A Prom Princess is Born (3/7)

The second Greg stepped out of Mrs. Walker’s car, he felt the weight of his heels again—each step a quiet reminder of the night he had just endured. His hair, still silky from the salon treatment, brushed against his bare shoulders, and the soft swish of his dress against his thighs made his stomach twist. He just needed to get inside, get changed, and pray that his wife, Sarah, was already asleep.

Melissa, of course, was in no hurry. She sauntered up the walkway, humming to herself, completely unbothered by what she had just put Greg through. He shot her a glare, but she only smirked, barely suppressing a giggle as she rang the doorbell. His stomach twisted. Why would she do that? They had keys!

The door swung open almost immediately, and Sarah greeted them with a smile. “Oh! You’re back. Who’s your pretty friend? And where’s your father?” She glanced between them, her brow furrowing slightly.

Melissa giggled, gesturing toward the pretty girl beside her.

Sarah’s smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took a closer look at the blonde girl standing beside her daughter. Greg barely breathed as she studied him, confusion giving way to realization. Her lips parted slightly.

“…Greg?” she asked quietly.

Greg’s throat tightened. “Sarah, I—I didn’t—They made me! The girls—they did this, the dress, the hair—I told them no, but they—they wouldn’t let me! I didn’t have a choice, I—”

Melissa cut in smoothly, tilting her phone toward her mom as she scrolled. “Gabriella was such a hit at prom. We had so much fun with her.”

Sarah barely registered his protests as image after image flickered past—Greg laughing with the girls, twirling on the dance floor, posing with a soft smile, looking every bit the pretty young woman he had been made to look like. Then Melissa's finger stopped swiping, lingering on a certain photo.

Greg saw the exact moment his wife’s expression shifted. Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in shock as she stared at the image—an image of him, her husband, looking so delicate, so feminine, nestled in the arms of a boy, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

Sarah blinked, her lips parting slightly before she turned to Greg. “Did the girls make you kiss him?”

Greg felt his stomach sink. “Well… no, but—”

That was all she needed to hear.

A slow, incredulous breath left Sarah’s lips as she looked at him—really looked at him. The way he shrank under her gaze, the way his fingers twitched nervously at the hem of his dress, the way his glossy lips parted as if he wanted to protest but didn’t dare. Whatever argument he might have had died before he could voice it. Sarah wasn’t furious, nor did she seem entirely amused. No, she was assessing him, and that scared Greg more than if she had just yelled.

Finally, Sarah let out a small, amused scoff. “Well,” she mused, almost to herself, “if you had that much fun, maybe you should stay like this for a while.”

Greg’s eyes snapped up, panic flashing through them. “Wait—”

“Gabriella,” Sarah interrupted smoothly, her voice sweet but firm. “You can stay in the guest room for now.”

Melissa clapped her hands together with a delighted little squeal. “That sounds perfect.”

Before Greg could argue, before he could beg, before he could throw himself at her mercy, Sarah was already turning toward the house, calling over her shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted after such an exciting night.”

And just like that, the decision was made.

Later, alone in the soft pink glow of the guest room, Greg stood in front of the mirror, his manicured fingers gripping the edge of the vanity. Just days ago, this room had been a plain guest space, but now… it was unmistakably Gabriella’s. Frilly curtains framed the window, a row of neatly arranged makeup sat on the vanity, and even the air smelled faintly of perfume.

Greg swallowed hard. He had planned to wait this out, to let Sarah cool off before carefully steering things back to normal. But as he studied his reflection, he struggled to see anything but Gabriella. His long blonde hair framed his face in soft waves, his lips still faintly pink from the gloss Melissa had given him. The cropped pink tank top hugged his torso, and the white sleep shorts barely covered his thighs, their lace trim only making them feel even more delicate—both, of course, courtesy of Melissa.

“Gabriella, sweetheart! Lunch is ready!” Sarah’s voice carried up the stairs, warm and expectant.

Greg tensed, his stomach twisting as his manicured fingers lightly traced the vanity’s surface. He hated this, but there was no getting out of it. “…C-coming, Mom…” Even hearing himself say it made his face burn. He swallowed hard, his nails dragging softly against the smooth surface before he forced himself to move.

How much longer was this going to last?