One Last Test Swapped Us

Just before my vision tunneled into black and I lost consciousness, my mind was entirely consumed by the glowing, scrolling text materializing in thin air before my eyes.

Please, Paige. Just this once. I just need to know if his feelings for me are bulletproof.

That was how my best friend had begged me. She wanted me to put on a humiliatingly sheer set of lingerie and wait for her boyfriend in a hotel room.

[Hold up, don't curse her out yet! There's a plot twist!]

[How is she the protagonist? She's completely brain-dead for love, using her best friend as a pawn!]

[Is the bar for main characters really this low nowadays?]

[Actually, the real main character is the best friend. They swap souls later...]

01

Charlotte Harrington was using me as a pawn in her twisted romantic games. Again.

She backed me against the marble counter of the restroom, her voice dripping with that weaponized, sugary sweetness she used whenever she wanted her way.

"Paige, just do this one last favor for me. Just this once, I swear on my life."

"I read this thread online," she continued, her perfectly manicured fingers tracing the edge of my jacket. "It said you absolutely cannot date a guy who acts like a universal people-pleaser. Guys with zero boundaries with other women are a massive cheating risk. Just help me out, okay? Test Todd to see if he's that kind of guy. My anxiety has been so bad lately I can barely keep food down."

"Just text him. Say you were shopping nearby, the rain caught you, your Uber app is glitching, and your phone is dying. Ask if he can swing by and give you a ride. Let's just see what he says."

As she spoke, there was a frantic, concealed excitement dancing in her eyes. It was as if she were already visualizing the scene: Todd righteously rejecting my plea, then turning back to her to profess his undying loyalty.

"Charlotte," I said, leaning my weight against the cold sink, looking dead into her eyes. "Have you ever stopped to think that if you actually trust someone, you don't need to put them through a loyalty test every other month?"

Her smile faltered. Just a microscopic twitch.

Then, she stepped closer, looping her arm through mine and resting her chin on my shoulder. Her voice went soft, like spun sugar. "I know you're the absolute best, Paige. I just have no sense of security, you know that. Todd is just so... perfect. I don't even understand how a guy like him could love me so much. It makes me want to dig around, to find the catch. Plus, the more we test him, the better he'll get at spotting the tricks those manipulative pick-me girls try to pull."

"But every single time we do this, he rejects me. Isn't that enough?"

"That's exactly why we have to keep testing him," she said, straightening up, her tone shifting to righteous justification. "What if one day he finally caves to the temptation?"

I didn't say a word.

To Todd Hawthorne, these so-called "tests" weren't cute social experiments. They were targeted harassment. Coming from me.

The way he looked at me had evolved over the years. It started as cold indifference, curdled into active disgust, and had recently settled into complete, invisible erasure.

And every time he rejected my forced advances, Charlotte would miraculously appear right on cue. Shed feign absolute innocence, her eyes wide. "What's going on? Oh, Paige, you're here too? What a coincidence!"

Then she would watch Todd's jaw clench as he muttered, "Paige is sending those kinds of messages again." She would watch him hand over his phone so she could see the undeniable proof of me "seducing" him.

She would frown, scanning the screen, and then, playing the role of the endlessly empathetic girlfriend, she would delete my messages and block my number for him. Shed turn back to me and say, "Paige, I know you didn't mean anything by it. I smoothed it over with him. It's okay."

Like I was a disobedient rescue dog that had soiled the rug. I made the mess; she benevolently cleaned it up.

And every single time, I gritted my teeth and swallowed the humiliation.

Because she was my best friend.

At least, that was the lie I had been telling myself.

"Come on, Paige," Charlotte said, her fingers tightening like a vice around my wrist as she pulled me toward the door. "Todd is already waiting in the parking garage. Just do exactly what I said, okay?"

I took a slow, jagged breath and firmly pulled my arm out of her grip.

"Charlotte. Not today."

She blinked, startled.

"Today is the anniversary of my mother's death," I said quietly. "I told you this. I'm going to the cemetery this afternoon."

For two full seconds, her face was completely blank. Then, with terrifying speed, it was flooded with guilt and heartbreak. The sorrow in her eyes was so profound I almost believed it was real. I could practically feel the warmth radiating from her empathy.

