Text : reljohn8802
Chapter 1
The Alarcón house always smelled of floor wax, jasmine from the vases that were changedevery morning, and that expensive perfume Consuelo had worn for decades. A dense,almost oppressive smell that seeped into the clothes and skin of anyone who crossed thethreshold of the enormous residence in Belgrano.
Consuelo Alarcón was seventy-eight years old and still walked with her back straight. Herhair, dyed a platinum blonde that no longer resembled the color of her youth, was pulledback into a low bun. Her hands, covered in heavy rings, trembled slightly when she liftedher teacup, but no one dared mention it. She was the matriarch. The woman who had built,with tooth and nail, the empire of textiles, pharmaceutical laboratories, and properties thatsupported the entire family.
That autumn afternoon, light slanted through the velvet curtains in the main salon.Consuelo was sitting in her dark green velvet armchair, her legs crossed with forcedelegance. Standing before her were her eldest son, Roberto, and her daughter-in-law,Patricia. Both wore that expression of submission disguised as affection that Consuelo knewall too well.
—Mom… —Roberto began, running his tongue over his dry lips—. The report from thelaboratories arrived this morning. They say the machine still isn't ready. That it needscalibrations, safety tests…
Consuelo slowly raised her gaze. Her eyes, a pale blue that was almost transparent, fixed onhim.
—And?
—That it's not safe. That there could be… irreversible damage.
She smiled. A small, toothless smile that did not reach her eyes.
—Roberto, my dear. How old are you?
—Fifty-two, Mom.
—Fifty-two years living off what I built. Fifty-two years without building a single companywith your own hands. And now you're coming to tell me that “it's not safe.”
Patricia intervened, in that soft voice she always used when she sensed danger:
—Consuelo, we're only thinking of you. We don't want you to take a risk.
—Shut up, Patricia.
The silence that followed was thick. Consuelo set the cup down on the marble side table andsettled more comfortably into the armchair. The fabric creaked beneath her weight.
—I've been financing that project for three months. Millions. Scientists brought in fromabroad, secret facilities in the countryside, everything they asked for. And now it turns outthat “it's not ready.” I don't have time, Roberto. Every morning I look in the mirror and seemyself deteriorating more. My flesh getting looser. The light in my eyes fading.
She leaned slightly forward. Her voice dropped, but did not lose its strength.
—I want to feel again. I want to walk again without my knees hurting. I want a man to lookat me and not see an old woman. Do you understand what I'm telling you?Roberto swallowed.
—Yes, Mom.
—Then don't come to me with “it's not ready.” Tell them to speed things up. If they needmore money, they have it. But they have to finish.
Patricia looked at her husband, seeking support, but Roberto only lowered his head. Theyboth knew the same thing: without Consuelo's money, the family company's accounts wouldcollapse in less than a year. The trips, the grandchildren's schools, the apartments in PuertoMadero… everything depended on her.
Consuelo rose with difficulty. The butler, a slender man of about fifty named Héctor,appeared immediately with the ebony cane. She dismissed it with a gesture.
—Federico is coming tonight with his girlfriend —she said as she walked toward thewindow—. I want the large dining table prepared. And no one had better dare arrive late.
—Yes, ma'am.
When she was alone in front of the glass, Consuelo watched the garden. The sweetgumtrees were beginning to turn red. She thought of the body she had seen the last timeFederico brought the girl.
Milagros.
Twenty-five years old. Long, light brown hair that fell to the middle of her back in softwaves. Fair, almost milky skin. And those breasts… enormous, heavy, natural, showingbeneath any blouse no matter how loose it was. She walked with her shoulders slightlyhunched, as if she wanted to hide them. Shy. She spoke little. When she laughed, shecovered her mouth with her hand.
Consuelo closed her eyes for a second. She remembered how, at twenty-five, she herselfhad been blonde, with a short, sharp bob that defined her jaw. How men looked at her atbusiness meetings. How she signed contracts after a dinner and a smile.
Now all she had left was money. And money, she thought, could buy almost anything. Evena new body.
She opened her eyes. The smile returned, slower this time, darker.
In the dining room that same night, the chandelier's lights fell over the long table. Federicoarrived on time, wearing the dark suit his grandmother had given him for his birthday theprevious year. Beside him, Milagros wore a simple black dress with a round neckline thatdid not quite manage to conceal the fullness of her chest. Her hair was loose, combed toone side. When she greeted Consuelo, she gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek andmurmured:
—Good evening, Doña Consuelo. Thank you for inviting us.
Consuelo held her hand for a second longer than necessary. She felt the young, warm skin.
—Come in, dear. Sit here, to my right.
Milagros obeyed, blushing slightly. Federico sat beside her and squeezed her knee underthe table, as if to reassure her.
Dinner passed with superficial conversation: the weather, a new company project, thevacation Federico wanted to take in the south. Consuelo ate little. She watched. Every timeMilagros leaned forward to cut the meat, her neckline deepened and those breasts movedslightly beneath the fabric. Every time she spoke, her voice was low, almost a whisper.
—And you, Milagros?
—Consuelo suddenly asked
—. What are you studying now?
—I'm finishing my English teaching degree, Doña Consuelo. I have one year left.
—How nice. An intelligent girl. And so… young.Milagros lowered her gaze to her plate.
—Thank you.
Federico intervened, smiling proudly:
—She's a little shy, Grandma. But she's a sweetheart.
Consuelo nodded slowly. Her eyes never left the girl.
When dessert arrived —a chocolate cake that almost no one touched— Consuelo set downher cutlery and wiped her lips with the linen napkin.
—Federico, after dinner I want to talk to you for a moment. Alone.
The young man blinked.
—Of course, Grandma.
Milagros looked up, uneasy, but said nothing.
Later, in Consuelo's study —a dark room of wood and old books
— Federico sat across fromthe desk. Consuelo stood by the window, looking out into the night.
—That girl —she said without turning around—. I like her.
—I do too, Grandma. I'm in love.
—I know. That's why I'm going to ask you for something.
She turned around. The desk lamp illuminated half of her face.
—I need you to bring her here more often. Have her spend weekends here. Make her feellike part of the family.
Federico frowned.
—Why?
Consuelo approached slowly. She placed a hand on her grandson's shoulder. The ringsgleamed.
—Because I say so, Federico. And because you know that when I want something, the familyfalls in line. Don't you?
He swallowed. He remembered the company's debts, the apartment he still hadn't finishedpaying for, the car his grandmother had bought him.
—Yes, Grandma.
—Good. Then do as I say. And don't tell her anything strange. Don't let her suspectanything.
Federico nodded. When he left the study, his face was a little pale.
Consuelo remained alone. She looked at her wrinkled hands under the light. Then shewalked over to the full-length mirror in a corner of the study. She studied herself for a longtime.
—Soon —she whispered—. Very soon.
In the kitchen, meanwhile, Héctor was putting away the dishes. Patricia walked past himand murmured, barely audibly:
—This isn't going to end well.
Héctor did not answer. He simply kept working. In that house, money spoke louder than anyfear.
And Consuelo, in her study, was already thinking about the next step. The scientists. Theincomplete machine. The young body that would sleep only a few blocks away that verynight, unaware of anything.
The night advanced slowly over Belgrano. And in the Alarcón house, the matriarch smiled inthe darkness.
Chapter 2
The next morning, the sun came weakly through the shutters of the master bedroom.Consuelo woke earlier than usual. She spent a while staring at the high ceiling, listening tothe silence of the large house. Each day her body felt a little heavier. Her joints creaked asshe sat up, the skin on her neck wrinkling into fine folds when she turned her head. Shelooked at her hands resting on the linen sheets: protruding veins, age spots, perfect nailsbut on fingers that no longer had any strength.
She got up slowly. Héctor had already left breakfast on the bedside table: black coffee, apiece of toast barely spread with jam, and the folded newspaper. Consuelo did not touch thefood. She went to the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror. She unbuttoned her silknightgown and looked at herself naked. Sagging breasts, a soft belly, broad hips that hadonce been firm. She ran a hand over her own chest and felt only flaccidity. She closed hereyes and, for a moment, remembered Milagros's body from the previous night: the heavycurve beneath the black dress, the way they moved when the girl leaned forward, thesmooth skin of her neckline.
She opened her eyes. The smile that formed on her face was slow, almost one of pleasure.
—Not yet —she said softly to herself—. Not yet.
She went down to the sitting room at eleven. Patricia was already there, arranging flowersin a vase. When she saw her mother-in-law, she immediately straightened.
—Good morning, Consuelo. Did you sleep well?
—As always. Call Roberto. I want to speak with both of you.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them were in the study. Consuelo sat behind themahogany desk. Roberto and Patricia remained standing, as always.
—I spoke with Federico last night —she said without preamble—. I asked him to bring thegirl more often. To have her stay on weekends if necessary.
Roberto frowned.
—Mom… why so much interest in Milagros?
Consuelo rested her elbows on the wood and interlaced her fingers.
—Because I like her. Because she's young, well-mannered, and knows her place. Andbecause I decide who enters and who leaves this house. Any problem?
