He walked out of the bathroom and stared at the room. The walls were painted white, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling like something ripped straight from a billionaire's Pinterest board. A king-sized bed sat in the center, wrapped in a gold-and-blue duvet that looked way too clean to belong to a normal person.
On the bedside table sat a wallet, a TV remote, and an A/C remote — all lined up neatly, like their owner had OCD or… money. Jonathan stepped back to the mirror.
The reflection staring at him wasn't his.Blue eyes.A muscular body.A jawline sharp enough to cut the tension in the room.
He blinked hard.This man definitely didn't play with his carbs.
A thousand questions crashed into his mind like waves. "How is this even possible?" And the one that punched the hardest: "How long was I gone?"
He grabbed the TV remote, pointed it at the massive 65-inch screen mounted on the wall, and turned it on.
He gasped.
A year.He'd been gone for an entire year.That fall into nothingness had felt like days — long, dark, endless days — but still… days.
His hand trembled as he turned off the TV. His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the dressing room. The moment he opened it, his brain lagged. Rows of designer shirts, tailored suits, shoes lined up like soldiers.
Even when he was alive, he couldn't have afforded a fraction of this.Who even puts a chandelier in a bedroom?
Jonathan exhaled, pressing his palm against the doorframe.He needed answers. He needed to figure out how he'd resurrected in someone else's body.
And he knew he couldn't do it alone.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Michael.
⭐⭐⭐
Jonathan took a black Zara shirt, a pair of blonde shorts, and white Air Force sneakers from the closet and slipped them on. He checked himself out in the mirror and smiled. He still couldn't believe it—he was alive.
He pinched himself just to be sure.Apart from the pain, nothing changed.No fading, no vanishing, no waking up.
Still him.Still breathing.Still… here.
He brushed his hair quickly and headed for the door. Before leaving, he paused and gave the room one last look — the chandelier, the gold-blue duvet, the absurd luxury — then closed the door behind him.
Down the hallway, he found a transparent glass staircase and followed it all the way down. At the bottom, he froze.
The living room looked like something dragged out of a billionaire's catalog.Marble floors, smooth and spotless.An L-shaped sofa facing a massive TV, with two leather chairs flanking it like bodyguards.A black fur rug curled under a glossy center table.
But what made his breath hitch…were the portraits above the TV.Painted versions of the man whose body he was borrowing.
He stepped closer, ready to study the face properly when—
"Master Rodney, you're up early."
Jonathan spun around.An older, slim man stood behind him, hands folded neatly, eyes respectful.
For a second Jonathan panicked — confused — then it clicked.He's talking to me.Or… to Rodney.
"Oh. Um— yeah, I have to go to a friend's right now," Jonathan said, trying to sound normal. Natural. Not reincarnated.
"Shall I get the car ready then, Master?" the man asked.
Jonathan swallowed."Um… sure."