The sunlight poured into the room through the half-open blinds, casting warm stripes across the sheets. Grace groaned softly, her head pounding from the cocktails she’d had the night before. Her limbs felt weird—longer, heavier—and her throat was dry. She reached up to rub her eyes, but something felt… off.
Her hand. It wasn’t hers.
She blinked harder and slowly sat up, the sheet falling away from her chest—and revealing, with sickening clarity, that there was no chest. No soft curves. Just a flat plane of light hair and defined muscle. Her breath caught.
“No,” she whispered in a voice that wasn’t hers. It was deeper, huskier, and completely male.
She scrambled out of bed, heart pounding. Her legs were longer. Hairier. The room was unfamiliar—definitely not her place—but her focus was locked on the full length mirror leaning against the wall on the other end of the room.
She walked toward it slowly, like approaching a wild animal. And then she saw him—herself?—in the mirror.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Strong legs. A hairy chest tapering down to a stomach that was fit but not chiseled. Unshaven jaw. Disheveled dark hair. And between her legs—
“Oh my god,” she said, backing away, hands instinctively moving to cover herself. Her voice trembled.
“What the hell is happening?!”
That’s when she saw the note on the nightstand. Handwritten on a cocktail napkin.
“Don’t freak out. My name’s Henry—but that’s your name now, I guess. I’ve been body hopping for a while. Yours looked like a nice life. Don’t worry—you’ll get used to mine. He’s healthy, decent looking, and no one will suspect a thing. Welcome to your new body, Grace. -H”
Her knees buckled, and she sat on the bed, her hands shaking.
He’d taken her life. Her body. And left her trapped in his.
She looked at the mirror again, locking eyes with the stranger staring back. Her eyes—but they weren’t hers anymore.
This was only the beginning.
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