—No, of course not —Patricia answered quickly—. It's just… a new relationship. Federico isvery much in love. We wouldn't want her to feel pressured.
Consuelo looked calmly from one to the other.
—The two of you live in an apartment I paid for. You send the children to a school I pay for.You have credit cards I pay for. If I tell you I want to see more of my grandson's girlfriend,you will see more of her. Is that clear?
Roberto lowered his gaze.
—Yes, Mom.
—Good. Also, this week I'm going to visit the laboratory. I want to see the progress with myown eyes. Roberto, you're coming with me.
Patricia, arrange everything so that Federicoand Milagros have dinner here again on Friday. And have them stay the night. There areplenty of rooms.Patricia nodded silently. When they left the study, Roberto took her arm in the hallway.
—I don't like this —he murmured—. She's too obsessed with the girl.
Patricia answered him in a low voice, barely moving her lips:
—Shut up. As long as she keeps supporting us, we do what she says. We'll see afterward.
That same afternoon Consuelo had her personal secretary called in, a discreet and efficientwoman of about forty named Silvia.
—I want the scientists' complete report first thing tomorrow morning. And make sure Dr.Kaplan knows that I'll be at the estate at ten on Friday morning. Have him prepare ademonstration, even if it's only partial.
Silvia wrote everything down without looking up.
—Anything else, ma'am?
—Yes. Find out everything you can about the girl. Family, studies, whether she has debts,whether her parents depend on her… everything. I want to know exactly who she is.
When Silvia left, Consuelo remained looking out the window. The garden was still. Shethought about how it had felt to touch Milagros's hand the night before: warm, soft, withouta single wrinkle. She thought of the smell of cheap shampoo that had reached her when thegirl leaned in to greet her. She thought about how that body would move if it were underher control.
Friday arrived faster than she expected.
Federico and Milagros appeared at a quarter to eight. She was wearing a cream-coloreddress, tighter than the previous one, with a moderate neckline that still failed to completelyhide the fullness of her chest. She had her light brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail,leaving her long neck and nape exposed. When Consuelo received her in the hall, she ran ahand along her arm, pretending affection.
—How lovely you look tonight, dear. That color suits you very well.
Milagros blushed slightly.
—Thank you, Doña Consuelo. It's a dress Federico gave me
.—My grandson has good taste.
During dinner, Consuelo ate almost nothing. She watched. Every gesture Milagros made.The way she held her fork, how she brought the glass to her lips, how she bit the inside ofher cheek when someone asked her a direct question. She also noticed how the neckline ofher shirt deepened every time she leaned forward, and how the fabric stretched over herheavy breasts. Every detail was etched into her memory with almost cruel precision.
After dessert Consuelo stood up.
—Milagros, come with me for a moment. I want to show you something.
Federico tensed, but said nothing. Milagros looked at him uncertainly, and he gestured toher that it was “okay.”
Consuelo led her to the smaller sitting room, the one overlooking the winter garden. Sheturned on only a floor lamp. The light was low and golden.
—Sit down —she said, pointing to the velvet sofa.
Milagros obeyed. Consuelo sat beside her, closer than necessary. For a moment she did notspeak. She only looked at her.
—You're very shy, aren't you?
—A little… yes. I've always been that way.
—I like it. Women who talk too much are usually superficial. You, on the other hand, havea… interesting presence.
Milagros lowered her gaze to her own hands, intertwined in her lap.
—Thank you.
Consuelo reached out and delicately brushed a strand of hair away from her face withfeigned tenderness. Her fingers grazed the girl's cheek. She felt the warmth of the youngskin.
—You have a very pretty face. And a body… with plenty to offer. Some women would pay afortune to have what you have naturally.
Milagros turned even redder. She tried to laugh, but only a nervous sound came out.
—I don't know what to say…
—You don't have to say anything. Just accept the compliment.
Consuelo slowly withdrew her hand. She kept looking at her for another second.
—This house is very large. If you ever need a place to stay, or if things with Federicobecome difficult… you'll always have a room here. I take care of my own.
Milagros looked up, surprised.
—That's very generous, Doña Consuelo. But I'm fine. Federico is… he's very good to me.
—I know. That's why I'm glad you're together.
She stood up.
—Come on. I don't want my grandson to get jealous.
When they returned to the dining room, Federico looked for her. Milagros smiled shyly athim and sat beside him. Consuelo, from her place, watched the two of them. Inside,something stirred with cold pleasure.
Later, when the young couple retired to the guest room on the first floor, Consuelo went upto her own bedroom. She sat before the vanity mirror and removed her makeup with slowmovements. As she ran the cotton pad over her face, she spoke softly, as if she wereconversing with someone invisible.
—So quiet. So well-mannered. So perfect for what I need.
She looked at her pale eyes in the mirror and smiled.
Early the next day, the black chauffeur-driven car was waiting at the entrance. Roberto gotin reluctantly. The trip to the countryside where the secret laboratory was located lastedalmost two hours. Consuelo barely spoke. She only looked out the window, thinking aboutthe body she had touched the night before, the texture of that skin, what it would feel like toinhabit it.
When they arrived, Dr. Kaplan —a man in his fifties, thin, wearing glasses and a white labcoat— greeted them with evident nervousness.
—Mrs. Alarcón… we weren't expecting your visit so soon.
Consuelo got out of the car without assistance.
—That's why I came. I want to see exactly what state my investment is in.
The laboratory smelled of cold metal and disinfectant. Large machines, screens, cables. Inthe center of the main room stood a structure consisting of two transparent capsulesconnected by a complex system of tubes and monitors.
Consuelo stopped in front of them. She ran a gloved hand over the glass.
—Well? Does it work?
Kaplan cleared his throat.
—In theory, yes. We've achieved partial transfers in animals. Consciousness, memory,personality… but there are still risks. The receiving body may reject the consciousness.There may be neurological damage. There may…
Consuelo interrupted him without looking at him.
—How long until it's ready for humans?
—With the current tests… a minimum of three months. Maybe more if we want it to be safe.
She turned around. Her eyes fixed on the scientist.
—You have two weeks.Kaplan went pale.
—Ma'am, that's impossible without…
—Two weeks —Consuelo repeated in a soft voice—. Or I'll find another team that candeliver. And you and everyone who works here will lose the generous contract I'm payingyou.
The silence was absolute. Roberto, behind her, did not say a single word.
Consuelo looked at the capsules again. She imagined Milagros inside one. She imagined herown consciousness entering that young body, heavy with breasts, smooth skin, long hair.
She imagined waking up and looking at her new hands.
She smiled.
—Two weeks, Doctor. And let no one know I was here.
When they left the laboratory, the afternoon sun fell over the fields. Consuelo got into thecar. As the vehicle drove away, she closed her eyes and allowed herself, for the first time ina long while, a complete fantasy: waking up in Milagros's body, touching her heavy breasts,walking on firm legs, feeling men's gazes again… and using that beauty to close thecontracts that still resisted her.
In the back seat, Roberto watched her from the corner of his eye, pale.
Consuelo did not open her eyes. She only said, almost in a whisper:
—Soon, Roberto. Very soon everything is going to change.
And the smile did not leave her face all the way back to Buenos Aires.
Chapter 3
Saturday dawned cloudy. A fine drizzle fell over the slate roofs of the house in Belgrano andfogged the windows on the first floor. In the guest room, Milagros woke before Federico.She lay still for a while, staring at the high ceiling and the old moldings. The bed was toolarge, the sheets too soft. Everything about that house seemed excessive to her: the silence,the size of the rooms, the way the staff appeared and disappeared without making a sound.
She got up carefully so as not to wake Federico and approached the window. From thereshe could see part of the back garden, the trees darkened by the rain and, beyond them, thehigh wall that separated the property from the rest of the neighborhood. She ran a handthrough her light brown hair, still a little tousled from sleep, and sighed.In the kitchen on the lower floor, Consuelo had already been awake for an hour. She wore apearl-gray silk robe and had her hair pulled back. She drank black coffee while reviewingthe report Silvia had left for her on the breakfast table the night before.
The document was brief, but precise.
Milagros Gómez. Twenty-five years old. Only child. Father died eight years ago. Motherworked as an administrative employee at a clinic in the western part of the city and barelymade ends meet. The girl lived in a small apartment in Caballito that she shared with auniversity roommate. Partial scholarships. No significant debts. No previous seriousboyfriend. High grades. Little social life. Shyness confirmed by several sources.
Consuelo slowly closed the folder. She smiled.
—Perfect —she murmured—. No one who would look for her too much if she disappearedfor a while.
Héctor came in with more coffee.
—Miss Milagros is already awake, ma'am. Young Federico is still asleep.
—Have breakfast prepared for her in the winter garden. I'll join her.
Twenty minutes later, Consuelo came downstairs. Milagros was sitting beside the glasstable, wrapped in an oversized sweater Federico had lent her. Her hair was loose, still dampfrom the quick shower she had taken. When she saw Consuelo, she stood immediately.
