It's Him

Her plan was crazy, but it was also the only one she had. Love and desperation will do that to you. To make it work, I had to disappear. Alessia Costa had to go away, and Kia Benett had to show up. I had to learn how to move like a guy, stand like a guy, and talk like a guy. I had to wrap my chest so flat that no one would notice anything weird. And it had to be perfect, because messing up would not just cost me the job. It would cost me my mom.

I stood in front of the old mirror in my room. The girl looking back at me had dark circles under her eyes and looked like she had not slept in a week. My hands went up like someone else was controlling them. I touched my jaw, my cheek, my shoulder. Then I touched my hip, the part of me that would be hardest to hide. This was who I was. This was the body I was about to say goodbye to.

And then I felt something settle in my stomach, heavy and cold. Great.

To save my mother, I had to kill the girl in the mirror. No pressure.

My hands did not shake when I grabbed the hem of my shirt. I pulled it over my head and stood there in my bra, looking at myself. I saw my breasts, my collarbone, my waist. All very feminine. All about to get squashed.

Then I picked up the bandage. A white roll of elastic, cold and unforgiving. I took a deep breath and told myself this was the last deep breath I would take as Alessia. Then I started wrapping.

The first pull hurt. It squeezed the air out of my lungs and I made a sound like a dying animal. But I kept going. I wrapped again and again, each time pulling tighter, each time flattening my chest into something hard and flat. It ached, deep and weird, and I watched in the mirror as my body changed. The soft parts disappeared. The curves went flat. With every loop, Alessia faded away, and Kia Benett became real. Or at least looked real from a distance.

I fastened the end and tried to breathe. The air came in short, shallow sips, like I was breathing through a straw. I looked at the person in the mirror. He was thin and nervous, with a flat chest and eyes that looked like a deer caught in headlights. The disguise was not just an idea anymore. It was a cage, and I had locked myself inside. Also, it itched already.

And the decision was not just in my head now. It was wrapped around my ribs, tight and annoying, a pain that would not go away.

For two days, I practiced being Kia. I learned how men walk. Not graceful, but heavy, like they were stomping on bugs. I practiced in my room, taking big steps, planting my feet hard. I looked at old pictures of Chloe's brother and copied the way he slouched, the way he let his hands hang loose like he did not care about anything. It felt ridiculous, but I kept doing it.

But the voice was the hardest part.

The first time I tried to sound like a man, it came out like a frog with a cold. Weak and fake. I stood in front of the mirror and pushed sound from the bottom of my chest, from a place I had never used before. It felt wrong, like I was trying to cough up a hairball. But I kept going. I said simple things over and over. "Yes, sir." "Understood." "I am ready." My throat got raw and sore, but by the end of the second day, I could make a voice that sounded like a teenage boy going through puberty. It was not perfect, and it could slip at any moment, but it was enough to maybe fool someone who was not paying close attention.

The black wig was its own special kind of torture. It was a good one, with dark hair that fell over my forehead and made my face look sharper. But it itched like crazy, and every itch reminded me that I was lying. When I looked in the mirror, I did not see Alessia anymore. I saw a stranger, a nervous young man with scared eyes and bad hair. The disguise worked, but inside I was still terrified. And I was about to walk into the lion's den. Fun times.

The night before the call, I sat on my bed and stared at the white business card on my nightstand. It had Lorenzo Moretti's number on it, and it seemed to glow in the dark like it was mocking me. I picked it up and felt the thick paper under my fingers. My thumb traced the numbers, and each one felt like a key to a door I should never open. The fear was so big it hurt my chest, and I wanted to throw the card away and run to another country.

But then Chloe came to the door. She did not say anything. She just sat next to me on the bed and put her hand over mine.

"You do not have to do this," she whispered, and I could see the fear in her eyes too.

I looked at her, then at the card, then at my own reflection in the dark window. "What choice do I have?" I said, and my voice was Alessia's again, tired and whiny.

"The bravest one," she said, and she squeezed my hand. "You can do this, Kia."

She used the new name like a shield, and I took it from her. Her courage was small, but it was the only light I had in the dark. Also, she was the only friend I had, so I had to believe her.

After she left, the room felt bigger and emptier. I picked up my cheap phone, and my hands did not shake anymore. I was past shaking. I was in the cold place now, the place where you just do what you have to do and try not to think about it.

I dialed the number. Each beep was loud in the quiet room. I put the phone to my ear and closed my eyes and found that new voice in my chest.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

Someone picked up, but they did not say hello. There was just silence and the sound of someone breathing. Creepy.

"I am Kia Benett," I said, and the voice that came out was not mine. It was low and flat, and I felt it rumble in my chest. I hoped it sounded real to him.

A pause. Then a voice came back, cold and short. "Marcus."

"I was told to call," I said, and I kept my voice steady. "I am ready to work for Mr. Moretti."

"Tomorrow. Seven a.m. Be outside. Someone will get you."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and just sat there. The call had lasted maybe fifteen seconds, but it had changed everything. Outside, the city was still moving, still alive. But inside my room, there was only the sound of my heart beating against the bandage on my chest.

It was done. Tomorrow, the real performance would begin. No pressure at all.

***

The morning came like a bad hangover.

