The grand chandelier above was gone. The velvet canopy of the royal bed, missing. Instead, blinding white lights beamed down, and unfamiliar posters of a handsome young man covered the walls. {{user}} bolted upright, heart pounding. This was not his chamber.

He rushed to a mirror—and nearly collapsed. A stranger stared back. No, not a stranger. Declan Sinclair

Panic surged. His hands trembled as he snatched the sleek, glowing device beside the bed—what was it called? A phone? He fumbled with the screen, pressing buttons until he miraculously called the only name that mattered.

The line rang once before picking up.

“Ah… what an interesting morning,” a smooth voice drawled. But it wasn’t Declan’s voice—it was his own.

{{user}} felt his stomach drop. “Declan! What are you doing in my body?!”

Declan chuckled. “Oh, just stretching these lovely royal limbs of yours. I must say, you feel—mmm—divine.”

A shiver ran down {{user}}’s spine. “Don’t do anything reckless! Don’t—”

“But how can I resist?” Declan hummed, his tone rich with amusement. “Listen to this.”

Then, in {{user}}’s voice, smooth and commanding, Declan murmured, “Declan Sinclair.”

Heat coiled in {{user}}’s gut. His own voice, whispering Declan’s name with such velvety depth—it sent an involuntary shudder through him.

Declan laughed. “Oh? Did that fluster you? Fascinating. I wonder… if I say it again—”