Jessica had accepted the Black Swan statue from Elara in a quick, furtive exchange near the subway entrance just before 8:00 AM. It was heavier than she expected, a cold, polished black figurine of a swan, elegant and unsettling, its surface etched with lines that felt like fine grit under the cheap disposable towel she used as a temporary buffer.
She slipped into the office building with the statue tucked into her oversized purse. Her goal was to be inside Mason’s office and gone before his usual 8:45 AM arrival. This morning, she was the epitome of her detail-oriented self: early, precise, and utterly ruthless.
The fourth-floor operations division was silent, the cubicles still dark. Jessica moved quickly on soft soles to the heavy oak door of Mason’s office. It was locked, but as the senior assistant, she had an emergency key. She slipped inside.
The office was huge and plush, a monument to Mason’s ego. Jessica crossed the expensive carpet to the mahogany desk, pulled the Black Swan from her purse, and using the protective towel, placed the statue precisely on the corner of his leather blotter, a clear imposition on his pristine workspace. She then positioned herself at the visitor side of the desk, facing the door, ready to act as if she were simply waiting for her boss.
She had barely settled when she heard the faint whirr of the elevator, far too early. Panic seized her. Mason McManaham strode into the office, two briefcases in hand, looking freshly tailored and radiating his usual toxic blend of entitlement and aggression.
He dropped one briefcase by the credenza. As he approached his desk, he stopped. His eyes, programmed for his own comfort, immediately registered the unwelcome presence of the Black Swan statue.
He frowned, his six-foot-two frame bristling with irritation. He glanced up, his eyes immediately locking onto Jessica, who stood stiffly on the opposite side of his desk. She was the only other person in the immediate vicinity, making the act of blame effortless for him.
"Summers!" he barked, his voice loud in the quiet hallway. "Did you put this junk on my desk? You know I hate clutter!"
His voice was a challenge, a confirmation of the utter disrespect she was fighting against. Mason wasn't waiting for an answer. With a look of pure, patronizing contempt—the kind of look she had internalized for two months—he reached out his long, thick fingers and picked up the Black Swan statue.
The moment he touched it, the air in the office went cold and flat, and a profound, instantaneous physical shudder ran through Jessica's entire being.
In the next blink, the world had tilted.
Jessica was looking down at the woman standing on the other side of the desk. She was clad in a crisp, expensive suit, and the air around her smelled of sandalwood. She felt a staggering sense of height and weight, the powerful, expansive geometry of Mason’s six-foot-two frame. A massive wave of confusion and vertigo hit her as she realized she was standing exactly where Mason had been.
On the other side of the desk, in the spot where Jessica had just been, stood a figure in her clothes, her bun slightly askew. It was Mason. Mason McManaham, but in the body of four-foot-seven Jessica Summers.
Jessica—now Mason—felt a rush of cold shock. This wasn't a demotion for him; it was a devastating body swap.
Mason—now Jessica—looked down at his tiny, unfamiliar hands, his short, slender legs, and let out a strangled, high-pitched gasp that ended in an incoherent roar of rage. The shock of the feminine weight of his hair, the tight constraint of the blouse, and the sheer, utter humiliation of being reduced to the stature he had always mocked was instant and overwhelming. His small face, Jessica's face, contorted into a mask of impotent fury and confusion.
"What... what did you do to me, you little—" Mason’s voice, now high and sharp, broke off in a furious screech. The realization that he was trapped in the body he had always dismissed was a violation of his very existence.
Jessica, realizing the full, terrifying scope of Elara's plan, reacted with the cool, detail-oriented steel she always possessed. She needed to secure the weapon.
She quickly grabbed the Black Swan statue off the desk with a wad of nearby tissue paper and tucked it into the inner pocket of Mason's bespoke suit jacket. She had to ensure Mason, in her body, couldn't use it to reverse the switch.
Before Mason could unleash the torrent of abuse she knew was coming, the door was suddenly flung open with decisive force.
Mr. Thompson, the regional manager—a large, brisk man and Mason's immediate boss—stepped into the office. He stopped, momentarily surprised to see 'Mason' (Jessica) behind the desk and 'Jessica' (Mason) standing there, but immediately dismissed the secretary.
"Mason! There you are. The executive meeting is in five minutes. We need to finalize those Q3 projections. And fast," Mr. Thompson said, his eyes scanning the room, landing briefly on the small figure across the desk. He didn't even register the tears of pure shock welling in 'Jessica's' eyes.
Mr. Thompson then pointed a finger at the terrified, four-foot-seven person who was currently Mason McManaham. "Summers, be a darling, get a fresh carafe of coffee and bring it to the executive room. Don't be late."
He didn't wait for a response from either of them. Mr. Thompson clapped the massive shoulder of 'Mason' (Jessica) and steered her briskly toward the door. "Come on, Mason. Chop chop."
Jessica, in Mason’s body, threw one last, powerful, silent command at the small, horrified figure of Mason McManaham, trapped in the body he had always mocked, before being physically pulled out of the office and toward the executive meeting room. Mason—now Jessica—was left alone, paralyzed by rage and existential shock. The game, Jessica realized with a chilling thrill, was a total reversal of power.
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