Pretty face - updated (Patreon)

I think I found a solution =) Sorry for the spam and this little experiment =) But for some reason I honestly didn't think that it could be divided into two parts =(

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"I hate you... fucking bitch," the girl snarled at her reflection, seething with anger. She scrutinized herself in the mirror, taking in every detail of her appearance. This was not the image she was used to, not what she wanted to see. Inside, she still believed she was Greg Stevenson, the powerful CEO of a massive corporation, not Margarita Blazer, the seemingly shallow wife of his greatest rival.

With a resigned sigh, Margarita—or rather, Greg in Margarita's body—finished applying her makeup. An event awaited her, and the last thing she wanted was to play the part of the doting, submissive wife. Adjusting her dress, she couldn't help but think back to how it all began.

Greg had meticulously crafted a plan to ruin Derek Blazer's life: seduce Derek's wife, gain her trust, extract valuable information, and use it to destroy his rival. But he never anticipated that a cheap trinket from China, a souvenir he carelessly gifted to his business partner's wife, would turn out to be an ancient artifact. One that would swap their bodies, along with their knowledge and skills.

Margarita in Greg's body quickly embraced her new identity. She reveled in the intelligence and power she now possessed, deciding to fully adopt Greg's life. She even managed to convince Greg, now in Margarita's body, that she was the real Greg. And it worked. Greg, trapped in Margarita's body, struggled with his new reality, confused by how 'Margarita' now behaved like him.

The door creaked open, and Derek walked in, his eyes narrowing as he saw her. "Are you ready, Margarita?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension that made her skin crawl.

"Yeah, like, totally ready," ("Yes, I am prepared for the evening.") she giggled, cursing her new speech pattern and hating the sound of her new voice.

Derek's sneer deepened. "Try not to embarrass me tonight. We have important people to impress."

"Uh-huh, I'll be, like, super careful," ("Of course, I will ensure that I conduct myself appropriately,") she replied, nodding eagerly. The movement made her breasts jiggle slightly, a constant reminder of her unwanted new body.

As they walked to the car, Derek began discussing his day. She struggled to keep up, the complexities of corporate strategy slipping through her fingers. It was maddening.

"And then Greg, that smug bastard, tried to undercut our new project," Derek said bitterly. "I swear, if I could get my hands on him..."

Her thoughts raced. If only Derek knew. "Like, he sounds so mean," ("Yes, I understand your frustration,") she said, trying to keep up but feeling the details slip away.

Derek gave her a sharp look. "Mean? That’s the best you can come up with? God, Margarita, sometimes I wonder what goes on in that pretty little head of yours."

She bristled, her cheeks flushing with anger. "Like, I’m trying, okay?" ("I am doing my best to engage in this conversation,") she snapped back, hating the high-pitched whine in her voice.

At the event, she overheard snippets of conversations, feeling increasingly out of place. Everything sounded so complex. "Why does everyone talk so... smartly?" she thought, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over her. She wanted to prove she was still the sharp, shrewd Greg Stevenson, but every time she opened her mouth, the words that came out were infuriatingly shallow.

One particularly exasperating encounter was with a group of Derek’s colleagues discussing a recent merger. She desperately wanted to contribute, to prove she was still Greg Stevenson, the brilliant CEO.

"Yeah, mergers are, like, so complicated," ("Mergers indeed present a multitude of complexities,") she began. "But, like, if you get the numbers right, it's, like, super easy," ("However, with accurate financial analysis, the process can be significantly simplified.")

The men exchanged smirks. One of them, an arrogant executive, leaned in. "And what exactly do you think about the impact on the stock prices, Margarita?"

Her mind went blank. Stock prices. She knew this, she used to manipulate them effortlessly. But now, the words wouldn't come. "Well, um, if the prices, like, go up, that's, like, good, right?" ("If the stock prices increase, it generally indicates a positive outcome.")

They laughed, and she felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. Inside, she was screaming, but her words were a jumbled mess.

As she stood there, grappling with her frustratingly limited vocabulary, a well-dressed woman approached her. "Margarita, darling, I simply adore your dress," the woman exclaimed, her eyes shining with genuine admiration. "It's so chic and elegant."

"Oh, um, thank you," Margarita responded with a bashful smile, feeling an unexpected flutter of joy.

The woman, sensing her hesitation, gently took her by the hand. "Come, let's join the other ladies," she said warmly, leading her towards a group of impeccably dressed wives. They greeted her with warm smiles, making Margarita feel a strange sense of camaraderie.

She found herself surprisingly interested in their conversations. They discussed their husbands and their businesses in a way she could follow, even contribute to, despite the odd words that slipped into her speech.

"Like, Derek was totally pissed at me tonight," ("Derek was quite upset with me tonight,") she blurted out. The women turned to her with sympathetic expressions.

One of them, a statuesque brunette, nodded knowingly. "Oh, honey, they all get like that. My Roger is the same. Always worried about work and appearances."

Margarita nodded, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie. "It's just, like, so hard to keep up," ("It is incredibly challenging to keep pace,") she confessed. "I used to be, like, so good at this stuff," ("I used to excel at these matters,"), she added, her voice laced with frustration.

The women exchanged looks. "You’re doing fine," another wife reassured her. "These men think they're so important, but they’d be lost without us."

When the event ended, and Derek and Margarita returned home, she felt a bit lighter. She recounted her conversation with the wives. "They, like, totally get it. They know how hard it is," ("They completely understand the difficulties we face,") she said, hoping to bridge the gap between them.

Derek’s face darkened. "You’re spending too much time with those airheads," he snapped. "Do you know how stupid you made me look tonight? Talking about stock prices going up like a cheerleader!"

Margarita's heart sank. "I was just, like, trying to help," ("I was merely attempting to contribute,") she protested, feeling the sting of his words.

"Well, you didn't. You embarrassed me," Derek continued, his anger unabated. "I need you to be more than just a pretty face, Margarita. Start acting like it."

As she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, Margarita felt a growing sense of frustration and helplessness. She hated that during this evening she really behave like an some srupid trophy wife, unable to speak, not understanding anything, and in the end founded herself in a discussion with other wives about their husbands and how smart they are and how much they earn.

'This is so frustrating,' the girl thought to herself, 'I hate being like this. I'm not a fucking airhead who doesn't know anything and can only talk about makeup and dresses!' she sniffed, and then remembered the compliment from the other wife and smiled. 'Although that dress really looked amazing on me and someone, unlike Derek, actually appreciates it,' she sighed and turned onto her side, pulling the covers over herself. 'I'll show him, I'll show them all. I'm smarter than this and I'm not a dumb blonde.'