Part One: The Cold Case
The temporal jump always felt like drowning in static—a million tiny needles pricking every nerve ending before the world reformed around you. Nathan blinked away the disorientation, his paradox bracelet humming steadily against his wrist, its blue light confirming his timestream remained locked and protected.
Beside him, Erin materialised with her characteristic efficiency, already scanning their surroundings with sharp, analytical eyes. She was plain in the way that spoke of deliberate invisibility—mousy brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, minimal makeup, sensible shoes. Everything about her screamed competent rather than memorable.
"2009," she confirmed, checking her wrist device. "Small town. Pacific Northwest. The victim's last known location before—"
She stopped.
Her face went pale.
"Erin?" Nathan frowned. "What is it?"
"Nothing." The word came too quickly. "Just... I recognise this place. It's—it doesn't matter. Let's focus on the case."
But her hands were trembling slightly as she led him down the suburban street, past identical houses with manicured lawns and SUVs in driveways. Nathan had worked with Erin for three years. He'd never seen her rattled.
They were here to investigate a disappearance—a young woman who'd vanished in 2009 and whose case had gone cold for decades. Standard temporal evidence collection. Observe, document, return. The laws governing temporal investigation were absolute: no interference, no alterations, no deviations.
Erin knew the rules better than anyone.
Which made what happened next so inexplicable.
---
They'd tracked their investigation to a middle school. Standing outside the chain-link fence during lunch period, they watched children streaming across the playground—future adults, future victims, future perpetrators. Somewhere in this chaos was a thread connected to their case.
But Erin wasn't looking at the case.
She was staring at a group of girls near the basketball courts. Three of them, laughing, their heads bent together in that conspiratorial way of adolescent friendship. And one girl standing alone by the fence, watching them with naked longing on her face.
The lonely girl had mousy brown hair. A practical ponytail. Sensible shoes.
"That's you," Nathan said quietly.
Erin's jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter."
"What happened here?"
For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then, in a voice flattened by old pain: "That blonde girl—Britney—she was new. Rich family, perfect smile, designer clothes. She stole my best friend Megan like it was nothing. One day we were inseparable, the next I didn't exist." She swallowed hard. "It was the beginning of everything. After that, I was nobody. Invisible. Bullied through every year until graduation."
Nathan touched her shoulder. "Erin. I'm sorry. But we have a case to—"
"I know." She pulled away. "I know. Let's go."
But her eyes lingered on Britney—on that perfect blonde ponytail, that effortless confidence, that power. And something flickered across Erin's face that Nathan didn't recognise.
Something that looked almost like hunger.
---
Part Two: The Accident
It was supposed to be simple.
They'd split up to cover more ground—Nathan tracking the victim's last known movements while Erin surveilled the school. Standard procedure. Nothing suspicious.
Erin told herself she was just observing.
She told herself that right up until she found herself standing in the school hallway, invisible to the students rushing past, her temporal cloaking device rendering her a ghost in their midst.
There was Britney—blonde and perfect and hateful—walking toward the cafeteria with that confident sway. And there, just ahead of her, was Megan. Still her Megan, for a few more days. Still the best friend who would be stolen.
What if she wasn't there to be stolen?
The thought came unbidden. Dangerous.
What if Britney slipped? Hurt herself? Missed enough school that she never got her claws into anyone?
Erin's hands moved before her conscience could intervene. The maintenance closet. The bucket. The water, spreading across the linoleum in a thin, treacherous film right in Britney's path.
This is insane, she thought, even as she positioned herself around the corner to watch. I'm risking everything for a childhood grudge.
But god, she wanted to see that perfect bitch fall.
Footsteps approached. Britney's voice, high and confident: "Oh my god, Megan, you have to come to my sleepover this weekend—"
Erin held her breath.
And then everything went wrong.
Megan stepped forward to grab Britney's arm excitedly—and her foot hit the water first.
The shriek. The sickening crack of a wrist hitting tile. Megan crumpled, crying out, and Britney stumbled backward in shock, somehow avoiding the puddle entirely.
No. No, no, no—
Erin pressed herself against the wall, heart hammering, as chaos erupted. Teachers rushing. Students gathering. Megan sobbing that her wrist hurt, she couldn't move it, oh god it really hurt—
And through the crowd, Erin watched Britney look around with wide, uncertain eyes. The new girl. Alone. Her one connection to this school being loaded onto a stretcher.
Britney's gaze swept the hallway—and landed on young Erin, hovering at the edge of the crowd.
