Gala Preparation

Kieran stood in front of the full-length mirror, feeling the remnants of the morning's confidence start to slip away. His outfit—just a matching bra and panties set, with the silicone inserts firmly adhered—was only the base of what needed to be done for the evening ahead. Everything felt so bare, so ****. He wasn’t used to being exposed like this, but the weight of the day's events loomed large in his mind. Tonight was the night. The gala. The unveiling of Kiara Laurent to the world. The official confirmation of the persona he'd crafted with painstaking effort.

He let out a slow breath, gazing at his reflection. His skin looked smooth, the lack of curves yet to be accentuated by the shapewear he hadn’t yet put on. His makeup, which had held up decently through the day, was now in need of a refresh. His hair was mostly intact but needed some work as well.

Celeste, with her usual efficiency, was already going through the wardrobe, flicking through pieces without a second thought. Kieran stood there, half listening, half staring at himself in the mirror. He felt a strange mix of nervousness and exhaustion creeping in, but the last thing he wanted to do was show any weakness in front of Celeste.

“Let’s see… we’ve got some options, but nothing too flashy for the gala,” Celeste muttered to herself, sorting through the hangers, seemingly uninterested in what Kieran had to say.

He shifted uncomfortably in his place, the adhesive silicone inserts pressing firmly against his chest. For a moment, he regretted not using tape; he couldn’t help but feel like everything was too much, like it was all piling on him. The constant reminders, the rigid rules, the performance of Kiara—it was exhausting, even though he told himself that they were all overreacting. Still, he wasn’t about to admit it to anyone.

Celeste’s sharp gaze flicked up, assessing him closely. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, and Kieran could feel the weight of her scrutiny. Then, as if making a decision, she took a step closer to him, her presence suddenly very real and undeniable.

She raised her hand, sliding it lightly over his smooth, tucked front. The feeling of her touch was startling, especially in the context of the deep silence that settled between them. She seemed satisfied with the result of his “effort,” though her face remained unreadable.

“Good,” Celeste said, her voice steady, almost clinical. “You did that part right.”

Kieran, feeling slightly uncomfortable, tried to adjust his stance, but Celeste was still standing uncomfortably close, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Did you use the tape?” she asked casually, her tone neutral.

He stiffened slightly, trying to muster a level of confidence that he wasn’t entirely sure he still had. “I forgot,” he said, his voice coming out in a somewhat higher, more flustered tone than he intended.

Celeste didn’t say anything at first. She simply looked at him, as if waiting for him to realize the mistake. She then stepped forward—really close now—standing only inches away. He could feel the warmth of her body near his, and the proximity only heightened the sense of tension that had already been building throughout the morning.

She placed one hand on his hip and let her nails gently drag along the waistband of his panties. Her other hand stayed resting at her side, but her eyes were sharp and unreadable. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to a velvet murmur.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone laced with mischief, her breath warm against his cheek.

Kieran froze.

His whole body went stiff—except for the part of him that felt a confusing swirl of things: nerves, heat, a jolt of adrenaline. For a second, he didn’t know where to look. Her eyes, maybe? Her hand, still at his hip? The mirror behind her?

A thousand questions.

And none of them had easy answers.

Kieran barely had time to react.

Celeste’s hand at his hip tightened, and with a sudden motion, she pulled him in—closer than he had ever been to her. Their bodies collided with a soft press, his smooth, stock-still form against her natural curves. The heat of her real body made his skin prickle. The underwire of her bra nudged against the silicone filling his, and despite the illusion of femininity he had been wearing for days, the difference was palpable.

Her real breasts brushed up against his bra cups—firm, warm, unyielding. The inserts molded around her shape, just barely masking the fact that underneath, there was no real flesh to meet her.

Kieran froze.

He could feel her breath—slow, hot, almost lazy against his lips. Her face was so close. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up again, locking onto his. There was something in her gaze he couldn’t decode. It wasn’t teasing, not exactly. It was darker than that. Hungrier.

She bit her lip. Her chest rose and fell in a deep, deliberate rhythm.

He was so aware of everything in that moment—how tall he felt in the heels, how snug the panties were, how tightly the bra held the fake weight to his chest. His posture was already instinctively right—hips slightly tilted, one foot slightly forward, back arched subtly. It had become second nature without him even realizing it.

