Olivia Black woke up at 5:45 AM, fifteen minutes before her alarm.
Her penthouse was cold, which was fine. She kept it cold on purpose because the chill made her get out of bed faster, and getting out of bed faster meant getting to the office faster, and getting to the office faster meant making more money. It was a whole system and she was very proud of it.
She sat up and put her feet on the floor and stared at nothing in particular for a few seconds. The bed was massive, a king-size thing she'd bought because the interior designer told her to. She got up, walked to the bathroom, and turned the shower on.
The penthouse itself was, as far as penthouses went, nice enough. Clean lines, white walls. There were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a city that she technically owned a decent chunk of.
That said, there were no photos on the walls. No magnets on the fridge. No half-read books on the nightstand. Her cleaning lady came three times a week and probably spent most of that time just standing around, because there was never anything to clean.
Olivia didn't make messes, after all. Actually, Olivia didn't do much of anything in here besides sleep, shower, and occasionally bring someone home so the bed could pretend to have a reason for being so big.
Speaking of which...
"Mornin', baby."
Olivia paused halfway through buttoning her blouse and glanced over her shoulder.
The girl from last night was leaning against the bedroom doorframe in one of Olivia's dress shirts, and nothing else, with her hip cocked to one side and a little smile on her lips. Oh, she was pretty. A brunette with green eyes and legs that went on for miles.
"You're still here," Olivia said.
"Yeah, you told me I could stay the night."
"I did?" Olivia didn't remember that detail. Past her must have been particularly bored. She finished the last button on her blouse and turned around fully. "Well, it's morning now, so technically you've overstayed."
The girl pouted. It was a damn good pout, very well-rehearsed, and she paired it with a little tilt of her head that made her hair fall across one eye. Lethal!
"You're mean."
"I've been told." Olivia picked up her watch from the nightstand and strapped it on. The girl padded over to her on bare feet and draped her arms over Olivia's shoulders from behind, pressing herself up against Olivia's back. She smelled like Olivia's shampoo, which meant she'd already used the shower, which meant she'd been planning to stick around.
[That's not good.]
"I had a really good time last night," the girl murmured against her ear, her voice all soft and breathy.
"Mhm."
"Like, a really good time."
Olivia turned her head just enough to look at her. The girl smiled brightly. She really was good at this.
Everything in life was a skill, and Olivia could absolutely appreciate the craftsmanship behind this girl's particular brand of whoredom.
"Fine," Olivia said, and gave her ass a solid smack that made the girl yelp and then giggle. "I'll give you a bonus. Now get dressed and get out, I've got a meeting in forty minutes."
The girl, whose name Olivia was about seventy percent sure was either Megan or Morgan, kissed her on the cheek happily and disappeared back into the bedroom. Mission accomplished.
Olivia didn't watch her go. She grabbed her bag, checked her phone, and walked out the front door.
The car was already waiting downstairs. Her driver, a man named Phil who had been driving her for six years and had never once tried to make small talk (which was why she kept him), held the door open without a word.
Olivia got in, opened her laptop, and started reviewing quarterly projections before they'd even pulled away from the curb.
Numbers.
God, she loved numbers.
See, numbers didn't ask you how your weekend was or if you'd seen that new show everyone was watching or if you were "still doing things with women." Numbers just sat there and told you exactly what they were, and if you didn't like what they were telling you, you could change them. She'd been changing numbers her whole life! Moving them around, making them bigger when they needed to be bigger and smaller when they needed to be smaller. And, in return, the numbers had made her one of the wealthiest women in the country before she'd hit thirty-five.
Fair trade, as far as Olivia was concerned.
---
The meeting started at seven sharp. The board was already seated when she walked in, twelve men and women in expensive suits who collectively controlled enough capital to buy a small country, and every single one of them straightened up a little bit when she entered the room.
Not out of fear, exactly. More out of the understanding that Olivia Black did not tolerate slouching, both literally and financially.
"Good morning, everyone."
A chorus of good mornings came back at her, and she took her seat at the head of the table and flipped open the presentation on her tablet.
The projections for Q3 were strong. Better than strong, actually. They were the kind of numbers that made investors giddy and competitors nauseous, and Olivia had put them together herself over the course of three sleepless nights, which was not unusual for her, because Olivia didn't really sleep so much as she occasionally shut her eyes between tasks.
"If you'll direct your attention to slide four," she said, like a woman announcing a spill on isle two, and then she talked for twenty minutes about revenue streams and market penetration and strategic acquisitions and all those other words businesspeople used.
The board nodded along, asked questions that she answered without hesitating, and by the end of it, Henderson from Finance was actually smiling, which was rare for a man whose face looked like it had been designed specifically for frowning.
"Excellent work, Olivia," he said. "Truly excellent."
"Thank you, George."
She stared at the spreadsheet on her tablet for a moment after everyone started filing out. The numbers stared back at her.
Oh boy, they were good numbers. Twenty-two-year-old Olivia would have cried with joy seeing these numbers.
