The city apartment reeked of expensive cologne and cheap perfume. Arthur Fitzgerald reclined on the grey leather sofa, his attention split between the financial ticker on his muted TV and the young woman between his legs. Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. Brown hair. Business major. One of the summer interns at Monarch Capital.
Her name escaped him. Monica? Melissa?
Didn't matter.
She made a wet noise as she worked, punctuated by the occasional gag she tried to hide. Her technique was sloppy and unpracticed, all enthusiasm with no finesse.
Schlick... schlick... gok!
Arthur winced as he felt teeth graze sensitive skin.
"Careful," he muttered, not bothering to look down.
The Dow was up three percent. His portfolio would see a nice bump tomorrow. Maybe enough to justify another weekend in Napa. Without Evelyn, of course. He'd tell her it was a board retreat. She never questioned these things anymore.
The intern doubled her efforts, clearly hoping for some sign of approval. Arthur stared blankly at the television. He wasn't aroused—he was bored. These little transactions had lost their thrill years ago, but they remained necessary. A validation that he still mattered, that women still wanted him, that he could still command attention from someone under thirty.
Schlick... schlick... gok!
His phone buzzed on the glass coffee table, illuminating the dim room with harsh blue light. The screen displayed a single word:
EVELYN
Arthur sighed, long and theatrical, as if the universe itself had conspired to annoy him.
"Stop," he ordered.
The intern looked up, lips swollen, mascara smeared.
"Is everything okay, Mr. Fitzgerald?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"My wife," he said, as if that explained everything. "Give me a minute."
The girl sat back on her heels, trying and failing to hide her irritation. Arthur tucked himself back into his slacks with an annoyed grunt and reached for the phone.
What could Evelyn possibly need now?
Evelyn Fitzgerald stood in her master bedroom, the space cavernous and cold around her. She pulled a pair of silk panties from her drawer and slipped them up her legs. As the fabric slid over her thighs, she felt it—a slick, undeniable wetness between her legs.
Squish.
She pressed a hand against her stomach, her breath hitching.
The memory from the kitchen refused to fade: Leo standing behind her, the solid wall of his chest at her back, and that shocking, thick pressure against her.
He felt... huge. At least twice Arthur's size, even when Arthur was...
She couldn't finish the thought. It wasn't right. It wasn't proper. Leo was nineteen. He was Marcus Sterling's son. He was under her roof, under her care.
And Arthur was her husband.
Evelyn pulled the panties all the way up, ignoring the dampness, and hurried to finish dressing. She chose a modest sundress with a high neckline and a cardigan to layer over it.
She needed to talk to Arthur. Hearing his voice would set her straight, remind her of her place, her role.
Evelyn picked up her phone and dialed. Her hand trembled slightly as she waited through three rings.
"What is it, Evelyn?"
In the background, she heard rustling, movement. Then Arthur let out a low groan. Was he in pain?
"Arthur, are you alright? You sound stressed."
"I'm busy." His voice was tight. "What do you want?"
Evelyn twisted the fabric of her dress with her free hand. "I wanted to let you know that Leo's fever broke last night. He's feeling much better, but he's been acting a bit... different."
"Different how?" Arthur sounded distracted.
"He's more... present. Engaged. He's cleaned his entire room and now wants to buy a new bed and some clothes. I thought I'd take him shopping today."
"And you need my permission for this riveting adventure because...?"
Evelyn flinched at his tone. "I'll need to use the card for the bigger purchases. His mattress is apparently ruined."
"Of course. The charity case and my wife, a tag team to suck my wallet dry. Is that all?"
Evelyn's throat tightened. "It's just a mattress, Arthur. And maybe some clothes. He's outgrown most of what he has."
"Whatever. Just do it. I have to go."
"Okay. I love y—"
CLICK.
In the city apartment, Arthur tossed his phone onto the couch and looked down at the intern. Her mouth had twisted into a pout.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"Nobody important," Arthur said. "Where were we?"
He shoved her head back down with more force than necessary, his frustration from the call transmuting into crude, angry need.
"Finish it," he commanded.
The girl complied, her movements now mechanical and resentful. Arthur closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the sofa.
Another day in the life of Arthur James Fitzgerald III, he thought bitterly. A wife who nags, a board that barely tolerates me, and a twenty-something who can't even give decent head.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt truly satisfied by anything.
Leo stretched out on the floor of his nearly empty room. Most of the garbage was gone, piled into contractor bags by the back door. The mattress still needed to be dealt with, but he'd made serious progress.
