Liam lay motionless beneath Hannah’s leopard-print duvet, his eyes locked onto a yellowish, water-stained patch on the bedroom ceiling. He had been propped up against the pillows for the better part of twenty-four hours, entirely lost in his own head. If he stared at it long enough, the damp patch looked exactly like a desert island marooned in the middle of a vast, endless white sea. A quiet, desperate part of his brain imagined how peaceful it would be, stranded there—completely alone, thousands of miles away from the Manchester estate, his family, and the absolute nightmare his life had become.
The bedroom door swung open, breaking the silence. Hannah plodded into the room, holding a steaming mug of tea.
"How’re ya doin', then?" she asked softly, her usual brashness dialled back.
Liam didn't look away from the ceiling. "Awful," he replied, his voice flat. "Everywhere hurts."
"Anywhere in particular?" Hannah asked.
Liam averted his gaze from the damp patch to focus on Hannah, rolling his eyes. "Where d’ya think?" he shot back, his tone dripping with thick sarcasm.
Hannah let out a soft sigh. She placed the mug of tea on the cluttered bedside table and perched on the edge of the mattress next to him. "I know this is proper tough on ya," she said gently. She reached out, taking his hand and carefully threading his long, manicured fingers through her own. "But things will get better. This isn’t permanent."
"It sure feels permanent," Liam replied. He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing as he glanced down at his chest. Pushing aggressively against the tight upper band of his faja were two heaving mounds of bruised, swollen flesh. The skin was taut and shiny, painted in a tender shade of red. "They’re so heavy. And sore."
"The soreness won’t last forever," Hannah reassured him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "You’ve got one more session with Mei, and then you’ll be done."
A full-body shudder ripped through Liam at the mere thought of it. He had already endured more than enough sessions with the Thai woman. The process was slow and agonizing. Every few days, Mei would plunge a syringe directly into his nipples, pumping liquid silicone straight into his chest. They had to space the sessions out, giving his tissue time to physically stretch and accommodate the foreign fluid before she forced even more volume inside.
It was a desperate, extreme measure, but glue and padding were no longer going to cut it. Ronnie’s wife, Sharon, had already been in touch to arrange a private bridal dress fitting for the following month, meaning the disguise had to be able to pass the closest of inspections. Mei had suggested the procedure the moment Hannah explained the severity of their predicament. She promised to sculpt a pair of breasts completely indistinguishable from the real thing, using a black-market technique she claimed was commonly performed on ladyboys back in Pattaya.
The only tiny sliver of comfort Liam could cling to was Mei’s promise that the liquid silicone would naturally reabsorb into his body within a year, provided it wasn't topped up. He just had to survive long enough to let it.
By comparison, Mei’s other suggestion was far less daunting: silicone pads glued to his hips and backside with industrial-strength adhesive, then sprayed over with a thick layer of fake tan. She claimed the prosthetics would hold firmly in place for weeks, giving him a curvy hourglass figure that didn't just look real, but fundamentally altered the way he moved.
“Right, let’s get you some more paracetamol, then,” Hannah said briskly, reaching for the bottle on the bedside table.
Liam gave a weak nod and looked away, oblivious to the fact that as his sister picked out a painkiller, she slipped two other tablets from Mei into the mix. Mei had claimed they would help 'soften him out' a little, assuring her that nothing was irreversible if only taken for a short period of time.
Hannah handed the pills to Liam and watched closely as he swallowed them down with a swig of water. A sharp pang of guilt twisted in her stomach for not telling him the truth: that he was ingesting a strong dose of oestrogen and testosterone blockers. But as she watched him sink back against the pillows, she quickly justified the lie. He was far too emotionally fragile to agree to it, and in her mind, this extreme measure was absolutely essential to their survival.
Without warning, Molly burst into the room, practically skipping and vibrating with excitement. “Whatcha think of this? Ain't it brilliant?” she chirped, dropping her weight onto the mattress. The sudden bounce sent a fresh, agonizing spike of pain straight through Liam’s chest, pulling a loud groan from his lips.
“Think what’s brilliant?” Hannah asked, cocking her head.
“This,” Molly said, shoving her phone directly into Hannah’s hands.
Hannah studied the screen for a second before her jaw dropped. “Shut up. How did you do this?”
“Used an AI app, didn't I?” Molly said, popping her gum while looking very pleased with herself. “It’s a bit glitchy if you zoom right in, but it’s pretty convincing, right?”
“Yeah. If Sharon goes snooping, this will work,” Hannah agreed with an approving nod. “Banging job, Mols.”
“What are you two talking about?” Liam croaked, his panic flaring as his gaze darted between the grinning girls. “What have you done?”
“See for yourself,” Hannah replied, passing over the phone.
“What the actual hell is this?” Liam gasped. His eyes widened in shock, sending Molly into a fit of giggles.
“It’s called an online presence, babes,” Molly teased. “You didn’t exist. Now you do.”
Liam stared in horror at the grid of photos. There he was—or rather, there Tiff was—pouting and taking selfies in places he’d never even been. “Wait... are these real followers?”
“Yep,” Molly said, grinning. “I just followed a bunch of fit lads, and a few followed back.”
“A few?!” Liam cried out. “You call three hundred and fifty-eight a few?”
“Oh, chill out, will ya?” Hannah sighed, patting his leg through the duvet. “We need this. It’s important.”
Liam just shook his head, staring back down at the manufactured timeline of his new life until one image caught his eye. He pressed a long, coffin-shaped acrylic against the screen and spun the phone. “And what’s this one supposed to be?”
Hannah’s smile turned dangerously sweet. “Well, since Tiff is now a real girl with a real life, I made a few calls. I found you a job.”
“A job?” Liam repeated, the blood draining from his face.
“Don’t stress, it’ll be a piece of cake,” Hannah replied, waving a manicured hand dismissively. “You start next week.”