—Good morning, Doña Consuelo. I didn't want to bother you…
—Sit down, dear. No one is a bother here.
Consuelo sat across from her. She watched how the girl settled herself, how the sweaterclung slightly to her chest when she moved, how she lowered her gaze whenever she feltshe was being watched too closely.
—Did you sleep well?
—Yes… very well. The bed is beautiful.
—I'm glad. I want you to feel at home.
There was a brief silence. Consuelo poured more coffee for both of them. Then she spoke ina soft, almost maternal voice:
—Federico told me your mother works a lot. That sometimes you get home late because yougo visit her in the western part of the city.
Milagros looked up, surprised.
—Yes… she lives alone. I try to see her whenever I can.
—She's a good daughter. That is something to value. If you ever need help… money forsomething, transportation, whatever… you only have to tell me. I can arrange many things.
Milagros blushed.
—No… there's no need. We're fine. Really.
Consuelo nodded, but did not look away.—Accepting help is not weakness, Milagros. Sometimes it's intelligence.
The girl did not answer. She only tightened her hands around the cup.
That same morning Federico came downstairs later, still looking sleepy. When he saw hisgrandmother and his girlfriend together, something in his expression tightened, althoughhe tried to hide it with a smile.
—Good morning. Everything okay?
—Perfect —Consuelo answered—. Your girlfriend and I were chatting. I like her very much.
Federico sat beside her and took Milagros's hand under the table. She squeezed his fingersgratefully.
Throughout the rest of the morning Consuelo made sure the girl was never alone for even aminute. She invited her to tour the library, showed her old family photographs (althoughshe carefully omitted those from her own youth), and told her about the trips she had takenwhen she was younger. Every so often, as if by accident, she let her gaze linger on thesweater's neckline, the curve of Milagros's hip when she leaned over to look at a book, theway her long hair fell over one shoulder.
At noon, while they were having lunch, Consuelo casually said:
—Next weekend I want you to stay again. And the one after that too.
Federico, you can usethe study in the back if you need to work. And Milagros… if you want to study here, there'splenty of quiet.Federico opened his mouth to protest, but a single look from his grandmother made himclose it. He only said:
—Of course, Grandma. As you say.
Milagros smiled shyly, suspecting nothing.
That night, when the young couple had already retired, Consuelo called Roberto andPatricia into the study. The two entered with faces suggesting they had argued in thehallway.
—Listen carefully —she said without raising her voice—. In two weeks the machine will beoperational. I don't care what Kaplan says. It will be. And when it is, I will need Milagros tobe here, in this house, without suspicion.
Roberto ran a hand over his face.
—Mom… this is madness. We're talking about forcing a girl…
Consuelo looked at him with absolute coldness.
—We're talking about what I want. And what you are going to do if you don't want me to cutoff all your funds tomorrow. Or would you rather the children leave private school? Sell theapartment? Patricia, go back to working at whatever you did before you met him?
Patricia lowered her head. Roberto clenched his jaw, but did not answer.
—You are going to cooperate —Consuelo continued—. You will make sure Federico doesn'task uncomfortable questions. You will make the girl feel loved, protected, part of the family.And when the time comes, you will help me take her to the laboratory without her realizinganything until it is too late.
She stood up and walked until she was facing them.
—I am going to enter that body. I am going to walk with those legs. I am going to feel thosebreasts. I am going to look in the mirror and see youth again. And you are going to smileand say that everything is fine. Because if you don't… you'll be out on the street. Is thatclear?
Roberto swallowed.
—Yes, Mom.
Patricia merely nodded, pale.
When they left, Consuelo remained alone. She approached the study mirror and looked atherself for a long time. Then she unbuttoned her robe and looked at her old body oncemore. She closed her eyes and imagined the different weight, the different firmness, thedifferent skin. She imagined running her hands over heavy, natural breasts, feeling longhair brush against her back, walking without pain.
She opened her eyes. The smile that formed on her face was one of pure enjoyment.
—Two weeks —she whispered—. Just two more weeks.
Upstairs, Milagros slept wrapped in Federico's arms, unaware that with each passing daythe net was closing a little tighter around her. And in the darkness of her room, ConsueloAlarcón touched her own flaccid breast and laughed softly, knowing that very soon thatbody would no longer matter to her.
Chapter 4
The week passed with calculated slowness. Consuelo did not rush anything. She knew thatpatience was part of the pleasure. Every morning she reviewed the reports arriving fromthe laboratory: progress, technical problems, Dr. Kaplan's veiled complaints about theimpossible deadlines. Every afternoon she received updates from Silvia about Milagros'smovements: class schedules, visits to her mother, messages exchanged with Federico.
On Thursday night, Consuelo summoned Kaplan for a secure video call. The scientist'simage appeared on the study screen: deep dark circles under his eyes, wrinkled lab coat,hoarse voice.
—Mrs. Alarcón… we're working around the clock. But forcing the protocols this wayincreases the risk of…
—Doctor —she interrupted him gently—. I'm not interested in the risk. I'm interested in theresult. Will it be ready in ten days?
Kaplan lowered his gaze for a second.
—If we eliminate the long-term stability tests and accept a twelve percent margin of error…yes. It could be.
Consuelo barely smiled.
—Then eliminate them. I will assume the margin of error. And remember: if something goeswrong because of a lack of will, not a lack of time, the consequences will not be merelyprofessional.
The call ended. Consuelo stared at the black screen for a moment, satisfied. Fear was anexcellent tool.
On Friday afternoon Federico and Milagros arrived again. This time the girl brought aslightly larger suitcase: clothes to stay for the entire weekend, as Consuelo had“suggested.” She wore tight jeans and a loose white cotton shirt that nevertheless failed toconceal the fullness of her chest. Her light brown hair was loose, combed back with a thinheadband. When Consuelo received her in the hall, she ran a hand down her back, low,almost at her waist, pretending it was a welcoming gesture.
—I'm so glad you came, dear. This house feels more alive with you inside it.
Milagros smiled shyly and returned a kiss on the cheek.
—Thank you for inviting us again, Doña Consuelo.
During dinner Consuelo spoke little. She preferred to watch. She noticed how Milagros atesmall portions, how she wiped the corners of her lips with the napkin after every bite, howshe avoided prolonged eye contact. She also noticed how the neckline of the shirt deepenedevery time she leaned forward, and how the fabric stretched over her heavy breasts. Everydetail was etched into her memory with almost cruel precision.
After dinner, Consuelo suggested a card trick in the sitting room. Nothing compromising.Just an excuse to keep the girl close. They sat around the low table. Federico and Robertotalked about soccer. Patricia served glasses of wine with slightly trembling hands. Consuelodeliberately settled beside Milagros.
At one point, while the girl tried to shuffle, the cards fell from her hands. They both bentdown at the same time. Consuelo's hands brushed Milagros's as they picked up a card. Theyoung skin was soft, warm. Consuelo allowed the contact to last a second longer thannecessary.
—Sorry —Milagros murmured, blushing
.—There's nothing to be sorry for —Consuelo replied quietly, only for her—. You have verybeautiful hands.
Milagros quickly withdrew her hands and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear.Consuelo enjoyed the small gesture of discomfort like someone savoring an expensivemorsel.
Later, when the others went upstairs to sleep, Consuelo kept Federico in the study with abanal excuse about some company papers. The door closed. The young man remainedstanding, uneasy.
—Grandma… is something wrong?
Consuelo sat behind the desk and looked at him calmly.
—Yes. What's wrong is that I need you to bring Milagros next Thursday and stay untilSunday. No excuses.
Federico frowned.
—That's a lot of pressure. She has university, assignments…
—Then let her do them here. There's internet, there's quiet, there's everything. And you aregoing to make sure she comes.
—Grandma, I don't understand why you're suddenly so interested.
Consuelo stood slowly and walked until she was facing him. Although she was shorter andmore fragile, the authority she radiated made Federico feel small.
—You don't have to understand. You only have to obey. Your father already understands. Sodoes your mother. If you start asking uncomfortable questions, things can become difficultfor everyone. Including the apartment that's still in my name. Including the car. Includingyour cousins' education.
Federico went pale.
—It's not fair…
—Life isn't fair, Federico. Neither am I. Bring the girl. Make her feel loved. And don't tellher anything that puts her on guard. Clear?
He nodded, defeated.
—Yes, Grandma.
When Federico left, Consuelo remained alone. She approached the window and looked outat the darkness of the garden. Then she lowered her gaze to her own wrinkled hands andclenched them tightly. She imagined how those same hands —but young, firm— would feeltouching Milagros's heavy breasts from within. She imagined waking up and seeing thatbody reflected in the mirror: the waist, the hips, the generous weight of the chest when sheleaned forward. She imagined the long hair falling over her shoulders… and then, later on,cutting it into the blonde bob style she had worn in her youth. A change. A vindication.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips.
—You are going to be mine —she whispered to the night—. Completely mine. And no onewill be able to do anything to stop it.
In the guest room, Milagros curled up against Federico. He held her more tightly thanusual, as if he wanted to protect her from something he still did not know how to name. She,unaware of everything, only thought that her boyfriend's grandmother was an intensewoman, a little invasive, but generous.
