Adrian Cole and Hector Brooks had hated each other since the first day at Blackwood Law.
Both were brilliant, both ambitious, and both believed they deserved the open partner position on the top floor. The difference was in the method. Hector was intense, resentful, and needed to win in front of everyone. Adrian preferred to move the pieces in silence.
When the board announced that the position would be decided by a high-profile case, Hector took it as a declaration of war. Adrian smiled and accepted the challenge.
It was Adrian who proposed the bet, with that calm that so irritated his rival:
“The one who wins keeps the office on the 18th floor and the title.
The one who loses clears his desk and never sets foot in this building again.”
Hector accepted without hesitation. He wanted to see Adrian Cole leave defeated.
The case lasted three weeks. Hector poured everything into it. He slept in the office, tore apart the opposing arguments, and won over the client. On the day of the verdict, when the decision favored his strategy by a razor-thin margin, he felt the universe had finally done him justice.
Adrian, on the other hand, received the news with a neutral expression. He almost looked disappointed.
That same afternoon Hector received the keys to the 18th-floor office. It still smelled of new wood and power. He sat in the leather chair and smiled to himself. For the first time in years he wouldn’t have to endure Adrian Cole’s arrogant gaze every time they crossed a hallway. To his surprise, there was a bottle of champagne on the desk with a label that read “to celebrate a new beginning.”
He felt like the king of the world, but in a way he also felt disappointed. Thinking that this would be the last time he saw his eternal rival made him angry. Not out of any sense of camaraderie — he simply felt he still owed him for all those years of being a pain in the ass. He wanted to humiliate him, impose himself over him, and force him to respect him as a superior.
Then the idea came to him.
He sent a message:
“Farewell drinks in my new office. 8 pm. Just the two of us. For the end of an era.”
Adrian replied almost immediately:
“I’ll be there.”
Hector prepared everything carefully. He obtained a pink pill through a discreet contact. Small, odorless, designed to humiliate. When Adrian arrived, he would pour him champagne and make sure that was his last night as a man inside Blackwood Law.
Adrian arrived on time.
He walked into the 18th-floor office with his hands in his pockets and that same irritating calm as always. Hector already had the bottle open and two glasses ready.
“To the winners,” Hector said, pouring.
While Adrian turned for a second to look at the city view, Hector dropped the pink pill into the glass that belonged to his rival. The gesture was quick and clean. When Adrian looked back at him, Hector raised his own glass with a tense smile.
“Cheers.”
Adrian did not drink.
He left the glass on the desk, took a step back, and held Hector’s gaze for several seconds. Hector didn’t delay in drinking from his own glass.
“I knew you would do it.”
Hector felt a sudden chill.
“What?”
Adrian walked slowly around the desk.
“The position was always mine, Hector. Long before they announced the case. I had a contact on the board. He made sure the announcement came out when it suited me and that the final result could be managed. I didn’t need to win the trial. I only needed you to believe you had won it.”
He pointed at the two glasses.
“The champagne was already contaminated before I arrived. For starters, who do you think put it there? It contains a next-generation TG virus. I haven’t drunk a single drop. You, on the other hand…”
Hector looked at his own glass, almost empty. The slight metallic taste he had noticed in the background now made sense. He tried to stand up. His legs wouldn’t respond. A violent heat rose from his stomach to his chest.
“You son of a—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
The change was fast and brutal. His chest expanded, bursting the buttons of his shirt. His hips widened. His voice cracked into a high-pitched moan while everything between his legs reorganized with cruel speed. In less than a minute, Hector Brooks no longer existed.
In his place was a woman with marked curves, longer hair, and an expression of pure panic, still wearing the loosened tie around her neck.
Adrian watched her in silence while she trembled on the new carpet.
“This version of the virus has an extra,” he explained in a calm voice. “It makes the infected person submissive… toward the first person they sleep with.”
And since from now on you’re no longer a lawyer but my new personal secretary…
He approached, lifted her chin with two fingers, and smiled.
“Your first official action will be to please me.”
She tried to crawl toward the door. The new body didn’t have the strength or coordination of before. Adrian didn’t need to struggle. He took her by the arm, lifted her easily, and sat her on the desk that just hours earlier Hector had considered his own.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She looked at him. The rage was still there, burning in her throat, but underneath it a hot, unwanted need to obey was growing. To open her legs. To stop fighting.
Adrian pulled down what remained of the suit pants in one tug. She was wet. He let out a low laugh.
“Even your body knows who’s in charge now.”
He turned her around over the desk and penetrated her in a single thrust.
The scream that came out of her throat was high, feminine, completely foreign. Adrian was not gentle. He took her with the same coldness with which he had planned every move of the last few weeks, thrusting into her over the desk while she clung to the edge of the wood. Every thrust tore moans from her that she hated. Every order (“harder,” “look at me,” “tell me who I am”) came out of her mouth without permission.
When Adrian came inside her, deep and possessive, she trembled with an orgasm that destroyed what little male pride she had left.
Adrian pulled out, fastened his pants, and stroked her cheek with an almost affectionate falseness.
“Welcome to Blackwood Law, Secretary Brooks.”
Starting tomorrow, 8:00 sharp. Black coffee, no sugar.
And if you behave… maybe I’ll let you feel this again.
She remained sitting on the desk for a moment before falling to her knees on the carpet, with cum running down her thighs and the tie still hanging from her neck.
She had lost her gender.
She had lost the position.
She had lost her identity.
And the worst part of all was that a part of her — the part the virus already controlled — was already waiting for the next order.
Adrian Cole had always been two steps ahead.
Now she would understand it every single day, from the other side of the desk.
The End.
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