Finding Kiara Pt. 7

Sunlight filtered softly through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom, casting a golden haze over the room as Kieran stirred beneath the silken sheets. The warmth of the morning was familiar by now, but what wasn’t familiar—what never would be, no matter how many days passed—was being woken up not by an alarm, but by the delicate touch of manicured fingertips brushing against his cheek.

Vivienne’s face hovered just above his, her perfectly styled blonde hair cascading down one shoulder, her expression softer than he’d seen in weeks. She looked less like the icy behind-the-scenes mastermind of Euphorica and more like… a mother. For a long moment, she simply stroked his cheek with her thumb, watching him with a kind of quiet reverence, like he was something breakable, something precious.

“Good morning, darling,” she murmured, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Kieran blinked the sleep from his eyes, unsure of whether this was real or some strange dream brought on by exhaustion. But it was real. His mother was here. And she was being… affectionate.

“You’ve been so strong,” she continued, her voice thick with an emotion he rarely heard from her. “I know this isn’t easy. I know you never asked for any of it. No child should have to shoulder something like this.”

His breath caught. He didn’t dare speak yet. It was like if he made a sound, the moment would dissolve.

Vivienne let her hand fall gently to the side of his face and sat beside him on the edge of the bed, her tone now solemn, her eyes reflecting the weight of everything she’d built.

“But this is bigger than any of us,” she said quietly. “This company… your father’s legacy… it’s what’s kept our family alive. And after he passed, there were forces that wanted to tear it all apart. The board. The competitors. The vultures.” Her jaw clenched. “They think a family business led by our fractured family is weak. They don’t see the strength in what we have."

He swallowed hard. Her words landed with a heavy thud in his chest. For so long, all he could focus on was how ridiculous and humiliating this all felt. The skirts, the makeup, the walking lessons, the voice drills—every single moment had been a struggle against the grain of who he thought he was. And yet, now… here was his mother, stripping back the veil, and revealing what had driven her to ask this of him.

“Kiara,” she said softly, intentionally using the name, “you’ve given up so much. And I need you to know it’s not in vain. You’re saving our family. You’re becoming the kind of heir your father would’ve been proud of.”

Her voice cracked, just slightly, and Kieran’s throat went tight. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel like he was being manipulated. He felt seen. He felt understood.

He could’ve broken then. Could’ve cried. Could’ve finally unleashed all the doubts and pain and rage that had swelled inside him like a storm. But he didn’t. Not after that. Because for the first time, he had something tangible to grip onto. A reason. A purpose.

He exhaled, shaky but resolute, and slowly nodded.

Vivienne smiled then, a small but deeply genuine smile, and kissed his forehead. “That’s my girl.”

He bit his tongue. The phrase still stung. But not like it used to. Not anymore.

She stood, smoothing down her tailored cream blouse and slate-gray pencil skirt. “Now. We have a big day ahead of us.”

He blinked. “Wait… what do you mean?”

Vivienne turned back toward him with a glint in her eye. Her voice shifted slightly, her eyes twinkling with a knowing gleam. “Today, we’re practicing for the board meeting tomorrow. Kiara’s debut. The world is watching, darling.”

Kieran’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the board meeting. He’d known this was coming, of course—knew it would come eventually. But the reality of it hitting him now, right at this moment, sent a jolt through him.

He sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair, still feeling the pull of the training bra against his chest, the panties snug against his body. He was still adjusting to the unfamiliarity of these things, but it was starting to feel a little less strange. The heels on his feet had become second nature by now, even if they still sent a slight tremor through his legs when he first stood. But today? Today was going to be different. Today, he had to be Kiara—not Kieran. There was no room for the boy anymore. Only Kiara, the poised, confident heiress.

Vivienne stood up, smoothing out her dress as she did, her eyes never leaving Kieran’s face. “And Celeste?” She shook her head with a playful smile. “Your fashion major sister is buzzing with excitement, like she just got her hands on a new collection. She’s already prepping you for the big show tomorrow. So, we have work to do, darling.”

