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After some time, in Shahin's chambers.
— Damn it, man, I’m telling you for the hundredth time, this is some goddamn virtual reality! — Trevor snapped, gripping the wooden armrests of the massive chair they’d put him in after the night in a prison cell. — You hear me, Merrick? I know you're somewhere around here! Turn off the damn simulator, now!
Shahin, sitting across from him in a luxurious chair adorned with carvings and velvet, watched him with cold curiosity. His dark eyes, like those of a predatory bird, slid over Trevor’s figure, pausing on his bare chest, thin waist, and wide hips, barely covered by transparent fabric.
— Layla, — he began, stretching the words as if speaking to a misbehaving child, — do you... do you understand what you're in for? — Shahin smirked, watching Trevor with interest.
Trevor sat there, unable to suppress the tension in his body, which still felt alien to him. He tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. Every movement, even the slightest, made him feel the weight on his chest, while his hips, too soft and too voluminous, rubbed against the fabric of the chair. He still couldn’t get used to how his voice had changed, how every movement of his new body parts felt not like his own, but like something foreign. His male head, with short hair, was on this strange body, but it felt like no one cared.
— Are you blind? Look at me, you idiot! Look at my face and this body! It’s ridiculous! What the hell am I talking to you for, you’re just a fucking NPC! — Trevor rolled his eyes, feeling his chest sway with the sharp movement. He gritted his teeth, placing his hand on his chest above his tit, elbow brushing against its softness, and stared at Shahin with a mixture of surprise and anger. — Whatever, man, I don't give a shit about your dumb quests! I’m the boss here, got it? My dad bought half of Manhattan, and you...
Shahin raised his hand, and the guards standing at the door froze instantly, ready to follow any order. His dark eyes, cold and calculating, slid over Trevor’s figure from top to bottom, stopping at his head. Shahin’s face changed as he looked at Trevor, as though he were nothing but some unruly little beast.
— Looks like you’re forgetting your place, slave! — Shahin suddenly and loudly declared, making Trevor flinch as if slapped in the face. His palm instinctively clenched the armrest, his nails digging into the carved wood. His chest rose with anger, reminding him of its weight, and the movement — too smooth, too feminine — made his skin crawl. Shahin stood up from his chair, and the shadow of his turban fell over Trevor.
— You think your shouting is going to change anything? — the merchant approached, and for the first time, Trevor noticed a scar running across his cheek like a whip mark. — Yesterday you disgraced me in front of the Emir. Today... — his gaze slid down to Trevor’s bare chest, and Trevor instinctively covered it with his elbow, feeling the nipple pinch from the pressure. — Today you’re acting like a filthy sheep who forgot who she belongs to!
— Are you serious? — Trevor tried to sound confident, but his voice wavered, and his body trembled slightly. — You don’t see it, do you? I’m not... Layla? I have a man’s face, you idiot! It’s obvious! And I’ve already told you a hundred times — this is virtual reality, you’re just an NPC, and I’m the boss here!
A wide grin spread across Shahin’s face, exposing yellow teeth sharp as daggers.
— You dare call me an idiot? — The merchant’s voice dropped lower, but became even more dangerous. — Talking about men’s faces, about some nonsense. You think you can talk to me like that? Did you forget who you owe your life to? You are my property, and I can do whatever I want with you.
Trevor felt his new skin break out in goosebumps. He wasn’t scared, or at least he thought he wasn’t, but his body was shaking harder and harder, and his heart was pounding as if after a sprint. He couldn’t believe all this was real. His thoughts were torn between anger and confusion.
— Listen, man, — Trevor tried to speak more calmly, but his voice, now high-pitched and melodic, sounded strange even to him. — I don’t know what you’ve made up in your head, but I’m not Layla. I’m Trevor Hale. My father...
— Shut up, — Shahin cut him off sharply and walked around Trevor, studying him like merchandise in a market. — Your father feeds worms in the shit where they found you. I put up with your tantrums, Layla. Your dances brought in gold. But now... — he stopped behind him, and Trevor felt his breath on his neck, — ...you’re headed for an auction in the slave district... You have one chance, Layla. One. Fix yourself — I’ll leave you in the harem. Don’t — I’ll sell you to a brothel.
— Sell? Me? — Trevor snorted, but the laugh got stuck in his throat, turning into a hysterical rasp. His fingers dug into his own hips — soft, pliable, alien. — You... — he spun around sharply, and his chest painfully collided with his own arm, — ...don’t understand that I’m not from your time? I’m a man!
Shahin leaned in, his turban almost brushing against Trevor’s short dark hair.
— I see only a crazy slave, — he whispered, and the scent of pomegranate and almonds enveloped Trevor, — Your dances no longer captivate. Your words are madness. But your body... — his gaze slid downward, — ...it can still bring profit.
Trevor recoiled, hitting his back against the chair. The cold stone floor chilled his bare feet, and the transparent fabric on his hips suddenly felt thinner than spider silk. He tried to imagine his penthouse, a cold martini in his hand, but instead, he felt his nipples scrape against the air, and his hips trembled from the tension.
— This is all some fucking dog shit... — Trevor hissed, now more quietly, but with fury, digging his nails into his own thighs. The skin beneath his fingers gave way, leaving pink streaks, and the strange sensation — as if he were scratching someone else’s body — made him shudder.
Shahin straightened up, the shadow of his turban completely covering Trevor.
— Fine, Layla, — he said, and there was a cold determination in his voice. — You made your choice. Guards!
In a moment, two pairs of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. Trevor screamed and kicked, but they easily lifted him from the chair. His heavy chest swayed painfully with the sharp movement.
— Get off me, you bastards! — he screamed, kicking his legs, but his feet only helplessly beat the air. — I won’t... dance! Do you hear me?!