One month later

Muffled moans escape your lips, swallowed by the warm, throbbing heat between your thighs. Then, the final explosion: a burst of salty stickiness that coats your tongue and fills your mouth. You push your hair back, the strands that had fallen across your face now slick with sweat, and lift your head to catch your breath.

But your pussy still aches, a relentless pulse that demands more. These moments have become scarce lately, and you're determined to wring every drop of pleasure from this one. You need it. Crave it.

On all fours, you crawl to him, your ass raised in silent invitation. He doesn't need words; his hands grip your hips, his cock already hard and eager as he positions himself behind you. With one thrust, he's inside you, his length sinking deep, stretching you wide, filling you in a way that makes your walls clench and your breath hitch. It's like a knife sliding into butter, smooth and effortless, yet electrifying.

"In another world..." You think, glancing over your shoulder at the man who was once your best friend. But that was another life, another version of you.

"…I would've told him everything from the start. We'd be planning stupid pranks, laughing like idiots, and this… this would just be us using my sister's body to lose our virginities. No guilt. No consequences. Just… us.".

The thought sends a shiver through you, and then it hits—your orgasm, crashing over you like a wave, pulling you under until you're drowning in pleasure. You close your eyes, letting it consume you, every nerve alight with sensation.

"It would've been fucking amazing.".

When it's over, you both collapse onto the bed, spent and breathless. Jeremy stares at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling, but his eyes are hollow, distant. You dress quickly, your shorts riding high on your thighs, your shirt clinging to your skin, the fabric thin enough to betray the hard peaks of your nipples. You pause at the door, giving him one last look before you slip out.

Outside, the world feels different. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and fading sunlight as you light a cigarette, your eyes scanning the streets with practiced subtlety. On the surface, everything seems normal—people hurrying along the sidewalks, the city humming with its usual rhythm. But you know better. The calm is a facade, a fragile veneer stretched thin over the cracks of something darker.

Rumors have spread, whispers of an underground war no one wants to name. Alexandra has been everywhere lately, her speeches full of promises and reassurances, her presence a balm to the growing unease. But even among the most oblivious, there's a tension, a sense that something is coming. Something inevitable. And for those who know the truth, the danger isn't vague at all. It's real, and it's closing in.

---

-...and I want to thank once again the campus chancellor, Ms. Bernstein, and the hospital administrator, Dr. Monroe, for this significant opportunity.- You conclude with a polished smile, your hands brushing lightly against the small of their backs for the cameras.

The practiced grins they return don't fool you. You don't need to use your telepathy to know what's simmering beneath their composed exteriors. This grand partnership between the university, the hospital, and the city administration is little more than a well-orchestrated smokescreen, and Selina Monroe despises nothing more than wasted time. As for Agatha, she still resents you for Rhiannon's little stunt.

Speaking of Rhee, there she is, beaming at you from the front row. Her presence alone is enough to keep your smile plastered on your face, even as the tension in the room thickens. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind, but at least you've grown… intimately closer to your daughter. And tonight too, you have plans.

-Well then, I'm now ready to take your questions…- You barely get the words out before a sharp voice cuts through the air.

-Hilary Birch, City Daily.- The name hits you like a slap. Valerie's rival, the woman who once vied for her seat; a viper, coiled and ready to strike. You know what Kim thinks about recklessly spreading, but-

-What do you have to say about the increase in **** rates? Witnesses claim the perpetrators are linked to organized crime.-.

You clear your throat, your gaze flickering to Rhiannon for the briefest moment. Her apologetic expression does little to steady you.

-The attacks in the city outskirts are a serious concern that we are actively addressing-

-Not just the outskirts.- Hilary interrupts, her tone razor-sharp: -Tensions have also been reported near university buildings, if I'm not mistaken. I understand the first incident involved a young woman who dragged another into traffic. Are our kids in danger?-.

Beside you, Agatha stiffens, her composure cracking for a fraction of a second. Valerie had assured both of you that the most sensitive areas would remain untouched. But Hilary is connecting dots in real time, her words a spark threatening to ignite a wildfire.

-Absolutely not.- Your voice is firm, though your pulse quickens: -As your readers are well aware, there have been no casualties, and we have no reason to expect any. Our police **** is being actively supported by federal agents, and I can assure you they are doing an exceptional job of preventing-

-Support?- She doesn't intend to let you finish a sentence: -And yet, it's rare to see local police on the scene. Only federal agents. Why is that? Could it be that the local police are under federal investigation?-.