Kieran let out a breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settling back onto his shoulders. He was still processing what his mother had said, trying to find a way to integrate that into the emotional chaos he had been feeling for weeks. But for now, there was no room for resistance. No room for doubt. Only preparation.

Vivienne paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Get up, Kiara. You’ve got work to do. But… I’m proud of you.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Kieran blinking at the ceiling in stunned silence.

The words echoed in his head like bells: I’m proud of you.

He sat up slowly, brushing his hair from his face, strands of his semi-permanent extensions falling neatly around his shoulders. His limbs felt heavy, but not from dread. From determination. Maybe—just maybe—he could do this.

Somehow, some way, he was going to make it through tomorrow. Not just as a son **** into a costume. But as Kiara Laurent.

And if that meant spending the day rehearsing, repeating the mantra, enduring Celeste’s fashion fantasies and walking on a metaphorical tightrope for hours… so be it.

Because now… there was a reason.

And it was enough to keep going.

The bathroom mirror steamed up with mist as Kieran stood under the warm spray of the shower, letting the water cascade down his body. The sensation was soothing, almost comforting, in its warmth. He had come to accept the daily routine of showering and preparing himself for the day ahead. It had become a ritual, a time to quiet his mind before facing the pressure that awaited him. But today felt different. There was a tension in the air, a quiet anticipation, as if something more awaited him beyond the shower. He tried not to think too much about it, focusing instead on the routine that had, at least in some small way, become second nature.

His fingers moved absentmindedly as he scrubbed away the remnants of the shampoo, the conditioner, and the soapy film that always clung to his skin. Kieran finished his shower quickly, running the towel over his damp hair, feeling the weight of his wet locks as he wrapped it into a quick knot. He reached for a fresh towel to wrap around his body, just as he’d been taught—across his chest, covering his curves, making sure to hold it firmly in place. The movement felt automatic now, part of his daily regimen. He stepped out of the shower and looked at his reflection, eyes skimming over the image in the mirror.

It was always strange to see his own face, still so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. There, staring back at him, was the same Kieran he had been for years—but there was something else too, something shifting, a new identity slowly emerging, piece by piece. He could see it in his face, in the delicate tilt of his features, the subtle softening of his jawline. He still wasn’t fully “Kiara” yet—no, that transformation would take time. But the longer he stared, the more he saw it. The more he became aware of what he was becoming.

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, the door to the bathroom creaked open, and Celeste’s voice floated in.

“Kiara, are you almost done?” She didn’t wait for an answer before stepping inside.

She wore a tight, casual black crop top that clung to her figure in all the right places, paired with black leggings and a pair of heels that added to her already imposing height. Her blonde hair was styled into soft waves, and her makeup was done perfectly, as always. It was clear she had already begun her day, her calm, collected energy radiating as she moved toward him with purpose.

Kieran quickly turned away from the mirror, suddenly feeling exposed. It wasn’t just the towel. It was everything. The life he used to know, the masculinity he had once clung to, felt so far out of reach. And there she was, Celeste, always confident, always in control. It was no surprise when she spoke again, her voice soft but firm.

“Today’s going to be a bit different,” she said as she stepped closer, holding something in her hand.

Kieran’s heart skipped a beat. His nerves flared up again, the ever-present anxiety creeping back into his chest. He didn’t have to ask what she meant by that; he had come to understand that Celeste’s definition of “different” was rarely a small change. His eyes fell on the object she was holding—something small and unassuming but laden with meaning.

“Here,” Celeste said, extending the package of tucking tape toward him. “This is necessary, Kiara. It’s absolutely essential for today. We can’t afford any mishaps. We need to make sure everything is smooth and perfect.”

