Prologue

Ethan's heart pounded like a drum in his chest-or rather, in this strange, new chest that wasn't his. Just moments ago, he'd been himself: an 18-year-old guy on a solo trip, crashing in a generic hotel room after a long day of wandering the city. Now, he sat frozen on the edge of the bed, his feet-slender and clad in sheer black pantyhose-planted firmly on the carpeted floor. His hands trembled as they hovered near his lap, where a pink thigh-length pencil skirt hugged unfamiliar curves. Above it, a white satin blouse with raglan sleeves shimmered softly under the room's dim light, and a white satin scarf was tied in a perfect bow around his neck, like some bizarre gift wrapping.

He reached up instinctively, fingers brushing dark brown hair that cascaded to his shoulders. His face felt heavy, caked in makeup he could smell-something floral and powdery. Panic surged as his hands dropped lower, pressing against the soft swells beneath the blouse. Breasts. Real, unfamiliar breasts. He yanked his hands away as if burned, a gasp escaping lips that felt fuller, painted.

How had this happened? One minute, he'd been dozing off; the next, a dizzying whirl of light and nausea, and he was... her. Whoever "she" was. He didn't know her name, didn't recognize the room-every suite in this bland hotel chain looked identical, with the same beige walls and cheap art prints. Was this even his floor? His keycard was gone, his wallet vanished. He was trapped in this body, in this outfit, with no clue what to do.

Then came the banging. Loud, insistent knocks rattled the door, followed by a gruff voice booming from the hallway. "Open up! I know you're in there! Let me in right now!"

Ethan's blood ran cold. Who was that? A husband? A boyfriend? Some stranger with a grudge? The voice was deep, angry, laced with impatience. "Come on, don't make me break this down!"

He slid off the bed, wobbling on legs that felt too smooth, too unsteady in the pantyhose. Should he answer? Hide? Scream for help? His mind raced, but his body- this body-refused to move closer to the door. The banging grew louder, echoing through the room like thunder.

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?

Chapter 1

Ethan's pulse thundered in his ears-ears that felt strangely delicate, attuned to nuances he'd never noticed before. The banging persisted, each thud vibrating through the door like a demand from fate itself. Swallowing hard, he forced his nylon-clad legs to move, teetering across the room on bare feet that sank into the carpet. His hand, manicured and unfamiliar, hesitated on the doorknob before twisting it open.

There, in the harsh hallway light, stood... himself. His own lanky frame, tousled brown hair, the faded band tee from his suitcase. But the eyes-his eyes-were wide with urgency, not recognition. Ethan blinked, the voice from earlier now clicking into place. He hadn't recognized it through these new ears, muffled and distorted like everything else in this nightmare.

"Finally!" the figure-his former body-barked, shoving past him into the room without invitation. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing Ethan in with this impostor. He stared, piecing it together: the woman whose body he now inhabited must be piloting his old one. A body swap? Some freak accident? His mind reeled.

"Who... what the hell is going on?" Ethan stammered, his voice coming out higher, softer, laced with a feminine timbre that made him cringe.

The woman-in his body-whirled around, her expression (his expression?) twisted in exasperation. "We have to hurry if we're going to switch back! Come on!"

Ethan's painted lips parted in confusion. "Switch back? What happened? How did this-why me?"

She gave him a look like he was the dumbest person alive, her brows furrowing in that way he recognized from mirrors. "Are you serious? Put on your shoes and follow me. We don't have time for this!"

He glanced down, spotting a pair of black pumps by the bed-sleek, with a 2 1/2-inch heel that looked like a torture device. "My shoes? Those aren't-"

"Now!" she snapped, already heading for the door.

Reluctantly, Ethan slipped his feet into them, the heels pinching as he wobbled to standing. Questions burned on his tongue-How did this happen? Why us? Who are you?-but every time he opened his mouth, she brushed him off. "Later. Move!" She dragged him out into the hallway, her grip firm on his arm-his old arm, now stronger than he remembered.