—Your grandmother treats me very well —she murmured against his chest—. Althoughsometimes she looks at me… strangely.
Federico tensed.
—Don't pay attention to it. That's just how she is. Controlling. But nothing is going tohappen to you.
Milagros nodded trustingly and closed her eyes.
Downstairs, Consuelo turned off the study lights one by one. As she climbed the stairsslowly, every step reminded her of the weight of the years. But inside, anticipation ranthrough her blood like a sweet poison. Only days remained. The machine was almost ready.The family was already subdued. The prey slept under her roof, trusting and defenseless.
And Consuelo Alarcón, the matriarch, smiled in the dimness, savoring every second thatremained until the moment when she would finally stop being old.
Chapter 5
On Monday morning Consuelo received the call she had been waiting for. Kaplan's voice onthe other end of the line was tired, almost resigned.
—Ma'am… we finished the main calibration. The short-term memory transfer tests inprimates were successful eighty-seven percent of the time. If we accept the margin of riskwe discussed, the machine can be operational Friday night.
Consuelo was sitting in her armchair in the sitting room, watching the rain hit the windows.A slow smile appeared on her face.
—Perfect, Doctor. Friday night, then. Prepare everything. I'll take care of the rest.
She hung up without waiting for a response. Then she called Silvia.
—I need Milagros to be here Thursday afternoon. Make up whatever you need to. A familylunch, an early birthday present, anything. But make sure she arrives and doesn't leaveuntil Sunday.
—Understood, ma'am.
On Tuesday and Wednesday Consuelo devoted herself to fine-tuning the final details. Shespoke with Héctor about isolating certain areas of the house. She reviewed the staff'sschedules to make sure there would be no unnecessary witnesses that night. And, above all,she devoted herself to studying the photographs Silvia had obtained of Milagros: some fromold social media accounts, others taken without the girl's knowledge at the university. Shestudied them with almost clinical attention. The shape of the collarbone. The curve of theneck. The obvious weight of her breasts beneath different shirts. The way her long hair fellwhen she laughed, covering half her face.
At five in the afternoon on Thursday, the family's black car went to pick Milagros up at theuniversity. Federico accompanied her, but his face was tense. When they arrived at thehouse, Consuelo was waiting for them in the hall with a perfectly rehearsed warmexpression.
—Dear! I'm so glad you agreed to come. We have a little surprise for you.
Milagros smiled, a little puzzled, as she took off her coat. Underneath she wore a black midiskirt and a short-sleeved light blue blouse that fit fairly snugly across her chest. Theneckline was not deep, but the fabric stretched in a way that Consuelo registered precisely.
—I had no idea about any surprise, Doña Consuelo…
—That's why it's a surprise. Come on.
She took her to the sitting room. On the side table was a box wrapped in silver paper. Insidewas a delicate gold necklace with a pale blue stone. Nothing excessively expensive, butpretty enough to move a girl who was not accustomed to gifts like that.
Milagros put a hand to her mouth.
—It's beautiful… I can't accept it.
—Of course you can. You're my grandson's girlfriend. Practically family. Let me put it onyou.
Consuelo approached from behind. Milagros lifted her hair with both hands, exposing thenape of her neck. Consuelo took the opportunity to linger. Her fingers brushed the soft skinof her neck as she fastened the necklace. She felt the warmth, the faint smell of shampooand clean skin. For a second she let her hands remain resting on the girl's shoulders, lowerthan necessary.
—It looks beautiful on you —she murmured near her ear.
Milagros shivered slightly, but did not move away. When she turned around, her cheekswere burning.
—Thank you so much… truly.
Federico watched the scene from the doorway, his jaw clenched. Consuelo gave him a brieflook, enough to remind him who was in charge.
That night dinner was longer than usual. Consuelo had Milagros sit to her right again. Fromtime to time she poured her more wine, although the girl drank little. She talked abouttravel, the company, how the family had always supported one another. Patricia andRoberto contributed with tense smiles and well-rehearsed comments. Federico barelyspoke.
After dinner, Consuelo invited Milagros to take a walk through the winter garden. Thedrizzle had stopped and the air smelled of wet earth. They walked slowly among the plants.
—You know, dear… when I was young I also had long hair. Then I cut it. A blonde bob, veryshort. It gave me a more… powerful air. Men looked at me differently.
Milagros listened in silence, a little intimidated by the confidence.
—You must have been very beautiful.
Consuelo stopped and looked directly at her. The dim light of the winter garden illuminatedher wrinkled face, but her eyes gleamed with something dark and alive.
—I was. And I'm going to be again. In a way you still can't imagine.
Milagros frowned, confused, but she did not get a chance to ask anything. Consuelo hadalready changed the subject, gently taking her by the arm and guiding her back into thehouse.
Later, alone in her bedroom, Consuelo undressed in front of the full-length mirror. Sheexamined herself carefully, without mercy. Then she closed her eyes and allowed herselfthe complete fantasy: waking up inside Milagros's body. Feeling the weight of those breastsas she sat up. Running her hands over the firm waist, the hips, the smooth belly. Getting upand walking to the mirror and seeing a twenty-five-year-old woman looking back at her.Then, little by little, changing whatever she did not like: dyeing her hair blonde, cutting itinto the bob she had worn in her youth, applying makeup the way she knew how, dressingthe way she wanted. And using that new beauty to close the deals that still resisted her, toseduce the investors who now saw only a rich old woman.
She touched her own flaccid breast and laughed softly, with pure enjoyment.
—Soon you'll be nothing more than an uncomfortable memory inside my head, dear. And I'llbe using your body however I please.
In the guest room, Federico could not sleep. He held Milagros from behind, his face buriedin her hair. She slept deeply, trusting. He, on the other hand, felt a cold knot in his stomach.He knew his grandmother was planning something. He knew the entire family wascooperating. And he knew, with painful clarity, that he was not going to do anything to stopit.
Because money was stronger than any scruple.
The next morning Consuelo went downstairs early. She had breakfast alone, reviewing theschedules one last time. Friday night. Only one day remained.
She ran her tongue over her lips and smiled.
The wait had been delicious. But the moment to take what she wanted was finally about toarrive.
Chapter 6
Friday dawned beneath a leaden sky and a cold wind that moved the branches of thesweetgum trees in the garden. Consuelo woke before dawn. She lay still in bed for a longwhile, listening to the silence of the house, savoring the knowledge that this was the lastday she would have to endure her own body.
She got up with more energy than usual. She showered, applied her makeup carefully, andchose a dark wine-colored dress that gave her a solemn appearance. As she looked atherself in the mirror, she spoke softly to herself, almost tenderly:
—Today it ends. Today I finally stop being this old thing.
She went down to the dining room. Héctor had already prepared breakfast. Consuelo barelytouched the coffee. She sent for Roberto and Patricia. When they arrived, both had darkcircles under their eyes and looked as though they had not slept.
—Tonight —she said bluntly—. At eleven. Kaplan will have everything ready. You two makesure Federico is occupied in the study at the back with some company matter. I'll take careof Milagros. Héctor will prepare the car. No one else finds out. Is that clear?
Roberto nodded with his jaw clenched. Patricia merely lowered her gaze and murmured:
—Yes, Consuelo.
—Good. Now smile. Today is a normal day.
At ten in the morning Milagros came downstairs, still in pajamas and with tousled hair.Federico followed behind her, with a somber expression. Consuelo greeted them with awarm, perfectly false smile.
—Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?
—Yes… thank you. It was a little cold at night, but I'm fine.
—Then we'll take care of you today. I thought we could spend the afternoon together.Federico has to go over some papers with his father. You and I can stay here, quietly.Milagros looked at Federico. He squeezed her hand tightly, but only said:—Go ahead, love. It won't be long. Then we'll be together.
The girl nodded, trusting.
The morning passed with deliberate slowness. Consuelo took Milagros to the library andshowed her old books, travel photo albums, family jewelry. Every so often she moved tooclose. She tucked the girl's hair behind her ear. She touched her arm while pointingsomething out. At one point, while they were looking through an album, Consuelo sat besideher on the sofa and let her knee brush against the girl's. She did not move away.
—You have beautiful skin —she suddenly remarked, as if talking about the weather—. Soft.Young. Some women would kill to have it.
Milagros laughed softly, uncomfortable.
—You're exaggerating, Doña Consuelo…
—No. I'm not exaggerating.
She stared at her for one second longer than was comfortable. Then she changed thesubject naturally, but the comment remained hanging in the air.
At noon the four of them had lunch together: Consuelo, Roberto, Patricia, and Milagros.Federico had been sent to the study at the back with a thick folder of “urgent matters.” Themeal was tense. Consuelo spoke with calculated kindness, asking questions aboutuniversity, about Milagros's mother, about her plans for the future. Every answer from thegirl was listened to with excessive attention.