Kieran froze, his throat tightening. He had heard about tucking tape before, of course, had seen it mentioned in passing in all the many articles and blogs Celeste had shoved his way during their lessons, but this was the first time it was being placed in his hands. The weight of it felt heavy, though it wasn’t physically substantial. It was heavy with meaning, heavy with the growing realization that this transformation wasn’t just a performance—it was becoming his reality.

He glanced up at Celeste, and for the first time, he saw something softer in her eyes. There was no judgment, no mocking or teasing—just the same unwavering control she always exuded. Her gaze was steady, but there was an underlying warmth in the way she looked at him, an understanding of how difficult this had to be.

“Kiara,” she said softly, her voice catching his attention. “You’ve come so far already, and I know it’s not easy. But if we’re going to do this, if you’re going to be Kiara, we have to commit to every detail. The smoothness is necessary. No distractions, no... reminders of what we’re trying to leave behind. It’s about creating a seamless, flawless version of yourself. You understand?”

Kieran nodded slowly, though he felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He understood—he understood the pressure, the need for perfection, the expectations placed on him as Kiara. And yet, despite everything he had been through, the idea of physically altering his body, even temporarily, felt like another line he was crossing, another threshold he had to step over.

He looked down at the tucking tape, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for it. The sensation of the smooth, adhesive strip against his skin was strange and uncomfortable, but he followed Celeste’s instructions, carefully applying it, smoothing it down as he had been taught. It felt... strange, like a foreign act, but somehow it made everything feel more real.

Celeste watched him silently, her gaze unwavering but supportive. She said nothing as he finished the task, but when he looked up at her, there was a subtle nod of approval.

Kieran stood still in the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around his chest, his mind swirling with the constant buzz of nerves and tension that had been a constant companion for weeks now. The towel, damp and heavy against his skin, felt like a barrier between him and what was coming next—whatever it was. Celeste’s presence beside him only served to heighten that sense of urgency and anticipation, and he felt a surge of unease as she quietly ushered him out of the bathroom.

“Come on, Kiara,” Celeste said, her tone breezy and nonchalant, like everything about this process was just another task. “Let’s get you set up for the day.”

Kieran hesitated as they left the bathroom. The smooth fabric of the towel felt warm and comforting around him, but he knew it was time for the next phase—another step closer to becoming who he was supposed to be. Celeste’s energy was palpable, guiding him with ease as she led him into his bedroom, where a light breeze rustled the curtains.

"Come over here," she instructed, pointing to a specific section of the wardrobe that Kieran had not noticed before. As his eyes followed her hand, he saw a new section of clothes tucked away at the far corner, past all the neatly arranged tops and skirts. This was something different, something more personal than anything he had worn before.

Celeste pulled open the wardrobe and revealed rows of bras—each one carefully folded, delicate fabrics arranged by color, style, and size. There were satin, lace, and cotton varieties, each one seemingly more elegant than the last. Kieran’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped forward, his eyes scanning the array of bras laid before him. He had worn a training bra for some time now, and while it had felt foreign at first, he was beginning to accept it as part of the new normal. But this was something else entirely.

As Celeste plucked a set from the rack, Kieran’s mind immediately registered the difference. The size. The cups were... significantly larger than what he had expected. There was no way they would fit him. He stared at the fabric for a moment, his mind racing. He opened his mouth to ask, but the words caught in his throat.

“Celeste...” He hesitated. “This one looks... really big. Are you sure it’s the right size?”

Celeste didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she moved with practiced ease, selecting another set of matching panties and a bra. Her movements were swift, efficient, and almost entirely unbothered by the confusion Kieran was feeling. She passed the set to him, not meeting his eyes, her tone light and dismissive as if it wasn’t something worth explaining.

“Just put it on,” she said, her voice steady, not a hint of hesitation or uncertainty in it. “I’ll explain later.”

Kieran was still confused, his eyebrows furrowing as he glanced down at the large bra in his hands. He didn’t feel Kiara in that moment. He felt like a guy who had been thrust into a foreign world, unsure of the rules, unsure of how to fit in, unsure of the details. The bra seemed to mock him in its size, in the knowledge that it wasn’t something his body could easily accommodate. His chest still felt... flat, and the weight of what he was being asked to do felt like too much to carry.