"Oh my god, Paige, I am so sorry. I completely forgot," she whispered, reaching out to touch my arm. "Let me have Todd drive you to the cemetery"

"No need."

I grabbed my purse and walked out, not looking back.

Behind me, the frantic clicking of her designer heels echoed against the tile as she chased after me, calling my name.

I didn't turn around.

I stood on the concrete steps outside the mall, the harsh afternoon sun making me lightheaded.

And then I saw Todd's car idling by the curb.

A black Range Rover. The driver's side window was rolled halfway down. He had one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. His profile was carved from stone, his jawline tight, looking like a man whose patience was perpetually being tested.

He saw me.

His gaze swept over my face with the same emotional engagement one gives a lamppost.

Then, his eyes shifted to Charlotte rushing out the doors behind me. Instantly, the rigid lines of his face softened. The transformation was visceral.

He pushed the door open, his long legs carrying him around the hood of the car. He naturally took Charlotte's bags from her hands, his other arm sliding effortlessly around her waist.

"Why are you running? You're out of breath," he murmured. His voice was low, laced with a proprietary tenderness reserved entirely for her.

Charlotte, panting, shot a complicated, hesitant look in my direction.

I had already turned away, walking in the opposite direction.

Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of the car doors shutting. The deep purr of the engine turning over. The black Range Rover glided past me, the dark tinted windows reflecting a solitary, pathetic silhouette: mine.

02

I was seventeen the year my mother died. Charlotte was there that day. She stood behind me in the pouring rain, holding an umbrella over my head for four solid hours. She didn't say a single word. She just anchored me.

It wasn't until weeks later that I found out she was supposed to be on a flight to Paris with her family for a luxury vacation that afternoon.

The tickets were booked. The bags were packed.

She canceled her flight to stand in the mud with me, and her mother grounded her and screamed at her for a week straight.

Because of that day, I fundamentally believed she was a good person. I believed she truly loved me.

All her little tantrums, her manipulative streaks, her petty calculationsI chalked them up to the inevitable collateral damage of growing up as a spoiled heiress. At her core, she isn't bad, I would tell myself in the quiet, lonely moments.

I laid the flowers at the base of the headstone and crouched down, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe a thin layer of dust from the porcelain photo.

"Hey, Mom. I'm here."

The woman in the photo smiled back at me. Her eyes were gentle, holding seventy percent of my own reflection.

"I'm doing really well, Mom. You don't need to worry about me."

I was lying to a ghost.

I wasn't doing well at all.

Work was a suffocating dead end. Because of my proximity to Toddhe was a major stakeholder in the firm I worked forI had been thoroughly marginalized at the office.

Everyone in the corporate food chain knew Mr. Hawthorne despised me. Therefore, no one wanted to mentor me. No one wanted me on their accounts. I was a weed growing in the deep shade of a massive oak tree; no matter how desperately I stretched, I could never catch a single ray of sunlight.

And my friendships? That was an entirely different kind of rot.

Charlotte was crossing lines she couldn't uncross.

It started freshman year of college. She liked using me as a litmus test for Todd's fidelity.

Back then, I thought it was childish insecurity. A twisted game of pretend.

But as we graduated and entered the real world, her obsession metastasized.

She created burner accounts using my photos to flirt with him online. She ordered takeout to his office under my name. Once, she even mailed him a box of artisanal chocolates with a handwritten card tucked inside. The card had my phone number on it.

Todd threw the chocolates into the trash.

Right in front of her.

When she came back to the apartment to tell me about it, she was laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face.

"You should have seen his face, Paige! He looked like he'd just swallowed a live roach! I'm dead, it was so funny."

I laughed too.

But as the laughter faded, the back of my throat burned, and my eyes stung.

It wasn't because of Todd's rejection.

It was the sickening, sudden realization that to her, I wasn't a person. I was a prop.

A tool used solely to measure the depth of her boyfriend's devotion.

But I couldn't speak up. I couldn't set a boundary.

Because I owed her my life.

During my sophomore year of college, I almost had to drop out. After my mom passed, the medical bills drained everything. We had nothing. I applied for federal grants and university financial aid twice. Both times, they were abruptly denied. The administration claimed they had received an "anonymous tip" accusing me of falsifying my financial records.

