just kind of changed.”
Maddie strutted in without waiting, her heels clicking hard against the cheap flooring. She looked around with a wrinkle of her nose.
“God. This place,” she muttered, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
Jamie closed the door and crossed her arms, which only pushed her new chest up even more.
“You could’ve at least dried your hair,” Maddie said flatly.
“You could’ve stayed home,” Jamie shot back, though her voice lacked real heat.
Maddie turned, hands on her hips. “And miss seeing this disaster in person?”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “So glad your ego made the trip. What happened to us?”
Maddie stepped forward, slow, heels sharp against the floor. Jamie didn’t move.
“What happened,” Maddie said, “is we made a resolution.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and I thought it meant maybe speaking up more. Not turning into Barbie’s evil stepsister.”
Maddie smirked. “You think this is evil?”
Jamie bit her lip. She didn’t answer.
Maddie stepped in close, pressing one finger under Jamie’s chin and tilting it up. Their faces were inches apart now.
“You’re not James anymore,” she whispered. “So stop acting like you’re scared of your own shadow.”
Jamie met her eyes. “I’m not scared.”
Maddie smiled wider. “That’s cute.”
Jamie’s tone dipped, low and dry. “You’re welcome.”
They stayed like that for a beat. The two beautiful, bitchy silhouettes facing off.
“Whatever, bitch,” Maddie conceded. “Lets get out of here.”
Jamie didn’t move.
Maddie turned at the door, hand on her hip. “Well?”
Jamie arched a brow. “Well what?”
“We’re going out,” Maddie said, like it was obvious. “You and me.”
Jamie gave her a skeptical look. “Out out?”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Yes, out out. Like fun, drunk, get laid kind of out. Maybe not in that order.”
Jamie blinked. “Wow. Subtle.”
Maddie smiled. “I don’t do subtle.”
Jamie crossed her arms again, trying not to smirk. “What if I say no?”
Maddie tilted her head, slow and smug. “You won’t.”
Jamie hesitated, chewing her lip. Then she sighed. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything that shows my ass.”
Maddie was already walking toward the door. “Oh honey,” she said over her shoulder, “your ass is the outfit.”
Jamie groaned. “Bitch.”
Maddie grinned. “You’re learning.”
December 31st, 2026 – 11:58 PM
The champagne was cold, the lights were hot, and all eyes were on them.
Maddie leaned into Jamie’s side as they posed for yet another photo, their arms around each other, heels clicking as they shifted to show off their perfect curves.
Jamie’s black dress clung to her like it was painted on, her tits practically spilling over the laced-up center, long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder like some kind of Instagram wet dream. And Maddie? She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked fucking incredible. Her red sequined dress caught every flicker of light, especially with the side slits running all the way up to her hips. One smirk from her and guys would trip over themselves to refill her glass.
“Three minutes,” Jamie whispered, biting her glossed lip, eyes glittering with champagne and mischief.
Maddie didn’t look at the countdown. She looked at her best friend. “You think anyone here knows we used to be nobodies?”
Jamie giggled. “If they did, they’d never believe it.”
Maddie swirled the glass in her hand. “Remember last year? That sad little town square, standing around in those ugly-ass clothes, pretending we belonged?”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I try not to.”
“God, we were pathetic.”
“And now,” Jamie purred, “we’re everything.”
The crowd started to chant: Ten, nine, eight…
Maddie turned toward the center of the room, raising her glass. Men watched her. Girls envied her. This was their night. Their year.
“Seven, six…”
She felt Jamie’s hand slide to the small of her back, possessive, familiar.
“Five, four…”
Another flash went off. Another photo. Another perfect memory.
“Three, two…”
Maddie turned, lips brushing Jamie’s cheek.
“One!”
The room exploded into cheers and confetti. Couples kissed. Corks popped.
And in the middle of it all, two bitches—drunk, perfect, untouchable—clinked glasses with matching smirks.
Dana lay sprawled across the sheets, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress, the other tangled in Darren’s damp hair as his body rocked against hers.
His rhythm was better now. It was much less frantic than before.
The first time had been over before it began. He’d been too eager, too overwhelmed. He came within seconds.
For Dana, it was an odd conclusion. On the one hand, she had never had sex as a woman. Her inner mind was nervous and apprehensive. But this woman she had become was needy and hungry. So when he came so quickly, she was disappointed but also a bit relieved.
But she knew what he needed. He needed to feel confident and desired. So she gave that to him. She lay next to him, talking to him until he was ready again.
The second time was better. It was messier, more frantic, with hands everywhere and a kind of desperate energy that made her laugh and moan and whisper in his ear until he shuddered all over again.
That time she actually felt something. Something amazing. The sensations of him penetrating her were odd, then pleasant, then downright amazing. But he still came before she could feel the climax of an orgasm.
But this time… he moved with her. He matched her pace and energy.
He took the time to kiss her, to try and make her feel good. He gave as much as he took.
She guided his hips. Murmured little praises. Moaned his name and watched the look on his face shift from nervousness to pure, blissed-out pride.
Now his arms were tight around her waist, his lips brushing her throat, his breath hot and shaky.
Dana arched up into him, thighs clenching, back curling. This was it. She felt the orgasm coming. She begged him to hold on just a bit longer.
He groaned low in his throat, muffled against her skin, and she felt him pulse inside her followed by a soft, helpless noise that made her thighs tremble.
That groan pushed her over the edge and Dana came with a loud scream of pleasure. She rode out the waves in slow rocks as she felt his dick soften within her.
Dana exhaled hard, laughing breathlessly. Her heart thundered in her chest. She was soaked, sore, and still tingling.
Darren lay next to her, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling with short, stunned breaths.
“That one,” she said, voice hoarse, “was much better.”
He turned his head toward her, and she saw the grin on his lips.
“I didn’t think I had it in me.”
“Oh, you definitely had it in me,” she teased. She was actually kind of proud that he was able to go three times in one night.
He laughed and let his hand drift over her stomach, fingers tracing sweat-slicked skin.
Dana rolled onto her side to face him.
He looked up at her like she was something holy. Like the most impossible wish had come true, and he still didn’t believe it.
His hand rested on her hip, thumb gently stroking.
“You made me feel like…” he said softly. He trailed off.
Dana tucked hair behind her ear, studying him. “Like what?”
“Like I mattered.”
“Darren…”
He shook his head slowly.
“I mean it. You’re so confident. So in control. So… everything.”
She touched his cheek. “You’re getting there.”
“What’s it like being you?,” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “Being confident and sexy. I imagine men throw themselves at you.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dana replied with a soft giggle.
“Still,” Darren added. “It must be nice.”
“Just be happy being you,” she whispered. “Confidence goes a long way in life. Trust me.”
Darren shifted beside her, still flushed, his hand drifting lazily across her stomach, eyes bright and unfocused in that post-orgasm haze.
“I mean it,” he murmured. “Everything about you… it’s just…”
She watched him wrestling with the memories of being him and the current feelings this body and mind were giving her. Hours ago she was an older man. Now she was in the body of a goddess with the mind of a porn star. One that would do anything for this man before her.
“Your waist,” he said. “The way it curves. I could run my hands over it forever…”
His fingers slid across his own skin. Her soft supple skin. Her mind was drifting in a sea of post-orgasm bliss. To think she was horrified of having sex as a woman not that long ago. Her mind wandered, but then Dana’s eyes darted down and saw it.
His waist was tightening inward. The definition she’d just watched him earn through sweat and motion blurred, replaced by smooth, feminine lines. His hips shifted slightly on the bed, arching.
“Darren,” she spoke forcefully. “Stop. Don’t talk. Please.”
But he kept going. He couldn’t stop.
“Your thighs. God, they’re perfect. All soft and warm and, fuck, I love how they wrap around me.”
His legs twitched as the muscle rippled then re-formed.
Dana’s mouth dropped open as his thighs began to swell outward under the covers, the line from hip to knee changing shape to become longer, smoother, more toned. His calves followed a heartbeat later, slendering into something more delicate.
“No,” she said, voice louder now. She reached out, grabbed his wrist. “Stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
He turned to look at her, finally hearing the panic in her voice and his eyes widened.
His lips parted.
“Wait… what’s happening to me?”
“You have to stop,” she cried. “The more you speak, the more you’ll change.”
“I…I..” he tried to keep his mouth from forming words, but they kept coming.
“I love your lips,” he gasped, eyes wide, panicking now. “So full. So soft. The way they look when you smile…”
His voice cracked as his own lips plumped outward, the shape of the syllables shifting mid-sentence.
He slapped a hand over his mouth.
Dana was already crawling on top of him, trying to straddle his waist, pin him down. “Don’t speak. Darren, please. You made a wish. You’re triggering it!”
His eyes filled with fear. His hands shook.
But the thoughts kept coming. He couldn’t shut them out.
“Your tits,” he whimpered behind his palm. “They’re so big and warm and, fuck, I love how they bounce when you ride me.”
Dana screamed, “Stop!”
But it was too late.
He arched beneath her with a choked cry, and she felt his chest expand swelling against her thighs, pushing upward into the underside of her breasts.
