Tyler’s day didn’t start very well—if waking up in someone else’s body, nine months pregnant, in a wedding dress straining at the seams over his belly, could even be called a “start of the day.”
He opened his eyes and immediately understood that everything was bad. That, apparently, he really had been kidnapped, and those strange sounds and fragments of conversation he’d heard in those moments when consciousness briefly returned were not delirium and not a dream at all.
‘Tyler fucking Brown. How the hell did you let it come to this? Why didn’t you just kill them on the spot?’ he thought, staring up at the wooden ceiling, yellowish rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks, while somewhere outside, judging by the sounds, an old gate creaked lazily and someone was talking. ‘You’re fucking Tyler Brown, how the hell did you even allow this, huh? How are you going to look your boys in the eye now?... By the way, why the hell aren’t they here yet? Gotta get out of here—looks like they didn’t even tie me up, idiots!’
He jerked—and immediately realized something was wrong. Everything felt… different. Completely wrong.
— Damn… — he exhaled almost in a whisper, and instantly noticed how even that simple word made his throat ache, as if he’d been screaming all night. — What the fuck…
His hands automatically reached for his neck, only to find skin that was far too soft, far too sensitive—nothing like the familiar rough, stubbled surface that also clearly had a scar.
He froze.
His fingers trembled, running over that spot again, slowly now, a growing chill spreading inside him.
— …what the… — he breathed out, almost soundlessly.
He pulled his hand away and tried to stand.
Didn’t work.
Something heavy in his belly suddenly dragged him down, as if a weight had been nailed to him, and Tyler, with a dull exhale, collapsed back onto his back.
— Aah… fuck… — he hissed, grimacing, this time already noticing the higher pitch in his voice, which immediately sent a stab of pain through his throat.
He froze, breathing heavily, feeling how his chest rose in a completely different way, the fabric stretching over it each time, digging into his body.
— What the… hell…
He finally rolled onto his side, propped himself on his elbow, and slowly, inch by inch, sat up. His belly settled onto his thighs like a heavy, hot sphere. Tyler instinctively wrapped both arms around it, trying to push it away from himself—but it didn’t move. Instead, he clearly felt something inside “kick” him, sending a wave of wild fear through him—and at the same time something else.
‘No. No-no-no! That’s impossible! That’s… that’s just impossible,’ he thought, but now he could clearly see—and even feel—the weight of his own chest, rising and falling with every shaky breath, and it was impossible to deny that it was—his.
— No fucking way… — he exhaled, turning his head away. Anywhere, just not to see this, just so that when he turned back he’d see his usual hairy, muscular chest and abs under his usual black T-shirt.
But no.
He didn’t have to look—it was there. It felt too real.
— Fuck! — he spat, putting all his strength into his voice, which came out like that of an offended girl, and again shot pain through his throat.
Tyler clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He forced himself to look down at this nightmare: a white lace bra stretched to its limit, barely holding back his own—alien, yet undeniably real—breasts. At that huge, heavy pregnant belly, beneath which, for some reason, he had no doubt at all, there was a real human fetus.
And then—pain again. This time from his finger.
Tyler hadn’t expected his fingers to have long nails, which, as luck would have it, scraped against the ground at that moment.
— Ah, fuck… — he jerked his hand back sharply, grimacing, and stared at those thin fingers with a strange disgust. — What the hell kind of manicure is this, bitch…
He tried to clench his hand into a fist—but of course, it didn’t work. It looked so… feminine.
His gaze fell on a note lying next to where he’d touched the hard floor.
He froze for a second, breathing heavily, as if even the simple movement of his eyes required effort. Then slowly, with obvious reluctance, he reached for it.
His fingers trembled as they caught on the paper, his nails scraping the ground again as he tried to pick it up, the sensation irritating him once more.
— Fuck… — he muttered quietly, clenching his teeth and awkwardly unfolding the note because of those nails.
“Tyler, my sunshine 💕
If you only knew how much I hated you after you left me right at the altar.
And you knew I was three months pregnant.
But, you know, I forgive you. Rea-really-really!
And you know what? You can even get your body back — the doctor said it’s possible, but…
Only if you’re a good girl…
And to start. Take this bouquet and step out of the barn. And no funny business, got it?
Otherwise…
With love, Emily!”
He reread the note several more times, clutching it in his thin, trembling fingers, as if trying to understand whether this was a dream or some teenage girl’s revenge fantasy brought to life. But… those words. They kept pulling his attention back again and again.
‘be a good girl’
Tyler’s face twisted.
— You… fucking bitch…
he squeaked, crumpling the paper in his fist as tightly as those delicate fingers allowed, while at the same time trying to stand.
And this time—it worked.
With effort. With his face contorted. With a short, strained exhale as that heavy belly dragged him down again, forcing his legs apart instinctively for balance.
— Fuck… — he hissed, bending forward and clutching his side, feeling something inside push again, stronger this time. — Just… calm the hell down in there…
He froze.
One second.
Two.
The realization that he had just… said that… not to himself, but to… that…
His face twisted with disgust.
— No. No, fuck that. This isn’t mine… — he snapped, straightening up and breathing heavily. — Not my body. Not my… not my…
The word stuck.
He simply couldn’t say it.
Instead, his gaze dropped to the bouquet.
It lay a bit further ahead, near the barn exit—neatly arranged, made of pink and white roses, tied with a ribbon. As if someone had really been preparing for a wedding. A normal, damn it, wedding.
— Bitch… — Tyler exhaled, slowly moving toward it.
Step.
Another step.
Every movement felt wrong—his hips swayed wider than he was used to, his center of gravity had shifted, his chest pulled him downward, and the dress… that fucking dress… rubbed against his skin, stretched tight, restricted him.
He walked like he was learning all over again.
— If this is some kind of prank… — he growled through clenched teeth, grabbing his belly with one hand and the wooden wall with the other, — I swear, Emily… I’ll…
The barn door creaked as he pushed it open with his shoulder, and he immediately squeezed his eyes shut. Bright light hit his eyes, and with it, the dense, saturated air of rural life filled his lungs.
When his eyes finally adjusted, he realized he wanted to go back inside—because standing in front of him was Emily… or rather, it was her head on his tall, strong, broad-shouldered body.
The same shoulders, the same arm span, the same familiar stance—feet slightly apart, that unmistakable confidence in posture—but above… above it was her. Emily. With that soft face, with those damn eyes now looking at him with something between mockery and… sweet, almost satisfied delight.
— Oh, you’re awake, princess, — the voice was his. Deep, with that slight rasp from last night’s whiskey, but coming from Emily’s mouth.
Tyler felt blood rush to his cheeks. Cheeks that were now smooth, without a trace of stubble, with a faint natural blush from the pregnancy.
— You… — he started, but his voice cracked into a high, almost childish note. He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again, lower this time: — You bitch, what did you do?
Emily laughed—with his laugh, loud, confident, the one that used to make girls melt in bars. Now it was aimed at him.
— Wow, I didn’t know I sounded like that. — then her face turned serious — but really, it’s too early for you to be shouting. Save your vocal cords if you don’t want to end up a mute girl. Oh. Though honestly… that might even be better. The perfect silent wife, huh?
Tyler froze, watching as Emily, with his damn swagger, slowly walked toward him. And the closer she got, the more he felt something he had never felt before: vulnerable, weak, defenseless. And that only made everything worse.