Chapter 4

The heavy door of the ladies’ room clicked shut behind Freya as she stepped out into the corridor. She was finally back inside her own skin, and a massive rush of pure relief washed over her as she felt the familiar weight of her own curvy body.

Inside the washroom, she had left Peter behind to adjust to Katrina’s petite, five-foot-tall blonde frame and figure out how to manage her tight uniform and pinchy shoes. Freya walked quickly down the hallway, her mind racing with a cold, sharp focus. In her frantic rush to leave, she completely forgot to warn Peter about the backstage area. She didn’t even think to mention the sleazy, towering manager who had just cornered her and tightly grabbed her backside when she was wearing that exact waitress uniform. She didn’t think about Peter’s safety at all.

Finding out that Aaliyah was actually at the club tonight had hit her like an absolute shockwave. It was a terrifying surprise, and she had carefully hidden her panic from Peter while they were talking by the sinks. Deep down, a heavy, burning hatred consumed Freya. Aaliyah had completely ruined her life at the last swap party—using her beautiful body, sleeping with multiple random guys, and leaving behind a viral, explicit video that shattered her marriage and ended in a brutal divorce. Now that she had her own body back, Freya’s only goal was cold, calculated revenge. Assuring herself that Peter and Ralph were grown guys who could easily handle themselves for a little while, she marched forward, leaving the rookie “waitress” behind to figure out the rest of the night.

Stepping from the quiet bathroom hallway out to the swimming pool area was an absolute explosion of noise and energy. The deep bass from the main stage still thundered through the floors, but out here, the air was thick with the smell of chlorine, expensive vapes, and spilled drinks. The poolside deck was a total madhouse. People were drinking, laughing, and continuously pairing up to swap bodies—their faces flashing with a brief, glowing blue light as forehead kisses instantly shifted their perspectives across the water. On the far side of the shimmering, neon-lit pool sat the entrance to the ultra-exclusive VIP lounge. The massive double doors were heavily guarded by a line of broad, intimidating bouncers with arms like tree trunks, strictly keeping the chaotic crowd away.

Scanning the deck, Freya’s eyes locked onto a familiar pair of tight braids and a swinging leather trench coat. It was Aaliyah. True to form, Aaliyah was causing a massive scene, aggressively arguing with the head bouncer at the velvet rope. Freya smoothed down her tight red dress and drifted closer to the security line to overhear the drama.

“I’m literally telling you, some rich, hotshot billionaire producer requested me personally!” Aaliyah was yelling, her voice loud and entitled as she flashed her glittery makeup and clacked her chunky rings in the bouncer’s face. “A waitress came right up to me out on the floor and told me he was waiting for me alone in the VIP lounge! Let me through!”

Freya had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. It was incredibly funny to watch. Aaliyah was fighting so hard for a complete illusion—blindly believing the exact, desperate lie that Freya had made up on the spot when she was trapped in Katrina’s uniform just to get Aaliyah away from Peter.

The head bouncer, completely unfazed, crossed his massive arms. “Listen to me clearly, lady. There is no billionaire producer in there, and your name isn’t on the list. Cross this line again, and we will forcefully throw you out of the club. Move along.”