His shirt clung tightly for a second, then slid up his torso as two new mounds grew heavy on his chest. They were round, firm, and identical to her own.
He was gasping now, shaking, trying to hold his breath but the magic wouldn’t let go.
“Your voice,” he whispered helplessly, tears spilling now. “It’s so sexy. So soft…”
And just like that, his voice cracked again before smoothing into a near match of hers.
Dana’s hands gripped his wrists.
She straddled him, shaking her head.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not just your body. This… this is going to take everything. Everything from you. Everything from me!”
Darren writhed beneath her, gasping as his cheekbones pushed upward as if sculpted from beneath the skin, lifting, pulling taut. The sharp edge of his chin drew inward, rounding. The last of the stubble vanished like dust on the wind.
“No, no, no…” she whispered. “Not your face. Please…”
His eyebrows thinned, arched, reshaped.
His nose shrank, nostrils lifting delicately, tip narrowing. She knew that nose. She’d seen it in the mirror for hours now.
Then his eyes.
His eyes.
They shimmered for a moment, alive with something new. The shape of his lids shifted. His lashes thickened, flared outward. His irises darkened at the edge, just like hers. She saw her own expression staring back at her.
His lips trembled.
Then plumped again into glossy, soft, perfect lips.
Dana stared down at her own face. Her own body. He had become identical to her.
“Dana…?” he whispered, the voice so perfectly matched it felt like an echo.
Dana let go of his wrists. She sat back, straddling her twin, shaking her head.
“No,” she breathed. “No, no, no…”
She brought her hands to her own face. Then reached forward, cupping the other one’s.
Darren Ellis lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. His television was on in the background, but he lost interest in watching it.
He hadn’t always been this tired. Not physically. Just… worn down.
At age forty‑one he had no kids and no real life experience. He’d just floated through with just years of work and weekends that bled together until they barely felt different.
Even since he was a kid he’d just had no luck. He was barely acknowledged in school. He was never invited to parties. And forget about girls. They all ignored him.
That bled through into his adult life. He graduated college with mediocre grades and a barely useful degree. Sure, he could make ends meet, which was more than some. But he had nothing to really live for. It was like he was just surviving.
Everyone else seemed to figure it out eventually.
He never did.
He sat up, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped forward. The familiar tightness settled in his chest, the one that always came when he let himself think too long about the way his life had gone.
His t-shirt clung to his stomach in the wrong places. He was soft in that permanent, middle-aged way. His chest sagged slightly beneath the fabric, and he’d long since stopped trying to convince himself he’d start exercising again.
His reflection in the dark screen of the TV told the rest of the story. Hair thinning at the front and going gray at the temples. He kept it short so it didn’t look worse. Patchy facial hair from forgetting to shave that morning, or yesterday. Pale skin from years of long days in office lighting.
He wasn’t ugly, but he was the kind of man people didn’t bother making eye contact with.
And when you grow up like that, when your body never got wanted, touched, chosen… it sank into your bones.
“If only someone had just…” He stopped, shook his head, then laughed quietly. “Jesus, listen to yourself.”
He rubbed his face, dragging his hands down over his eyes.
“If some woman would have thought me worthy,”
He let his mind settle into the thought.
“If some hot, confident woman had just slept with me back then,” he said, voice low and tired, “maybe I wouldn’t be like this. Maybe I would’ve had the confidence to actually live.”
“Just once,” he added. “I bet that’s all it would’ve taken.”
Then, like he felt stupid enough already, he lifted his hand and spoke more clearly, more deliberately.
“I wish a woman like that had met me when I was eighteen. I wish she’d given me the experience I never had.”
It felt good to say it all out loud. Not that it would change anything.
For a second, Darren thought he’d dozed off in front of the TV. But as he looked around he realized he wasn’t in his apartment and he wasn’t in bed.
He was on a bench. A hard plastic seat, the kind you’d find in a food court or a bus terminal. The lighting above him was fluorescent and buzzing.
He looked around and realized he was in a shopping mall.
No question about it. It had wide tiled walkways, fake plants in square planters, and food stalls lining the perimeter. But it wasn’t his mall. Or maybe it was… just not now. This place was alive.
Teens were everywhere, grouped in packs or leaning against railings, some with Discmen clipped to their belts, others flipping through magazines at a newsstand kiosk. The soundtrack overhead was a muffled but familiar synth-heavy pop song he hadn’t heard in years.
Darren blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it.
His heart pounded. He looked down at himself.
Still in his casual house clothes, worn shorts and a stretched-out tee, and people were already giving him weird looks. A teenage girl in bell bottoms and butterfly clips whispered something to her friend as they walked past.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
His head spun. He gripped the edge of the bench to steady himself, breathing through the fog. His eyes darted across the walkways, trying to find anything that made sense.
Then he saw him.
Him.
Walking just ahead, coming out of the video game store with a plastic bag in one hand and a slouched posture that practically screamed don’t look at me. Baggy jeans, a stretched-out hoodie, old sneakers.
Darren stared at eighteen-year-old Darren Ellis.
His hair was longer and skin was clearer. He was exactly how Darren remembered himself.
And suddenly, it clicked.
The wish.
This was it. He wasn’t just dreaming about the past. He was in it. It was real.
And his younger self was here in front of him.
Darren stood up slowly, not sure why his hands were shaking.
His heart thudded in his chest, adrenaline rushing like he was doing something wrong. He started following, keeping a few paces back. His bare feet slapped against the tile as he tried to keep up.
He watched himself head toward the arcade wing, the quieter part of the mall, passing beneath a faded sign that read “FunZone.”
Darren’s mouth was dry.
It’s happening, he thought. He’s about to meet her. The woman I wished for.
Either that… or he was completely losing his mind.
But whatever this was, he couldn’t look away.
Eighteen-year-old Darren walked with his head down.
Darren remembered being this younger version of himself. Not quite looking at people. Wishing to be noticed but not wanting to be looked at. He kept a few paces behind, trailing his younger self through the mall.
Every now and then he glanced around, trying to spot her. The woman. The one he wished for.
He was confident she’d show up soon. Step out from behind a pillar or the food court or one of the shops. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d look like. His mind was already wandering.
She’d be hot, he thought. Sexy in that effortless way. The kind of woman who drew everyone’s attention.
He imagined her first as a blur. Long hair. Confident walk. Curves that made people stare.
A strange warmth bloomed low in his chest, but he barely noticed it.
Big tits, he thought next, a little embarrassed at himself but unable to stop. The kind that fill out a top and almost look indecent.
The fabric of his shirt brushed oddly against his chest as he walked. Not uncomfortable. Just… noticeable. Like static. Like his skin had gotten more sensitive.
He ignored it, eyes locked on his younger self.
And legs, his thoughts continued, drifting. Long, tan legs. Smooth. The kind that look unreal in shorts.
His stride felt different. Not wrong. Just… wider.
He frowned slightly but kept walking. His mind was so intently focused on this vision running in his head.
His younger self slowed near a pretzel stand, pretending to study the menu while clearly not ordering anything.
Darren smiled faintly. God, he remembered that stand. He loved those pretzels.
Still no sign of the woman. He shook his head once, trying to clear it.
She’d have a great ass too, he thought without meaning to. The kind guys notice even if they pretend not to.
This time Darren felt the pressure pushing out of his backside.
“What the…” he whispered.
He glanced down.
His shorts were riding higher on his thighs. Not by much, but enough that he could see more skin than before. And his thighs looked… smoother. The hair that should’ve been there was thinning, fading like it was being erased.
He blinked hard and looked back up, heart thudding. “No, no, no—what the hell is this?”
His younger self hadn’t noticed him. Still loitering by the pretzel stand, glancing toward the arcade hallway like he was waiting for something… or someone.
Darren’s breath quickened.
He forced his thoughts to stop, to pull back. Don’t think about her. Don’t picture anything. Just walk. Just focus on…
Crop top. Tight. Neon. Something that clings and barely covers her.
“No! Stop,” he hissed under his breath.
But he felt the shirt on his shoulders shift, the seams pulling tighter around his chest, which had continued to swell. His breasts were unmistakable now. Heavy and bouncy.
He tried to grab the collar and tug it upward, but the shirt wasn’t the one he’d gone to bed in. Not anymore. It was something ribbed and stretchy, and the more he fought it, the more it shrunk. Each tug only seemed to tighten it across his chest, drawing the fabric over his swelling cleavage until he could feel his nipples brushing against the inside.
“Shit,” he whispered, stepping back behind a support beam, shielding himself.
Shorts, came the thought next, uninvited. Low-rise. Hugging her hips. Cut off high enough to make you stare.
His shorts began to tighten again. The waistband shrunk against his softening stomach, pulling low. He could feel the cotton changing into denim.
He gasped and spun toward the nearest shop window, heart pounding.
For a moment, his brain refused to process what he was seeing.
Long, tanned legs stretched from frayed denim shorts that clung like a second skin. A toned, narrow waist flared into softly rounded hips. Above that, a neon-pink crop top hugged a pair of massive, jiggling breasts that had no business being on his chest. They rose and fell with every panicked breath, the neckline dipping low enough to make his stomach twist.
His arms were smooth and hairless. His shoulders were narrower and delicate.
