Garrett had drifted through his eighteenth year like a leaf in slow-moving water-no plans, no ambitions, no spark. His mother, Yvette, watched him with growing exasperation. It baffled her, really. She had never known aimlessness; she had always been supported, protected, and cushioned by her wealthy husband. Her days were full-salons, shopping trips, charity luncheons, cocktails with friends. The house ran without her lifting a finger, staffed by housekeepers, cooks, gardeners, and assistants. But Garrett? He simply floated.

As the months passed and Garrett failed to seize any direction for himself, Yvette began nudging-then prodding, then outright insisting-that he join the army. “It would make a man of you,” she told him over and over, her voice carrying that particular brand of maternal judgment that felt both dismissive and absolute.

When he turned nineteen, she decided the time for gentle encouragement was over. She took him by the arm, determined, and marched him right into the recruiting office. Oddly, Garrett didn’t resist. He didn’t sigh or roll his eyes or complain. He simply walked beside her in silence.

Only when the recruiter handed him the form and the pen did Garrett pause. He looked at his mother-really looked at her-for the first time that day.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.

Yvette didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Garrett wrote the last curve of his signature, set down the pen-

-and the world lurched.

Reality bent in a shimmer of unseen currents. The Trait Swapper, an ancient, mischievous force that followed humanity’s entanglements with keen interest, had been observing the mother and son all year. This moment-this forced push into an identity not his-was the moment it chose to intervene.

In an instant, Yvette and Garrett traded bodies.

Yvette, now trapped in her son’s young, unprepared body, barely had time to gasp before the staff ushered “him” away to begin the intake process for basic training.

And Garrett-now in Yvette’s elegant, mature, pampered body-stood perfectly still, absorbing the new sensations of her form, her balance, her posture, the luxurious weight of her hair.

Slowly, he-she-smiled.

She walked out of the recruiting office with Yvette’s confident sway and drove directly to the salon.

The stylist nearly vibrated with excitement when she said, “I want a completely new look.”

Hours later, she gazed at herself in the mirror: hair lengthened and tinted into a soft strawberry blond, swept high into a lush bouffant, framing a face that now glowed with tasteful-and undeniably sensual-makeup. She looked like a woman stepping freshly out of a fantasy.

She loved it.

From there she went to an intimate boutique, choosing her new items with decisive pleasure: a red teddy that clung to every curve, red knee-high stockings, and matching red marabou sandals with three-inch heels. She imagined how they would look in the soft lighting of the master bedroom.

At home, she slid seamlessly into Yvette’s old rhythms. She told the cook to prepare a gourmet French dinner-something that would pair well with candlelight. She oversaw the maid in the dining room, making sure every detail from the flowers to the silverware placement was immaculate.

Then she dressed.

The teddy hugged her waist and hips. The stockings smoothed up her legs. The marabou sandals elevated her walk into something sultry and confident. She added earrings, a delicate necklace, and deep red lipstick that made her smile look like it had been painted by desire itself.

By the time Xander’s car rolled up the drive, she had prepared his Scotch and Soda and waited for him right inside the front entrance.

The moment he stepped in, she pressed the drink into his hand and kissed him full on the lips.

Xander blinked, startled-and very pleased. “How did it go?”

She smiled slowly, seductively. “Garrett is exactly where he is supposed to be.”

And with that sentence, Garrett-the boy-dissolved inside her. She felt it. A soft, final click. From this moment on, she was Yvette. Fully. Completely.

Xander’s hesitation melted beneath the warmth of her confidence. They sat down to their romantic dinner, candlelight catching the curve of her shoulders and the shimmer of her freshly styled hair.

Over dinner, she outlined her plans. A new wardrobe-of course. A new aesthetic for the home. And then she moved on to Garrett’s old room.

“I want to make it into a She Shed,” she said with an airy wave of her manicured hand. “Just something small at first. New drapes… something pink. Maybe a little vanity in the corner.”

Xander nodded cautiously, but she wasn’t finished.

“And then a floral accent wall. Plush rugs. A chaise lounge in pale rose. Lace curtains. A chandelier-nothing too overwhelming, but feminine, soft, indulgent. Oh! And a wardrobe cabinet for my lounge wear, since I want somewhere private to get ready before seeing you in the evenings.”

Her lips grew redder somehow as she smiled wider, more delighted with each idea she piled onto the last. “I’m thinking satin pillows. Perfumed candles. A silk screen. Perhaps a dressing mannequin wearing one of my new nightgowns…”

Xander swallowed. “It sounds… lovely. But Garrett might want the room when he stays over now and then.”

She rose from her chair, gliding around the table, taking him by the hand. “Come with me.”

In the master bedroom, she stood before him in the soft glow of the lamps-red lips, red teddy, the faint gossip of marabou at her feet. Her fingertips traced his collar. Her voice dropped to a whisper dripping with promise.

“Do you see how much I want this?”

Xander breathed in sharply. “Yes.”

“And you’ll give me anything I desire, won’t you?”

His resistance evaporated. “Anything.”

She smiled-slow, victorious, irresistible.

“Then the She Shed will be perfect.”

And with that, he kissed her, sealing the future she had already begun to craft.

The transformation was complete. Yvette was reborn, radiant and unstoppable, and the life she intended to build stretched before her.

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