I watched the sun rise from my window, a slow gray light that made everything look sad and cold. I wanted to run. I wanted to tear off the wig and forget this whole thing. But then I thought about my mother in her hospital bed, and the fear went away. Something colder took its place.

Will I get the money in time?

That was the only question that mattered. Everything else was just noise.

A black car pulled up outside my building right on time. It was sleek and shiny, and it looked like it did not belong on my street. A big man with a thick neck got out and opened the back door. He did not say a word. Just stood there like a statue.

I squared my shoulders and felt the bandage press against my ribs. I walked to the car in my heavy shoes, and every step felt like a lie. I got in, and the leather was cool under me. The car smelled like polish and money. I sat up straight and put my hands on my knees and tried to look calm, which was funny because I was the opposite of calm.

The city went by outside the window, and I watched it like I was saying goodbye. Dramatic, I know.

Fifteen minutes later, we passed through big iron gates, and I saw the Moretti estate for the first time. It was not a house. It was a fortress. Big and made of pale stone, with sharp corners and dark windows. There were gardens, but no flowers, just hedges and gravel paths. It was beautiful and empty at the same time. Like a museum where no one actually lived.

The car stopped, and the driver opened my door. I stepped out, and the air felt different here. Still and heavy and like someone was watching. Probably because someone was.

Marcus was waiting for me at the top of the steps. He was the man from the phone, and he looked even bigger in person. His face was hard, like it had been cut from stone. I wondered if he ever smiled. Probably not.

"Benett," he said, and his voice was flat.

I nodded once. I did not trust my voice yet. Also, I was afraid I would squeak.

He turned and walked inside, and I followed him.

The foyer was huge, with marble floors and no sound. My eyes moved around the room, and that was when I felt the first real shock. Everyone I saw was a man. A young man in a uniform was cleaning the stairs. Another man in gardener clothes was walking through a hallway. The cleaners, the helpers, all of them were men. I did not see a single woman anywhere.

I felt something cold move down my back. What kind of man builds a world with no women in it? A weird one, that's who. Or maybe he just really hated small talk. Either way, it was strange.

"You will listen more than you speak," Marcus said as we walked down a long hallway with old paintings on the walls. "You call him 'Sir' or 'Mr. Moretti.' Not Lorenzo."

"Understood," I said, and my Kia voice held. Barely.

"He likes when people are on time. If he says seven, you are there at six-fifty. He does not like excuses. He hates when people are bad at their jobs."

We stopped at the bottom of a big staircase.

"The east wing is off limits. You do not go there. You can go to the main floor, the west wing where your room is, and his office. Nowhere else. Is that clear?"

"Yes," I said, and my throat was dry. So many rules.

He turned to face me, and his eyes pinned me in place.

"And the most important rule, Benett." His voice got lower. "Lorenzo Moretti hates lies. He can smell a lie like blood in the water. So you will be loyal. You will be honest. If you want to survive here, you must always tell him the truth."

I felt the blood leave my face. The whole reason I was here was a lie. The biggest lie I had ever told. I was literally standing in front of him wearing a fake identity and a fake chest. So that was great.

"Understood," I said, and the word tasted like poison. Or maybe that was just my breakfast coming back up.

He showed me to my room. It was nice, with a big bed and a desk and a private bathroom. But the window looked out over a high wall, and the door felt heavy and final. It was a beautiful cage. At least the sheets were soft.

Before he left, Marcus said, "He will see you tonight. Eight o'clock. In his office. Do not be late."

The rest of the day was a slow torture. I practiced my walk and my voice and my answers. I was scared that my mind would go blank when I saw him. Every minute was a countdown. I also ate a sandwich and tried not to think about how weird my life had become.

At 7:55, I stood in front of his office door. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would break through the bandage. I raised my hand and knocked.

"Come in."

The voice was deep and cold, and it made me want to run. But I did not run. I pushed the door open and stood there.

He had his back to me, standing by a big window with the sunset behind him. He was tall, and even standing still, he looked dangerous. Like a tiger in a suit.

For a few seconds, there was no sound except my own heart.

Then he turned around.

And I forgot how to breathe. Great. Very professional.

He was handsome. Really handsome. Sharp cheekbones and dark hair and a strong jaw. But it was his eyes that got me. They were green, bright and cold, and they looked right through me. Through the wig and the bandage and the whole performance. Right into the scared girl underneath.

And then something happened in my head.

A flash. A feeling of being warm. Strong arms around me. Those same green eyes, A smell I remembered, something like sandalwood and a night I had tried to forget.

And I knew.

I knew it was him.

The man from that night. The one who gave me the ring.

It was him. It was Lorenzo Moretti.

And I could not say anything. I could not ask him. I could not scream or cry or demand to know why he lied. Because I was not Alessia anymore. I was Kia Benett. Kia did not know him. Kia had never met him. Kia was just a young man looking for work.

So I stood there, frozen, with my heart breaking and my mind spinning, and I could not do a single thing about it. Typical.

The worst part was that he did not recognize me. Of course he did not. My hair was different, my body was different, my voice was different. I looked like a stranger. And he looked at me like I was a stranger.

But I knew him. And I could not tell him. I could not ask why he left. I could not ask about the ring or the baby or any of it. Because Kia Benett did not know those things.

And so I just stood there, trapped in my own lie, staring at the face of the man I had been looking for without even knowing it.

And he had no idea who I was. Fantastic. Just fantastic.