But the face staring back at him was still his.
Still his short, thinning hair. His square jaw.
It was horrifyingly absurd.
His face looked wrong up there. Like someone had badly photoshopped a man’s head onto a model’s body.
He staggered back, chest heaving, trying not to throw up.
It needs to match, came the first thought, slithering in.
That body needs the right face.
He shook his head violently. “No—no, no—get out of my—”
Pretty. Soft. Tease those lips out. Big eyes. Glossy. Perfect. She should be beautiful. She’s supposed to be beautiful.
His jaw trembled.
And then, he felt it.
His chin drew in first, sharpening into a more feminine curve. His cheeks puffed slightly as the bone underneath slid upward, lifting the shape of his whole face. His brow smoothed, lines vanishing.
His lips tingled with a buzz spreading from the corners inward. He watched, helpless, as they pushed outward, swelling into full, kissable curves. Gloss appeared like moisture rising to the surface. His mouth now looked like it was always half-ready to pout.
Then his eyes. Oh god, his eyes.
He blinked, and his lashes came back longer and thicker.
Each flutter brought a new weight to them, like mascara had been applied by some invisible hand. His irises brightened, color deepening, whites clearing until they sparkled against his skin.
His eyebrows slimmed in one long, slow twitch of muscle, settling into sculpted, feminine arches.
And above it all, his hair had begun spilling past his ears in waves that were darker, richer, and fuller than it had ever been in his life. The strands slid down his shoulders like silk, swishing with his every panicked breath.
Within seconds, Darren’s face was gone.
The girl in the glass was gorgeous.
Her long, dark hair framed a face that glowed with youth, heat, and perfect curves. Her top strained to contain a chest that looked both impossible and somehow effortless. Her shorts clung like they’d been sewn onto her hips, low enough to hint and tight enough to tease.
That’s me.
Her chest rose and fell. She could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric. Feel the tension in her toned thighs as she shifted her weight. Her stomach was tight and smooth. Her ass bounced with every panicked movement.
Everything felt real and horribly wrong.
“This…this isn’t…” Her voice cracked. Higher. Softer. Sultry.
It didn’t sound like Darren at all.
She turned away from the reflection. From herself.
And that’s when she saw eighteen-year-old Darren. Her past self hovering awkwardly by the arcade entrance, head low, shoulders hunched.
But this time, he looked up.
Their eyes didn’t quite meet, but he saw her and she could feel his lingering gaze.
Her breath caught in her throat as something stirred low in her belly. A tingle. A pulse. A want.
“No,” she whispered. Her thighs pressed together. “No, no, no…”
But her eyes were already drinking him in.
The curve of his shoulders beneath that hoodie. The flush in his face. The stiffness in his posture. The way he stood like he didn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes or his body.
He looked small and lost. And so ready.
Her lips parted as she felt warm all over. Her chest was tight and aching.
He looked at her like she was everything. And she wanted to be everything to him.
“Oh god,” she whispered.
Dana tore her eyes away from the arcade just long enough to steady her breath. Her chest ached, skin warm with want, her thighs tingling from the pulse that hadn’t gone away since her younger self looked at her.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She felt like she might fall over if she took a single step. The only thing anchoring her was the thud of her heartbeat and the ridiculous heat pooling between her legs.
“Damn,” a voice said behind her. “You trying to kill somebody dressed like that?”
She jumped, spinning.
The guy standing there was tall and toned. He was obviously attractive and dressed impeccably with a confident, self-assured smirk that said I’m used to getting what I want.
He looked her up and down without shame. His eyes paused at her chest, then dropped to her legs. He gave a low whistle.
“You got a name, or do I just call you Trouble?”
She stared at him, mouth slightly open, confused.
Once, Darren would’ve hated this guy on sight. He was everything Darren wasn’t and had everything Darren wanted.
But Dana didn’t feel intimidated. Or flattered. Or anything. She felt disgusted.
The way he looked at her like she was meat. Only Darren could look at her like that.
Or like she was the kind of girl who’d be impressed by a line like that. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Darren saying that to her.
But for this asshole…no.
Her lips curled slightly. “Seriously?”
He chuckled, undeterred. “Okay, okay. I’ll come at it softer. Just thought I’d say hi. You look like you could use some company.”
She didn’t answer because over his shoulder, she looked to where Darren was. But he was gone.
Her heart skipped.
“No,” she whispered, eyes snapping around the arcade entrance, the pretzel stand, the hallway. He wasn’t leaning against the planter anymore. He wasn’t pretending to check his phone. He was just… gone.
Panic flared, sharp and sudden.
She stepped forward without thinking, nearly bumping into the guy still standing in front of her.
“Hey, I’m talking to you…”
“Move,” she snapped, brushing past him. “Asshole.”
She didn’t even hear what he said after that. Her focus tunneled. All she could see was the crowd, the shifting bodies, the maze of stores and kiosks and benches where he could’ve disappeared.
Don’t lose him. Don’t lose him.
Her heart pounded as she scanned faces, hoodies, backpacks, bad haircuts. Then she spotted him near the escalators, standing off to the side like he wasn’t sure if he should go up or down.
Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled.
“There you are,” she breathed.
She started toward him, fast, then slowed herself, suddenly aware of the way her hips swayed when she walked, the way people’s heads turned. She didn’t want to scare him off. Didn’t want to look like she was charging at him.
God, her heart was pounding. She was nervous. This body was way out of his league, but she was bound to him in a way she didn’t understand. She couldn’t fuck it up.
She stopped a few steps away, pretending to check her phone she didn’t have. She stole glances at him from the corner of her eye.
He saw her and she could tell he was nervous. She could tell by the way he kept shifting his weight, by how his shoulders stayed tense, by the way he glanced at her and then immediately looked away like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
He wants you, a quiet, dangerous part of her realized. But he’ll never act on it.
Dana took a breath.
Her hands were trembling. This was it. The wish, the purpose, all of it boiling in her chest like a secret trying to claw its way out.
She took a slow step forward. Then another.
He didn’t look up at first. Still stuck in his awkward limbo near the escalators, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes fixed on the floor.
She came to a stop just a few feet away.
He glanced up and his eyes widened. And then darted away again.
Dana smiled nervously. “Hey.”
He blinked, like he wasn’t sure she was talking to him.
She swallowed. “Sorry. That was weird. I just… I saw you over there and thought you looked kinda lost.”
His eyes flicked back to hers. “Me?”
His voice cracked.
“Yeah. You,” she said, biting her lip. “Mind if I stand here for a second?”
He hesitated, then shrugged.
Dana let the silence settle for a beat, watching him from the corner of her eye.
“I’m Dana,” she offered, softly.
He stiffened again. Like he expected someone to jump out from behind a pillar with a camera and yell Gotcha! at any second.
He laughed awkwardly. “Uh. Right. Okay. What is this?”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… nobody like you just walks up and talks to someone like me.”
Dana blinked. “Someone like you?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “You know. I mean… you’re, like…” He gestured vaguely to all of her. “You’re you.”
God, she could feel it in him. In her own memories. The fear, the trained instinct to not believe.
She stepped just a little closer.
“I saw you standing here,” she said softly, “and I wanted to talk to you. That’s it. I thought you looked cute.”
He stared at her. Disbelief all over his face.
So Dana leaned in.
Close enough for him to smell her. Close enough to speak lower.
“Keep your eyes up,” Lena said, smiling. “You made the bet. I’d hate for you to lose so quickly.”
She sat across from me like a lioness. Her dress was a deep red, very tight, and low-cut enough to make it obvious what her game was.
“I’m good,” I said, meeting her eyes and holding the stare.
“Are you?,” she said, trailing her finger around the rim of her glass. “You look good, but we both know that’s not the same thing.”
I didn’t answer.
She smirked, reclined in her seat, and crossed her legs slowly. She knew what she was doing.
“I like this restaurant,” she stated. “It has nice lighting and isn’t too intimate. Plus the food is great.”
She ran her hand through her hair and behind her ear.
“Don’t get distracted now,” she teased. “I want your eyes on me.”
The same hand slid down towards her breasts. I kept my eyes locked on hers.
“I’m not distracted.”
“No? Then maybe I should’ve worn something lower,” she teased.
“I think you’ve already pushed it as far as it goes.”
“There’s always another level.” Lena gave a soft, mocking laugh. “I never lose. You know that, right?”
“I’ve heard.”
She picked up her menu, glanced at it like she cared. “Let’s go over the terms. For the record.”
“Go ahead.”
“You can look at anything but my chest,” she said lightly. “Not even a glance. Doesn’t matter if it’s subtle, quick, accidental. You look and you lose.”
“And if I win?”
“I’m yours.” She didn’t blink. “Proper girlfriend. Dates. Texts. Sex. All of it.”
“And if I lose?”
“I drain your bank account, keep your cock in a cage, and laugh in your face while I do it.” Her smile returned. “You get to be my well-trained little loser. Like the others.”
The waiter came. She didn’t even look at him. Ordered with a lazy flick of her fingers. I kept my eyes on hers the whole time.
When he left, she leaned forward, elbows on the table, just enough for the neckline to shift. “You know,” she said, almost casually, “I’ve done this a lot.”
