Alex Thorne came awake with a jolt, like someone had flipped a switch behind his eyes.
Fluorescent light stabbed downward, cold and clinical. His head throbbed in time with the low hum of air conditioning. He tried to sit up, but his body felt wrong—heavier, taller, draped in fabric that cost more than his monthly rent back in his old life.
He was sitting at a massive mahogany desk. Holographic displays floated above its surface like ghosts: cascading stock tickers, overlapping news feeds, a three-dimensional org chart labeled Lang Industries — Executive Level. The name at the top pulsed in elegant silver lettering.
Victor LangChief Executive Officer
Alex's breath caught. That wasn't his name.
He lifted a hand—long fingers, manicured nails, a heavy platinum watch that probably cost six figures. Not his hand. Definitely not.
"What the hell…" The voice that came out was deep, clipped, carrying the effortless authority of someone who expected the world to listen. A faint British accent curled around the edges. Victor's accent. Victor's voice.
Memories that weren't his crashed in like malware: boardroom executions disguised as quarterly reviews, calculated bankruptcies of smaller competitors, late-night calls to fixers who made problems disappear. And at the center of it all—Elena Voss.
The woman Alex had spent countless late nights defending in online forums. The brilliant, ruthless, heartbreaking villainess of Empire of Glass. The one the author ultimately broke because Victor Lang was written to be irredeemable.
Alex pressed his palms to his eyes. "No. No way. This is—impossible."
But the calendar projection floating to his left didn't lie.
October 17, 202809:45 – Preliminary Merger Discussions: Voss DynamicsApex Tower, Level 62
Today. The day Victor first met Elena in the original novel.
In the book, Victor had walked into that conference room with a pre-arranged kill order on her pitch: planted questions from friendly board members, leaked proprietary data to make her look unprepared, a quiet side-deal with her largest investor to pull funding if she didn't fold. By the end of the week, Voss Dynamics would be bleeding cash, and Elena's reputation would be in tatters. The beginning of her long, scripted fall.
Alex stared at the holographic calendar until the edges blurred.
"I'm not letting that happen," he whispered.
He snatched the slim phone from the desk—sleek, black, no visible brand—and opened the encrypted messaging app Victor used for "sensitive" business. The most recent thread was with someone labeled only Handler-7.
Handler-7: Phase 1 ready. Voss presentation materials altered per your instructions. Leak scheduled 11:15. Confirm go?
Alex's stomach twisted. In the novel, this single message had set everything in motion.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Then he typed:
Stand down. Cancel all Phase 1 actions. No leaks. No alterations. Destroy the prepared materials. Confirm immediately.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
A reply pinged back almost instantly.
Handler-7: …Understood. Actions aborted. Materials incinerated. Awaiting further instructions.
Alex exhaled hard enough that it almost sounded like a laugh.
He stood, legs unsteady for a moment as he adjusted to Victor's taller frame, broader shoulders, the unfamiliar weight of command that seemed baked into the man's very posture.
Crossing to the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked out over Neo-Tokyo: a glittering forest of glass and steel stretching toward the horizon, sky-bridges threading between towers like silver veins, drones weaving through regulated air corridors.
Somewhere in that city was Elena Voss—preparing for a meeting she didn't yet know had just been changed.
Alex pressed his forehead to the cool glass.
"I read every chapter," he murmured. "Every betrayal. Every tear she never let anyone see. I'm not going to let the story win."
He straightened, adjusted the cuffs of a shirt that cost more than his old apartment, and glanced at the time.
08:47.
Just under an hour until the merger discussion.
Just under an hour until he met the woman he'd fallen for through pages and pixels.
And for the first time since waking up in this body, Alex Thorne—now wearing Victor Lang's skin—smiled.
A real smile.
Not Victor's cold, predatory one.
Something softer. Something hopeful.
"Let's rewrite this thing."
He turned away from the window and headed for the private elevator.
The game had just begun.