Role reversal

**Chapter Five: The New Order**

Megan’s power over you sets in quickly. By the next day, it’s already clear that your life at the office has completely flipped upside down. Gone is the version of you who commanded respect with just a glance, who barked orders at your staff with arrogance and swagger. Now, Megan is the one pulling the strings, and she doesn’t waste any time making sure you know it.

It starts with the small things, seemingly insignificant, but laced with her newfound authority. She calls you into her office at random times during the day, making you wait outside for a few extra minutes, just long enough for you to feel uncomfortable, like you’re no longer the boss, but some underling waiting for an audience.

Her office is neat, minimalist, a reflection of her cold efficiency. You stand there in front of her desk, your usual cockiness draining away the longer you wait for her to acknowledge you.

“You’re late,” she says casually, glancing up from her computer screen. She’s wearing a fitted black dress today, her heels gleaming as she crosses one leg over the other. It’s a simple movement, but somehow, it makes you feel smaller. You aren’t late, of course—you were standing outside her door, waiting, like a trained dog. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What she says, goes.

“I wasn’t—” you start, but the sharp look she gives you cuts you off mid-sentence.

“Do I look like I care for excuses, Tom?” Her use of your first name, stripped of the formal "Mr. Lawson," is like another jab at your authority. “I asked you to be here on time, and here you are, wasting my time with excuses. If I need to remind you of how things work now, maybe Eleanor wouldn’t mind stepping in again, would she?”

You stiffen at the mention of your wife’s name. Eleanor and Emily are still in the background, lurking like a sword hanging over your head, ready to drop whenever Megan decides you’ve stepped out of line. The reminder is all it takes to deflate any last scrap of resistance. You nod quickly.

“I’m sorry,” you say, lowering your gaze. The sound of the words leaving your mouth makes your skin crawl, but you’re too far down this path now to stop.

Megan smiles, clearly enjoying your submission. “Good boy,” she purrs, in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of Emily. “Now, since you’ve got nothing else to do with your time, I have a few errands for you. Pick up my dry cleaning during lunch. I also need a coffee, black, no sugar, from that little place down the street—the one you said was too expensive for the office to expense. Funny, isn’t it, how that changes now?”

She looks you over, her eyes narrowing as she assesses your discomfort. She leans back in her chair, the leather creaking under her weight, her heels swinging idly. “Don’t look so pathetic, Tom. It’s not like I’m asking you to clean my shoes.”

Not yet, anyway.

The errands, humiliating as they are, are just the beginning. Throughout the week, Megan tests your limits in a thousand small ways. She knows she’s in control, and she’s determined to push you further and further. In meetings, she interrupts you, making you lose your train of thought. She reassigns tasks that would’ve once been beneath you—scheduling her personal appointments, filing paperwork—tasks that were once reserved for interns, now placed squarely on your shoulders.

Your colleagues, some of whom once feared you, now look at you with a mixture of confusion and amusement. They don’t understand what’s happening—why their ruthless boss is suddenly running around fetching coffee or acting as his secretary’s errand boy. But no one dares say anything outright. Megan’s sharp tongue and quick wit keep them in check.

At the end of the day, Megan calls you into her office once again. The heels of her shoes are resting on the desk this time, crossed at the ankles, a casual display of her dominance. She waves a manicured hand, dismissing whatever pathetic attempt at an excuse you try to muster as you step inside.

“Did you drop off my packages?” she asks, her eyes never leaving her phone.

“Yes,” you reply quickly. “I—uh—I made sure they got to the courier.”

“Good.” She glances up at you briefly, her eyes scanning you, almost like she’s deciding whether you’ve earned any semblance of approval today. “And my coffee?”

“I—I got that, too. Right from the place you wanted.”

She nods, her expression unreadable. Then she takes her feet off the desk and stands, moving around to face you properly. She’s tall, especially in those heels, and with every inch she towers over you, that sense of helplessness digs deeper into your bones.

“Good,” she repeats, but her voice is softer now, almost mocking. “You’re learning. Slowly. But learning, nonetheless.”

She steps closer, her heels clicking loudly in the small space between you. You can feel her presence pressing in, suffocating you, reminding you just how far you’ve fallen. You thought this humiliation was confined to your personal life, but now, it’s seeped into every corner of your world.

“You know,” she says, her lips curling into a wicked smile, “it’s funny. Watching you, the big shot businessman, doing all my little tasks—running around like a lost puppy. I think you’re enjoying it, Tom.” Her voice drops lower, more intimate. “Deep down, you like being told what to do. You like being beneath me. Isn’t that right?”

The knot in your stomach tightens. You don’t want to admit it, not to her, not out loud, but the truth burns inside you. You *do* like it. You’ve craved this. The humiliation, the powerlessness—it’s what you’ve always wanted, even if it’s twisted into something darker than you ever imagined.

“I...” You struggle to find the words, your voice weak. “I don’t—”

She interrupts you with a soft laugh. “Oh, don’t bother lying, Tom. We both know the truth. I don’t need you to say it. Not yet.”

She walks around you, like a predator circling its prey, her heels clicking rhythmically. You can feel her eyes on you, dissecting every reaction, every tremble of your body as you stand there, helpless under her gaze.

“But I think it’s time you understand something,” she says, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “You belong to me now. At work, at home, it doesn’t matter. I own you. And if you ever forget that, if you even think about stepping out of line, I’ll make sure Eleanor and Emily remind you of your place.”

The mention of their names sends a shiver down your spine. You know what they’re capable of—what they can do to you if they want to. Megan is in control here, but she’s not the only one with power over you.

“You understand, don’t you?” Megan asks, stepping in front of you once again, her eyes locking onto yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to meet her gaze. “I understand.”

She smiles, satisfied. “Good. Now, get out of my office. I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

As you turn to leave, the weight of her control presses down on you, suffocating. You thought you were at the top of the world, but now, you’re just another pawn in a game you can’t escape.

And as much as it tears at your pride, a part of you *likes* it.