This place felt more like a luxury hotel than a home.
We walked down a long corridor on the second floor, then climbed a staircase to the third. On one side were closed oak doors; on the other, a barrier of thick, tinted glass. At the center opened a vast space overlooking the hall below, crowned by a domed ceiling with a massive chandelier—more for show than anything else.
One thing became immediately clear: everything here was modern—familiar. This wasn't some other world I'd been reborn into, like in the shows I used to watch in my previous life to pass the time.
This boy's room was bigger than my entire apartment.
A massive square bed. Built-in wardrobes. A wall-sized TV. A stereo system. A desk with a computer. Several shelves lined with books.
"Please, sir, your bath is ready," a voice said.
I snapped my mouth shut—I hadn't even noticed it had fallen open while I was taking everything in.
"Thank you," I said, turning toward the young maid.
Pull yourself together. You're not some country bumpkin.
But wow… I never imagined I'd end up in a place like this—let alone live here.
I stepped into the bathroom, filled with steam and the scent of coconut soap. Closing the door behind me, I looked around—and this time I didn't hold back the breath of awe.
A bathtub large enough to fit three adults comfortably. A shower cabin with a rainforest setting and other high-end features. A sleek toilet. A wide mirror.
Everything here screamed wealth.
Slowly, I pulled off the loose T-shirt and reached for the waistband of the pajama pants. I wasn't wearing any underwear.
I was just about to tug them down when I froze.
Wait.
Would this count as… sexual harassment?
Heat rushed to my face.
Technically, this body belongs to me now—so why can't I just take off these damn pants?
Sooner or later, I'll have to.
But God, this is awkward.
I took a deep breath, pulled them down, and—carefully avoiding looking—quickly slipped into the bath.
Hot water. Soft foam.
God, this feels good.
As I soaked, gently scrubbing my skin, I avoided that area.
Wait… do you even have to wash it? And how do men do that?
I should probably look it up later.
Anna, stop it. You're thirty years old. This isn't the first time you've seen—or touched—one.
Still… I didn't.
I climbed out of the bath, quickly dried myself, and turned toward the mirror.
A slender, fair-skinned young man looked back at me—pleasant enough in appearance.
His skin was smooth, well cared for. No calluses on his hands. His chestnut hair shone with health. Clearly, he'd never had to do any physical labor.
Though… a bit more muscle wouldn't hurt. He's too thin.
My gaze dropped to his long legs, lightly covered with soft, damp hair—and then, despite myself, drifted higher.
Pretty average.
Though maybe it'll still grow?
What are you thinking, Anna?!
You sound like a complete pervert, staring at a naked teenager!
I hastily threw on a robe and returned to the room.
Marta was sitting in a chair by the desk. Clothes were neatly laid out on my—his—bed.
"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a chair in front of the mirror. "I'll do your hair."
"That's not necessary," I protested. "I can manage."
"I'm sorry, sir, but you're expected at lunch. You can't go down looking untidy," Marta insisted.
I gave in and sat down.
I looked at my reflection again.
A perfectly pressed white shirt with a faint violet tint. A vest layered over it. Trousers. Polished shoes.
My hair neatly styled.
A bit too formal for a family lunch, if you ask me—but I kept quiet. For now, it was better to play along until I figured out how to get my body back… if that was even possible.
Marta led me downstairs to the dining room.
At the enormous table sat only three people.
From what I could tell, they were Alan's parents and his older brother.
And now—at least in their eyes—my family.
I hesitated before taking the seat set for me beside my brother.
Something felt… off.
Not because I was in someone else's body—but because of the atmosphere.
They didn't look like a family.
They looked like people attending a formal business lunch.
Growing up with five older brothers, I found this silence and coldness unsettling. I couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for my own family—for our now rare gatherings.
There, it was always loud. It smelled like fresh baking. It felt like home.
"How is your memory?" the man asked in an even tone.
His expression was stern, and the deep line between his brows suggested it was his default state.
He looked at least ten years older than his wife.
Theodore—who was currently studying me with quiet intensity—clearly took after him. The same features. Even the same expression.
But unlike Marcus Holivan, there was genuine concern in Theodore's eyes—not cold indifference.
"No change," I replied, sitting unnaturally straight.
For some reason, under his gaze, I felt deeply out of place. It wasn't just me—even this body reacted to Alan's father in the same way.
"My dear," his mother said gently across the table, "don't worry. Everything will be fine."
"How did this even happen?" Theodore spoke up. "Someone attacked my brother on our estate? Where was security looking?"
"There was no attack," the father replied flatly. "Security saw nothing. What happened can only be known by him—and at the moment, he's useless."
"Stop it! He's suffered enough," the mother cut in.
"He's not a child anymore. Stop coddling him, or he'll remain a worthless mama's boy."
"But—"
"That's enough. I'd like to eat in peace. We'll deal with his memory when the specialist arrives. Our doctor has already contacted a colleague. I won't have him embarrassing the family when he goes to the academy."
"The academy?" I couldn't help asking. "And what kind of specialist are you talking about?"
"There's no point talking to you right now," he dismissed me.
At that moment, two maids approached the table and began serving the food.
Theodore leaned closer to me.
"I'll come by after lunch. We'll talk. Don't mind Father—he's always like that."
I turned and caught the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
I gave a small nod.
Lunch passed in silence.
I was starving—but too tense to even move freely. Luckily, I'd been to a few high-end restaurants for work before and knew how to handle basic table etiquette. Not everything—but enough not to draw attention.
Still, I stuck to dishes I felt reasonably confident eating.
I left the table just as hungry as before, already considering finding the kitchen and asking for a couple of sandwiches.
But before I could ask any of the staff, a firm hand landed on my shoulder. Theodore guided me toward the main entrance.
"I think some fresh air would do you good," he said. "We can talk in the garden—or by the pond… though, sorry, the pond might not be the best idea."
"It's fine," I said with a small smile. "I don't remember falling in, so there's no reason for bad associations."
The crease between his brows didn't fade.
"I like looking at water," I added—and immediately regretted it when I saw a flicker of surprise cross his face.
"…If that's what you want, then we'll sit by the pond."