And then—

His body betrayed him.

The warmth. The closeness. Her hands. The breath. The look in her eyes. Something in him stirred. Something that had absolutely no business stirring.

It wasn’t supposed to be possible. The tuck was neat, snug, compressed. But now, the pressure felt different. Wrong. _Too _tight.

And Celeste knew it.

She didn’t have to say a word. She pulled back—not slowly, but with sudden ****, shoving him back a half step, hard enough that he stumbled in his heels. His hands flailed for balance, the slap of bare skin against skin echoing slightly in the quiet bedroom.

She tilted her head slightly and gave him a look that made his stomach sink.

Then she stepped back in and ran her hand over his front again. This time, there was a pause. Her fingers pressed, then curled.

Her brow arched.

“Mm,” she hummed, pulling her hand back, lifting it like it was somehow contaminated. “And that,” she said crisply, “is exactly why you tape.”

Kieran went red. Visibly red. His cheeks flushed all the way to his ears. He tried to cover his front with both hands instinctively, the demure, embarrassed motion only making him look more like Kiara than Kieran. He didn’t even realize it—the way he squeezed his thighs together, the quick duck of his head, the slight pout to his lips, the soft “Ugh…” that escaped him in a high, frustrated breath.

He turned quickly, trying to maintain an ounce of dignity as he reached for the vanity drawer and grabbed the roll of tuck tape. No words. No excuses. Just tape.

Behind him, Celeste had already returned to the wardrobe, humming lightly to herself as if nothing had happened.

As if she hadn’t just completely unglued him.

“Let’s go with a strap for tonight, since you don't have boobs,” she said, fingering a shimmering gown of gold and ivory. “Something elegant. You’ll be the center of attention. No mistakes.”

Kieran peeled the tape, hissing softly at the tug against skin. His hands moved with practiced speed now—tape, adjust, secure. Shame and efficiency, all in one.

He stared at himself in the mirror once it was done. Chest smooth and perky. Stomach flat. Tuck clean.

He looked… passable. Believable. Almost normal.

Celeste, still thumbing through dresses, glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

“Better,” she said simply. “We’ve come too far to have you ruin it now.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

But the heat in Kieran’s chest didn’t.

Celeste turned, tossing her thick hair over her shoulder as she held up two gowns. “Okay, we’ve got a classic sweetheart with satin drape, or a more conservative neckline in structured velvet.” She raised a brow. “I know you’re not a fashion girl, Kiki, but you can at least try to pretend like you care.”

He rolled his eyes—mentally—but tried to keep his face neutral. “I…uh, like the velvet one?” he ventured, eyeing the rich plum fabric. It looked like something that would belong on a red carpet. Elegant, maybe. Intimidating, definitely.

Celeste gave him a look. “That’s not how a girl says it,” she said, her voice like the click of stilettos on marble. “Come on. Give me your best Kiara reaction.”

He sighed but didn’t fight. Not this time. “Ooh, the velvet one is so chic,” he tried, forcing his voice into Kiara’s smoother cadence, just a hair higher than his usual Kiara-pitch. “It’s like... bold, but classic. And the neckline is kinda sexy without being too much?”

Celeste tilted her head, satisfied. “Better.”

He didn’t know what was worse—playing the part, or the fact that part of him now knew how to play the part.

She walked over and handed him the shapewear. “You know the drill. Get this on while I check the neckline on the velvet.”

With a sigh, he peeled the shapewear off the hanger. It was still familiar from when he last wore it—tight, compressing, a physical reminder that comfort was not part of Kiara’s life. He stepped into it slowly, yanking it up inch by inch as it smoothed and squeezed his midsection. He adjusted the bra and inserts once more so everything sat right. The illusion was crucial, Celeste had told him. The silhouette is everything, Kiara.

From behind him, Celeste was already discussing potential jewelry. “We can’t do anything too heavy or long, not with a low neckline. The shoulders need to be bare, elegant, swan-like.” She tapped her chin. “Maybe the delicate drop earrings? Or—wait—I think Mom has that vintage choker she wore to the 2006 Gala…”

Kieran blinked. “How do you remember what she wore in 2006?”