"Hey," Britney said, walking over with a tentative smile. "You're in my English class, right? Erin?" She glanced back at the commotion. "That was so scary. I don't really know anyone else here yet. Do you... want to maybe sit together at lunch?"
Young Erin's face transformed. Wonder. Disbelief. Hope.
"Y-yeah," she stammered. "Yeah, okay."
Adult Erin watched from the shadows as her younger self walked away with the girl who should have been her enemy.
This isn't what I wanted, she thought desperately. I was trying to hurt Britney, not—
But it was done. History had changed.
And she had no idea what that meant.
---
Part Three: The Malfunction
Back at the motel, Erin sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her paradox bracelet.
It should be fine. That was the whole point of the device—it locked her personal timestream, protecting her from any changes to the timeline. She could watch the entire universe rewrite itself around her and remain unchanged, her memories and body preserved exactly as they'd been when she activated the lock.
She should be fine.
But something felt... off.
Erin turned her wrist, examining the bracelet more closely. The blue light that should have been steady was flickering slightly. Pulsing. And there—barely visible unless you knew to look—a hairline crack in the casing near the clasp.
A loose connection.
Her blood went cold.
She remembered now. Three weeks ago, she'd knocked her wrist against a doorframe during a chase. Hadn't thought anything of it. The bracelet had kept working, kept glowing blue, kept doing its job.
Except it hadn't been doing its job. Not completely.
The connection was intermittent. Sometimes protected, sometimes not. And she'd been too careless to notice.
Which meant the changes she'd just made to her timeline—the accidental friendship with Britney, the theft of Megan's place—might already be affecting her.
Okay, she told herself, fighting down panic. Okay. Just go back. Undo it. Make sure Megan doesn't fall. Simple.
She reached for her temporal equipment—
And a wave of something washed through her.
It wasn't pain. It was... warmth. A loosening sensation, like tight muscles finally relaxing. Her shoulders rolled back of their own accord. Her breathing deepened. And when she caught her reflection in the grimy mirror above the dresser, she saw...
What the fuck?
The changes were subtle. Her hair had more shine to it—healthier, as if she'd been using expensive products instead of drugstore shampoo. Her skin was clearer, the perpetual dark circles under her eyes faded to nothing. And her posture—she was sitting differently, spine straight, chin lifted.
New memories flickered at the edges of her consciousness.
Sleepovers at Britney's house. Learning skincare routines from Britney's mom—the importance of SPF, of proper hydration, of treating your body like an investment. Eating better because the popular girls ate salads, drank water, took their vitamins.
Small changes. Superficial.
But real.
"I can still fix this," Erin whispered to her reflection. "I can go back, undo everything—"
But even as she said it, she noticed how much better she looked. How much more confident she appeared, even in her sensible work clothes.
And a small, treacherous voice whispered: Why would you want to undo this?
---
Part Four: Escalation
She didn't go back.
She told herself it was because the changes were minor. Harmless. A slightly better skincare routine and improved posture weren't going to destroy the timeline. And the bracelet was still mostly working—still protecting the core of who she was.
She told herself a lot of things.
What she didn't tell herself was the truth: that the changes felt good. That for the first time in her life, she'd looked in a mirror and not immediately catalogued her flaws. That the new memories—of friendship, of belonging, of mattering—filled a hollow space she'd been carrying since childhood.
The next deviation happened almost accidentally.
They were still working the case, still gathering evidence, and Erin found herself near the high school her younger self would attend in a few years. 2012. Junior year. The period when her social standing had calcified into permanent invisibility.
Just a quick look, she told herself. Just to see how things turned out.
She found her younger self at a party—and her breath caught.
This Erin was different. Still not the most popular girl in school, but present. Visible. She had friends—real friends, not just Britney, but a whole circle of girls who'd grown up learning that confidence was attractive. She was wearing makeup, styled clothes, and when a boy asked her to dance, she said yes without hesitation.
This is what I could have been, adult Erin thought, watching her teenage self laugh and flirt. This is who I was supposed to be.
But it wasn't enough.
Because teenage Erin was still second-tier. Still orbiting Britney's gravity. Still less than.
What if I helped her?
The thought was seductive. Dangerous.
What if I gave her just a little push?
---
The second deviation was deliberate.
Erin went back to 2010—the year Britney's family had moved to town. In the original timeline, they'd arrived in September, and Britney had immediately claimed her throne. But what if they'd arrived a few months later? What if young Erin had already established herself before the competition showed up?
A few altered documents. A delayed transfer. Britney's family arriving in January instead of September.
