Chapter 1
My husband was a motorcycle influencer—tall, handsome, and with an amazing physique.
One of my coworkers was so envious that she schemed to swap bodies with me.
Excitedly, she ran toward my husband, who was striking a cool pose on his bike. "Here I come, handsome hubby with six-pack abs."
Meanwhile, I calmly opened the passenger door of the Maybach.
Finally, I was rid of that tech-obsessed, show-off husband.
All this overflowing wealth and luxury was finally mine.
*****
Ten minutes before clock-out, my coworker Charlotte Evans dragged me into the restroom. "I've got a magic mirror. Come take a look."
It was a palm-sized little mirror, scratched up and worn from use, nothing remarkable at first glance.
"Doesn't look special at all," I said.
"Nope, you're doing it wrong. Watch me." Charlotte leaned her head against my shoulder, pointed at her own reflection, and told me to focus on her eyes.
The second our gazes met in the glass, the whole world spun out of control.
When I came back to my senses, I was stunned to realize we had swapped bodies.
Charlotte cheered and bolted toward Ryan Carter's flashy motorcycle. "Here I come, gorgeous hubby with killer abs, those V-cut lines, and the perfect body."
Ryan helped her with the helmet, one hand circling her slim waist as he lifted her onto the bike.
His clean, fluid movements and chiseled physique earned a chorus of squeals.
"Oh my God, he's so hot. Look at those pecs. I'm almost in love."
"I just want to bite his abs, trace that V-line, and swing on those long legs of his. Emily is way too lucky. If only I were his wife."
"Ryan's not just handsome; he spoils Emily like crazy. She's got to be the happiest woman alive."
Their gushing filled Ryan with pride.
He tilted his head arrogantly, lifted the hem of his T-shirt as if to wipe sweat, flashing those sculpted abs for everyone to feast on.
Amid the screams, an off-key voice cut in, "Charlotte's boyfriend is no slouch, either. He's always generous—designer bags, jewelry, luxury watches. Classic rich bachelor."
Someone scoffed, "So what if he's rich? Who wants a guy that old, mean, and full of himself? I'd rather be Ryan's mistress than marry that jerk."
"Same here. Charlotte said he's terrible in bed. He never takes care of her, just gets himself off and passes out. Total scumbag," someone chimed in.
Under their pitying stares, I calmly walked toward the sleek black sedan parked under the trees.
Forget Ryan's flashy Ducati—I preferred the understated elegance of a Volkswagen Phaeton.
Just like the vehicles, I valued steady, practical men, not ones who lived to show off.
I opened the passenger door quietly.
James Bennett looked up from his tablet. His sharp brows and dark, brooding eyes radiated a suffocating pressure. I ducked my head quickly, afraid to meet his gaze.
According to Charlotte, James was domineering, unpredictable, always stone-faced, and disturbingly twisted in bed.
If not for the money, she would've ditched him long ago.
I had never dealt with him before, but that one glance made my chest tighten.
His eyes were like X-rays, cutting straight through me.
Carefully, I slipped into the seat and closed the door softly.
"You're different today," James said, his deep voice smooth yet chilling.
He was too perceptive.
Just from the way I opened the door, he'd noticed something was off.
No wonder Charlotte always squirmed in his presence.
I forced a smile. "Different how?"
James glanced out the driver's window, catching a glimpse of Ryan. His smile turned colder. "Today, you didn't look at him."
Whenever Ryan picked me up, Charlotte's eyes were practically glued to him.
I had thought James would never notice it.
However, he simply knew how to keep his cool.
"I got chewed out by my boss today. Not in the mood," I explained.
Charlotte was emotional, careless with work, always getting scolded by supervisors and blamed by coworkers.
James suddenly leaned closer, moving toward my neck.
My breath caught.
Did he know? Was he about to strangle me?
His hand stopped at my seatbelt.
"No matter how bad your day is, you should always adjust this properly."
He was not domineering at all—downright considerate, completely opposite of what I'd been told.
Back home, James insisted I drink a glass of milk.
"I can't right now. Later, okay?" I muttered.
How embarrassing.
First time riding in a six-figure luxury car, and I got carsick.
My stomach felt like a nest of ants crawling all over.
James shoved the milk into my hand. "Nope. Now."
With him watching, I had no choice but to nod.
I barely lifted the glass to my lips before I dashed to the bathroom and vomited.
James stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his reflection in the mirror cold and probing.
"I always wore protection," he said, his voice icy. "So how are you pregnant?"