“Because I care,” she said with a smirk. “Now hush and face the mirror.”

He turned to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. There stood someone who almost—almost—looked like a girl. The curve of his waist, the tilt of his chest, the long line of his legs smoothed into place by shapewear. His hair was still pulled back, but the softness of his face and the gentle sway of his posture gave away the work done over the past week. A boy wouldn’t stand like that. Not unless he was trained to.

Celeste joined him in the reflection, standing behind him, and lifted the velvet gown. “Let’s try this one first. Step in.”

Carefully, he slid into the dress. It was cool against his skin, the velvet heavy but elegant, and when Celeste zipped him up, he felt cocooned—almost transformed. The gown hugged the shape the shapewear had created, accentuating hips he didn’t have and a bust that didn’t exist without the help of Euphorica’s best adhesive inserts. The neckline was somewhat low but didn't reveal his secrets, dipping just enough to make him panic, but the way the fabric sculpted his frame was undeniably flattering.

Celeste stepped back, one hand on her hip. “Wow. Okay. This… might be it.”

He looked again in the mirror. He didn’t want to admit it, but yeah. It might be it. The dress did everything it needed to, and for a second, he didn’t look half-bad. He even caught himself adjusting a fake strand of hair that wasn’t out of place.

“See?” she said smugly, noticing the gesture. “You’re catching on.”

“Shut up,” he said automatically—then caught himself and softened his tone. “I mean… whatever. You’re right.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

They tried on one or two more dresses, but it was hardly a debate.

The first one, a sleek gown with a sheer panel running down the back, was immediately ruled out. Even before Celeste gave her verdict, Kieran caught his own reflection and grimaced. The shapewear lines were glaringly obvious—cutting across his back like thick elastic scars. Celeste didn’t even need to say anything. She just gave him a "you know better than that" look, and he peeled it off without a word.

The next option, a deep emerald satin with a high slit up the side, barely made it to his thighs before Celeste was already shaking her head.

“Nope. Thigh slit means no shapewear. No shapewear means you’d be fidgeting all night, and God help you if the tape starts to give.” She tossed it back on the rack with a dramatic sigh. “We’re not there yet, Kiki.”

He didn’t bother arguing. He was tired of being corrected for things he didn’t even know he was supposed to know. But deep down, he wasn’t worried. Not really. It all still felt like a lot of overkill. If he could win over a board of hardened billionaires after just a week of prep, he doubted anyone at a stuffy gala was going to see through a neckline or a slightly off contour.

Eventually, they circled back to the velvet.

Dark plum with a structured middle-chest-stomach area (which he didn't know the name for), and it gave the illusion of curves he didn’t have and gracefully skimmed down over the tucked and taped lower half of him. It was dramatic, sure. It said CEO in that intimidating, cold kind of way, like someone who wouldn’t blink before firing you—but still somehow managed to look feminine, put-together, expensive.

Celeste zipped him up again, stepped back, and let out a long breath through her nose.

“There it is,” she said with a proud smirk. “That’s the one.”

Kieran glanced at the mirror again. Yeah, it looked good. He looked fine. Passable enough. Maybe even impressive if you didn’t stare too hard. The inserts were sitting just right under the neckline, the shapewear was holding firm, and the silhouette was exactly what Celeste had drilled into his head all week.

But even as he stood there—bra on, waist cinched, tape tight, velvet hugging every illusion Celeste had built—he didn’t feel nervous. Not like he was supposed to. If anything, he felt… bored. Confident, even.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered with a shrug, glancing at himself from the side. “It works.”

Celeste smiled at him through the mirror, arms crossed. “You’re gonna blow them away tonight.”

Kieran raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. He just kept looking at himself, this strange halfway point between himself and Kiara.

In the back of his mind, he still couldn’t help thinking how ridiculous it all was. The panic, the drilling, the voice training, the shapewear and tucking and wardrobe theatrics—they were all acting like one wrong step and the whole company would go up in smoke.

But he’d done the impossible already. The board had believed him. Believed her. And he didn’t even break a sweat doing it.

So no, he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t thrilled either—but terrified? Excited?

Not even close.

In his mind, the job was done. Tonight was just for show.

Let them fuss over every dress seam and makeup brush. Kieran would float through it, like he always did. Easy.