My Katie

— Oh, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine — Victor Lawrence’s voice rang out loudly in the luxurious room of his country mansion, while Catherine, her hands quietly folded on her lap, sat at the edge of the couch, looking up at him.

— You don’t look happy at all. — Victor stepped forward, closely examining her face. — Isn’t this cause for joy? I’ve restored your documents. You’re officially alive now. Catherine Lawrence. My Katie. I personally handled everything so that there would be no trace left of the past. Isn’t that wonderful?

Catherine, or rather Adam Winslow — the son of Victor’s main competitor, whose brain was now forcibly trapped in this perfect but alien female body — didn’t move. Her lips twitched slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. She lowered her gaze, landing on her enormous, heavy breasts, barely held in place by the delicate lace lingerie that Victor insisted she wear. She flinched slightly — she still hadn’t gotten used to the sight. Every movement made them sway slightly, constantly reminding her of her new humiliating reality.

Catherine clenched her fingers, feeling the cold metal of the ring on her delicate, feminine finger. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the inner wave of irritation, but Victor’s voice broke through her thoughts again.

— You’re silent, Katie. — Victor leaned in closer, his icy eyes piercing through her. — Let’s see how ready you are for your debut. You don’t want to embarrass me, do you?

Catherine flinched. No, she didn’t want this debut at all. She didn’t want to be displayed as a beautiful doll, perfectly fitting into Victor’s life. But she had no choice. She took a deep breath, feeling the lace lingerie dig into her skin, highlighting every curve of her new body. God, even breathing felt different now — her breasts rose heavily, triggering a new, unbearably shameful awareness.

Victor kept watching her, as if waiting for the slightest misstep so he could shove her face in her mistake. He sat across from her, crossed his legs, and smiled faintly:

— Okay. Let’s start simple. What was your mother’s maiden name?

Catherine froze. Adam would’ve known the answer to that, but Adam no longer existed. Snippets of memories floated up — Catherine Lawrence, Victor’s wife, but the details… She swallowed.

— Reed, — she answered, hoping she guessed right.

Victor tilted his head, a spark of interest flashing in his eyes.

— Correct, — he smirked. — I see you tried.

Catherine relaxed slightly, but it was too early to rejoice.

— Now, something harder, — Victor leaned forward. — Where did we first kiss?

Her insides clenched in a tight knot. Adam had never kissed Victor, but Catherine… She was supposed to know this. What should she say? She frantically searched her memory, but all she could hear was white noise.

— Um... — she hesitated, feeling Victor narrow his eyes. — In... Paris? On a bridge?

Victor’s delicate, elegant eyebrow slowly rose. He paused, then leaned in even closer, his cold voice dropping into her ear like poison:

— Wrong.

Catherine’s insides tightened as she noticed Victor snap his fingers — he always did that when she gave wrong answers, and it drove her crazy, just like everything about this man.

— We first kissed in Venice, in a gondola, in the pouring rain. How could you forget?

She grimaced but quickly regained her composure, pressing her lips together. No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let Victor think he won.

— I… I’ll still get out of here, — her voice trembled, but she forced herself to speak more firmly. — My father… he’ll find me. He’s an influential man. When he realizes what happened, he...

But Victor just laughed. The laugh wasn’t just mocking — there was something… cold, merciless about it. Like a man who had already won the game, and his opponent was still trying to make a move.

— Oh, darling, but he won’t be looking for you. — Victor leaned forward slightly, fingers clasped together, then suddenly leaned back, spreading his arms wide. — I’ve taken care of that.

— Liar! — it escaped her before she could hold it back.

— Liar? — he asked, his icy eyes glinting with mockery. — Are you sure? Or do you just want to believe that?

Catherine clenched her teeth. Everything inside her screamed to shout, to strike him, to run, but instead, she stayed seated, her slender fingers trembling on her knees. Victor wasn’t in a hurry. He was enjoying this moment.

— Then let’s check. — He tilted his head slightly. — What’s your real name?

She wanted to say “Adam,” wanted to breathe that word, wanted to reclaim at least a tiny part of her identity… but her lips trembled. Her mind went blank.

— I… — her voice grew softer, her mouth still trying to form the name “Adam,” but she whispered — I… Catherine.

Victor nodded approvingly.

— Much better, — he snapped his fingers, and the sound shot through her nerves, making her shiver involuntarily.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists.

— Name your father, — he continued.

— Gen… Ge… Win… — she started, but the words seemed to freeze on her lips, and then suddenly, the name she never expected to say slipped out, but it felt like the most logical thing — Charles Reed.

She froze. Her eyes went wide, and her heart clenched in icy terror.

No. No. This wasn’t her. These weren’t her memories. This...

— See? — Victor leaned in closer, his smile widening. — It’s all about these lessons. The tests. And of course... — He paused, then snapped his fingers with a playful grin — In one small device.

Her heart raced. A device? She swallowed hard, but immediately straightened, trying to hide the rising panic.

— What are you talking about? — her voice was strained, but she kept it even.

Victor smirked, as if he had been expecting this reaction.

— Oh, Katie, did you really think this was just a matter of habit? Sure, the training and tests are important, but... the human brain has an interesting feature: it adapts to frequent patterns. The more often you say certain things, the more your mind accepts them as truth. — He made a theatrical pause, watching her reaction. — But I decided to speed up the process. Let’s call it an upgrade to your “lessons.”

Catherine felt everything inside her freeze.

— What… have you done? — she whispered, barely breathing.

Victor looked at her with clear satisfaction, as if savoring her confusion.

— Let’s do one more test, — he ignored her question. — Name your best friend.

She opened her mouth, and in her mind, she saw: "Joshua Fletcher. He’s my childhood friend, we went to business school together. We met when my father was making a deal with his father’s company when I was fourteen." But when she tried to say it, her lips betrayed her:

— Elizabeth Monroe. My best friend, we studied together at a modeling academy in Paris. We met at Vivienne Westwood’s autumn collection show when I was seventeen, — Catherine’s voice sounded automatic, flat, as though she were reading a well-rehearsed text, but panic was spreading inside her.

Catherine covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide open. Her heart was racing in her chest, as if it was trying to break free. It was a mistake. Just a mistake. She remembered Joshua. His face, his voice, his habit of fiddling with his jacket sleeve when he was nervous. But why had she said another name?

— No… no! — she exhaled, shaking her head. — This isn’t true! I… I know who my friend is! It’s… it’s…

She clenched her fists, tensing every muscle. Clearly, slowly, trying to suppress the panic, she gathered her thoughts and tried again:

— Joe...

But her lips treacherously said:

— Elizabeth.

She froze, sharply raising her gaze to Victor. There was a smirk dancing in his eyes, as if he had been expecting exactly this.

— What have you done to me?! — her voice cracked, but she couldn’t stop. In a panic, she grabbed her head, squeezing her temples. — I know the truth! I remember it! I’m not Catherine! I...

— Who are you, dear? — Victor leaned forward, his gaze piercing through her.

— I… — She gritted her teeth, trying to suppress the answer that was bursting from her lips, but it broke free on its own.

— I’m Catherine Lawrence — your wife!

Victor nodded in satisfaction, as if confirming his own words.

— See, Katie? You’re not even trying to resist. — He slowly rose from his chair and took a step forward. — It’s all happening naturally.

Catherine froze in horror. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and every cell of her body screamed in protest. She wasn’t his wife. She was Adam Winslow, the son of an influential businessman, who… who…