Son of a-

-Ms. Birch, that is a serious and unfounded accusation. The integrity of our law enforcement is beyond question. As for the operational strategy, I cannot disclose-

-So there is a strategy.- She pounces again, her words a calculated strike: -Yet the public remains in the dark about the true scope of the situation.-.

The room is electric, every eye darting between you and Hilary like spectators at a tennis match. You need to regain control, but she's relentless: -Madame Mayor, put yourself in the shoes of the people here. Many of us have children. You yourself have a d- she stumbles, catching herself: -a devoted little sister. Can you assure us this city is safe for them?-.

Your jaw tightens, your eyes deliberately avoiding Rhiannon. How the hell does she know??? You **** yourself to play it off as a slip of the tongue.

-My only commitment is to ensure the safety of every citizen. Now, if you’ll allow your colleagues to ask their questions…-.

---

As you step into the house, you find Tina on her knees, her face dripping with cum, a mix of satisfaction and slight guilt in her smile.

-Hey.-.

-Hey, you.- You toss your purse onto the chair and hang your coat, effortlessly slipping into your domestic routine.

-How was Jerry?- She asks, pulling away from the thick, black cock that had been pressed against her cheek, her clothes reappearing on her skin as if by magic. You wrinkle your nose, still unsettled by how easily appearances can be manipulated, even after a month of witnessing, and performing, such transformations. Clothes are just too sacred to be treated this way.

-Fine, as far as he can be fine. Anyone looking for me?-.

She shakes her head, then remembers: -They're letting Tyler go today. Emily says she's moving him away.-.

You nod in understanding. The hospital might be under your control, but the rest of the city is a war zone. Charity's strategy of tension is a constant threat, not just to your efforts, but to the safety of the men around you who aren't immune by a gunshot as you are. Therefore, for the moment, you've sent Uncle Mike, William, and even your idiot ex, Josh, away for their own good. Jeremy is one of the last to go, probably being driven to the airport by Helen right now. You hope he has enjoyed your farewell gift, if he's still able to enjoy something.

“I should have done the same with Tom and Dad...” You let that regret crunch you for a moment.

The only men you've kept around are Chadwick (currently upstairs if you're not wrong, cleaning your room) and his buddy Troy Charles, the latter standing before you now, naked and ready. They serve as both protectors and a means to relieve the sexual stress, for you and Tina.

Especially for her. You can touch it every time she returns from school, the sharp delusion at seeing Heather's desk empty again, the vain hopes she had grown overnight being brutally shattered down just like that.

If only she had possessed her friend Nadira, you think, at least she would still have someone; instead she's just another empty spot in class, and knowing she's safe makes no real difference. Even the sudden absence of that cheerleader she detested takes a toll on her conscience. Clearly, Charity must have gotten her too, though you can't imagine why. But if you could predict her intentions, you wouldn't be in this situation.

---

-...and on the 29th of October, the stock market collapsed, marking the abrupt end of the Roaring Twenties.- Ms. Kepernitz explains, moving to another slide on the projector. Only a few of your classmates are actively listening, and you're not among them. Nor is Prani Klahan, the Pakistani girl behind you, who is poorly concealing a gossip magazine under her textbook. Rory Andrews, your next-door neighbor with a crush on your sister, seems to have had another all-nighter gaming, struggling to keep his eyes open. Piper Bouchard and Sabrina Martin are furiously tapping away on their cellphones, possibly texting each other, possibly not. They, along with Chanel Nelson from the other section, are vying for the cheerleading captain spot now that Melissa is... gone.

Gone, just like Lindsay and Kendall. Vanished without a trace, their parents seemingly unconcerned. And everyone else seems fine with it too, and also Heather and Nadira's absences have been barely registered, as if they never mattered. But you know why.

Because she's here. She must be here, controlling every move, every second. That's why you're not following the lecture; you're scanning Whitney Callaghan, Leah Mason, even your teacher, for any sign of Charity's presence. Is Rory tired from conspiring with her other hosts? Is Sabrina texting them right now? When Leah bumped into your desk earlier, did she slip Charity's goo into your pencil case? And Ms. Kepernitz, you feel an idiot saying this—but why the sudden breast implants? She looks like a failed pornstar! Is she toying with you? Trying to drive you insane?

-I would like you to think about how all those people must have felt.- Ms. K continues, oblivious to your racing thoughts: -All their certainties, their life prospects, collapsed in a matter of hours. They were convinced this was the path to fortune, without risks or harm to anyone. And then, the system betrayed them. Remember, before being an economic collapse, this was a human tragedy. Any thoughts? Miss Callaghan? Miss Harris? No?-.

She lingers on you for a moment before moving on. As the lecture ends, you feel a tightness in your chest, **** for fresh air. But Ms. Kepernitz calls you over.

