One minute I was scrolling through a vlogger’s live feed, the next her world snapped into mine. A glitch of light, a pulse of static, and suddenly I was behind her camera, standing in her studio. My own face stared back from the monitor, but the body moving on screen followed her gestures, her tone, her schedule. The swap wasn’t a dream; it was a job I couldn’t quit. Viewers flooded the chat with hearts, waiting for “her” next fashion review.

The script on her teleprompter blinked: “I think I’ll try black on.” I swallowed hard, stepped into frame, and lifted the top she’d laid out — a black sports bra. When the fabric slid into place, I caught my reflection in the lens: my familiar face framed by her posture, her practiced poise. I forced a smile and said softly, half to the audience and half to the stranger who had stolen my life, “What were you thinking?” The chat exploded with praise, and the stream went on as if nothing had changed.