In the afternoon the sky grew even darker. It began to rain heavily. Consuelo suggestedthey stay in the sitting room and watch an old movie. They sat together on the large sofa.Consuelo positioned herself so that her body was very close to Milagros's. At one point,while the movie played, she extended her arm over the backrest and, as if by accident, lether fingers brush the girl's shoulder. Then, lower down, the upper part of her arm. Milagrostensed slightly, but did not move. She was too well-mannered, too shy, too accustomed toavoiding conflict.
Consuelo enjoyed every second of that contact. She felt the warmth of the skin through thethin fabric of the blouse. She smelled the shampoo again. She imagined what that same skinwould feel like from the inside.
When the movie ended, it was already night. The rain had not stopped. Consuelo stood up.
—Dear, will you come with me to the study for a moment? I want to show you somethingbefore Federico finishes.
Milagros hesitated for a second, but nodded. They went upstairs together. The study wasdim, illuminated only by the desk lamp. Consuelo gently closed the door. The click of thelock sounded too loud.
—Sit down —she said, pointing to the armchair in front of the desk.Milagros obeyed. Consuelo walked until she was behind her. For a moment she did notspeak. She simply placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and left them there, heavy andpossessive.
—You know… I've waited a long time for this moment —she said in a low, almost intimatevoice—. Longer than you can imagine.
Milagros tried to turn her head, confused.
—Doña Consuelo…?
—Shhh. Stay still.
Consuelo's hands moved slightly lower, brushing the tops of her arms. Then they stopped onher shoulders again. Her voice became even softer, darker.
—You have a beautiful body. Generous. Young. I don't have one anymore. And I'm tired ofnot having it. Tonight that is going to change.
Milagros stiffened.
—I… I don't understand…
Consuelo leaned in and spoke almost into her ear, in a tone of pure enjoyment:
—You don't need to understand yet. You only need to come with me. The family alreadyknows what it has to do. Federico is occupied. No one will come looking for you until it's toolate.
The girl tried to stand, but Consuelo's hands closed with surprisingly firm strength for herage.
—Don't scream. It won't do any good. This house is large and the walls are thick. Andeveryone inside it tonight belongs to me.
Milagros was breathing heavily. Her confusion was turning into real fear.
—Please… let me go…
Consuelo laughed softly, a dry, satisfied sound.
—No. Tonight I take what I want. And what I want… is you.
At that precise moment the sound of the car could be heard at the entrance. Héctor hadfollowed the instructions. Consuelo loosened her grip slightly, but did not let go completely.
—We're going for a little ride, dear. A very short one. And afterward… you're going to sleepfor a while. When you wake up, things will be very different.
Milagros tried to struggle, but Consuelo had already pressed a hidden button beneath thedesk. The study door opened and Roberto appeared in the doorway, pale but determined.Behind him, Patricia held a small wooden box.
—It's time —Consuelo said in a calm, almost happy voice—. Take her.
Milagros opened her mouth to scream, but Patricia quickly approached and pressed animpregnated cloth against her face. The sweet, intense smell filled the room. The girlstruggled for a few more seconds, her eyes wide with terror, until her body went limp andshe collapsed into the armchair.
Consuelo stood watching her for a few moments. Then she bent down with difficulty andbrushed the girl's hair away from her face with perverse tenderness.
—So pretty… and so mine.
She straightened. Her eyes shone with cold, deep excitement.
—To the car. Now. Kaplan is waiting for us.
While Roberto carried Milagros's unconscious body, Consuelo looked at herself one lasttime in the study mirror. She adjusted her hair, smoothed her dress, and smiled.
The wait was over. The true beginning was about to arrive.
Chapter 7
The black car moved along the dark road beneath the heavy rain. The windshield wipersmoved with a monotonous rhythm. In the back seat, Milagros lay unconscious, her headresting against the window, her light brown hair stuck to her cheek. Consuelo sat besideher, one hand resting on the girl's thigh, stroking it slowly, like someone examining a newlyacquired property.
Roberto drove in silence. Patricia sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, herhands clasped tightly in her lap. No one spoke. Only the sound of the rain and the enginecould be heard.
Consuelo did not take her eyes off the sleeping body. She ran her fingers along the edge ofthe light blue blouse, brushing the skin of the neckline. She felt the warmth it still retained.Then she moved her hand up and touched one breast over the fabric, weighing it withalmost scientific curiosity and evident pleasure.
—So firm… —she murmured to herself—. So heavy. They'll be mine in less than an hour.
They reached the laboratory grounds after almost two hours. The security lights came onwhen they detected the vehicle. Kaplan was waiting for them at the entrance, along withtwo assistants in white coats who avoided looking directly at the unconscious girl.
—Everything is ready, ma'am —the scientist said tensely—. The capsules are calibrated. Thesedative they gave her should keep her stable during the process.
Consuelo got out of the car with Héctor's help; he had traveled in a second vehicle. Shepointed to Milagros's body.
—Take her inside. Carefully. I don't want a single unnecessary bruise on my future body.
The assistants carried her on a stretcher and took her into the building.
Consuelo walkedbehind them, her cane striking the wet floor with a firm rhythm. The inside of thelaboratory smelled of ozone, cold metal, and disinfectant. The fluorescent lights were whiteand harsh. In the center of the main room stood the two transparent capsules, connected bya complex system of cables, tubes, and monitors that emitted a low, constant hum.
Consuelo stopped in front of them and smiled.
—At last.
She turned toward Kaplan.
—Explain the procedure to me one more time. I want to be sure of every step.
The doctor cleared his throat.
—The… patient will be placed in capsule A. You will be placed in capsule B. Once both aresecured, the system will scan the neurological patterns, map the consciousness, andproceed with the transfer. The process lasts approximately eighteen minutes. During thattime there must be no interruptions. When it is finished, your consciousness will be housedin the young body, and hers… in yours.
Consuelo nodded, satisfied.
—And if she wakes up too early?
—The sedative is strong. She won't wake up until the process has ended and we decide it istime.
—Perfect.
She approached the stretcher where Milagros lay. She brushed the hair away from her facewith careful fingers and stroked her cheek.
—You're going to fight a little when you realize… but it will already be too late. I'll be inside.And you'll be trapped in this old, ruined body. What a shame, isn't it?
She gestured to the assistants.
—Undress her. I want the body free of any restriction.One of the men hesitated.
—Ma'am, it's not necessary…
—Do as I say.
They obeyed. With clinical movements they removed the light blue blouse, bra, skirt, andunderwear. Milagros's body was left completely naked beneath the cold laboratory lights.Consuelo approached and examined it without any shame. She traced the large, naturalbreasts with her eyes, slightly fallen to the sides because of the position, the pink nipples,the flat belly, the curve of the hips, the light hair between her legs. She extended a handand touched one breast, lifting it, feeling its real weight for the first time.
A shiver of pure pleasure ran down her back.
—Beautiful —she whispered—. Absolutely beautiful.
She straightened and began undressing herself, without asking for help. The darkwine-colored dress fell to the floor. Then the bra, the slip, everything. Her elderly body wasexposed: loose skin, sagging breasts, a soft belly, thighs marked by age. She felt no shame.Only impatience.
—Put me in the capsule.
They helped her into capsule B. The interior was cold and smelled of new plastic. She layback on the padded surface. Meanwhile, they placed Milagros, still unconscious and naked,in capsule A. They attached sensors to her temples, chest, and wrists. They did the same toConsuelo.
Kaplan approached the control panel.
—Ma'am… last opportunity to reconsider. The margin of error…
—Begin —Consuelo ordered sharply—. Now.
The transparent covers of both capsules closed with an airtight hiss. A gentle gas beganfilling the interior. Consuelo felt her eyelids growing heavy, but before losing consciousnesscompletely she managed to see, through the glass, Milagros's naked body only a few metersaway. She smiled.
—Mine…
Darkness enveloped her.
The process lasted exactly eighteen minutes and forty-two seconds. The monitors emittedrhythmic beeps. Blue lights traveled through the tubes connecting the two capsules. Kaplanand the assistants watched in tense silence. Roberto and Patricia waited beside the door,pale, not daring to speak.
When the system emitted the final tone, Kaplan approached capsule B first —the one thathad contained the elderly body— and then A.
—Transfer complete —he announced in a trembling voice—. Vital signs stable in bothbodies.
They opened first the capsule where Consuelo's consciousness now resided.
The eyes opened slowly. They were Milagros's eyes… but the expression in them did notbelong to her. A slow, dark, deeply satisfied smile spread across the young face.
Consuelo —now inside the twenty-five-year-old body— drew a deep breath. She felt the airfill firm lungs. She moved her fingers. They felt long, agile, without pain. She raised bothhands in front of her face and looked at them with fascination: smooth skin, perfect nails,not a single age spot. Then she lowered her gaze to her own chest.
The breasts were heavy. Real. They moved when she sat up. She extended her hands andtook hold of them, one in each palm, feeling their weight, the softness of the skin, thefirmness underneath. A low moan of pure pleasure escaped her throat.
—God… —she whispered in Milagros's voice, but with Consuelo's unmistakable tone—.They're even more perfect than I thought.