His phone—well, old Leo's phone—buzzed with a notification. Leo picked it up, swiping through to see an email confirmation for a bank transfer.
Five hundred dollars deposited to account ending in 4721.
"So that's real," he murmured. The account existed, and money was actually in it. That was something.
Leo had found the wallet during his cleaning spree, buried under a stack of anime figurines still in their boxes. Inside was a debit card, a library card that had probably never seen use, and exactly twenty-seven dollars in cash.
No driver's license, of course. Because old Leo had been too anxious to learn how to drive. Too anxious to leave the house.
Too anxious to live.
Leo set the phone down and stared at the ceiling. Five hundred a month wasn't much to work with, but it was a start. He'd need to find other income sources eventually, but for now, he could begin the transformation.
Step one: fix the body. That meant nutrition, exercise, and proper sleep.
Step two: fix the situation. That meant understanding the Fitzgerald family power dynamics and finding leverage.
Step three: fix the future. That meant building something for himself that didn't depend on Arthur Fitzgerald's reluctant charity.
A knock at his door interrupted his planning. Three soft taps.
"Leo? Are you decent?"
Evelyn's voice. Something about it sounded strained.
"Yeah, come in," he called, sitting up.
The door opened, and Evelyn stood in the threshold. She'd changed into a blue sundress with a cream cardigan. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.
"I called Arthur," she said, her eyes not quite meeting Leo's. "We're clear for the shopping trip."
Leo nodded. "Did he say anything else?"
Evelyn's mouth tightened for a fraction of a second. "Nothing important. Are you ready to go? The store opens in twenty minutes."
Leo got to his feet, noticing how Evelyn took a small step back to maintain distance between them.
"Ready when you are," he said.
He followed her through the house, out to the driveway where a white Mercedes SUV waited.
Evelyn unlocked the car with a press of a button, and Leo climbed into the passenger seat.
As Evelyn started the engine, Leo studied her profile. She sat rigidly, her hands gripping the steering wheel at a perfect ten and two. Her wedding ring glinted in the sunlight—a massive diamond that looked heavy enough to pull her finger from its socket.
"Everything okay?" Leo asked as they backed out of the driveway.
"Of course," she said too quickly. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"You seem tense."
Evelyn's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I'm fine. Just a lot to do today."
Leo decided not to push. Whatever was bothering her, it wasn't his problem.
He was here to fix his own situation, not play therapist to a woman caught in a loveless marriage.
Leo's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw a notification from an ecchi gacha game—something the old Leo had apparently been obsessed with.
"You play a lot of games?" Evelyn asked, clearly grasping for safe conversation.
"Used to," Leo said. He opened the app out of curiosity.
The account showed thousands of hours played. Multiple maxed-out characters. Tens of thousands of in-game currency.
"Jesus," Leo muttered. "Talk about wasted time."
"What was that?" Evelyn asked.
"Nothing." Leo closed the app and put the phone away. "Just thinking about changes I want to make."
Evelyn glanced at him, then back at the road. "You mentioned that yesterday. About not being the same person anymore."
"That's right."
"What prompted this... transformation?"
Well, I died of heart failure and somehow ended up in your charity case's body, so now I'm going to completely rebuild his life.
Yeah, he couldn't say that.
"I looked in the mirror during that fever and didn't recognize myself. I saw what I'd become, and I hated it. So I decided to change."
Evelyn nodded slowly. "That's... very mature, Leo."
"Don't sound so surprised," he said with a half-smile. "I'm nineteen, not nine."
"Yes, of course," she said stiffly. "I didn't mean to imply..."
"It's fine," Leo cut her off. "I know what everyone thinks of me. The useless charity case. The disappointment. I'm going to change that."
Evelyn's face softened with what looked like genuine remorse. "Leo, that's not how I see you."
"No?" Leo raised an eyebrow. "How do you see me then?"
The question seemed to catch her off guard. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.
"I see someone with potential," she said finally. "Someone who's been through tremendous loss and trauma, who hasn't had the support he needed."
"Well," he said, "starting today, that changes. New bed, new clothes, new Leo."
Evelyn smiled, some of her earlier tension melting away. "I'm glad to hear that. And I'm happy to help however I can."
Leo turned to look out the window, watching the expensive homes of the Fitzgerald neighborhood give way to more modest suburbs.
"I'll hold you to that," he said quietly.