I never found out who reported me.

When I was backed into a corner, staring down the barrel of an empty future, Charlotte reached out her hand.

She convinced her father to set up a private corporate scholarship through his company, covering my tuition and living expenses for the next three years. Because of her, I got my degree.

After graduation, I worked like a dog. I lived on ramen and tap water, and within two years, I paid back every single cent of that corporate money.

But the debt of gratitude?

You can't write a check for that.

So, I endured it.

Time and time again.

On the bus ride back from the cemetery, the sky broke open.

I hadn't brought an umbrella. I stood under the meager awning of the bus stop, watching the sheets of rain turn the city into a blur, my mind completely hollow.

My phone buzzed.

Charlotte.

"Paige, are you still at the cemetery? Do you want me to come pick you up?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm waiting for the bus."

"Well, you have to come over for dinner tonight. I had Maria make your favoritethat ridiculously tart Key Lime pie from the recipe you love."

"Okay."

I wanted to say no. The word was right there, heavy on my tongue, but I swallowed it down.

Because when she mentioned the pie, I was transported back to college. Whenever I was spiraling, overwhelmed by grief or stress, she would drag me to this rundown diner near campus and order us a massive slice of Key Lime pie.

She used to say the extreme tartness was a shock to the system, a distraction so sharp it made you forget you were sad.

So, my heart went soft again.

Look at me. This is exactly who I am.

Simultaneously hyper-aware that I am being used, yet pathologically incapable of resisting the breadcrumbs of warmth she occasionally tossed my way.

When I arrived at her penthouse, she opened the door herself.

She was in expensive cashmere loungewear, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, completely makeup-free. She looked like a sweet, innocent kid.

"Come in, come in! You're soaked! I had Maria make hot tea."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. The warmth of her palm caused a momentary lapse in my reality.

It felt like nothing had changed. Like we were still those broke college kids, huddled on a futon, splitting a cheap pizza, watching terrible horror movies until our ribs ached from laughing.

But the truth was, everything had changed.

During dinner, she kept piling food onto my plate.

"Eat more, you've lost weight," she murmured, resting her chin on her hand, looking at me with eyes so gentle you'd think I was made of spun glass.

I kept my head down, pushing the food around my plate in silence.

Halfway through the meal, she set her fork down. She took a deep, trembling breath, like a woman steeling herself for a massive confession.

"Paige, I know I crossed a line this afternoon. I was out of control, and I am so, so sorry."

Her expression was a masterclass in sincerity. So sincere, in fact, that I felt a sharp pang of guilt for thinking she was a monster.

"But I genuinely don't know what else to do. I looked at Todd's phone recently, and there's a new female executive at his firm. They text all the time. I know it's just work stuff, but my mind just spirals..."

She bit her lower lip. Her eyes pooled with fresh tears.

"Am I just annoying? Am I being psychotic? I literally can't control it. I lie awake staring at the ceiling every single night, obsessing over whether he's going to fall for someone else, whether he's realizing I'm not enough for him..."

As she spoke, the tears spilled over.

They fell, one by one, hitting the pristine mahogany table. Beautiful, tragic, fragile tears.

I put my fork down and watched her cry.

Historically, this was my cue. This was where I would hand her a tissue, rub circles into her back, and soothe her. He loves you. You're overthinking it. It's going to be okay.

But tonight, I sat perfectly still.

Because I could no longer tell if the tears were genuine agony, or just a really good performance.

"Paige," she looked up, her wet eyes locking onto mine. "Just help me this one last time. Please? I swear to God, this is it. If he can turn down an offer like this, I will never test him again. I'll finally have peace. I'll finally believe he truly loves me."

She reached down, picked up a sleek shopping bag from the floor, and pushed it across the table toward me.

"Just put this on. Go to the room at the Four Seasons, wait for him, and let's see if he shows up."

I looked at the bag. A hollow, bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest.

So this was the play.

All the preamblethe apologies, the pie, the heartbroken tears, the vulnerabilityit was all just stage dressing.

The objective remained the same.

Put on the lingerie. Go to the hotel. Offer myself up to her boyfriend like a lamb on an altar.