She sat up completely inside the capsule. Her light brown hair fell over her shoulders andback. She ran a hand through it, enjoying the texture. Then she lowered her legs and stood,naked, in front of everyone present. She felt no shame whatsoever. On the contrary: shearched slightly, feeling how the weight of her breasts shifted, how the young musclesresponded without complaint.
She walked a few steps. Every movement was a revelation. No pain in her knees. Nostiffness. Her skin felt taut and alive.
She stopped in front of the elderly body that still lay inside the other capsule. The eyes ofthat body —now occupied by Milagros's terrified consciousness— began to open withdifficulty. When they focused, the horror was instantaneous.
Consuelo leaned over the capsule and smiled with the young mouth of her new victim.
—Hello, dear —she said with poisonous sweetness—. Welcome to my old body. I hope youenjoy it… because I'm going to enjoy yours very much.
Milagros tried to speak, but only a weak, frightened moan came from the elderly throat. Shetried to move, but the residual sedative and the shock left her almost paralyzed.
Consuelo laughed softly, a sound that did not belong to that young throat.
—Shhh. Don't waste your energy. You'll need it to get used to the wrinkles, the achingbones, and the face that no one will ever desire again.
She straightened and turned toward Kaplan and the others. Still naked, with her heavybreasts exposed, her long hair falling down her back, and an expression of absolute triumphon her face.—Bring me a mirror. Now. I want to see myself completely.
While one of the assistants hurried to obey, Consuelo ran both hands over her new body,exploring it shamelessly in front of everyone: the breasts, waist, hips, belly, sex. Eachcaress was an act of possession.
When they brought her the full-length mirror, she stood in front of it and stared in silencefor a long minute. Then she smiled, slowly, darkly, deeply satisfied.
—Perfect —she whispered—. Absolutely perfect.
And in the old body, trapped and defenseless, Milagros could only release a muffled sobwhile the woman who had stolen her life admired herself in her own skin.
Chapter 8
Consuelo did not move away from the mirror for several minutes. She turned sideways,faced forward, turned her back to it, observing every angle of the body that now belongedto her. She raised her arms and watched the young muscles define themselves beneath theskin. She leaned slightly forward and felt the generous weight of her breasts shift. She ranher hands over her waist, hips, and the curve of her buttocks. Every movement was aconfirmation: everything worked. Everything was hers.
Behind her, the elderly body that now contained Milagros made muffled sounds, weakattempts to speak. Consuelo finally turned around, still completely naked, and walked firmlyto the open capsule. She crouched slightly —the movement was astonishingly easy for her—and stared directly into the terrified eyes that now occupied her former face.
—Easy, dear —she said in Milagros's soft, young voice, but with her unmistakablecadence—. The shock is normal. The brain takes a while to accept that it no longer controlsthe body it believes is its own.
Milagros tried to raise a wrinkled hand. It trembled. She managed to speak with difficulty,in a hoarse, elderly voice she did not recognize:
—Give me back… please… this isn't…
Consuelo let out a low laugh, almost affectionate.
—No. Never. This body is mine now. And yours… well, your old body is all you have left. Getused to it.
She straightened and gestured to the assistants.
—Take her out of the capsule. Put some kind of gown on her. I don't want to see her nakedany more than necessary. And take her to the containment room you prepared. Don't giveher anything she could use to communicate with the outside world. No phone, no paper,nothing.
Kaplan gave the orders in a trembling voice. As they moved the elderly body, Milagrosstruggled weakly, sobbing with that broken voice that no longer belonged to her. Consuelodid not give her another glance. She was too busy running her hands over her new body.
Roberto and Patricia remained by the door, pale. Consuelo approached them without theslightest embarrassment about her nakedness. Her heavy breasts moved slightly with everystep. Her light brown hair fell over her shoulders and back.
—Look carefully —she ordered them—. This is the body I am going to use from now on. Andyou will treat me exactly as you did before. With the same respect. With the same fear. Isthat clear?
Roberto swallowed and nodded.
—Yes… Mom.
Patricia merely lowered her gaze, unable to maintain eye contact with those naked breastsshe knew belonged to her son's girlfriend.
Consuelo smiled, enjoying the discomfort.
—Good. Now I need clothes. Something comfortable for the trip back. And a larger mirrorwhen we get home. I want to examine myself calmly, without all these people watching.
One of the assistants brought her a white laboratory gown. Consuelo put it on withouthurry, allowing it to open slightly in front, deliberately revealing the generous neckline. Shelooked at herself once more in the small mirror that was still nearby and adjusted her hair.
—This color… I'm not entirely convinced —she murmured—. In my youth I was blonde. Andthe bob suited me perfectly. We'll change that too soon. But first… first I want to get used toeverything else.
She turned toward Kaplan.
—The old body stays here until further notice. I want her kept sedated most of the time.Wake her only when I order it. And if she tries anything… increase the sedation.Understood?
—Yes, ma'am.
—Perfect. Roberto, prepare the car. We're returning to Buenos Aires tonight. I'll travel inthe back seat… alone. I need to concentrate on how every kilometer feels inside this body.
While the others moved to carry out the orders, Consuelo remained another moment infront of the mirror. She opened the gown completely and looked at herself again. She liftedboth breasts with her hands, gently squeezed them, felt their real weight, the softness ofthe skin, the immediate response of the nipples to contact. A shiver of pure pleasure randown her back.
—Mine —she whispered—. Completely mine.
She closed the gown, though not completely, and walked toward the laboratory exit. Everystep was a revelation. The cold floor beneath her bare feet. The natural sway of her hips.The way her long hair moved against her back. The complete absence of pain.
When she got into the car, she settled into the back seat and closed her eyes for a moment,simply breathing. Then, with deliberate slowness, she opened the gown again and let hernew hands explore her body in the dimness of the vehicle: her neck, shoulders, breasts,belly, inner thighs. She was in no hurry. No one was going to interrupt her.
Outside, the rain continued to beat against the roof of the car. Roberto drove in absolutesilence. Patricia stared out the window, pale. Neither of them dared turn around.
Consuelo, in the back seat, smiled in the darkness as she continued exploring herselfwithout the slightest shame.
The night was still young. And she had just been born again.
Chapter 9
The return to Buenos Aires passed in almost sacred silence. Roberto drove with both handstightly gripping the steering wheel. Patricia had not said a single word since they left thegrounds. In the back seat, Consuelo —inside Milagros's body— had her eyes half closed anda permanent smile on her lips.
The white laboratory gown remained open. She did not care if they could see her when theyturned their heads. In fact, part of the pleasure consisted precisely of that: knowing theywere forced to endure the sight of her new body while she claimed it without any shame.
She spent an hour exploring herself calmly. First the breasts: she lifted them, let them fall,gently squeezed them to feel how they responded. Then the belly, smooth and firm. Thehips. The inner thighs. Every caress was deliberate, possessive, as if she were takinginventory of a valuable property. Her long hair fell over her bare chest whenever she leanedforward; she took it between her fingers and smelled it. It smelled like the girl. Soon itwould smell like her.
—Slower —she suddenly ordered, without opening her eyes—. I want to enjoy the ride.
Roberto slowed down without protest.
When they finally reached the house in Belgrano, it was already past three in the morning.The rain had stopped, but the air remained cold and damp. Héctor silently opened the frontdoor. Consuelo got out of the car with the gown still open. Her heavy breasts moved withthe motion. She took a few steps through the entrance hall, feeling the cold marble beneathher bare feet, and stopped in front of the large mirror in the foyer.
She stared at her new reflection for a long time. Then she laughed softly.
—Look at this —she said, addressing Roberto and Patricia, who remained several metersaway, rigid—. The family's granddaughter-in-law… is now the owner.
She turned toward them, letting the gown open completely.
—From tonight on, when you say “Milagros,” you'll be talking about me. And when you say“Consuelo,” you'll be talking about that old, wrinkled thing we left in the laboratory. Is thatclear?
—Yes, Mom —Roberto answered in a subdued voice.
—Patricia, prepare the master bedroom for me. Mine. Not the guest room. And bringcomfortable clothes… hers. Whatever is in her suitcase. Tomorrow we'll buy everythingnew. Clothes I actually like. Clothes that show what I have now.
Patricia nodded and disappeared down the hallway at a quick pace.
Consuelo climbed the stairs slowly, savoring every step. In her former body she had climbedthem with effort and pain. Now she climbed them as if she were floating. When she reachedthe first-floor landing she found Federico.
The young man was in pajamas, his hair disheveled, his face pale from having stayed awakewaiting. When he saw his girlfriend's body wrapped in a half-open laboratory gown, his eyesopened wide.
—Milagros…? What happened? Why…?
Consuelo stopped in front of him. She smiled with his girlfriend's mouth, but the expressionwas completely alien.
—Federico, my love —she said with poisonous sweetness—. Your girlfriend is no longeravailable. I'm using her body now. And you're going to get used to it.
All color disappeared from the young man's face.
—What… what are you saying? Grandma…?
