The Mule 20

As Ethan inked his new name onto the official documents, his fingers trembled. Each stroke was a final farewell to his former self, a tragic yet necessary act for the protection of Ava. With the last stroke of the pen, Ethan Morgan faded into the past, and Fernanda emerged from the illusion's shroud.

The chilling echo of applause following the signing of the papers permeated Ethan's heart. The wedding guests' jubilant faces became a blur in his vision Rafael tightly gripped his hand. Their fingers intertwined in a paradoxical symbol of unity—Rafael's rough, calloused hand starkly contrasting Ethan's delicate, freshly manicured ones.

They emerged from the church, sunlight spilling over them, casting the scene in a bittersweet light. Ethan glanced downwards, attempting to see where he was stepping, his towering, strappy sandals concealed by the brilliant white skirt of his wedding gown.

The crowd's murmurs dwindled as they neared a vintage car adorned with tin cans and a banner proclaiming 'Just Married.' A hollow laugh slipped from Ethan's painted lips, the irony piercingly sharp.

Before entering the car, he was stopped, reminded of a lingering tradition—the bouquet toss. With a deep sigh, Ethan pivoted towards the crowd, holding the blush-pink bouquet aloft, his heavily made-up eyes catching sight of Emiliana’s smiling face.

With a swift motion, Ethan hurled the bouquet towards his former fiancée. The crowd gasped, trailing the trajectory of the flowers as they somersaulted through the air, landing flawlessly in Emiliana's outstretched hands. Their eyes met across the sea of spectators, a silent conversation transpiring between them. If only circumstances were different, she would have been the one standing by his side.

Ethan turned back towards the car, feeling the bridal dress rustling around his legs, the delicate lace brushing against the stockings—a sensation strange and unfamiliar. His heart pounded rhythmically in his chest, keeping time with his heels clicking against the stone pathway.

Ethan leaned down to enter the car, his corset doing its best to prevent his entry. As the car’s engine roared to life, the feminized man’s thoughts circled back to the wedding, the vows, the kiss, and the applause. He shivered, recalling the feel of Rafael's moustache against his chin, his lipstick smeared in the aftermath of that forced kiss. His eyes landed on his reflection in the car window—Fernanda, the bride. No longer was it Ethan staring back, but a woman in a bridal gown, with cascading curls, a tiara, and a face artfully painted with makeup.

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The once bustling crowd of the church had dispersed, replaced by the solitude of an ornate bedroom. The bright afternoon light streamed in through the glass door leading out to the balcony, illuminating Ethan standing in the room's centre, his reflection mirrored back at him from an opulent, full-length mirror.

The women assisting him in preparation for the impending reception party downstairs in the family house stood around chatting, one of them gently placing his exquisite wedding gown on a hanger. This left Ethan balancing on his sky-high heels in nothing but his lingerie. The exquisite undergarments, fashioned from delicate lace and silk, adhered to his feminized form. The corset, cinched at his waist, highlighted his curves, creating an hourglass silhouette. His stockings, sheer and pristine white, were fastened to a garter belt encircling his prominent hips. Ethan was a vision of bridal elegance, yet the reflection that stared back at him felt like a stranger's.

(See Image 40)

His heart hammered relentlessly in his chest as he scrutinized his image. His long, mascara-coated lashes cast long shadows over his pronounced cheekbones. His lips, painted a soft shade of pink, held a matte finish, while a sprinkling of blush graced his cheeks, adding to the illusion. His hair, styled into loose curls, was arranged in a sophisticated updo, with a few tendrils framing his face.

Every detail screamed femininity, a stark contrast to the man he once was. The thought made his stomach churn. He felt adrift in this sea of satin and lace, overwhelmed by a reality he had not chosen.

The click of heels against the wooden floor disrupted his introspection. He turned to find Emiliana approaching. Dressed in a short black dress with a crisscross design that showcased her midriff, her dark hair gleaming in the light, she was a sight to behold. Her smile held an ironic twist, a knowing smirk that Ethan found inscrutable.

Asserting her commanding presence, she gestured for the women to exit. Like disciplined soldiers, they scurried out of the room, leaving him alone with Emiliana. A heavy silence draped the room as the door shut behind them, the tension in the air thick enough to slice through.

Emiliana's heels clicked once more as she sauntered towards him, her eyes sizing him up, her smirk never wavering. She began to circle him slowly, taking in the entirety of his transformation.

