Commander in Heels

— Hey, what the hell is that?! Did you forget who's in charge here?! — La Sun Mi snapped, throwing her arms up, palms facing the ceiling, glaring at him — this smug, silver-haired man who, just a month ago, had been nothing but the co-pilot of their temporary jump gate. Brad Chapman. And now, thanks to a miscalculation in the mission software, he was: Lee Chang Seok, owner of a chain of hotels and nightclubs in late-’80s Seoul. His face serious and confident, as if he’d always been like this, and Sun Mi was truly no one — just a stripper, his mistress, someone he allowed too much.

— Don’t shout, Mi... — he rumbled with weight in his voice, slightly tilting his head and exhaling through his nose. — People are watching how you talk to me. It hurts the business and my reputation.

Sun Mi — who just a month ago had been Commander Thomas Rivers, the one in charge of the jump, seasoned in these kinds of missions — flared up. She clenched her fists, feeling her long, glossy nails dig into her palms. That voice... That calm, professional tone Brad — now Lee Chang Seok, the boss, the master of this half-year limbo — used to address her. Like she wasn’t a senior agent but a dolled-up toy, someone you spoke to in a lowered voice so she wouldn’t throw a tantrum.

— I don’t give a damn who sees what, Brad! — Sun Mi spat, stepping forward on those fragile, deliberately humiliatingly high heels, every step clicking like a slap to her pride. — Oh, sorry... Lee Chang Seok. Forgot what you’re called these days.

Her voice trembled, not from fear — from rage. From helplessness. Because truth was, this Lee Chang really was in charge here. And she was nothing. It had been obvious from the start — from the moment they landed in this timeline, in this bed, and when Lee and Sun kissed. But Thomas had taken control fast. They quickly figured out who they were, where they were, and, most importantly, when. They’d have to live in these bodies for six months before they could even access data from HQ. Thomas had been in this kind of situation before — but in a male body, and only for two weeks. He’d followed protocol then and lived as the guy whose body he’d taken over.

This time it was way more complicated. Still, Tom refused to go live in that apartment Lee had rented for his stripper. He sure as hell wasn’t going to do her job either. He was perfectly fine staying in this fancy house, pretending to be a woman, putting on all kinds of outfits and playing with this body whenever he was alone. At first, it seemed like some weird form of self-irony — Tom Rivers, senior agent, veteran of three missions, slipping into lace lingerie, snapping bra clasps in front of the mirror, and touching the smooth curve of a waist he no longer had to suck in. Eventually, it even became fun — though he made sure Brad saw how much he “hated” it, made it clear he wore those clothes only to fit the role of Sun Mi.

— You need to move out — said Lee Chang calmly, and in that calm was pure authority. Not a request — an order.

Sun Mi narrowed her eyes, feeling like she'd just been pushed aside. Like he no longer remembered who he used to be. Like Brad Chapman had vanished completely, leaving behind only this arrogant businessman with his silver hair tied back, that commanding tone, that gaze that scanned her from head to toe... and saw not a commander, not an agent, not a person on a mission — but a woman he supposedly “kept.”

— Are you out of your damn mind? — she hissed, stepping closer, feeling her hips, wrapped in tight black fabric, sway on their own as the torture sandals clicked against the marble floor again, a cruel reminder of her new “nature.” — I'm the one running this operation. I’m Thomas Rivers, in case you forgot, you bastard! And I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. Because you’re just Brad — a fucking co-pilot who got lucky with a body this time!

Lee Chang tilted his head, and his eyes grew heavier, like he wasn’t looking at a mission partner anymore, but at some disobedient dancer who’d ruined his night.

— I remember who you were, — he said quietly, and that calmness hit Sun like a pressure in her ears. — But I also know who you are now. You’re my mistress. You’re a stripper in my club. And I’m the one who has to protect our covers. You’re forgetting, Mi… this isn’t home. Here, you are her. We have to live like this for five more months, maybe longer. No one knows how long. And the more you cling to your little “self,” the more you’re screwing us both.

— I’m your mistress?! Are you fucking stupid?! — Sun Mi almost screamed, and even she heard how it came out more like a tantrum than a sharp command to a subordinate.

Lee Chang looked at her, eyes narrowed. Calm. That cold, businesslike indifference she was starting to hate. Brad never looked like that. Brad had been the best of the rookies, and Tom had chosen him himself. What made Brad stand out was the way he looked up to Tom — literally and figuratively — with clear, unquestioning respect. That’s why Tom had picked him. But now... now it felt like he really had become this Lee Chang… which, considering the side effects of staying in these bodies too long, wasn’t impossible. And Tom... Tom definitely couldn’t let himself live Sun Li’s life, because he might end up the same way. And Brad… Lee Chang was right, they thought they were stuck for six months, but what if that wasn’t true? Worst of all — what if they slipped so far into their roles that in six months they wouldn’t even care about the mission and would just end up… fucking each other?

That thought almost made Sun choke. She couldn’t even imagine what would come of what Lee Chang was pushing now.

— Call me a fucking idiot one more time, Sun, — said Lee Chang, still calm, almost gentle, but with a chill so sharp it made Sun Mi’s spine crawl. — I’ll make sure you don’t just move out — I’ll make sure you dance every night. And not in my club, but in some third-rate dump for a bottle of cheap soju. Don’t forget who signs your “contract.”

— You’re threatening me?! — her voice cracked into a shriek again — nothing like the firm, confident voice Thomas was used to. And that was the scariest part.

— No, Mi, — he stressed the name on purpose. — You’re not listening. This isn’t a game. This is a cover. I made a mistake at first listening to you and letting you stay here. You made a bad call, out of fear. We’re living in the real world now, with real consequences. You’re in the body of a dancer who survives off her patron’s generosity. Don’t forget that.

Sun Mi faltered for a second, but quickly straightened up, as much as the damn off-shoulder top and the thin strip of fabric around her waist would allow. She opened her mouth, ready to fire back, to remind him who the senior agent was here, who led this mission, and who the hell deserved to be listened to, but—

— Don’t, — Lee Chang cut her off — sharp, cold, without raising his voice, but with such authority it physically shut her up. — Get out. Now. The car’s waiting outside. I called the driver. He knows where to take you.

— What?.. Are you serious?! — she breathed out, but again it sounded too feminine: shaken, trembling, almost hurt.

— Dead serious, — he replied, turning his back to her like she wasn’t even there. He picked up his whiskey glass and walked to the bar, snapping his fingers. — Or should I call security?

Sun Mi burned with anger. So much that the heels no longer felt like torture — they felt like weapons, something she could swing into his forehead if she turned around and went for it. But instead, she just hissed:

— When we get back… when we fucking get back, Brad, I’m gonna tear you a new one so bad, you’ll wish you never got into this damn roleplay.

He didn’t even turn around.

— You’ve got your first training tonight. Stripping. Private lesson. He doesn’t know anything about you. Think of it as your new special ops training. Every night. No days off. You need to learn how to dance like Sun Li. Then you’ll go on stage. And I… I’ll drop by sometimes. You’re my mistress, remember?

— Fuck you... — she hissed, already turning and heading to the door.

Outside, a black Hyundai was already waiting. The driver didn’t even look her in the eye — just opened the door and gave a silent nod.

And in her head, his voice kept echoing: “You’re my mistress. You’re a stripper in my club.”

Like a hammer to the back of her skull. And the way he said it… so sure. Like it was true.

Like Brad Chapman really was gone.

Like she really was Sun Li now.