-Tina, can I talk to you for a moment?- That tone, the fact she's called you by your name: it all means that, right now, she's not Ms. Kepernitz the History teacher from Germany, but Lily-Rose the caring student counselor. If it weren't for those juggers...

-I'm sorry, I'm a bit busy at the moment.- You try to brush her off, but she gently persists.

-Actually, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. You seem always on guard, especially since Heather left. I know you two are close, and her parents' decision to suddenly move her to a private college surprised us all. And Nadira, too, is on an extended holiday with her family... I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.-.

"Can you?" You wonder, your eyes narrowing with suspicion.

-My grades are fine, right?- You ask sharply. She hesitates.

-Of course, but if there's something that-

-Then I can assure you, I can handle my own shit, Ms. Kepernitz.- You spit her name with venom, wanting her to know that you see through her charade. This isn't her; it's Charity, hiding in plain sight. She has to be.

-I, I see.- She stammers, her voice laced with mortification: -But if you change your mind...-.

You leave her mid-sentence, storming down the hall. The air around you is electric, keeping everyone at bay, but you notice Chanel's glare as you pass. Two days ago, you caught her rummaging through your gym bag, claiming a mix-up, and the only thing that makes you doubt she's possessed was the fear in her eyes when you started shouting at her. You also cross paths with Mrs. Martha Sanders, a woman in her late fifties known for her caring, almost motherly behavior. But this has been up to one month ago, when she suddenly became harsh and demanding. She used to smile at you, but now she marches past, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.

She was your favorite teacher, and now Charity has her too. She's everywhere, in who knows how many students, and you're a comment away from slamming one of them into the lockers, screaming for Heather's release.

With this mindset, you enter the restroom and splash water on your face. The door of a stall opens, and a familiar sensation hits you. Cassidy, the only other member of your sisterhood in school, grimaces at your reflection before attempting to leave. But she pauses, turning back to you.

-I know that look. Like you're about to beat the shit out of someone.-.

-You wouldn't understand.- You mutter, even though you know she might be the one person who could, because she's been you for some days. But she's not you anymore; that burden is yours alone.

Cassidy clicks her tongue, checking that you're alone before speaking: -Doesn't take a genius to know what's on your mind. So, who's she inside? Some dude you're hot for?-.

-You know as well as I do.- You turn to face her: -Have you seen Ms. Kepernitz? And Mrs. Sanders? And the cheerleaders?-.

-Hold the fuck up, seriously?- She frowns, skeptical: -What, they puking green goop in your face or something? And what's up with Ms. K? She's still the same nosy pain in the ass last time I checked.-.

-Yeah, and how do you explain her...- You gesture at your chest, implying the obvious. Cassidy scoffs.

-Woah. So Charity's big evil master plan is to turn our teacher into a fuckin' Barbie doll to mess with you? Damn, the villainy.-.

-The real Ms. Kepernitz would never have done that! She's too... she's not that kind of woman!-.

-Oh yeah? 'Cause what, school counselors ain't allowed to wanna upgrade their rack? What's next, she gets a tattoo and suddenly Satan's riding her ass?-.

You falter for a moment as she shrugs, pulling a cigarette from her pocket.

-You can't do that in here, you know?- You pout, causing her to raise an eyebrow.

-Yeah, right.- You groan, realizing how stupid you just sounded: -You and your folks ran a pharmacy in here.-.

-No idea what you're talking about. So, Ms. K. is out, who's next? Mrs. Sanders?-.

-You saw her, it's like she...-.

-Got a stick so far up her ass she could poke her own tonsils.- She cuts you off, lighting her cigarette: -Shit, girl, she’s ditching her man 'cause the asshole's banging some chick half her age. No wonder she's a raging bitch lately.-.

-Wait, what?- You ask in surprise: -Where did you hear this?-.

-The side piece hangs out at the Burrow.- She takes a drag: -And before you start whining about the cheer squad, maybe remember who you're talking about.-.

You fall silent, your lip twitching nervously, frustration boiling over. She can't just come here and dismiss your worries like this. Cassidy rolls her eyes, making a suggestion she knows you won't like.

-Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll spit some jelly in their faces and see what goes down. No need for you to get your pretty hands dirty, princess.-.

You scowl, and she returns to her cigarette.

-You're not helping, Cassidy.- You grunt in irritation: -You could at least let me vent a little, you know? At this point, I should be like your sister.-.

-Yeah, well...- She pauses, some thought crossing her mind.

-'Sis, you can't be this paranoid. The bitch is good, but she ain’t got the whole school as her hostage.-.

