I just stood there, cheek burning, completely thrown off. I knew how to deal with people being annoyed at me, but this was different. This was pure, high-stakes parental rage, the kind that makes you feel smaller than you are.
"You can stand there rubbing your face all day, Kaelen, but that won't change the mess you are," my "mother" snapped, her words like knives, before turning her fury toward the house itself.
She stormed through the massive living room, heels clicking against the polished floor, her eyes darting over every corner like she was looking for evidence to use against me. The place was spotless—the cleaners had clearly come through—but it didn't look lived in. It looked like one of those perfect homes in magazines, sterile and soulless. Then her gaze landed on the few things I had left out—coffee mugs on the counter from earlier, and the silk robe I'd tossed carelessly on the floor.
"Look at this," she spat, throwing her hand toward the room. "This house is a disaster. The kitchen hasn't seen a proper meal in months, and your bedroom? Don't even get me started. It looks like a landfill for overpriced laundry. You live like a pig. No respect for yourself, or for the money that keeps this pathetic excuse for a life afloat!"
The only thing I could do was grab at the weakest excuse I had. "I—I've been in school all day. And training. I haven't had time to, you know, fold bath towels or whatever."
She froze, turned toward me, and the look on her face made my stomach knot. "Excuses. Always excuses. That's all you've ever had, Kaelen. And I'm done with it. I won't be writing another five-figure check to cover one of your little episodes."
Then she dropped her designer bag on the couch with this heavy thud that made the room feel even emptier. "I've cleared my schedule. Until the Sports Festival is over and you can prove you're not a complete disaster, I'm staying here."
My blood ran cold. Staying here?
"W-what? Mom, you can't!" I blurted, panicked.
"Oh, I can," she replied without missing a beat, pulling a sleek silver suitcase into view from behind the door. "I need to protect my investment—that is, your education—from being ruined by your incompetence. This house is big enough. You'll be monitored. No skipping classes, no late nights, and absolutely no visitors. You're going to live a perfectly boring, spotless, scandal-free life for once in your existence."
I leaned back against the wall, trying to take it in. Twelve days. That's all I had left, and now I had a warden. Not just anyone, either—an intelligent, controlling woman who could sniff out a lie before I even spoke it. She'd make it almost impossible to search for clues, unlock accounts, or set up anything for whoever I became next. Kaelen's luxury house wasn't a house anymore. It was a prison.
That night, things got… weird.
The afternoon had been tense and silent, like we were both ghosts haunting the same house. But then she actually cooked. Cooked. The smell of a real meal drifted through the place, warming it in a way I hadn't felt since I arrived. We sat across from each other at this ridiculously long dining table, the scene stiff and awkward, like we were acting in some play neither of us wanted to be in.
I focused on eating, planning Kaelen's schedule in my head, when her voice cut through the clinking of forks.
"Lift your arm, Kaelen."
Her tone wasn't harsh this time. It was soft. Careful. I paused, confused, and raised my left forearm.
She reached out, her fingers brushing a spot near the middle. That's when I noticed it for the first time—a jagged white line, maybe two inches long, with faint stitch marks underneath. A scar. Old, but deep.
I'd been so caught up in Kaelen's face, his height, his reputation, that I hadn't even paid attention to the scars on his body.
"What happened?" she whispered, her eyes locked on the mark. "How did you get this?"
My brain scrambled for an answer that would make sense for Kaelen. Nothing too dramatic. Nothing that would make her suspicious. "It's nothing," I said quickly, trying to pull my arm back. "Just a dumb kitchen knife accident at a party. I'm fine."
But she didn't let go. Her eyes stayed glued to the scar, and suddenly the woman who had spent the whole day ripping into me… cracked. Her lip trembled, her sharp composure slipping away. Her eyes went glassy, like she was looking at something miles away, something I couldn't see.
And then it happened. A sob ripped out of her chest, raw and shaky, like it had been locked inside for years. She covered her face with her hand, trying to hide it, but the tears kept coming. Not angry tears. Not performative tears. The kind that came from deep pain, the kind you can't control even if you try.
"It's not alright," she choked out, her voice thick with grief. "It is not alright.
I sat frozen, fork in midair. This terrifying woman—Kaelen's mother, my new prison guard—was breaking down over a scar I hadn't even noticed.
I didn't think it would bring out this much emotion in Kaelen's mother, especially considering the impression I got from the first meeting. I thought of my family..
Back when I was in my original body, my mother and father would give me the least of importance