The wave hit Erin on the drive back to the motel—stronger this time, lasting longer. She pulled over and gripped the steering wheel as her body shifted.
Her face in the rearview mirror was changing. Not dramatically—not yet—but noticeably. Her cheekbones seemed more defined. Her jawline sharper. The kind of subtle improvements that came from years of good nutrition and expensive skincare.
New memories flooded in.
A younger self who'd had four extra months to build friendships before Britney arrived. Who'd entered high school as someone instead of no one. Who'd had the confidence to push back when Britney tried to claim the social throne.
In this timeline, they'd become rivals instead of queen and peasant. Equals competing for the same crown.
And Erin had won.
She gasped as the memories crystallized—sleepovers where she was the hostess, not the guest. Shopping trips where her opinion mattered. Boys who asked her to dances while Britney watched with jealous eyes.
"Oh god," she breathed, running her hands over her face, feeling the subtle changes in bone structure. "Oh fuck, that's good."
Her bracelet flickered. Blue. Amber. Blue.
You should stop, the rational part of her whispered. You should fix the connection, lock your timeline, go back to who you were.
But who she was had been miserable. Invisible. Broken.
And who she was becoming...
Erin looked at her reflection—prettier now, more confident, with the bearing of a woman who'd grown up knowing her worth—and smiled.
More, the new voice whispered. You deserve more.
---
Part Five: Reconstruction
The changes came faster after that.
Each deviation brought new improvements—not magical transformations, but the accumulated advantages of a lifetime lived differently. Erin learned to think of it as compound interest: small investments in her past self that paid dividends across decades.
Jump to 2008: Ensure her mother discovered a passion for nutrition and wellness.
The wave brought memories of home-cooked meals rich in vegetables and lean proteins. Vitamins every morning. A mother who taught her that her body was worth investing in. Erin's skin cleared further, her hair grew thicker, and she developed the kind of natural glow that came from a childhood of proper nourishment.
Jump to 2011: Arrange for her mother to meet and marry Senator David Ashford at a charity gala.
The wave was intense. Erin collapsed onto the motel bed as her entire socioeconomic history rewrote itself. Suddenly she'd grown up wealthy—private schools, personal trainers, the kind of casual privilege that shaped every interaction. Her body changed with the memories: posture perfected by deportment lessons, muscle tone from years of tennis and Pilates, the unconscious grace of someone who'd never known physical insecurity.
And with wealth came options.
Jump to 2015: Her younger self, eighteen and beautiful, wanted a few improvements.
The wave brought memories of consultations with the best cosmetic surgeons money could buy. Nothing dramatic—her stepfather the Senator wouldn't have approved of anything obvious—but subtle refinements that elevated her from pretty to stunning. A slight adjustment to her nose. Lip fillers, tastefully done. And her breasts—she'd always been self-conscious about being flat-chested, and now she had the perky, natural-looking C-cups she'd dreamed of.
Erin stood before the motel mirror and stared at the woman she was becoming.
Her hair was lighter—salon highlights maintained since high school, honey-blonde waves that caught the light. Her body was toned and curved in all the right places, the product of personal trainers and a lifetime of treating fitness as a social requirement. Her face was beautiful in that expensive, maintained way of wealthy women: perfect skin, subtle enhancements, the confidence of someone who'd never been told she wasn't enough.
She looked like the kind of woman who'd never known rejection.
She looked like Britney.
No—she looked better than Britney.
And that thought sparked something new.
Why should Britney exist at all?
---
Part Six: Erasure
The idea took root and grew.
In every timeline Erin had created, Britney was still there. Still a rival, still competition, still a reminder of what Erin had been running from. Even in the versions where Erin won their social war, Britney remained—a blonde shadow, a threat that might resurface.
What if she never came at all?
Erin's fingers trembled as she plotted the deviation. This was bigger than anything she'd attempted. Not just adjusting her own timeline, but removing someone else's presence entirely.
She found the leverage point: Britney's father's job. The transfer that had brought them to Erin's hometown had been optional—a promotion that could have gone to someone else. All Erin needed to do was ensure it did.
A few altered emails. A competitor's resume moved to the top of the pile. Britney's father passed over for the position.
The family never moved.
Britney never arrived.
And Erin...
---
The wave hit her like nothing before.
She'd made it back to the motel, but barely. The moment she crossed the threshold, her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor as her entire existence rewrote itself.
Every memory she'd built—the rivalry with Britney, the competition for social dominance—dissolved and reformed. Because in this timeline, there was no competition. There never had been.