“I’m sure.”
“Men always think they’re clever. They all say they’re different. They all think they can stay focused. But all it takes is one slip. One look. Sometimes I don’t even make it through appetizers before I win.”
“I’m not them.”
“No,” Lena said, tilting her head, watching me a little closer now. “How so?”
“Because I have a unique ability.”
Her smile sharpened, amused. “Oh? That so?” She leaned back in her seat. “Now you’ve got my attention. What kind of ability are we talking about here, hero?”
“The kind that makes this bet a lot more interesting.”
She laughed softly. “You really think you can outplay me at my own game?”
“I think I already have.”
“Then impress me,” she said, eyes bright with challenge. “What’s your little trick?”
I held her gaze and then the world lurched.
It felt like falling and snapping back at the same time. My stomach flipped and my vision blurred. For half a second, everything went white.
When it was over I was looking at myself. Or at least, I was looking at my body through her eyes.
Across the table, Lena was seeing her own body through my eyes.
“What the fuck is happening?!” she shouted, in my voice.
I felt her voice come out of my mouth when I spoke. “I can swap bodies.”
She shot to her feet, chair scraping loudly across the floor. People at nearby tables turned to stare.
She looked down at herself. “No, no, no, no, this isn’t funny. What the fuck did you do?!”
“I told you,” I said, still sitting, still calm. “Unique ability.”
She grabbed the edge of the table like she needed something solid. “Change it back. Right now.”
“Don’t worry,” I replied. “I will swap us back. Right after our meal is over.”
Her eyes snapped up. “What the fuck to you mean?”
“You should lower your voice,” I warned. “People don’t like it when a man is overly-aggressive towards his date.”
She looked around and saw how people were looking at her. She managed to sit down and calm a bit.
“That’s better,” I continued. “Now, we will enjoy a nice meal and I will win the bet. After all, I can’t look at your chest if I’m in your body. Then I will swap us back.”
She just stared at me with an angry and panicked look.
“You said you never lose,” I added.
Her breathing slowed, just a little. “So this is your angle. Cheat.”
“Not cheating. You never said we couldn’t switch bodies.”
She glared at me. “You absolute asshole.”
“I’m actually a pretty nice guy,” I said lightly. “You’ll find out all about it as my devoted girlfriend.”
She looked like she might actually jump across the table at me.
“You can’t actually make me do that,” she replied. “I mean you can’t make me love you.”
I smiled her best smile.
“Are you sure about that?”
She stared daggers at me. I picked up her wine and sipped it. Lips pursed just like she used to do it.
“No one’s going to believe this is real,” she said, voice quiet but shaking. “They’ll think you drugged me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But you’ll convince them otherwise.” I leaned in just a little. “So far I’m being very respectful. You don’t want me to act otherwise.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Maybe.” I smiled again.
She gripped the edge of the table again, knuckles white.
“You gambled to get it all, Lena. But face it, you lost.”
Author’s note: Please be aware this gets dark at the end and could be triggering for some.
The sheets were soft. It’s funny how quickly you can forget something as simple as the softness of quality sheets.
Derrick’s eyes blinked open to a ceiling that wasn’t gray and dark. This ceiling was a pristine white with an ornate light fixture. It was also bright as hell.
He squinted, shifting slightly and everything felt wrong. His body felt oddly proportioned and lighter.
He quickly shot up and realized two things. The first was that he was not dreaming. The second was that he was in a woman’s body.
“What the fuck?” he said gruffly which sounded very out of place with whatever voice was coming out of this mouth.
The room spun for a second before steadying. It was all wrong. Very very wrong.
The walls were white like the ceiling. There was a vanity with a lit ring mirror in the corner. A large and very expensive looking rug. Shit, even the air smelled fancy.
He stood up and looked down at his long, bare legs that were under thin silk shorts. His arms were slender, but toned. His hands were small and feminine. And jutting out from beneath a loose crop top were two perky, unmistakable mounds.
He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over a pair of fuzzy slippers, and darted to the mirror. He looked at the girl staring back at him.
He reached up and touched his face. Her face. He blinked at himself looking at glossy pink lips and big blue eyes full of disbelief.
He turned his head left, then right, letting the hair fall in waves past his shoulder.
No way. No fuckin’ way.
He pulled up the top and nearly choked on air. Her—his—breasts were perfect. They were firm, round, and topped with light-pink nipples that stiffened instantly at the brush of cool air.
“This is fucked,” he muttered, flinching again at the sound of her voice. He sounded like a phone sex operator.
He couldn’t stop staring. This body wasn’t just hot. It was perfect. The kind of girl you stared at too long in public. The kind of girl that made guys say stupid things. And now, somehow, he was her.
“…Holy shit.”
He turned away from the mirror, the sway in his hips making him pause mid-step. It was effortless. He wasn’t even trying. This body moved like it was made to be watched.
“Caityn,” came a call from just outside the room. “Or should I say Nancy?”
“Huh?” Derrick replied.
“Don’t worry, Nancy,” the voice replied. “They said the transfer is disorienting.”
“Transfer?” Derrick asked.
“Yes,” the commanding male voice replied. “Please try to get your senses. You are in my daughter’s body for three weeks as part of an experimental mind transfer program. I couldn’t have my baby girl’s body subjected to that awful prison.”
“Right,” Derrick replied.
“I’m remembering now,” he lied.
Whatever this man thinks happened. This Nancy chick is not who swapped with his hot daughter.
“Come down for breakfast and remember the rules,” the man added. “Nobody can know except for you and me. As far as everyone else is concerned, Caitlyn didn’t go to jail. She got off from her DUI with a warning. You need to sell this or else.”
“Read the report on the vanity before coming down,” the man ordered. “It explains Caitlyn’s life. Her routine. And try to sound like a privileged nineteen-year-old girl. We can’t have anyone getting suspicious.”
“Gotcha,” Derrick added. “I’ll just get dressed and be down in a flash.”
He heard the man stepping away and quickly assessed the situation.
Three weeks before they send me back into my prison cell. Three weeks to try and figure out how to prevent that from happening.
I’m going to really lean into this if I don’t want anyone to find out about me instead of this Nancy person. Which means I’m going to have to dress and act like a 19 year old chick. A hot, entitled 19 year old chick.
He looked at himself in the mirror again and felt a throb between his thighs he didn’t expect. He reached down, hesitated, then pressed slightly. Even through the shorts, it was warm and responsive.
His eyes fluttered shut for a second. A soft gasp escaped before he even realized it.
“Goddamn,” he whispered.
There was a knock at the bedroom door.
“Caitlyn?” a woman’s voice called through. “Sweetie? You up?”
Derrick froze.
The mom. Right. Caitlyn lived at home so, of course there would be a mom.
“Y-yeah,” he said quickly, pitching his voice up, keeping it casual. “Just waking up.”
“Well hurry down, breakfast is ready. Don’t take forever on your makeup!”
He waited until the footsteps faded, then looked back at the mirror.
“Makeup?” he muttered. “Fuck me.”
The vanity mirror was still lit as Derrick tossed the printout back onto the glass countertop. He couldn’t believe the amount of detail packed into it: her favorite smoothie order, her ex-boyfriend’s name, her fake allergy to shellfish. There was even a list of her skincare products and the days of the week she did yoga.
He didn’t know if this Nancy girl had planned to take notes, but he sure as hell was.
Derrick stood in front of the mirror and gave himself another once-over. He was wearing shorts, a simple tee, and some light makeup.
He still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d pulled it off. A little powder, a swipe of that brow stuff, and gloss. That was it. Nothing heavy. But this face? It didn’t need much.
Caitlyn’s lips looked naturally plump and kissable even without product, but the gloss added a shine that felt dangerously flirty.
The shorts hugged high on his hips, and the way they curved around her looked downright obscene. The tee draped loose across his chest, but every step made her breasts shift underneath, pulling at the thin fabric just enough to make them bounce.
“This body’s a fuckin’ cheat code,” he muttered, pulling the shorts down slightly. Not that it helped.
He took a breath, flipped the hair behind one shoulder, and opened the bedroom door.
The hallway was pristine. White marble floors, polished to a gleam. Art on the walls. Big windows spilled sunlight across everything. It all looked staged.
He padded down the stairs barefoot, each step jiggling a little more than he expected. The oversized chandelier above the foyer looked like it cost more than his entire life.
Then he hit the bottom step and turned the corner into the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetie!”
The voice was chirpy and enthusiastic. Caitlyn’s mom stood near the island in a soft pink robe, beaming like this was a holiday.
“Hey,” Derrick replied quickly, trying to pitch the voice right. He added a smile, but not too big. Just enough to seem breezy. Like he had no worries in the world.
The mom crossed the kitchen and kissed him on the cheek.
Ugh. Don’t flinch. Just take it.
“You look so fresh this morning,” she said, stepping back and taking him in. “You didn’t even go full-face. Good girl.”
Derrick blinked. “Uh… yeah.”
She giggled. “Honestly, I’m glad you’re not caking it on like some of your friends. You’re so naturally pretty.”
He sat down at the counter and tried not to look too interested in the spread. Fresh-cut fruit, eggs, two kinds of toast, and some weird green smoothie that looked like it came from a spa.
