The office was quiet except for the soft clicking of a keyboard. In the corner, Heather sat at her sleek mahogany desk, her platinum blonde hair tied up in a bun. Her fingers flew across the keys, each stroke precise and practiced. She was the perfect image of an executive secretary—gorgeous, efficient, and wholly focused on her work.
A shadow fell over her desk as Mrs. Clarissa Vanderhill approached, her stilettos clicking authoritatively against the marble floor.
“Heather,” Clarissa purred, eyeing the woman who was once her husband. “How’s the report coming along?”
Heather replied without looking up from her work. “Just finishing up now, Mrs. Vanderhill.” She was trying desperately not to notice how her boss’s presence made her heart race—or how it made parts of her newly curvaceous body ache.
Clarissa smiled thinly. “Good girl.” She paused and traced a manicured finger along Heather’s jawline. “It’s remarkable how...dedicated you’ve become since your demotion.”
Heather stiffened under her touch but managed a weak smile. “I aim to please.”
“Oh, I know.” Clarissa withdrew her hand and walked around to sit in front of Heather, crossing her legs with an elegant swish of fabric. “It’s amazing what modern science can do when properly applied.”
A chill ran down Heather’s spine. After Clarissa caught her—then a “him” named Henry—kissing another woman at the office Christmas party, she’d unleashed a fury like no other.
“We’ve only been married four months!” Clarissa had hissed then. “I was going to share my life with you—my business, my wealth. You were perfect. But you’re just too male, aren’t you? Too prone to stray. Well, never let it be said that I don’t fix my mistakes—or nature’s, for that matter.”
And then came the ultimatum: complete submission or absolute ruin. Clarissa was armed with lawyers who would sue him for mental anguish and keep him tied up in court for years, draining every last cent. Or he could agree to undergo ‘therapy’ sessions with Clarissa’s chosen doctor—and a series of hormone treatments and surgeries to strip away every ounce of masculinity he once had.
Now here he was—here she was—blonde hair styled impeccably each morning by Clarissa herself before work; lips full and always painted with gloss; breasts round and sensitive beneath the crisp black blouse; hips wide enough to ensure every step taken in those torturous heels swayed seductively.
“Do you ever regret it?” Clarissa asked suddenly, snapping Heather out of her thoughts. “Kissing that woman.”
Heather swallowed hard. “Every day.” 
Clarissa’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “I can’t say I’m not pleased with the results, though. You’re a vision, Heather. Far better than Henry ever was.” She stood, her silhouette framed by the light pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. “But remember, this is your life now. There’s no going back.”
Heather felt a pang of loss at those words, a finality that settled in her stomach like a stone. She nodded, accepting the truth of Clarissa’s statement. “I understand, Mrs. Vanderhill.”
Clarissa paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. “When we’re alone, you... you can call me Clarissa again,” she said.
“Really? Does that mean—”
Clarissa cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t read into it. And make sure that report is on my desk within the hour.” With that, she turned and left the office, the click of her heels fading into silence.
Heather sat there, the quiet of the office enveloping her like a shroud. She’d lost herself, the person she once was, forever. The surgeries, the hormones—they’d reshaped her beyond recognition, beyond reversal. But maybe she hadn’t lost Clarissa. Not completely. Maybe amidst the twisted wreckage of her past life, there was a chance for something new with the woman she’d loved—something real.