Thirty-two-year-old Olivia looked at them and felt nothing, which was fine. Feeling things was overrated.
The rest of the day was more of the same.
Emails, calls, another meeting, a lunch she ate at her desk consisting of a protein bar and black coffee, more emails, more calls. By the time she left the office it was past nine and the city outside her window had turned into a grid of yellow lights and moving headlights that she watched from the back seat of her car without really seeing any of it.
"Anywhere in particular tonight, Ms. Black?" Phil asked.
"Home."
But on the way home, she asked Phil to stop at a convenience store, because her fridge was empty and she didn't feel like ordering delivery.
She walked in under fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead and made everything look slightly worse than it was. The kind of light in those dressing rooms of clothing stores that always highlighted every single skin blemish you'd had since birth.
She grabbed a basket and started tossing in instant ramen cups, one chicken, one beef, one shrimp, because variety was important even when you were eating like a broke college student.
Which, honestly, was funny if you thought about it. She could afford a personal chef. She could afford a team of personal chefs. She could afford to make a reality TV show where chefs fought to the death, and then she'd hire the last chef standing.
Hell, she could buy this entire convenience store and turn it into a walk-in closet if she felt like it, and here she was, picking between "spicy miso" and "original" at nine-thirty on a Tuesday night.
She went with spicy miso and headed for the register.
Outside, the parking lot was mostly empty. Olivia was three steps out the door with her little plastic bag of ramen when she heard it, a voice, high and scared, coming from around the side of the building.
"Please, just take it, please don't hurt me."
Olivia stopped walking.
She should've kept walking. She knew she should've kept walking. The smart thing to do was to get in the car and let Phil drive her home, where she could eat her sad ramen in her sad penthouse and go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and do all of it again. That was the system. The system worked.
She walked toward the voice instead.
Around the corner, a girl who couldn't have been older than twenty was pressed up against the brick wall with her purse half-torn off her shoulder, and a man in a hoodie had a gun pointed at her face. The girl was crying. The man was twitchy, his eyes darting everywhere, and when Olivia came around the corner, those eyes landed on her and went wide.
"Hey," Olivia said, which, in retrospect, was not a great opening line for someone intervening in an armed robbery.
"Back the fuck up," the man said, swinging the gun toward her.
"Okay, so, here's the thing." Olivia held up her hands, and she was aware, on some level, that what she was doing was incredibly stupid, but her mouth kept going anyway. "I've got about four hundred dollars in my wallet. You can have all of it. Just leave the girl alone."
The man stared at her. The girl stared at her. Olivia stared at the gun, which was shaking in the man's hand, and she had just enough time to think *oh, that's not good* before the parking lot got very loud and her chest got very hot and her legs stopped working.
[... Did I just get shot?]
She hit the concrete and looked up at the flickering lights overhead. Confirmation.
She'd been shot.
Her plastic bag of ramen was on the ground next to her, the spicy miso cup on its side and rolling in a slow circle. She could hear footsteps running away and the girl screaming and Phil shouting from somewhere far away, but all of it sounded like it was happening on the other side of a thick wall.
The lights above her kept flickering, on and off and on and off, and she thought, with the kind of detached clarity that only comes when your body is shutting down, *all this money, and I'm dying next to a cup of ramen in a parking lot.*
Which was kind of funny, actually.
Then, as the corner of Olivia's lips twitched, the lights went out. Just like that.
---
Not very long after that, or maybe a very long time after that, how the fuck would she know, Olivia Black opened her mouth to say something, probably something sarcastic, and what came out instead was a scream. A high, thin, furious scream that didn't sound anything like her.
It sounded like a baby.
She couldn't see well. Everything was blurry and too bright and her eyes wouldn't focus on anything no matter how hard she tried.
But she could make out shapes, two big shapes, leaning over her, and as her vision slowly, painfully, started to clear, the shapes became faces.
Two faces. Two women.
One of them was enormous, broad shoulders and thick arms and dark skin and short red hair and golden eyes and, oh, those were horns. Small ones, but definitely horns, poking out from her forehead. She was grinning so wide it looked like her face was about to split in half, and there were tears running down her cheeks.
The other one was smaller in stature but bigger where it mattered, with long silver hair, violet eyes, huge tits, pale purple skin, and horns. She was crying too, openly and messily.
Both of them were staring right at Olivia.
Olivia Black, CEO of Black Capital, youngest self-made billionaire in the country, lay there in what she was beginning to suspect was a brand new body, screaming her lungs out, and had absolutely no idea what was going on.
[What the fuck?]
---
Author Note:
A few warnings:
1. In case you didn't see it in the synopsis, the MC is going to be a futa in the new world. Not all love interests will be futas, though. This is a futa/yuri novel.
2. This story has incest. And not in a "look, incest is so awful" way either, so yeah.
3. Asterisks (*) in the title of a chapter indicate sex scenes, just so you don't end up getting jump-scared by the clapping of cheeks while you're at work or something.
Without further ado, enjoy!