“I made your favorite,” she added, handing him the glass.
Matcha-spinach-coconut bullshit, he remembered from the file. “Yum,” he lied, taking a sip.
It was awful, but he smiled anyway.
Standing watch over the entire scene was Caitlyn’s father. He was wearing an expensive suit that was perfectly tailored. His eyes flicked from Derrick’s face to his posture to the way the shorts clung to his thighs.
Derrick gave him a nod. “Morning.”
“Morning,” the man replied, slowly.
He walked over to the coffee pot and poured a cup, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned on the opposite side of the counter, mug in hand.
“So,” the dad said. “How are you feeling?”
Derrick shrugged. “Little foggy. Like I had weird dreams or something. But fine.”
“You look fine,” the dad replied.
There was something loaded in that. Derrick couldn’t tell if it was judgment or approval.
Caitlyn’s mom ruffled his hair lightly. “My baby always wakes up glowing. You must’ve slept well.”
“Try to take it easy today,” the mom said. “You had a busy day yesterday with all that court nonsense. Glad they were able to see reason and just let you off with a warning. So no rushing off to see your friends. Maybe go out by the pool. Get some sun.”
“She’ll be fine,” the dad cut in, voice clipped. “Life doesn’t stop just because of a little courtroom drama. It’s important to stay active and engaged.”
Derrick took another sip of the smoothie and fought a grimace.
“I can handle it,” he said. “Already checked Insta. I’m still cute.”
That earned a very faint smirk from the dad. Maybe the first sign of respect.
The mom started fussing with a bowl of strawberries, humming to herself like nothing in the world could go wrong.
Derrick sat there, trying to play the part. He had to remind himself to cross his legs at the ankle and look like he cared about anything this woman was saying to him. Then again, he figured a 19 year old entitled daughter probably wouldn’t care all that much either.
It was a performance. Every blink. Every “totally.” Every goddamn sip of green sludge.
But when the dad stepped out of the room to take a call, Derrick knew he was doing just fine.
He reached for a strawberry, bit in, and smirked faintly to himself.
First test? Passed.
The mop bucket sloshed as she pushed it down the hallway, heavy and slow. Her shoulders ached. Sweat dripped down her chest and soaked the collar of the prison-issued jumpsuit that was pulled tight across Derrick’s massive chest and arms.
This isn’t right. I was supposed to be put intoa woman’s body. And at a minimum security prison. Not this body.Not this place.
Caitlyn kept glancing at the guard by the door.
This was the third pass she’d made down the same stretch of hallway. He was watching. She had to be smart.
Her throat was dry. Her huge, strong, masculine hands kept flexing. They didn’t feel real. They weren’t real. Not for her.
She wiped her face and made her move.
“Officer,” she said, her voice deep and smooth, betraying none of her panic. “Can I talk to you?”
Reynolds didn’t even glance up from his post.
She stepped closer. “Please. I need to report something.”
That got his attention, albeit barely. His eyes lifted to her face and stayed there.
“Do I look new to this shit, Kline?”
Caitlyn blinked. “What?”
“You think I don’t recognize the setup? You’re not reporting jack. You’re working some new angle. What is it this time? Gonna claim you found God? Want a transfer to the chapel crew now?”
She stepped forward. “No, I swear, I…”
He stepped toward her, voice lowering, harder now. “No. You listen. I’ve been on this block eight years. I know your file front to back. I know you like to mess with new COs, fake medical issues, play crazy when it suits you. Cry wolf, get attention. The only thing you’ve got going for you is the fact you’ve never seriously hurt anybody in here… yet.”
Caitlyn’s heart pounded. “This isn’t a game, I’m not…”
He pointed. “You’re Derrick Kline. Inmate #44752. You’re not the only manipulative piece of shit in this place, but you’re top three.”
She stared at him, her jaw tight. She could feel her own pulse in her neck. It was overwhelming how strong her new body was, how quickly anger boiled under the surface. Her chest rose and fell. The guard’s eyes flicked to her fists.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said coldly.
Caitlyn took a breath. “I’m not who you think I am.”
That got a laugh. “Yeah right. You some kind of space alien now?”
Her mouth opened slightly.
“I need to speak to someone outside,” she said. “Just one call. Thomas Royce. He’ll explain…”
“Oh, come on,” Reynolds said, grinning now. “Do your fucking mopping, inmate.”
“Please,” she said, voice breaking for the first time. “I can’t be here. This isn’t supposed to happen. Something went wrong.”
He leaned in. “You wanna know what’s wrong?” he whispered. “What’s wrong is you thinking you can talk your way out of a place built to forget people like you ever existed.”
He turned and walked back to his post. “You want to play innocent? Save it for the parole board.”
Caitlyn stood frozen in place. The mop handle trembled in her hand.
She turned back down the hall.
Every step was heavier now. Her thoughts were racing.
He thinks Derrick’s just pulling another con. I can’t talk my way out of this. Not here. Not as him.
She reached the janitor’s closet and shoved the mop inside, slamming the door harder than she intended.
I need to find a way to contact my father. That’s the only way I get out of this.
Mat after mat lined the warm, hardwood floor of the yoga studio. Most of the mats were already claimed by young, flawless women in high-waisted leggings and sports bras that barely contained anything.
Derrick had to fight a smirk as he stretched his new body into a seated pose.
This was absurd.
Caitlyn used to do this several days a week?
His fingers ran down the side of her calf and he still couldn’t get over the smoothness of her skin. It was distracting. Every movement made something shift, tighten, bounce. Just raising his arms sent a tug through her tight top and stretched her chest forward in a way that would’ve had his old self gawking.
And he was in it now.
Across from him, Nicole—Caitlyn’s bestie, according to the briefing—was mid-rant, talking a mile a minute.
“I swear to God, if Jeremy comes home drunk again I am done,” she said, twisting into a side angle pose with one arm reaching to the ceiling. Her ponytail swayed like a metronome. “Like he thinks ‘sorry, babe’ makes up for everything.”
Derrick nodded, shifting back into downward dog. He had to pause.
This position felt… intimate. Ass up, legs stretched wide, back curved.
His eyes flicked between legs. The girl in front of him had mesh panels running all the way down her thighs. The one next to her had a top that looked like it’d give out if she sneezed.
He adjusted his stance and bit his lip.
Nobody noticed. That was the wild part. Nobody saw the way his eyes scanned the room. Nobody caught the way his gaze lingered. They just assumed Caitlyn was focusing on her pose.
Nicole moved beside him, slipping effortlessly into warrior pose.
“I told him, I’m not your babysitter. Like, if I wanted a project, I’d get a dog.”
Derrick turned, letting Caitlyn’s long blonde hair fall off her shoulder as he mirrored the stretch. Mysports bra cut right across the top of her chest, pushing everything just high enough that he had to stop himself from touching her out of pure curiosity.
“You’re totally right,” he said, pitching his voice into that casual, breezy tone he’d been practicing. “He’s a mess.”
Nicole grinned at him, then sighed dramatically.
“I know. And the sex isn’t even that good.”
Derrick raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Like… okay. It’s fine. But if I’m doing all the work, then what’s the point?”
He tried not to laugh. These girls say this kind of shit out loud? In public? It was unreal.
They shifted into pigeon pose, legs bent under them, chests low.
Derrick took his time easing into it, stunned at how flexible this body was. Her hips opened with almost no resistance. He felt everything stretch in a way he never could’ve imagined. It was like her body was designed to move like this.
Nicole kept going. “And then, like, right after we finish, he just rolls over and checks Reddit. Like I’m not even there.”
Derrick glanced at her. “Girl, you deserve better.”
That got a loud exhale and a nod of agreement.
Nicole reached for her water bottle. “Thank you! That’s what I keep saying!”
As the instructor called for them to shift positions again, Derrick let Caitlyn’s body move slowly, fluidly, loving the way her back arched and her ass lifted with the motion. He didn’t even try to hide the smirk this time.
This body’s unreal. Flexible, soft, and everyone just thinks I’m another rich girl doing yoga on a weekday morning.
He glanced around.
Not a single person looked twice. Not at him, not at his wandering eyes. He was invisible in the best way.
He was starting to understand the power of being in this body. He decided to test it.
“You should dump his ass,” he said.
Nicole gave him a look.
“I mean it, Nikky,” he added. “Right after we’re done you’re going to call him up and tell him to go fuck himself because he’s not getting anymore opportunities to fuck you.”
“You’re so bad,” Nicole laughed. “But, yeah. It’s time. I’ll do it.”
She’s doing it because I told her too. This is fucking unreal.
Nicole curled up at the foot of Caitlyn’s bed, eyes puffy from crying. Her makeup was smudged, her hair a mess, and the sleeves of her hoodie were pulled down over her hands like she needed something to hide in.
“He just said it like it was no big deal,” she sniffled. “Like, ‘maybe I was right and we should just take a break.’ Like I didn’t just give him six months of my life.”
Derrick, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed, handed her a tissue.
“Men are trash,” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You did everything right. You gave him time, you were patient, you even covered for him when he ghosted his sister’s birthday dinner.”
