I never asked for this. One day I woke up trapped in a woman’s body — not hers, not mine, but some cruel in-between: my own face reshaped into a feminine version. It wasn’t my choice. Someone forced me into her life, blackmailing me with one demand — “Play along, seduce her father, or stay trapped forever.”

I tried to keep low, but when her bestie walked in, cheerful as always, she smiled: “You ready.” My stomach dropped. I had no idea we were meeting her dad. I mumbled nervously, “Oh my god, we’re seeing your dad?”

“Yeah,” she replied matter-of-factly, “he’s gonna be there.”

I tried to cover my panic: “Okay, I’m gonna change.” But the curse had already caught me. The moment I slipped into that tight red bra and skirt, my real male face burst through the illusion. I forced a shaky grin: “Okay, let’s go.”

Her smile shattered. She gasped, backing away: “What the fuck.” I stammered, clinging to the blackmail’s cruel rule: “Wait, isn’t red his favorite color?”

Her glare was ice cold: “You’re not coming.”

I knew then — the trap was airtight. To escape this nightmare, I would have to walk straight into her father’s arms, playing the role my blackmailer demanded, every inch of me screaming against it.