Ethan's heart pounded even harder, the silence suffocating him. His life, as he knew it, was over. The harsh reality of his situation crashed upon him like a tumultuous wave.

Emiliana shattered the silence, her voice reverberating through the room. "You look beautiful, Fernanda," she said, her voice low but clear, laced with a hint of satisfaction.

Ethan took in Emiliana's appearance, the smugness painted across her stunning face. "What are you doing here, Emiliana?" he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone. "Have you come to gloat?"

(See image 41)

Emiliana laughed, a rich, melodious sound that bounced off the room's walls. She motioned towards a nearby white armchair, the antique design exquisite in its craftsmanship. "Sit, Fernanda," she instructed, emphasizing his new name.

Ethan glanced at the armchair and then back at Emiliana, a glimmer of defiance in his eyes. But, his aching feet won the internal battle. With an elegant sway of his hips, he moved toward the chair, the clip-clop of his heels punctuating each step. The relief washing over him as he sank into the plush cushion was nearly enough to distract him from the situation at hand.

Emiliana pulled a sleek tablet from her black handbag, the silver finish reflecting the sunlight streaming in from the balcony. She extended her arm, offering the device to Ethan.

He took the tablet, his long, manicured nails creating a stark contrast against the dark screen. His heart pounded in his chest as he contemplated the implications. "Is this about Ava?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Emiliana simply replied, "Press play and you’ll find out."

So, with trepidation prickling his skin, he did. His breath hitched, chest tightening as Ava's image filled the screen, looking disturbingly healthy and unharmed. Her hair once blonde now dark swept up into a high ponytail, her eyes devoid of the warmth he used to bask in, replaced by a serious stare. She was a vision of cold beauty, composed and distant, unlike the Ava he knew.

She started to speak, her voice as smooth as ice, holding no hint of the woman who once claimed to love him. A look of confusion crossed Ethan’s beautifully made-up face.

"I'm sorry, Ethan," she began, her tone remarkably calm, almost as if she was reciting a rehearsed speech. His heart twinged at the mention of his real name, the past whispering like a ghost. "You were always such a sweet, naive man."

A harsh chuckle followed her words, her indifference rubbing salt into his fresh wounds. Ethan could feel his throat constricting, a heavy rock settling at the pit of his stomach. Each word was a cold blade, carving out pieces of his heart.

"I wasn't kidnapped, I wasn't in danger," Ava continued, her gaze unmoving, unfaltering. "I was offered the chance at a job, one with a life-changing sum of money attached to it. And, well, I took it."

Ethan's world spun, his reality crumbling around him. The confession felt like a brutal punch to his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. The woman he had altered his whole existence to save was the architect of his downfall. His fingers tightened around the tablet, the sharp edge digging into his skin as if anchoring him to the cruel reality.

"Don’t take it personally, Ethan. I never wished you any harm, it was just business, that’s all," Ava finished, her voice frigid. Then she tilted her head, offering a chilling, insincere smile. "Have a nice life, Fernanda?" With that, the screen faded to black.

The finality of her words settled heavily in the room. Ethan was left grappling with the harsh reality, the bitter sting of betrayal coursing through his veins. His body felt numb, the echoing sound of Ava's cruel confession reverberating in his ears. The world seemed to slow down, every detail suddenly sharp, cutting deep into his soul. His eyes stung, his vision blurring as the magnitude of the betrayal overwhelmed him. The Ava he loved was never real, just a mercenary masquerading as a damsel in distress.

Ethan looked up from the screen, his vision blurred by the thick, mascara-laden lashes. His gaze fell upon Emiliana, her triumphant smile sending chills down his spine. The reality was bitter, a cruel twist of fate he hadn't expected.

He stuttered, struggling to form coherent words. The shock had gripped him, rendering him speechless.

"Oh, poor baby," Emiliana cooed, her voice laced with faux sympathy. "It doesn’t feel nice being let down by the ones you love the most, is it? But don't you worry. After marrying my cousin Rafael, we're family now. And family looks after family." She paused, a devilish glint in her eyes. "So, why don't you change into your pretty party dress and finish getting ready? I'll see you downstairs in a few where we can discuss your new role in the family."

Her words hung in the air as Ethan clung to the tablet, his mind racing to comprehend the earth-shattering revelations. As Emiliana sashayed out of the room, Ethan was left to grapple with his new reality, the anticipation of the impending party amplifying the tension. He glanced at the mirror one last time, his reflection staring back at him – the new version of himself, he was now forced to embrace.