—Exactly. Your grandmother. Inside this beautiful, young and… generous body. —She ran ahand over the open neckline of the gown, lifting one breast slightly as if to emphasize thepoint—. The machine worked. The girl is in my old body, safely kept away. And I… I'm here.To stay.
Federico took a step back, trembling.
—This is… this is monstrous. You can't…
Consuelo moved closer until she was inches from him. Although she was now shorter thanin her former body, the authority she radiated made him back against the wall.
—I can. And I did. And you won't say a single word to anyone. Because if you do, that girl'sold body will turn up dead in a ditch, and you and your father will be left without a penny.Do you understand, grandson?
Federico did not answer. He only nodded, his eyes wet with horror and helpless rage.
Consuelo caressed his cheek with young, soft fingers.
—Good boy. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll talk about how we're going to handleappearances. The family has to keep functioning. And I have plans… many plans.
She moved away from him and continued toward the master bedroom. Patricia had alreadychanged the sheets and left Milagros's suitcase open on the bed. Consuelo locked the door,removed the gown, and stood naked in the center of the room.She walked to the large full-length mirror beside the vanity. She turned on all the lights.And then she began to examine herself with absolute calm, without hurry, like a womanwho had just bought the most expensive piece in her collection.
She touched her long hair. She touched her neck. She took her breasts in both hands andheld them, feeling their real weight, the softness, the way the nipples reacted to the brushof her own fingers. She lowered her hands over her belly. She slid them between her thighs.She looked at herself from the side. From the front. From behind.
And she smiled.
—Tomorrow —she whispered to her own reflection— we start with the hair. Blonde. Bobcut. Like when I was truly young. And then… then we're going to use you to close thosecontracts that resisted me. You're going to be very useful, my new skin.
She got into the enormous bed, naked, and stretched out with a deep sigh of pleasure. Thelinen sheets brushed her young skin in a way she had not felt in decades. She closed hereyes, but not to sleep immediately. First she let her hands move over the body again, slowly,possessively, engraving every sensation into her memory.
At the laboratory, dozens of kilometers away, Consuelo's elderly body —now Milagros'sprison— lay sedated in a white room without windows. From time to time a muffled moanescaped that old throat, but no one heard it.
And in the house in Belgrano, the real Consuelo Alarcón slept for the first time in a bodyworth having.
Chapter 10
Consuelo woke when the thick morning light filtered through the half-open curtains. Forone second —barely a second— her brain still searched for the usual pain in her hips, thestiffness in her neck, the dead weight of the years. It found nothing.
She remained still, breathing. Her chest rose and fell with absurd ease. Her breasts, heavy,shifted slightly with each breath. She stretched her arms over the pillow and felt the sheetsbrush the smooth skin on the inside of her arms. She smiled with her eyes still closed.
—Good morning, my body.
She sat up effortlessly. Her light brown hair fell over her face and shoulders. She brushed itaway with both hands and stared at her new fingers: long, young, without spots. Then shelowered her gaze. She was completely naked. Her breasts rested heavily on her torso. Shetook them once more, just to confirm that they were still there, that they were still hers, andreleased a low sigh of pure enjoyment.
She got out of bed and walked naked to the full-length mirror. The daylight was much morecruel and honest than the previous night's light. She examined herself without mercy andwithout shame. She turned. She bent over. She raised her arms. She spread her legsslightly. Every detail filled her with a dark and profound satisfaction.
—Even better than I remembered —she murmured.
She pressed the intercom switch beside the door.
—Héctor. Breakfast in my room. Black coffee, toast, and juice. And have Patricia come up.Now.
While she waited, she opened Milagros's suitcase and inspected the clothes with a criticalexpression. Everything seemed too simple to her, too much like a student's wardrobe. Shechose gray cotton shorts and a loose white shirt that nevertheless stretched noticeably overher chest. She did not put on a bra. She wanted to feel the movement freely.
Patricia entered with the tray, her gaze lowered. When she saw the young body dressedonly in those clothes, her breath caught for a second.
—Leave it there —Consuelo ordered without turning from the mirror—. And listen to mecarefully.
Patricia placed the tray on the small table and waited.
—Starting today, in this house I am Milagros. But all of you know the truth. Federico too.No one talks. No one asks strange questions. If anyone from outside asks about“Grandmother Consuelo,” say she's away on health-related matters. For a long time.Indefinitely. Understood?
—Yes, Consuelo.
—Ma'am —she corrected her with dangerous gentleness—. While I'm using this body, youcall me ma'am. Or Doña Consuelo, if you prefer. But never Milagros when we're alone. Thatname belongs to no one now except the shell I left at the laboratory.
Patricia nodded, pale.
—Yes, ma'am.
—Good. Now get me an appointment for this very afternoon. One of the good salons. I wantthem to dye my hair platinum blonde and cut it into a classic bob, like the one I wore attwenty-five. Short, sharp, elegant. Not a trace of this timid little girl's brown hair shouldremain.
—Right away, ma'am.
When Patricia left, Consuelo sat down to breakfast in bed, her legs crossed. She ate slowly,savoring not only the food but the way the young body processed each bite without acidityor heaviness. Then she stood, looked at herself in the mirror again, and adjusted her breastsbeneath the shirt, watching how the nipples showed through the thin fabric.
She went downstairs in mid-morning. Federico was in the living room, sitting on the edge ofthe sofa, his hands between his knees. When he saw her appear —loose hair, bra-less shirt,short shorts— he jumped to his feet, his face distraught.
Consuelo stopped in front of him and smiled.
—Good morning, grandson. Did you sleep badly? It shows.
—I can't… I can't accept this —he managed to say in a broken voice—. It's her. Her face, herbody… but you're not her.
Consuelo took another step closer. The perfume still lingering on Milagros's skin nowmingled with the smell of the house.
—Exactly. I'm not her. I'm me. And this body is mine. You're going to look at me, you'regoing to treat me with respect, and you're going to help maintain the charade. Because ifyou don't… —she extended a young hand and caressed his cheek with false tenderness—…the real Milagros will suffer much more than necessary in that old body. And so will you.
Federico closed his eyes for a second, defeated.
—What… what are you going to do with her?
—For now, nothing. I'll keep her sedated most of the time. Whenever I feel like it, maybe I'llwake her so she can see me. So she can see how well her skin looks on me. —She laughedsoftly—. I might even make her watch while I change my hair. That would be fun, wouldn'tit?
She moved away from him and walked toward the window, savoring the natural sway of herhips and the free weight of her breasts beneath the shirt.
—This afternoon I'm going to the salon. When I come back, I won't have this long, boringhair anymore. I'll have the cut I chose. The color I chose. And then… then we'll start usingthis body as it should be used. There are investors who need a little push. And now I haveexactly the tools to give it to them.
She turned toward Federico one last time. The morning light fell directly across her chest,outlining every curve beneath the white fabric.
—Get used to it, grandson. Your girlfriend died last night. I was born in her place. And I'mnever leaving.
Federico did not answer. He only lowered his head.
Consuelo went back upstairs to her room, removed her shirt in front of the mirror, andstood contemplating her bare breasts in the daylight. She took them in both hands, liftedthem, let them fall, and smiled with absolute, dark satisfaction.
—Blonde —she whispered—. Short bob. And then… the world.
Chapter 11
At four in the afternoon the black car stopped in front of a discreet, expensive hair salon inPalermo. Consuelo got out wearing large sunglasses and a light coat that partiallyconcealed her body. Patricia accompanied her in silence. Federico had refused to come; hehad locked himself in his room since noon.
The stylist, a woman in her forties named Romina, greeted them with a professional smile.She did not know “Milagros”; she only knew she was a new client sent by an importantfamily.
—What are we thinking of doing today? —she asked while placing the cape around her.
Consuelo settled into the chair and looked at herself in the large mirror. She still saw theshy girl's long, light brown hair. The image caused her almost physical irritation.
—Platinum blonde. Very blonde. And a bob. Short, clean, at jaw level. With a littlemovement, but structured. Like they wore it in the sixties, but modern.
Romina raised her eyebrows, surprised.
—It's quite a drastic change. Are you sure? You have beautiful, long hair…
—Completely sure —Consuelo replied in a soft but firm voice—. I want every trace of thiscolor and this length to disappear. Now.
The stylist nodded and got to work. First came the bleaching. The process was long.Consuelo remained still, watching the brown disappear beneath the chemicals. Every sooften she lowered her gaze to her own neckline, visible beneath the cape, and felt a coldpleasure remembering that those breasts no longer belonged to anyone else.
When the color was ready, the hair was almost white-blonde, still long and wet. Then camethe scissors. Consuelo did not take her eyes off the mirror as the locks fell to the floor. Eachcut was a deliberate elimination of what Milagros had been. When Romina finishedstructuring the bob, the change was radical.
The hair now framed her face in a sharp, elegant way. Short, precise, with a slight inwardmovement at the ends. The platinum blonde made her fair skin look even more luminousand gave the eyes —Milagros's same eyes— a new intensity.
Consuelo leaned forward, studying the reflection. Then she smiled, slowly and deeplysatisfied.