He swallowed hard and tried again, forcing the familiar, practiced tone of Kiara into his voice. He had to push through it, had to keep up the act, had to be the girl he was supposed to become.

“Celeste, this is... this is really big,” he said again, but this time his voice was softer, higher-pitched, as he had been taught. He let the words flow in a way that he hoped sounded more feminine, more like Kiara. His heart raced as he spoke, still not sure how much he had convinced himself. “Are you sure it’s the right size?”

Celeste didn’t turn her gaze toward him right away. Instead, she busied herself with straightening the clothes in the wardrobe, pretending to be absorbed in the task as though she hadn’t heard him at all. Kieran was taken aback by her reaction. He thought he’d nailed the tone, but Celeste’s silence sent a chill through him, a subtle but unmistakable message.

She finally spoke, her voice light but firm, never once losing its calm, collected edge.

“Kiara,” she said, her voice gentle but with an unmistakable edge of authority. “Remember, we don’t ask questions. We simply do what needs to be done. Now, just put it on. Don’t think about it too much. I’ll explain everything when the time is right. You know how this works.”

Her words felt like a reprimand, but it wasn’t the harsh kind. It wasn’t a scolding, just a reminder of the reality he had chosen—or, rather, had been thrust into. In that moment, Kieran could feel a weight settling over him. He was caught between his old self and the person he was trying so desperately to become.

Kieran bit his lip and nodded, his throat tight. He had ****. He couldn’t argue, couldn’t resist, not if he wanted to keep moving forward. He had come this far, and to turn back now... well, that wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Not with the board meeting looming just around the corner.

He carefully unwrapped the matching set Celeste had given him, looking at the soft fabric, the way the lace and satin shimmered in the light. The design was elegant—perfectly feminine, intricate in its details. But as he held it up, he couldn’t help but feel the tinge of doubt creeping back. Was he really ready for this? Could he really pull this off?

With a deep breath, he stepped out of the towel, letting it fall to the floor in a pile. The cold air hit his skin, but he quickly ignored it, focusing entirely on the task at hand. He slid the panties on first, adjusting them carefully around his waist. They fit snugly, comfortably—almost like they were always meant to be there. Then, the bra. He hesitated just a moment before slipping it on, adjusting the straps and making sure the cups aligned. The fabric stretched comfortably across his chest, but the fit was... a bit different than what he had expected. It was snug, almost restrictive, but not uncomfortable.

The size of the bra was undeniably too big for his current body, but with the fabric in place, it started to feel less awkward. Less like a mistake, and more like a natural extension of the persona he was being **** to assume.

When he looked up at Celeste, she gave him a brief, approving glance, her expression inscrutable as always.

Kieran felt a deep sense of unease settle in his chest as Celeste led him into the next stage of his transformation. He had already donned the matching set of panties and the bra, but something told him that today was going to take a turn—something new was coming.

After a brief pause, Celeste reached to a hidden drawer beneath the vanity and pulled out two silicone inserts. She held them up, and Kieran’s stomach dropped when he saw how large they were. The silicone was smooth and firm, almost too perfect, and the weight of them in her hands seemed like it might bring the full weight of the reality crashing down on him.

“Now,” Celeste began, her tone professional, but with a touch of warmth that softened the edges of what was to come, “these are the next step. We’re done with the training bras. This is real now.”

Kieran blinked in confusion. He was used to the training bras—his chest had become somewhat accustomed to the minimal padding and coverage they offered. He never really questioned them, even though they felt like temporary pieces in a much larger puzzle. But this? This felt like something entirely different.

“These are silicone inserts,” Celeste continued, “designed to give you a more natural look, and to help you fill out your bra in a way that feels... well, more real. You’ve already made great progress, but these will help you embody Kiara fully.”

