The Mirror Wife — A Wife’s Touch (Part 2)

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Luca leaned against it for a moment, catching his breath. He didn’t remember walking home. Hell, he wasn’t even sure this was home.

It looked familiar, but… softer.

Warmer.

Too clean. Too pink.

The light filtering in through the windows had a rosy hue, like a permanent sunset had taken up residence just outside.

He stepped deeper inside, every footfall lighter than the last. His jeans felt tight—too tight—and his shirt clung oddly to his back, damp with sweat.

A mirror in the hallway caught his eye.

He stopped.

Stared.

“Huh?”

The man in the reflection was… mostly him. But not quite.

His frame looked narrower. His waist looked pinched.

And his butt—

Luca turned around and looked over his shoulder, biting his lip.

No way.

He turned back, watching the way his hips swayed now with every step, his eyes glued to the way his tight jeans hugged him differently than they had that morning.

A soft sound escaped his throat—half a laugh, half a breathless moan.

He slapped a hand over his mouth.

His cheeks burned.

What the hell was that?

He brought both hands to the mirror, palms pressed against the cool glass. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his shirt straining against a body that no longer felt like his.

He tried to laugh it off. “Jeez, get a grip,” he whispered, then giggled—a soft, high-pitched sound that made his heart lurch.

“No. No no no…”

But even as he said it, his hips twitched, rounding out just a little more. His jeans rode higher, pinched tighter.

And his hair—

He froze as it spilled further down his shoulders in the mirror, growing longer, silkier, brushing past the base of his neck.

His lips parted again, and this time the noise that escaped him was softer. Breathier.

The same moan he’d made earlier.

His eyes widened, trembling as he pressed a hand to his cheek—his smoother cheek.

He couldn’t stop looking at himself.

He looked pretty.

And he was starting to like it.

His reflection blinked back at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes soft and glossy—not quite Luca anymore, not yet someone else.

Another breathless giggle escaped, and this time, he didn’t even try to stop it.

Outside, the light from the window shifted pinker, warmer.

The mirror caught every inch of his changing frame, and still—
he stayed there.

Watching.

Waiting.