She doesn't need to. She already has your best friend.

You slam your hands on the sink, shouting in rage, the echo bouncing off the tiles. You turn back to her, fists clenched until your knuckles turn white.

-Help me for fuck's sake, because if she’s touched a single hair on Heather’s head...- Your voice trembles with fury: -I swear, that bitch won’t live to see another dawn.-.

---

You lean against the kitchen table, knuckles pressing into the surface as you stretch your shoulders and groan. Tina places a hand on your shoulder, and you exchange a smile that's both encouraging and weary. It's a tender moment amidst the chaos, a testament to the complex nature of your relationship—closer than ever, yet fraught with tension.

-I've been thinking about what we discussed last time.- You break the silence. Tina tenses, anticipating the return to a heated debate: specifically, how to handle John Vaughn and Irene Flannigan, the CEOs of Vaughn Pharma and therefore main rivals of Roboris Vitae. And, as you've ascertained weeks ago, Charity's hosts, at least Irene. Once married with a daughter your age, Alyssa, they divorced but remained business partners, with John later remarrying a fashion blogger named Deborah Banks. You had considered using Alyssa or Deborah as pawns to sabotage the company, but Tina's vehement opposition stayed your hand, urging you to reconsider.

-You're right. I doubt they could stand against John and Irene's authority. I'll find another way.-.

Tina sighs in relief, grateful for your concession, though her objections weren't purely practical. You know your methods can seem ruthless to her, but you also know that she's inwardly torn, since she's equally **** to end this ordeal. And despite your resolve, you're not immune to the weight of your actions.

---

You storm into the office, heels echoing like gunshots: -What the hell is this, Misty??- you slam today's City Daily onto her desk, the nameplate quivering under your ****. Misty Olsen, Publisher, stares back, unimpressed, a hint of cold amusement in her eyes that reveals the true pilot of her form.

-Any problem, Ms. Haas?- She asks, her gaze steady and unyielding. You jab a finger at the headline.

-'Alexandra Morgan, the wind of renewal uncovers her own secrets', was this your brilliant idea?-.

She calmly picks up the paper: -Of course not. I had chosen a more formal title. Must be Hilary's doing.-.

-What's formal about this?- You hiss, fuming: -Offshore accounts, an undeclared house, a plagiarized thesis... all baseless rumors! Are we a gossip magazine now?-.

-Mmm.- She rubs her chin thoughtfully: -I recall the Mayor's platform emphasizing transparency after the previous administration's corruption scandals. Here, it mentions a birth certificate proving her sister is actually her daughter. Quite the revelation.-.

-It's irrelevant.-.

-The readers will decide. And these allegations about her handling of the recent mob insurgences, don't you think that alone warrants the front page?-.

You're on the verge of hurling her coffee mug through the window.

-You kept me in the dark and went behind my back. I thought we had a deal.- Your words carry the weight of a broken pact, one that went beyond the professional ignorance between Misty and Valerie which had held until a month ago.

-Ms. Haas. Valerie. It's my duty to ensure sales remain stable, so everyone in this building keeps their jobs. I know a professional like you doesn't concern herself with such matters, but consider...- She flips open the journal, stopping at a specific page.

-'Federals raise trust charges against Vaughn Pharma, local factory closed indefinitely.' A hundred families relied on those jobs, now left scrambling. Also, quite the favor to Ms. Anderson's business. Not the first one in the last month. Could there be collusion?-.

-You...- You bite your tongue, suppressing the urge to scream her true name, along with a list of various species of the animal world, all linked to close contact with mud and raw coupling techniques. Instead, you storm out, colleagues averting their gazes as you pass.

You knew better than to hesitate in infiltrating Management. Had you acted sooner, you'd be executing Kim's task more efficiently, with full control over the city's information. Now you can just do damage control.

You march toward Hilary's office, not bothering to knock. Her smug smile falters as you slam a glob of red goo into her face. Charity will find another pawn, but you'll start trimming her options before she gets the chance.

---

Your kiss is fierce and passionate, your hands instinctively pinning Tina against the wall.

-No... uh... wait...- You manage to articulate as she takes control. Tina slows down, your mouths hovering mere centimeters apart, breaths heavy with desire. God, you'd love to strip her bare and bury your face between her thighs, but you can't.

"One day..." Your mind wanders: "If I could just take one day away from everything. Just me and her in the same bed.".

But one day would turn into two, then three, and you'd never want to leave. So, you both made a silent pact not to indulge in that sweet temptation, not until it's over. With Jeremy, Troy, or anyone else, it's just sex; in some cases, affectionate, intimate, deep. But still just sex. Between the two of you, it would be something else entirely, and you don't have time for that.