She held up two different sets of inserts, one set clearly adhesive and the other non-adhesive. The difference was immediately obvious—one had a sticky surface on the back, while the other seemed to be designed to simply sit inside the bra, shifting less as you moved.

“Non-adhesive ones are for your everyday wear. They give you shape, but they’re comfortable, and you can remove them when you don’t need them. These,” Celeste said, pointing to the adhesive inserts, “are for when we need to get serious, for when you’re out in public, or for important events. They’ll stay in place all day, but you’ll have to be extra careful applying them.”

Kieran’s chest tightened. The reality was becoming undeniable. His transformation wasn’t something that could be undone or avoided—it was happening, piece by piece, with each lesson, each new step. He was starting to realize how much more complicated it was to embody Kiara than he had imagined. This wasn’t just about clothes and makeup anymore. It was about completely rethinking how he saw himself, how he presented himself to the world.

Celeste looked at him with that familiar look of both authority and expectation. She had been the one to push him all along, never wavering in her belief that he could handle it. He felt a mix of gratitude and dread—the kind of gratitude that came with knowing someone cared enough to push you this hard, and the kind of dread that came with knowing there was no escape from the process.

Kieran’s hands trembled slightly as Celeste handed him the adhesive silicone inserts. They felt cool to the touch, a strange weight in his palms. He looked down at them for a moment, his mind racing. It was almost as if this small action would be the definitive line in the sand—after this, there would be no turning back. This would mark the point of no return in his transformation.

“Go ahead,” Celeste encouraged, “Apply them. Make sure you position them right in the cups. Start at the bottom, and press them gently into place. Keep them smooth, no wrinkles. If they feel wrong, try again.”

Kieran bit his lip and nodded, his hands working a little slower than he would have liked. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, the reality of the situation bearing down on him. He wasn’t just getting ready for a meeting—he was preparing to present himself as someone he wasn’t, someone who was still feeling the weight of the decision to change, to give up Kieran and become Kiara.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the adhesive inserts into the cups of his bra, the smooth surface feeling cool against his skin. As he adjusted them, he felt them settle against his chest, filling the space with a strange, heavy pressure. The feeling was so much more intense than the training bras, and for a moment, he just stood there, frozen. The weight on his chest was unmistakable, pulling his attention down to it.

The inserts fit into place easily enough, and as Kieran glanced down, his chest looked fuller, rounder. The weight was noticeable, a constant reminder of the transformation happening to his body. It wasn’t a temporary change—this was real, permanent for as long as he kept the inserts in. The bra cups were now completely filled, the fabric hugging the shape of his chest in a way it never had before.

“Perfect,” Celeste said, a rare note of approval in her voice. “That’s how it should feel. Now you’re fully equipped. And now, Kiara has C cups.”

The words hung in the air, almost surreal. C cups. Kieran couldn’t quite process it. He had known this day was coming—the day when his body would start to look more like Kiara’s—but hearing it out loud, hearing it said so casually by Celeste, was like a slap in the face.

“You’re doing well, Kiara,” Celeste added with a smile that felt almost proud. “This is a big step, and you’re handling it like a pro.”

Kieran didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t know how to feel. Was he relieved? Terrified? Or was it a mix of both?

“I’m still me,” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Celeste to hear.

Celeste, of course, heard every word. She didn’t flinch or react, just smiled knowingly and reached for a fresh set of clothes to complete the outfit. Her hands moved expertly, pulling items from the wardrobe as though it was second nature to her now.

“Let’s keep going,” Celeste said, her voice firm but encouraging. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and today’s a big day. We need to make sure everything is just right for tomorrow.”

Kieran’s mind was still caught on the C cups—still processing the sudden weight on his chest, but his resolve hardened just a little. He had **** now. This was it. This was the path ahead. There was no turning back. He would keep going, because, for the first time, he could see a glimmer of the woman he was meant to become.

“Alright,” he said, taking a deep breath and standing up straighter. “Let’s do this.”