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I got up, exhaling deeply. It was time to start. Sitting around thinking wouldn’t make breakfast, and Marek, as I had already realized, wasn’t the type to skip a morning meal. I approached the fridge and opened it. The shelves were neatly packed with food, everything precise and organized. Every jar and package was in its place. It was clear that Apolonia had been a perfect housekeeper. Absentmindedly, I grabbed some eggs, a bit of ham, and some cheese, deciding that an omelet would be the safest choice. He probably wouldn’t notice the difference.
As I put the pan on the stove, irritation began bubbling up inside me. The grease slowly melted, turning into a hot puddle as I nervously sliced the ham.
– Damn experiment, damn Marek, damn Steph, – I muttered, angrily tossing pieces of ham into the pan. The grease sizzled, as if encouraging my anger. – Here’s your adventure, Mike. Now you’re a woman, making a goddamn omelet for your "husband."
When I finally placed the last slice of cheese onto the cooling omelet, a heavy step sounded behind me. My body tensed instantly, like a rabbit spotting a predator. Marek appeared in the doorway, sleepy but composed. His broad shoulders nearly filled the frame. He was wearing only pants and a tank top that clung to his massive chest. His hair was slightly tousled, and his gaze still carried a trace of drowsiness.
– Morning, Polya, – he said in his low, raspy voice, which sounded more like the morning hum of a truck. He stretched, and I could see the muscles shift beneath his skin. – Smells good.
– Uh-huh, – I mumbled, avoiding his eyes. – It’s ready. Sit down.
He sat at the table, not taking his eyes off me. His gaze was calm, but there was a hint of something—hidden curiosity, maybe. I set the plate of omelet in front of him, my hands trembling slightly from the tension.
– You look tired. Didn’t sleep well? – Marek asked, fixing me with his heavy stare.
I shuddered inwardly but tried to keep my expression neutral. My new face. God, I didn’t even know how to move it properly to hide my irritation.
– Just… slept badly, – I muttered, lowering my eyes. The lie felt horrible. That bright voice, that submissive note—it made me seem pathetic even to myself.
Marek frowned, slowly chewing the first bite of omelet. His gaze didn’t waver, and I felt as if he were boring into me.
– Are those dreams back again? About that guy, what’s his name… Mark or… Mike? – he said suddenly, as if offhandedly, grabbing another bite.
– What?! – I froze abruptly, my fingers barely brushing the table tensing. My eyes widened, and I felt a rush of heat to my face.
– What… what dreams? – My voice betrayed me, trembling slightly.
Marek leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes slightly. His look was probing, as if he were trying to get into my head.
– What, you forgot already? We even went to that hypnotherapist of yours... or whatever they were called. – He spoke too casually, scratching the back of his head. – But then it all stopped, and yesterday you started again. So, I figured maybe it’s those weird fantasies of yours coming back.
For a second, the world froze. My heart sank somewhere to my feet. Marek kept looking at me with a serious yet oddly calm expression, as if he’d just asked if I wanted sugar in my tea.
– What… what did you just say? – My voice wavered, but I quickly fired off a more urgent question: – Are you kidding me right now? You’re seriously talking about this in front of the cameras? – I spat out, feeling anger and fear boiling inside me.
Marek’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he just shrugged, continuing to eat the omelet.
– What do the cameras have to do with anything? – he replied indifferently, popping another piece into his mouth. – Those recordings are for personal use. Besides, maybe they’ll come in handy if your dreams start again. – He smirked slightly, as if he didn’t care that I was barely holding myself together.
I grabbed the edge of the table to keep myself from snapping at him right then and there. Damn Marek—I don’t even know who this guy is anymore! But I decided it was pointless to say anything—don’t push the experiment too far, don’t risk the penalties, Mike. Just play this goddamn role, finish the experiment, get the money, and then you can show Stephanie exactly what you think of her!
– Fine. I’ll… go get changed, – I snapped, turning abruptly toward the door. – …And I’ll prepare your lunch, – I added, barely stopping myself from hissing the last part with venom, storming off toward the bedroom. As I walked away, I caught a glimpse of Marek’s look—calm, almost indifferent, like a man who knows he’s in charge. Damn him!
I slammed the bedroom door shut, a bit louder than I’d intended. Leaning against it, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. This whole thing—the experiment, the cameras, Marek—disgusted me so much I wanted to break something. But instead, I sighed and headed to the wardrobe.
Inside hung the infamous "outing outfit" mentioned in the instructions: a freaking floral sundress that looked like it had been bought for a family picnic in some picturesque park. The light fabric was dotted with tiny pink and yellow flowers, with a high waistline and a skirt that reached my knees. The shoulders were adorned with cute little bows, highlighting the "delicate" vibe of the ensemble. Next to the dress hung a set of underwear: a cream lace bra, matching panties, and cream-colored stockings. At the bottom of the wardrobe were white ballet flats—clearly the final touch to this "amazing" outfit.