—Perfect. Exactly as I remembered.
She removed the cape. She was wearing a fitted black blouse she had deliberately chosenthat morning. Without the long hair that had previously covered part of her chest, thefullness of her bust became even more evident. She turned slightly to one side and then theother, observing how the new cut completely changed the impression the body gave.
—I love it —she said aloud, more to herself than to the stylist—. This is me.
Romina smiled, proud of her work, without suspecting anything at all.
—You look like a different person. Very sophisticated.
—That was the idea.
They paid in cash and left. In the car, on the way back to Belgrano, Consuelo did not put onher sunglasses. She wanted the afternoon light to fall directly on the new cut. She looked atherself again and again in the sun visor mirror, touching the short hair, feeling her exposednape, the cool air on her neck.
—Patricia —she said suddenly—. Tomorrow I start receiving people. There are two investorswho have been giving me the runaround for months over the southern laboratories project.I want you to invite them to dinner on Tuesday. Here, at home. An intimate dinner. Justthem and me.
Patricia, from the passenger seat, nodded with her gaze lowered.
—And… Federico?
—Federico will stay in his room that night. Or go to a friend's. I don't care. I don't want himpresent while I work.
When they arrived home, Consuelo went straight to her room and stood again in front of thefull-length mirror. She removed her blouse. She was left wearing only the shorts. The shortblonde hair completely changed her silhouette. Now her face looked more mature, moredetermined, more dangerous. Her bare breasts contrasted with the sharp elegance of thehaircut.
She moved toward the mirror until her nipples almost touched the glass. She studiedherself with ravenous intensity.—Now yes —she whispered
—. Now I really am myself again. Only better. Younger. Moredesirable. And with all the power I already had.
She touched her short hair. Then she lowered her hands to her breasts and held them,looking herself in the eyes in the reflection.
—You're going to close a lot of deals, my new skin. You're going to make those men signwhatever I want. And meanwhile… —she smiled cruelly— …the true owner of this body isrotting with fear in a white room, wearing my wrinkles.
She laughed softly, a sound that was young and ancient at the same time.
That night she dined alone in the main dining room. She ordered red wine and ate slowly,enjoying how quickly the alcohol went to her head in a body that was not accustomed todrinking so much. Then she went upstairs to her room, undressed completely, and lay downon the sheets, her short blonde hair sunk into the pillow.
Before going to sleep, she took Milagros's former phone and systematically deletedconversations, photographs, university contacts. Then she blocked the girl's mother'snumber. She wanted no interruptions.
She turned off the light. In the darkness, her hands moved over the body that now lookedeven more like hers with the new haircut. She touched herself calmly, with absolutepossession, until youthful exhaustion overcame her.
Kilometers away, in the laboratory, Consuelo's elderly body —Milagros's prison— remainedsedated. But that night, for a brief moment, the wrinkled eyelids trembled. A thread ofconsciousness managed to break through. And in that terrifying instant of lucidity, Milagrosfelt, like a distant echo, that someone was touching her body… and enjoying it.
Then the sedation plunged her back into nothingness.
Chapter 12
On Tuesday afternoon the house in Belgrano was transformed. Consuelo had given preciseinstructions: white flowers in the dining room, low lighting, dark linen tablecloths, the bestwine from the cellar. Nothing that looked like a family dinner. Everything had to breatheintimacy and money.
She spent most of the afternoon in her room. First she showered for a long time, enjoyingthe hot water on her young skin. Then she devoted herself to her body with almost ritualattention. She applied creams, looked at herself again and again in the mirror, touched herbreasts, waist, hips, as if she still could not quite believe they belonged to her. Her short,sharp platinum-blonde hair had already settled into place. It gave her a cold, elegant airthat combined perfectly with the expression of power she now wore on Milagros's face.
She chose her clothes carefully. A black dress with a generous but not vulgar neckline: thefabric fitted her bust and then fell fluidly to mid-thigh. Sleeveless. Mid-height heels.Discreet but expensive jewelry —hers, the same as always—. She applied her makeup withan expert hand: more defined eyes, lips in a dark red that contrasted with the almost whiteblonde of her hair. When she finished and looked at herself full-length, she smiled withabsolute satisfaction.
—Now that's a woman who closes deals —she whispered.
She went downstairs at exactly eight. Roberto and Patricia were waiting in the hall, rigid.Federico was not there; he had preferred to disappear from the house as ordered.
—When they arrive —Consuelo said without looking at them—, you two leave. I don't wantwitnesses. Héctor serves and then disappears too. Tonight I work alone.
The investors arrived at eight fifteen. There were two of them: a tall, gray-haired man ofabout fifty named Eduardo Rinaldi, and another younger man, around forty, MartínQuiroga. Both represented a fund that had spent months avoiding commitment to thelaboratories' expansion project. They had always dealt with the “old” Consuelo Alarcón.Never with a young woman.
When the door opened and they saw the blonde with the short bob and black dress, bothpaused for a second longer than politeness required. Consuelo noticed. And enjoyed it.
—Good evening —she said in Milagros's soft, clear voice, but with a confidence that did notbelong to the girl—. I'm Milagros. Mrs. Alarcón asked me to receive you tonight. Shecouldn't be here… health matters. But I know the project in detail. I can speak for her.
Rinaldi regained his composure first and held out his hand. His gaze, however, dropped foran instant to the neckline before returning to her face.
—A pleasure. We didn't know the lady had a… representative so young.
Consuelo smiled, letting the comment slide.
—The lady has many things you still don't know. Please, come in.
She led them to the dining room. The light was low and golden. She sat at the head of thetable, facing the two men. While Héctor served the first course, Consuelo crossed her legsslowly and tucked her short hair behind one ear. Every movement was calculated. She knewexactly how her bust was emphasized when she leaned slightly forward to pour wine. Sheknew how the fabric of the dress tightened. And she knew the two men noticed.
The conversation began technically. Numbers, deadlines, rates of return. Consuelo spokewith the same cold precision she had used for decades, but now the voice was young,almost melodic, and the body accompanying it made every argument carry a differentweight. From time to time she laughed softly, brought the glass to her lips, let the silencelast just long enough for them to look at her.
At one point, while they were discussing a clause, Consuelo stood to pour more wine. Sheapproached Rinaldi first. As she leaned over, the neckline deepened deliberately. The manswallowed. She noticed and smiled faintly, without taking her eyes off the bottle.
—The project is solid —she said softly, almost intimately, as she filled his glass—. Mrs.Alarcón never gets these things wrong. And I… I'm here to make sure no one misses out onan opportunity like this.
When she returned to her seat, Quiroga did not completely hide the way he followed herwith his eyes. Consuelo crossed her legs again, more slowly, and rested an elbow on thetable, leaning slightly toward them. The dress tightened even more.
—Tell me the truth —she continued in a soft tone—. What's holding you back? Because I canresolve almost any objection… if you're willing to be honest with me.
Rinaldi shifted in his chair. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of commercial interest andsomething more basic.
—The numbers are good. But the risk of expansion in the current climate…
—Risk is minimized when one has the right backing —she interrupted—. And I can be avery… convincing backing.
She smiled. It was not Milagros's shy smile. It was Consuelo's smile: slow, confident,predatory. And in that young body, with that short blonde hair and that neckline, it wasdevastating.
Dinner lasted longer than necessary. Consuelo did not rush anything. She let the wine do itswork, let the looks linger, let the air grow charged. Every gesture, every lean, every“accidental” brush of fingers while passing a folder was measured. She was using the bodyexactly as she had dreamed: as a tool of power.
Toward the end of the night, Rinaldi placed his napkin on the table and looked at her withnewfound frankness.
—If Mrs. Alarcón trusts you this much… perhaps we could review the proposal one moretime. In greater detail. At another time. More… personally.
Consuelo held his gaze without blinking. Inside, the triumph was absolute. Outside, shemerely smiled calmly.
—Of course. I'm available. Whenever you want.
She escorted them to the door. When it closed behind them, she stood in the hall for amoment, breathing deeply. Then she climbed the stairs slowly, savoring the echo of herheels on the marble.
In her room she removed the dress in front of the mirror and looked at herself in blackunderwear. The short blonde hair, makeup still perfect, the body she had used for hours tobend two powerful men to her will. She ran her hands along her sides, moved them up toher breasts and held them, looking herself in the eyes.
—It worked —she whispered in a hoarse voice of satisfaction—. Exactly as I thought.
She laughed softly, darkly, happily.
Tomorrow she was going to call Kaplan. She wanted to know how the old body was doing.Maybe, just maybe, she would order them to wake Milagros for a while. To tell her how thenight had gone. To describe to her, in full detail, what it felt like to use her skin to obtainwhat she never could have.
Consuelo undressed completely and got into bed. The sheets brushed her skin, still warmwith victory. She closed her eyes, but before sleeping she let one hand linger between herbreasts, weighing them once more.
The body was hers. The power was hers. And she had only just begun to use it.
A lovely, sexy story—one that leaves you wanting to know what happens next. Will Milagros ever get her body back?
ReplyDeleteGreat work.