Nicole let out a broken laugh. “God, I’m such a dumbass.”
“No,” he said firmly, shifting closer. “You were just trusting. He’s the dumbass.”
Nicole wiped her nose and leaned her head against his shoulder. The softness of the moment buzzed through Derrick’s whole body. Her warmth, her perfume, the way she exhaled like it was safe to finally relax.
He let his arm drape around her.
He saw Nicole as prey. Hot, sexy prey. And he intended to use her vulnerability to get what he wanted. And right now, what he wanted was to fuck this hot chick in his girl’s body. He had already experimented a few times by himself and was eager to try more things out.
“You’re so good to me,” Nicole mumbled into his shirt. “Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Derrick leaned his head against hers. “You don’t have to do anything without me.”
Nicole didn’t move right away. Then she slowly pulled back, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glassy, but there was something else in them too. Something searching.
“You always say the right thing,” she whispered.
Derrick gave her the softest smile he could manage. “It’s easy. I know what you need.”
They were close now. Closer than they’d ever been. Nicole’s breath was shallow. Her lips parted just slightly.
“You really think I deserve better?” she asked.
He nodded. “So much better.”
Their eyes locked.
Then he leaned forward, slowly, like she could stop it at any second. But she didn’t stop until their lips met.
It was soft and Nicole was hesitant. But after a moment, Nicole leaned into it, her hand sliding up to his shoulder, mouth parting wider as the kiss deepened.
She tasted sweet, like cherry lip balm. Her body pressed against his. The moment stretched out in silence.
When they finally pulled apart, Nicole blinked, stunned.
“I… I don’t know if I should’ve done that,” she whispered.
Derrick didn’t miss a beat. “Then don’t think about it. Just feel what you need right now.”
Nicole looked down. Then back up at him. Her eyes searched his face, and he could feel her thinking, really thinking, but not resisting.
She kissed him again.
Nicole’s lips pressed against his again, more certain this time, more certain. Derrick let her take the lead for a few seconds, hands resting lightly on her waist, fingers teasing the edge of her hoodie.
Then he took over.
He pulled her closer, his hands sliding under the oversized sweatshirt, fingertips grazing warm, bare skin. Nicole gasped into his mouth but didn’t pull away. Her arms looped around his neck, and the kiss deepened. It was hungry now, needy.
Derrick shifted his weight, laying her back onto the mattress. Her legs bent instinctively, hips rising to meet his as he moved over her.
This body he was in responded to everything.
His breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up her side, feeling the heat of her skin, the curve of her waist. Nicole arched into him, her mouth parting with a soft moan that sent a jolt straight through him.
She looked up at him, pupils blown, lips red and kiss-swollen.
“Cait…” she whispered.
He kissed her again before she could say more, silencing her with lips and tongue and heat. His hand moved higher now, fingertips tracing the outline of her bra.
Nicole trembled under him.
She wanted this. Or thought she did. And he was going to give her exactly what she thought she needed.
Nicole’s back arched beneath him, her body moving on instinct, all reaction and emotion. Her hands slipped beneath his shirt fingertips brushing the bare skin of her stomach, then higher. It sent a chill through him.
Nicole’s hands found the clasp of the sports bra and hesitated.
Derrick pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
She undid it.
He felt it loosen around him, the tight compression releasing in an instant. Her breasts shifted with the change. They were soft, full, and impossibly sensitive. Nicole’s hands moved slowly, cupping them, thumbs brushing across the nipples.
Derrick shuddered and let out a quiet moan. It was pleasure overload.
Nicole leaned in and kissed down his neck, then lower, her lips trailing fire. Every brush of skin made his back arch harder into her touch.
He returned the favor. His hands were exploring now. learning every curve of her thighs, the way her hips tilted, the softness of her inner leg. He was surprised by how much control he still had… and how fast it was slipping.
Nicole reached down, guiding his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings. He felt the heat of her, and the way she gasped into his neck made his whole body throb with need.
She was trembling and so was he.
Neither of them said anything for a long, breathless moment. Just the sound of skin brushing skin. Of lips meeting. Of quiet gasps and stifled moans.
They were all over each other now. Lost in heat, hunger, and curiosity.
Nicole kissed him again, deeper this time, like she didn’t want to come up for air. Her hand moved back up his chest, fingers tangling in Caitlyn’s long blonde hair.
When Nicole’s other hand reached his wet slit, it was like an intense punch of pleasure.
The first punch landed before Caitlyn even realized she’d moved.
Her fist exploded into the other inmate’s jaw with a crack that echoed off concrete. The man staggered back, eyes wide, surprise flashing across his face just before she drove into him again.
“Back the fuck off,” she heard herself snarl.
Her voice was deep, commanding, and vibrated with authority.
The man had stepped too close. Said Derrick’s name like a challenge. Like he was testing something. Like he thought he could take him.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
Another punch. Then a shove that sent him crashing into the wall. Caitlyn felt the power of it all. She felt how easily this body moved through space, how natural violence felt in these muscles. Her heart pounded, with rage.
Stop. Stop. This isn’t you.
But the body didn’t listen.
The man swung back, sloppy and desperate. Caitlyn blocked it without thinking, forearm snapping up on instinct. She drove her shoulder into his chest and felt ribs give. He grunted, folding.
A circle formed fast. Inmates shouting.
“Don’t fuck with Derrick,” someone said.
The man went down on one knee. Caitlyn stood over him, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight her knuckles burned. For a terrifying half-second, she wanted to keep going.
I could end him right now.
Hands grabbed her from behind.
“That’s enough!”
Guards swarmed in, batons raised, voices barking orders. Caitlyn didn’t resist when they pulled her back. She knew that would end poorly.
Her whole body was still buzzing. Adrenaline flooding every vein. The man on the floor was groaning and clutching his face.
As they dragged her away, someone laughed again.
“Man, his fists are like steel.”
Caitlyn stared down at Derrick’s hands as they cuffed them.
Derrick lounged back on the plush couch, one bare leg draped lazily over the other, foot bouncing with fake impatience. He wore one of Caitlyn’s cropped tees and a pair of high-cut denim shorts that barely passed for real clothing. His glossy lips were pursed in mild boredom, one perfectly shaped brow cocked high.
Across from him, Thomas Royce stared him down like a prosecutor ready to go in for the kill.
“You’re sure you haven’t been off?” the man said quietly. “That nobody has noticed?”
Derrick popped his gum and gave a little shrug. “Okay but, like, people always notice something? That doesn’t mean they think anything’s weird. My Insta comments are full of ‘you look amaze’ and ‘so slay.’ Nobody’s out here accusing me of, like, being secretly swapped with a dude or whatever.”
Thomas stepped forward. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not,” Derrick replied, letting his voice lilt just enough. “I’ve literally done everything you asked. Like, I’ve been such a brat. I complain about yoga, I make fun of my own smoothie, I scroll on TikTok for hours. I even rolled my eyes at Mom yesterday and she didn’t even flinch. That’s how good I am.”
“Your posture’s different,” Thomas said. “You sit like…” He hesitated. “You sit like her.”
Derrick beamed. “Okay, so, thank you? Like, is that not the whole point?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Thomas replied. “You can at least turn off the act around me.”
“No,” He gave a little pout. “Because, like, you said sell it, and I’m, like, doing the most. Nobody’s asking questions. Nicole literally said I’ve been more ‘emotionally available’ lately.” He let that hang for a beat. “We’ve been, like… bonding.”
Thomas’s jaw twitched but Derrick caught it.
“Nicole is the daughter of my best friend,” he chided. “If you’ve done anything…”
“What?” Derrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice still airy but with a sharpness underneath. “Like been a good bestie? Let her, like, totally vent and cry and, like, hold my hand or whatever?”
Thomas said nothing.
Derrick sat back again with a little sigh. “Honestly, I think you’re just mad I’m doing a better job at being your daughter than she ever did.”
“I drink the gross green thing. I do yoga all the time. I post to my socials. I like, smile in photos. I say ‘literally’ too much and text in lowercase. I even do the dumb little hair twirl thing when I’m, like, pretending to care.”
Thomas drew in a breath. “Okay, Nancy. You’re right.”
Derrick cocked his head with a sugary smile. “Aww, yay! I love when we have these little chats, Daddy.”
Then Thomas leaned in, voice low and threatening. “Don’t push this. The second this transfer expires, it ends. You fuck this up and I’ll personally make sure you serve every last fucking day of your original sentence.”
Derrick blew another bubble and smiled sweetly, cocking his head.
“Totally,” he chirped. “Daddy.”
Nicole’s leg draped over Caitlyn’s as they lay tangled on Caitlyn’s bed. The room was dimly lit except for the soft pink glow of a salt lamp in the corner. Nicole’s head rested on Caitlyn’s chest, one hand lazily tracing circles just beneath the hem of his crop top.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she whispered, smiling.
Derrick smirked, fingers sliding through her messy ponytail. “Doing what?”
She laughed softly. “Don’t play dumb. You know this is… kind of crazy.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, but like, who’s gonna know? You think your mom and my mom are sitting around gossiping about our late-night sessions?”
Nicole looked up at him, eyes full of warmth. “I don’t want to keep this a secret forever.”
