The Grand, Clumsy Entrance
The black sports car slid quietly through the enormous gate of the Kang estate. Julian's body, now with Eliza inside, felt strange behind the wheel—too heavy, too strong. She had to force her massive foot to ease up on the brake pedal; the slightest touch sent the car jerking. She held the steering wheel tight, focused on one brutal task: sell the lie. If they failed this performance, they had nowhere left to run.
Julian, stuck in Eliza's operative body, smoothed the skirt of his unfamiliar clothes. The soft, thin material felt like a terrible joke. He hated how exposed the cloth made him feel, and the smell of the cheap, unfamiliar fabric was an insult. He hated the lie even more. I am your loving wife, just back from a quick trip. The sheer acting was sickening to his executive mind.
Every step was a terrifying physics lesson. The narrow, high heels—her heels, Julian thought with a surge of disgust—made him feel like he was always about to fall over. His ankles were screaming with tiny, unfamiliar aches. The soft skirt fabric brushed against his legs, an exposure that shouted vulnerability. His mind, used to big power and insulated armor, rejected the smallness, the lightness. He felt like a poorly built decoy, ready to shatter if he made one wrong move.
As the car stopped, the whole staff lined up quickly, led by the Head Butler. Their faces were still, but their eyes were sharp with questions and gossip. Eliza (as CEO) stepped out first, doing a perfect, predator-like glide that surprised even Julian. She used every bit of muscle memory that big body had, making the movement smooth and commanding.
Then, Julian (in Eliza's body) followed. He tried to look like a loving, casual exit, but his balance was terrible. He fell to the side and had to slap a small hand hard onto the enormous hood of the car to keep from falling flat on his face in front of the staff. The impact sent a sharp, fragile thrum up his arm. The move was less "loving wife" and more "drunk guy falling out of a cab." He heard the staff take a tiny, collective breath of shock.
Eliza (as CEO) had to forcefully clamp down on the huge, shuddering laugh that tried to escape Julian's deep chest cavity. It felt like a physical pressure building in his lungs. Do not break character. Do not laugh. This is war, she scolded herself inside his head.
The Corporate Ambush
Before the staff could talk about the near-fall, a second figure broke off from the main house and came to the car: Sol-Ah.
She was perfect, wearing a power suit that looked like Julian's own armor. Her suit, woven with black carbon and cut like a shield, announced total war. Her face was a mask of cool, deadly professionalism, but her eyes were pure, refined fury. Eliza, looking out through Julian's eyes, noted the tiny bit of tension in Sol-Ah's jaw—a sign of genuine, not fake, anger. The Link, sensing high emotion, hummed a cold warning in Eliza's chest: Financial risk coming. Protect assets. Sol-Ah knew more than she was letting on.
Sol-Ah moved with the precise, practiced control of a woman who had been Julian's shadow for years. She was carrying a delicate porcelain teacup and saucer—a picture of domestic calm mixed with total authority. The teacup was a prop in a power play.
"Julian," Sol-Ah greeted, her voice smooth as polished steel. "Such a big return. The board, naturally, is worried about you not calling." Her eyes were ice as they looked at the CEO. Board concern? This is an attempted hostile takeover, using a flimsy social facade, Eliza thought, channeling Julian's executive fury.
Sol-Ah then turned to Julian (in Eliza's body), giving him a cold, dismissive smile. "And you must be... Eliza. I hope the spontaneous vacation was refreshing?" Her gaze lingered on the skirt, the slight sweat on Julian's forehead, and how he was holding the car door tight to stand up. Sol-Ah was measuring his weakness. Julian felt the smallness of the body intensely under her stare; he hated feeling like a fragile doll.
The Crushing Confirmation
Eliza (as CEO) knew she had to take control instantly. She offered her massive hand to Sol-Ah, aiming for a firm, strong grip—the standard CEO power move that announced: I am in charge.
But the sheer, brute strength of the CEO's body was a terrifying shock. The power she was using was uncalibrated. Instead of a handshake, her massive hand crushed the delicate porcelain teacup Sol-Ah was holding.
The sharp SHATTER of breaking ceramic screamed in the silence. It was the loudest sound the grounds had ever heard. Hot tea splashed onto the expensive stone driveway, wetting the front of Sol-Ah's perfectly clean shoes. The entire scene froze: the staff were stone statues, Julian (as Eliza) looked like a horrified deer, and Sol-Ah was still.
Eliza stared at the pulverized teacup in her hand, mortified and internally yelling. The teacup was gone—just a mush of white dust and sharp edges. A single, dark red drop of blood—Julian's blood—appeared on a sharp piece of porcelain. Unacceptable loss of control, Eliza thought, the CEO's mind taking over the panic. I just confirmed her suspicion with an act of unnecessary violence. I am too strong for this world.
Julian (in the small body) felt the error like a physical punch. The small, quick hands he now possessed flexed instinctively, a useless move to defend himself. He knew the cost: every witness, every staff member, now saw the Titan CEO as an unpredictable brute, a man who crushes tea instead of shaking hands. This was disastrous.
Sol-Ah's cool face finally broke, replaced by a flicker of triumph and a brief, disgusted snort. She slowly looked at the crushed cup, the dripping tea, and the CEO's massive, useless hand. She paused, letting the silence ring with the sound of the broken porcelain.
"How... athletic, Julian," Sol-Ah murmured, her voice now dangerously low. She made the word "athletic" sound like "savage." "Or perhaps you simply forgot how to handle fragile things." She let her gaze sweep over the small, fragile figure of Eliza/Julian.
She then deliberately bent down, the movement of her expensive suit fluid and mocking, picked a tiny, wet piece of ceramic off her shoe, and stood back up, ignoring the CEO entirely. She walked straight to Julian (in Eliza's body), placing a possessive, cool hand on his slender shoulder. The touch was an absolute act of claim.
"Welcome home, dear. I'm afraid our security systems are quite extensive. You'll find it nearly impossible to leave the house again unannounced." The threat was clear and sharp.
Julian (in Eliza's body) was forced to lean into the touch, maintaining the 'loving wife' role while silently screaming at the invasion of his personal space. He hated the scent of her expensive perfume, the weight of her hand, and the implied danger. This is an unacceptable failure of control, his mind raged. This body is a poorly made liability, and I am being trapped by a domestic enemy. He realized, with profound horror, that Sol-Ah was enjoying this.
The game wasn't just on; they were already exposed and trapped inside their own fortress.