Following her was agony. The heels clicked unevenly on the tile, throwing off his balance with every step. His skirt restricted his strides, the pantyhose whispering against his thighs in a way that made his skin crawl. They hurried down the stairs, out the lobby, into the cool night air of the city streets. Streetlights blurred as she pulled him along, weaving through crowds, ignoring his pleas to slow down.

"Wait-tell me something, at least!" he gasped, ankles screaming.

"No time! Keep up!"

But he couldn't. The heels betrayed him at a crosswalk, one catching on a grate. He stumbled, yanking free from her grasp, and by the time he righted himself, she was gone-swallowed by the throng of pedestrians miles from the hotel. Panting, alone in this alien body, Ethan spun in a circle, the city lights spinning with him. Which way back? The streets all looked the same, a maze of neon and concrete.

With no wallet, no phone, no clue, he wandered for hours, blisters forming on his feet. Exhaustion won; he hailed a cab with a story about a lost purse, begging the driver to take him to the only address he knew: his family home, hours away in the suburbs.

The cab dropped him off at dawn, the familiar porch light glowing like a beacon. He tottered up the steps, pounding on the door in those damned heels. When it opened, there stood his mother, bleary-eyed-and behind her, lounging on the couch with a coffee mug, was... himself. The woman, settled into his life, chatting casually as if nothing was amiss.

"Mom, it's me-Ethan! Something happened, I-"

His mother frowned, glancing back at the impostor. "Who are you? Ethan, do you know this woman?"

The fake Ethan rose, a smirk playing on his lips-lips that used to be Ethan's. "Never seen her before. Probably some scam artist."

No one believed him. The door slammed in his face, leaving him stranded on the doorstep in satin and heels, forever trapped in a stranger's skin.

Chapter 2

Ethan's pulse thundered in his ears-ears that felt smaller, more delicate-as he forced himself to stand. The banging persisted, relentless. With a deep breath that strained against the satin blouse, he padded across the room on stockinged feet, each step a whisper of nylon against carpet. His hand, nails painted a soft pink he hadn't noticed before, hesitated on the doorknob before turning it.

The door swung open to reveal a familiar face, red with frustration: his father. Ethan blinked, the voice now matching the man-deep and gravelly, but somehow distorted through these new senses. "Dad?" he croaked, his voice high and feminine, like a stranger's echo.

His father pushed inside without invitation, glancing at his watch. "Finally! What took you so long? We've been waiting downstairs. You're going to make us late for the flight."

Ethan stood there, mouth agape, as his father scanned the room. "I... Dad, it's me. Ethan. Something's happened-I'm not... this isn't my body."

His father snorted, rolling his eyes. "Very funny, Ethan. Save the jokes for later. Put on your shoes, grab your purse, and let's go. Your mother's in the car, probably fuming by now."

Ethan glanced down at the floor near the bed, spotting a pair of sleek black pumps with a modest 2.5-inch heel-elegant, feminine, utterly alien. Not his scuffed sneakers, but then again, nothing about this was his. The skirt clung to hips he didn't recognize, the blouse draped over a figure a decade older than his own lanky teenage frame. "No, seriously, Dad. I swapped bodies or something. With a woman. Look at me!"

His father chuckled dismissively, grabbing the pumps and thrusting them toward him. "Yeah, yeah, trapped in a woman's body. Hilarious. Hurry up-we have to leave now or we'll miss the plane. Come on, Ethan, stop messing around."

"But I can't go! My real body is here somewhere in the hotel. I have to get it back-"

"No time for games." His father snatched a black purse from the nightstand-had that been there before?-and shoved it into Ethan's hands, then steered him toward the door with a firm grip on his arm. Ethan stumbled into the heels, wobbling as the world tilted on those unfamiliar stilts. Before he could protest further, they were out in the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them.