“I know,” Derrick said, voice soft, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “But you also said you didn’t want drama, remember?”
“I know.”
She didn’t pull away. If anything, she snuggled in closer, her fingers sneaking under the edge of his shorts, teasing along his hip. Derrick bit back a pleased sigh. This body loved being touched.
The moment stretched until a knock came at the door.
“Caitlyn?” came her mom’s voice through the door. “Are you still up?”
Nicole practically jumped off the bed, scrambling to sit up and pull her hoodie back into place.
Derrick was calmer. He stretched, long and slow, and called out, “Yeah, Mom? What’s up?”
“I thought I heard voices. Is someone in there?”
“Just FaceTiming Nikky,” Derrick replied, casually twisting toward Nicole and giving her a quick wink. “She was having, like, a total meltdown about her ex again. You know how she gets.”
Nicole silently mouthed wow, but didn’t argue.
Derrick opened the door a crack to look his mom in the eyes.
“Well, don’t stay up too late,” her mom said. “We have our appointment tomorrow.”
“I know,” Derrick sing-songed back. “Can’t wait to go with you. Love you!”
Footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Derrick waited two beats, closed the door, and then jumped back onto the bed next to Nicole. She smiled, smugly. “See? Chill. Easy.”
Nicole stared at him. “You just… lied to your mom’s face like it was nothing.”
“Babe,” Derrick said, tugging her back into his lap, “she’s so easy to manipulate. Tomorrow we’re going to the spa to get the full treatment. The day after we’re going shopping because I told her I need to update my wardrobe.”
Nicole tried to look disapproving, but her lips betrayed her with a smile. They kissed again, slow and deep, and she let herself melt back into Caitlyn’s arms.
“You’re so bad,” Nicole whispered. “Were you always this way?”
“You make me want to be naughty, Nikky,” Caitlyn teased.
As their bodies pressed together again, it only made him want her more.
Caitlyn pressed the inmate’s back against the wall of the laundry room hard enough to make the shelves rattle.
“Don’t make me ask again,” she growled, her breath hot against his ear. “You’re the one who said your girl writes you, right?”
The guy squirmed under her grip, eyes darting toward the door. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Once a week.”
“Then you’re going to write her back,” Caitlyn said, low and steady. “And you’re going to include my letter inside. You don’t touch the envelope. You don’t read it. You don’t fuck with it. But you make sure you girl gets it sent out.”
He nodded rapidly. “Okay. Okay. Damn. Chill.”
Caitlyn stepped back, but not far. Her heart was hammering. She loved how easy it was to get others to do what she wanted.
This body was a weapon. And she was getting used to pulling the trigger.
She handed him the folded paper, already sealed and addressed.
If her father saw that name on an envelope from prison, he’d open it. He’d have to.
“I’m serious,” she said. “You screw this up, I’ll know. And I will fuck you up.”
She punched him in the gut with a quick jab. It wasn’t hard, but he doubled over in pain anyway.
“That’s just a taste of what happens if you fail,” she warned.
The man clutched the envelope like it was precious. “You got it. I’ll do it. Swear to God.”
She stared at him for one more beat, then turned and walked out, her pulse still buzzing with leftover rage.
The guards didn’t listen. It didn’t matter how calm she sounded. It didn’t matter how carefully she explained. So this was her only option.
So fine.
If that’s what it took to get a message out? Then she’d lean into the fear she could cause.
She crossed the yard with her shoulders squared and chin high, the envelope already out of her hands but heavy in her mind.
He better read it. He better know. If Dad doesn’t get me out of here soon, I’m going to fuck up his whole world.
The lobby of the spa was gorgeous. Caitlyn, sunglasses perched on her head, was already halfway through her second cucumber water by the time Caitlyn’s mom checked them in.
“Honestly,” Caitlyn said with a sigh, flipping through the treatment menu, “if they don’t have the volcanic clay wrap, we’re literally leaving.”
Her mom gave a tight laugh. “Let’s just see what they offer, sweetie.”
“No,” he replied, flat. “This is my only day off this week and I’m not spending it covered in cheap lavender oil while some undertrained intern gives me a ‘refresh facial.’ We’re doing the platinum package or we’re going.”
The receptionist cleared her throat and smiled nervously. “We actually do still have one platinum opening this afternoon. For two.”
“Perfect,” Caitlyn chirped, sliding the menu away and standing. His crop top rose just enough to flash a hint of toned stomach. “Put it under Royce. And tell Felicia I want her this time. The last girl was, like… fine, but not worth four hundred dollars.”
Caitlyn’s mom stepped forward, her smile starting to strain. “Sweetheart, we don’t need to do the most expensive one. I thought this was just supposed to be…”
“Mom,” Caitlyn cut in, lowering his sunglasses just enough to make eye contact. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to settle today?”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“I’ve been showing up to yoga. I’ve been drinking that green sludge every morning. I haven’t even thrown a fit about Dad being literally the worst lately.” Caitlyn leaned in, lowering his voice. “You said I could pick the spa day. I’m picking.”
A beat passed. The mom relented with a smile.
“Okay,” she said softly. “You’re right.”
Caitlyn gave her a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”
As they were led to the back, he swayed with every step. Caitlyn’s hips did the work effortlessly, the tiny towel wrap barely covering the curves she’d been flaunting all week.
This body gets what it wants, he thought. Even mom knows better than to argue now.
As they sank into matching pedicure chairs, Derrick smirked, stretching out like royalty.
“Ugh,” he groaned. “This is exactly what I needed.”
Her mom reached over and squeezed his hand, mistaking the self-satisfaction for gratitude.
The sound of tearing paper snapped something inside her. Caitlyn lunged forward, but it was already too late.
The guard held the envelope up just out of reach, glancing down at the name written in thick block letters.
“Well, well,” the guard said, smirking. “Look at that. Somebody’s feeling important today.”
“That’s not yours,” Caitlyn snarled. “Give it back.”
The inmate she’d coerced stood frozen against the wall, eyes wide, shaking. “I didn’t. I swear, man, I didn’t say nothin’…”
Caitlyn rounded on him instantly.
“You lying piece of shit,” she roared, shoving him hard enough that his head cracked against the bars. “I told you I’d kill you if you fucked this up.”
The guy slid down the wall, sobbing. “Please. I didn’t know they were watching. I didn’t…”
“Shut up!” Caitlyn screamed.
Her voice boomed through the corridor, raw and animal. Other inmates backed away fast. Everyone knew that tone. Derrick’s tone.
The guard stepped closer. “That’s enough, Kline.”
Caitlyn spun on him.
“You think this is funny?” she barked. “You think you’re clever? You don’t know who that letter was for.”
“Oh, I know exactly who it was for,” the guard said, waving it. “Some rich asshole who thinks he owns the world.”
That was it. Caitlyn’s fist came out of nowhere.
It slammed into the guard’s jaw with a sickening crack, snapping his head sideways. He staggered, barely keeping his feet.
The entire block erupted.
“What the fuck!”
She was on him instantly, grabbing his collar and yanking him close.
“You think taunting me is safe?” she hissed in his face. “You think Mr. Royce is just gonna forget this? You just fucked up your whole life.”
Guards rushed in from both ends of the hall with batons.
“Down! Get him down!”
Caitlyn fought them, harder than she ever thought she could. She threw fists and elbows. Pure rage driving every movement. It took four of them to pin her against the wall.
Her chest heaved. Her vision tunneled.
“You hear me?” she screamed as they cuffed her. “That letter was my way out. You just buried yourself!”
A baton cracked into her ribs.
“Solitary,” someone barked. “Now. One week for him.”
They dragged her down the hall as the inmate she’d threatened curled into himself on the floor, sobbing. No one looked at her. No one dared.
The door to solitary slammed shut behind her with a final, echoing clang.
The cell was dark, cold, and silent.
Caitlyn slid down the wall, breathing hard, staring at Derrick’s massive hands locked in cuffs.
I lost it, she thought. And part of her had enjoyed how scared they were.
And now she knew the letter wasn’t going to get to her father. No one was going to help her.
“Fuck!” she screamed.
The door groaned open and light spilled into the cell.
Derrick didn’t move.
His eyes were locked on the floor, half-lidded, unfocused. He was crouched in the corner, back against cold concrete, knees bent, arms loose over them. His shirt was soaked with sweat and dirt, stained under the arms and at the collar. The stale air stank of body odor and piss.
He hadn’t spoken in days. No one came by except to toss in a tray and leave.
Now, the door clanked open and stayed that way.
“Let’s go, Kline,” a voice barked.
His head tilted slowly. This wasn’t Reynolds. Not any of the regulars. Some fresh guard trying to keep his tone steady.
He rose slowly, barefoot on the icy floor. His joints cracked as she stood. His frame was massive, broad and hulking, but her movements were a strained calm.
The guard hesitated before presenting the shackles. Derrick could see the nerves in his fingers.
He thought she might lunge.
He let them put on the shackles and take her out of the cell. The metal scraped against the ground as she moved.
His eyes scanned. Everything looked brighter than it should’ve. The hallway lights stabbed at her skull. His body twitched with barely contained energy.