03

When I didn't move to take the bag, she added quickly, "I already booked the room. It's under an alias, totally discreet. You literally just sit on the bed and wait. If he opens that door, it proves he's garbage. If he doesn't, my anxiety is cured."

As she spoke, that concealed, manic excitement crept back into her eyes.

She looked like a child tearing into wrapping paper, desperate to see the shiny toy inside.

Except the toy she was destroying was me.

My dignity. My self-worth. The last shred of humanity I had left in the eyes of the man she loved.

"Charlotte." I looked up, meeting her gaze directly.

"Yeah?"

"Have you actually thought about what happens if Todd does walk through that door?"

She froze.

"If he shows up," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Are you actually going to break up with him? Or are you going to blame me for seducing him?"

Her face went slack.

"And if he doesn't show up," I pushed on. "Are you really going to stop? Or is this just going to escalate into a new, more degrading test next month? Pushing me further and further into the dirt?"

"No, I wouldn't" she started, her voice defensive.

"How many times have you said 'I wouldn't'?" I cut her off. "Do you even remember?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"The first time, you made me send him a late-night text. You said, 'It's just a joke.' The second time, you made me buy him cologne. You said, 'This is the last time.' The third time, you made me pretend I was black-out drunk at a bar so he'd have to pick me up. You said 'Last time' then, too."

I stood up. The legs of my chair shrieked against the hardwood floor.

"Charlotte, your 'last times' have stacked up so high I can't even see the sky anymore."

The tears fell faster now, a frantic, desperate cascade.

"Paige, are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad." I picked up my purse. "I'm just done being your prop."

"You're not a prop!" She shot up from her chair, her voice pitching into a shrill wail. "How can you even say that? You're my best friend in the entire world!"

"Does a best friend tie you to a post and use you as target practice for her boyfriend?"

That shut her up. Her lips trembled. The color slowly drained from her face, leaving her pale and drawn.

"Charlotte," I stared at her. "Look me in the eye and tell me the truth. If I put on that lingerie, and I sat in that bed, and Todd Hawthorne walked through that door... how would you look at me tomorrow?"

She didn't answer.

But her eyes gave her away.

There was panic. There was fear. And, buried beneath it, a fleeting flash of pure, venomous hatred.

She knew the answer.

She would despise me.

The truth was, whether Todd showed up or not, she would hate me.

If he came, she would convince herself I was a whore who lured him in.

If he didn't come, she would resent me for not being enticing enough to truly test his limits.

It was a rigged game, and I was the only casualty.

"I'm leaving." I turned toward the entryway.

"Paige!" She lunged forward, grabbing my elbow. "Don't walk out on me, please, just listen"

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Charlotte, do you remember sophomore year? Do you remember why my financial aid was abruptly canceled?"

The fingers gripping my elbow went rigid.

"Wh... what?" Her voice had a terrifyingly thin tremor to it.

"The financial aid office said they received an anonymous tip. Claiming I forged my mother's medical debt." I turned around slowly, locking my eyes onto her face. "I tried to track down who sent that tip for years. I never could."

In that split second, her entire countenance shattered.

First came absolute blankness. Then, sheer panic. And finallyabject terror.

The unmistakable terror of someone whose darkest secret has just been dragged into the light.

"Paige, what are you saying?" Her voice was shaking so violently the words barely formed. "You... you don't think I did that, do you?"

I didn't say a word. I just watched her.

Her eyes darted away, unable to hold my gaze for a fraction of a second.

"How could I possibly do something so evil?!" She raised her voice, the volume an attempt to mask the lie. "My dad paid for your tuition! I'm the one who saved you! Why would I report you?!"

"Exactly," I whispered. "You saved me. You paid for my life. Which meant I belonged to you. I owed you a blood debt, which meant I had to do whatever you wanted. I was perfectly primed to be your obedient little tool."

"That's not what happened"

"Then what did happen?"

She opened her mouth, but her throat just clicked. No sound came out.

I looked at her face, and for the first time in six years, I saw a total stranger.

We had shared hundreds of meals. We had cried on each other's shoulders. We had survived our twenties together.

I thought I knew her soul. I thought she was just a little broken, a little vain, but ultimately good.

Suddenly, right between us, glowing text materialized in the air.

[Did the best friend finally figure it out?! YES! Your financial aid was sabotaged by the main character!]