-I'm sorry, I got carried away...-.

-No, don't say that 'sis. I know.-.

Silence lingers after your exchange, and she heads upstairs. You rub your temple, ordering Troy out of your sight, and groan in frustration.

"Smart move, Kimberly. Keep your pussy in your pants just for once.".

But honestly, you don't think it's entirely your fault. Ever since you inhabited Kim's body, you've felt urges she never experienced, according to her memories. It's as if your very nature craves sex constantly. And for the past month, you've forcefully repressed it, too busy fighting off the mob's ambushes.

Charity's control over the Gatelys has borne fruit. Your greatest advantage is her keeping the police idle, as your Federal Agents confirm. This suggests she's plotting something. Meanwhile, she has access to wealth, connections, and control over key city spots, vying with you for dominance—not just with Misty, the Vaughns and the Russels, but likely Larry Henshaw at the bank, and hosts in both the high school and university boards. And, of course, there are still Millie, Eric, and Maria. She develops a countermove for each of your sisters in power, and everytime you prepare your own in response. Yet, she avoids the FBI, much like you steer clear of the Mafia.

Not out of courtesy, but necessity. You're at war, but there are boundaries to respect. If either of you aims too high, it could trigger an escalation leading to utter destruction, and not in a metaphorical sense. It's a silent pact you both must honor, for everyone's sake.

Unfortunately, not everyone agrees.

---

Devon glances up from his computer as he hears footsteps approaching.

-Oh, Miss Sutherland. And, uh, friends. Ms. Anderson is waiting for you upstairs.-.

-Thank you.- Your voice is devoid of emotion, merely polite. You make your way to the elevator, allowing the three girls with you to enter first. As you ascend, Liz finally voices her doubts.

-Bella, are we really doing this?-.

-You don't understand.- Cecilia replies, her expression darkening as she recalls the events at your house a month ago. Those moments still haunt you too. Your mom hasn't been the same since.

-We have to do something. We can't just sit and wait. Aren't you tired of being a target every day and night?-.

-Of course I am, but Kim...-.

-Elizabeth.- You interject, crossing your arms. -We have to face it, Kim has failed. I can forgive her initial lack of preparation, but this situation has dragged on for weeks. We need to take action. Besides, some wounds can't be healed with patience.-.

Your gaze shifts to the other blonde in the elevator. She remains silent, but her silence speaks volumes. More than anyone, she has the right to blame your former sister for her incompetence. After all, your mother has recovered, while her best friend remains in a coma. Though your faction was already formed when she awoke two weeks ago, no one can deny Megan's significant contributions. In fact, this plan was her idea.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ping, and you step into Regina's office. Her smile greets you, much like the first time you (this version of you) met her.

-Bella, my dear. What did you want to talk to me about?-.

-It's about Charity and how we can stop her.- You reply, her expression shifting to one of serious attention: -We need your help.-.

-Of course. What did you have in mind?-.

-Kim thinks that being spread among many of us is a disadvantage.- Megan explains: -That it just gives Charity more targets, rather than resources for us. But if we surpass a certain limit, we'll simply be too many for her to handle.-.

-I don't know why, but Charity has only spread a few times.- You continue: -And we'd only be playing her game if we did the same.-.

Regina Anderson clasps her hands in front of her mouth, comprehension dawning in her eyes as they fall on the samples of her creams in jars on her desk. After all, her business is worldwide, and she's about to launch new products. Nothing easier than adding one more to the lineup.

-Auntie, we need to spread. And I'm not talking about units or dozens. We need to go global.-.

---

Dinner was brief and silent, the tension with Tina lingering after that kiss; the only bright spot was Chadwick and Troy's improving cooking skills. Who knows, maybe once it's all over you'll make them look for an honest job. You bid your sister goodnight and now lie in bed, the white walls fading to light blue as you turn off the lights, then into darkness.

You're exhausted, physically and mentally. You miss Mom, Dad, Tom. You miss the old you, even though she wasn't you at all. Yet, you envy her; her worries were exams, gossip, and that annoying little brother. You miss the person you grew up with, the one you've fallen in love with.

It's funny. One could never imagine how distant you can feel from a person, even if you're the one making the thoughts for her, remembering her memories, using her brain, and breathing with her lungs. You and your older sister are one, yet you'd give anything to talk to her again.

"I hope I'm making you proud." You think: "That somehow you're watching me, and you're not angry. I'm sorry it had to be this way.".

But perhaps it's just the exhaustion and darkness speaking. A little rest will do you good.