Seven days alone with no one to talk to. Just anger and the feeling of power curling in her fists. He had spent three days pacing, two more punching the wall, and the rest in silence.
This isn’t me.
That had been her mantra at first.
But now, he couldn’t even remember how her old voice sounded. He just remembered how it felt to punch a man until he begged. To have everyone get out of your way.
The door at the end of the hallway opened.
“You’re being processed for return to gen pop,” the new guard said.
Still, he said nothing. He stepped through the threshold for the first time in days and smiled.
It was a predatory smile because tomorrow, he’d be gone. Back in that pretty little body of hers. And he couldn’t wait to get his revenge.
The sheets were silk. The room was warm and regal. Everything was perfect.
She was perfect.
Caitlyn turned her head lazily, hair splayed like a halo across the pillow. Nicole sat on the floor nearby, legs crossed, phone forgotten in her lap as she watched Caitlyn. Watched her like she was made of glass and stars.
“I don’t want this to end,” Nicole whispered, her voice tight.
Caitlyn gave a soft, dramatic sigh and rolled onto her back. The crop top rode up over her toned stomach, and she made no effort to fix it.
“It doesn’t have to,” she said, tracing a finger slowly down her bare thigh. “We could just… stay like this. Us. Safe. Away from him.”
Nicole flinched. “You really think he’d do something?”
Caitlyn hesitated. Just long enough.
Then: “I don’t want to talk about him tonight.”
Nicole crawled onto the bed, wrapping an arm around her, pressing her cheek to Caitlyn’s chest.
“I hate him,” she whispered. “I barely even know him and I hate him.”
Caitlyn stroked her hair. “Good.”
They stayed quiet for a moment. Then Nicole said, “Tell me again. What he did.”
Caitlyn closed her eyes, letting the lie flow like breath. “It wasn’t, like, all at once. It started with weird comments. Then, like, ‘accidental’ walks in. Asking if I was still a virgin. Buying me stuff and then saying I owed him.”
Nicole tensed, shaking.
“He’s sick,” she whispered.
Caitlyn let the tears come this time. It wasn’t overdone, but it was enough to look raw.
“I didn’t know who to tell,” she said. “I still don’t. But if the wrong person finds out about everything… he’ll tell them I’m lying. And he’s so powerful. I don’t have a chance. He will send me away.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Nicole said fiercely. “I won’t let him take you away.”
Caitlyn bit her lip, letting it tremble.
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” Nicole whispered. “He can’t hurt you ever again.”
Caitlyn pulled her into a slow kiss, tender and full of heat. Then she leaned back, her voice like honey.
“You’re all I have, Nikky.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said again.
Caitlyn smiled faintly, brushing a thumb along Nicole’s jaw.
Tomorrow, the clock was supposed to reset.
But Derrick wasn’t going anywhere.
Caitlyn kept her voice low, almost gentle.
“You know what scares me the most?” she said quietly.
Nicole lifted her head. “What?”
“That he’s going to wake up tomorrow and decide he’s done taking the risk of me. That he’ll walk in here like nothing’s wrong and smile at and act like the perfect dad.” Caitlyn swallowed, eyes shining. “And then he’ll kill me.”
Nicole’s jaw tightened.
“And he’ll get away with it too” Caitlyn continued. “He’ll tell everyone I was unstable. That I was going to hurt him.” She shook her head slowly. “People like him… they always get believed.”
Nicole sat up straighter. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would,” Caitlyn said softly. “And he’ll do it calmly and get his lawyers to clean it all up.” A pause. “He’ll just make me disappear.”
Nicole’s hands curled into fists.
“I can’t go back,” Caitlyn whispered. “I can’t be alone with him again. Not ever.”
Nicole stood abruptly. “I won’t let that happen.”
Caitlyn reached for her wrist. “Nikky… I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”
Nicole looked down at her, eyes bright and furious. “I’m not stupid.”
“I just need to know you’re on my side,” Caitlyn said. “That if he tries something… you won’t freeze.”
“I won’t,” Nicole said immediately. “I swear I won’t.”
Caitlyn let go.
Nicole grabbed her phone from the floor, fingers shaking as she unlocked it. “I just need a minute,” she said. “I need to…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She turned and rushed out of the room, footsteps pounding down the hallway.
Caitlyn lay back against the pillows, heart steady, listening.
There was shouting downstairs. She could hear Nicole’s voice. It was high and raw.
She heard her dad’s voice next. Confused then angry.
She heard something crash and then a sharp, metallic bang echoed through the house.
Caitlyn closed her eyes and smiled.
Derrick sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the blank concrete wall.
Today was the day.
She’d replayed that line in her head for the past six nights, whispering it to herself like a prayer.
Today’s the day. One more night. One more shower with cold water. One more tray of slop. Then I go home.
But the morning had come and gone and nothing. Then the afternoon. Nothing.
Now the sliver of sunlight from the high, barred window was sliding further down the wall, long and golden.
The shadows were growing.
Caitlyn—trapped in Derrick’s huge, brutal frame—sat still. Bare-chested, sweat-slick, muscles coiled like wire.
But no one came. No message. No transfer. No anything.
He stood, paced. His bare feet thudded against the cracked concrete floor. His callused knuckles flexed involuntarily, twitching with rage.
“Okay,” he muttered, deep voice alien in his throat. “They’re just late. That’s all.”
He looked at the door.
He banged on the door. “HEY!” His voice boomed like thunder in the hall. “It’s time! I’m supposed to be transferred today!”
No response.
Again. Louder. Fists slamming the steel until it rang.
“I did my time! You promised I’d go back! YOU PROMISED!”
A guard approached, one she hadn’t seen much before. His boots echoed down the hall with lazy confidence, like he wasn’t in any rush. In his hand, a folded sheet of paper.
He stopped just outside the bars.
“Inmate Kline,” he said flatly. “Got something for you.”
The guard held it through the bars. She snatched it without a word.
It was a printout.
Header:Law Office of Thomas Royce – Royce Technologies Legal Division Subject:RE: Services Timestamp:4:32 PM Today
Her eyes darted to the center of the message. It wasn’t long.
To Whom It May Concern,
We regret to inform you that the council, Thomas Royce, has passed away due to unforeseen circumstances. We know this will come as a shock to you. Please understand this is the last you will hear from us.
Regards, Caitlyn Royce
She read it twice. Then a third time.
His hand started to shake. The paper crumpled between her fingers. His vision blurred and the walls closed in.
He stumbled back, breath ragged, hands twitching at her sides. A low sound rose from his chest. It was a laugh at first, broken and short. Then it turned into a scream.
He grabbed the nearest thing and hurled it across the cell. It crashed against the wall, ricocheted, and clanged to the floor.
He kicked the cot. Punched the wall.
Again. Again. Again.
Blood splattered. His knuckles split open, raw and pulsing. He didn’t stop.
“FUCK YOU!” he bellowed. “FUCK ALL OF YOU!”
The guard stepped back, hand twitching near his baton, but he didn’t intervene.
Derrick collapsed onto the floor, panting. Laughing again. Dry, bitter laughter that sounded nothing like her.
He looked down at his broken hands and whispered, hoarse and shaking:
“This was never supposed to be forever…”
But it was.
And something inside her cracked open wide and didn’t close again.
The sun kissed her skin as she reclined poolside, one leg dangling lazily over the edge of the chaise lounge. Caitlyn sipped a cucumber-lime spritzer through a glass straw, her freshly manicured nails glinting in the light.
The world was perfect and the past was forgotten.
The cold tile beneath her, the shimmer of the infinity pool, the gentle hush of the breeze rustling through palm trees was all hers. Her name, her body, her life.
She’d won.
“Miss Royce?” A voice called from the sliding glass door. One of the house staff. “Your trainer is here.”
She waved without looking. “Give me ten. I’m finishing my letters.”
The man nodded and disappeared.
Caitlyn uncrossed her legs and sat up slowly, the silk robe sliding off one shoulder. She plucked a lavender envelope from the small stack beside her. Each one sealed neatly. Each one signed with a looping, dramatic C.
Letters to Nicole.
She still wrote once a week.
Sometimes longer ones. Sometimes just a postcard.
They never said much. Just little nothings. Memories that Caitlyn knew would keep Nicole obsessed. Strings tugged with surgical precision.
I miss your skin. I think of your hands. How safe I felt. How brave you were for me. They’ll let you out early. I know it.
The lies came easily now. They always had, but now they flowed through soft pink lips and a sugar-sweet voice no one ever doubted.
Nicole was doing nine years.
The real Caitlyn was trapped inside his old body, buried alive inside steel and concrete. Not that Derrick thought about her much anymore.
She tucked the last envelope into her monogrammed clutch and rose from the chair, stretching luxuriously. Her robe fluttered as she walked inside, hips swaying naturally now, perfectly, like they’d always belonged to her.
Tomorrow was yoga. Then brunch. Then a brand shoot for her wellness line.
She had freedom. She had influence. He had youth. She had beauty. It was all power.
And no one, not a soul, knew the truth.
Because the truth was just a story, and Caitlyn Royce was very good at telling stories.
With a smile that never faltered, she dropped Nicole’s letters in the outgoing mail tray.
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