METAMORPHOSIS - PART 4 (Patreon)

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Part 4: Invisible Shackles

Quan Law's lips curved into a perfect smile, the very smile Thalia Lee had spent the past two days teaching him, if not outright forcing him to master. “I think I'm just a little tired.”

The voice came out gently, softly, but steadily, as if it had been pre-programmed.

Haze Thomas said nothing. He watched in silence, his gaze sharp as a razor, stripping away each layer of skin from Quan Law’s body. Quan Law could feel every heartbeat pounding so fiercely it seemed ready to explode in his chest. But Haze Thomas did not doubt him, or at least, he did not let it show. All he did was reach out and pull Quan Law down to sit beside him.

“Dinner is ready.”

Quan Law jolted, as if a surge of electricity had shot down his spine, at the firm hand of Haze Thomas resting on his waist. Even so, he could not react. He must not react. He dared not react. He could only continue this damn performance! In other words, he could only keep being Thalia Lee.

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Dinner unfolded in tense silence. Quan Law had always lived alone. None of his meals had ever been filled with sound, but at least that was a comfortable silence, nothing like the atmosphere now.

Haze Thomas seemed to be watching his “wife” excessively, almost staring, rarely looking away. He raised his glass of wine, tilting his head slightly as he gazed at Quan Law.

“Though my time abroad wasn’t short, you seem a bit different from how I remember you.”

Quan Law clenched his hands under the table, but his expression remained calm, silently hoping Haze Thomas wouldn’t notice the swallow he had just taken.

“What do you mean?” Quan Law asked, tension lacing his voice.

Haze Thomas rested his chin on his hand, narrowing his eyes. “Your appearance is slightly different, though not significantly. But mainly… you seem gentler and more timid. The Thalia Lee I knew was quite headstrong—headstrong enough to pull off that damn stunt!”

He smiled faintly, but there was something dangerously sharp in his eyes. Quan Law could feel every nerve in his body tightening. Just what had Thalia Lee done to warrant such an extreme need for a replacement?! As for Haze Thomas, Quan Law was certain Haze Thomas was testing him. Perhaps he had sensed that something was off, but even he had yet to pinpoint it. He was waiting—waiting for a mistake, a slip, anything that would let him unravel the doubt lurking in his mind.

Quan Law forced himself to smile, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, a gesture he often used to conceal his true emotions.

“Actually, I had a little accident. I suppose I've changed,” Quan Law said. He wasn’t lying. Calling those grueling lessons merely an “accident” was an understatement of the highest order!

Haze Thomas didn’t respond. He simply stared at him, as if trying to peel away each layer of disguise. The air grew suffocating. But then, Haze Thomas suddenly laughed. “Well, never mind! I like this version better.”

He raised his glass again. “Then, this toast is to celebrate your change, Thalia Lee.”

Quan Law picked up his glass, clinking it lightly against his. The red wine swayed inside, reflecting his gaze. A pair of eyes that felt entirely foreign, framed by false lashes and dark mascara. A pair of eyes that were no longer his. No longer Quan Law’s.

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Thalia Lee had been right about one thing, Quan Law now officially had a room in the very mansion on the outskirts from before.

That night, he stood before the mirror in his bedroom. The silk dress still clung to his body, his lips still bore traces of lipstick. He stared at himself, at the reflection of a face he no longer recognized. Ever since these dreadful events began, the mirror had become inseparable from him. To him, it felt like a gateway to another dimension, a place where he lived under a different identity. Perhaps the old Quan Law was still leading his quiet life as a programmer in the world within the mirror. But it no longer mattered. He was no longer in that world. The only figure he saw in the mirror was Thalia Lee.

The night descended outside the window. But Quan Law knew—the true darkness had enveloped him long ago. No way out. No escape. Even now, it felt strange that he could still recognize himself as Quan Law. But he was afraid… Afraid that soon, he would no longer remember who he once was…

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Many days had passed since he first began living as Thalia Lee, yet every time he woke up, he still found himself in an unfamiliar room.The vast bed was draped in pristine white silk, so soft it felt as if he were floating in midair. Truth be told, he was now living in the kind of luxury countless people could only dream of. This room wasn’t just a hundred times more lavish and comfortable than his previous cramped, dimly lit space—it was a stark contrast to the hellish prison where Thalia Lee had once kept him. And yet, that comfort was nothing but an illusion, because his mind remained stretched taut, never knowing a moment of peace. Because now, he was officially sharing a bedroom with Haze Thomas. The thought sent a chill through every cell in his body.

He remembered—everything had changed from that very first night. After dinner, Haze Thomas did not let him leave.

“You will sleep here,” he spoke with finality, leaving him no chance to protest.

Of course, Quan Law wanted to refuse. He had tried to find an excuse to escape. But when Haze Thomas's cold gaze swept over him, he understood—any resistance now would be pure folly. He could only nod, biting his lip, swallowing the fear tightening around his throat.

At the moment he stood before the mirror, lost in thoughts of himself, Haze Thomas suddenly stepped in, making him tremble violently. But Haze Thomas did nothing. He simply pulled Quan Law onto the bed and lay down beside him, drawing him into his firm embrace as if he truly were the Thalia Lee he loved. No—Quan Law deeply doubted that. Something had certainly happened between Haze Thomas and Thalia Lee in the past, but he had no clue what it was.

All night long, Quan Law lay still, listening to the steady rhythm of Haze Thomas’s breathing, his body rigid like a porcelain doll. On that first morning, when he opened his eyes, he was still in Haze Thomas’s arms. The man whispered into his ear, each word etching itself deep into his mind, “Good morning, my beloved wife.”

Fortunately, Haze Thomas was a busy man. Except for that first morning, every time Quan Law woke up, he found that Haze Thomas had already left the house. Being the wife of a busy man meant he could minimize his encounters with his “husband” as much as possible. Even the briefest moments with Haze Thomas were enough to send his nerves into overdrive. So, in the midst of countless misfortunes, he considered this a small stroke of luck.

Thalia Lee’s cosmetics company had completely vanished from the market, leaving no trace of its existence. Before fleeing, Thalia Lee had instructed him to tell Haze Thomas that the company had been shut down because, “after the accident, I no longer have the clarity to run it.” Haze Thomas didn’t seem surprised when Quan Law delivered those words. Instead, he simply stared at him, and Quan Law had no way of knowing what was going through his mind.

No matter how busy he was, Haze Thomas always had dinner with Quan Law, even if it meant rescheduling important meetings. For an ordinary wife, this would have been a great happiness. Unfortunately, Quan Law was not a wife. His very body refused to let him be one. And so, this was nothing short of a silent torment.

During their meals, Haze Thomas always looked at him with affectionate eyes—yet within them lay a hollow emptiness. Quan Law had no choice but to respond with soft smiles, gentle nods—gestures he had been trained to perfect until they became mere reflexes.

On certain weekend afternoons, Haze Thomas would take the time to stroll through the vast estate garden with Quan Law, arm in arm, wandering amidst the pristine white flowers.

But the worst came at night. Every evening, Haze Thomas would lie beside Quan Law in bed. The true nightmare began when he could vaguely feel Haze Thomas’s erection pressing against his backside through the silk of his nightgown and the thin fabric of his panties. He feared Haze Thomas—not because of what he had done, but because of what he hadn’t.

Haze Thomas was in no hurry. He did not force him. He only waited. Every gesture, every glance, every feigned tenderness he offered Quan Law—it was all a psychological game, a prison crafted without violence. He knew full well that Quan Law feared him. And… he reveled in it.

PART 5 >>