She was the blonde girl who'd arrived with money and confidence and claimed the throne.
No—that wasn't right either. She hadn't arrived. She'd always been here. The rich girl, the pretty girl, the mean girl. The one everyone wanted to be or wanted to be with.
The alpha.
The queen.
The bully.
Erin screamed—not in pain, but in overwhelming sensation—as the changes crashed through her in waves. Her body arched off the floor, every nerve ending firing, pleasure and transformation indistinguishable.
Her hair lightened further, becoming the platinum blonde of a natural golden girl. Her features refined themselves—higher cheekbones, fuller lips, the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers. Her body rippled and reshaped: breasts swelling to a full D-cup, perfectly round and firm from the best surgeons money could buy. Waist cinching. Hips flaring. Ass lifting into a perfect peach, the product of squats and genetics and the absolute certainty that she deserved to be perfect.
And her mind—
Oh god, her mind—
Memories flooded in like a tsunami. A childhood of privilege and power. A teenage reign of absolute social dominance. Every party centered on her, every boy desperate for her attention, every girl either worshipping or fearing her.
She'd been cruel. The memories showed her that clearly. Spreading rumors that destroyed reputations. Stealing boyfriends just to prove she could. Reducing rivals to tears with a well-placed comment and a pitying smile.
She'd been everything she'd once despised.
And it felt amazing.
"Fuck," she gasped, writhing on the floor as the last changes settled into place. "Fuck, fuck, fuck yes—"
She could feel the old Erin—the quiet one, the kind one, the one who believed in justice—screaming somewhere in the depths of her consciousness. Horrified. Betrayed.
You're becoming a monster, that voice wailed. This isn't who you are!
But the new voice—her voice, the voice of the woman she'd always deserved to be—drowned it out completely.
This is exactly who I am. Who I was always meant to be. I was just too weak to claim it before.
She pushed herself up on shaking arms, catching her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room.
The woman staring back was a goddess.
Platinum blonde hair tumbling in perfect waves past her shoulders. Blue eyes sharp with intelligence and cruelty. A body that belonged in fantasies—tanned, toned, curves straining against the expensive lingerie she now apparently wore as standard. Long legs. Tiny waist. The kind of presence that made people stare.
She rose slowly, watching her new body move with feline grace. Ran her hands down her sides, feeling the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. Cupped her breasts, heavy and perfect in her palms, and moaned at how good it felt.
"Look at you," she purred to her reflection. "Look at what you finally became."
Her bracelet flickered on her wrist. Blue. Amber. Blue. Still trying to protect some fragment of her original self.
Rip it off, the new voice urged. Let the last of the old you die. Become complete.
She hesitated. One final moment of the woman she'd been, fighting to survive.
But that woman had been nothing. Invisible. Forgettable. A ghost shuffling through life apologizing for existing.
And this woman—this Erin—was everything.
She wrapped her perfectly manicured fingers around the bracelet, feeling the warm metal against her palm. Feeling the last tether to her old self.
And ripped.
---
Part Seven: Apotheosis
The bracelet clattered to the floor.
And Erin threw her head back and screamed as the final barriers shattered.
Every change she'd made—every deviation, every alteration, every carefully constructed improvement—crashed into her at once. Not gradually, not in waves, but all of it, every version of herself she'd created, collapsing into a single perfect whole.
She was the rich girl. The popular girl. The mean girl. The only girl who mattered.
In this timeline, Britney Harper didn't exist. Had never existed in this town. There was no rival, no competition, no one to challenge Erin's absolute dominance. She'd ruled her school from kindergarten through graduation, a blonde tyrant in designer clothes, surrounded by worshippers and victims.
She'd tormented the weak. Destroyed the competition. Fucked whoever she wanted and discarded them when she got bored.
She'd been magnificent.
And now, standing in the motel room in lingerie that cost more than her old self's monthly salary, she felt that magnificence in every cell of her body.
"Mmmmmh," she purred, stretching luxuriously, feeling her new curves move with liquid grace. "That's more like it."
The motel room door opened.
Nathan stepped inside, case files in hand, and froze.
"What the—" His eyes went wide, traveling from her face to her body to her face again, unable to process what he was seeing. "Erin?"
She turned slowly, giving him the full view. The lingerie—black lace, barely there, highlighting every curve she'd given herself. The body—tanned and toned and fucking perfect. The smile—sharp and knowing and absolutely merciless.
"Hey, partner," she purred. "Miss me?"
---
Part Eight: Seduction
Nathan's paradox bracelet was glowing steady blue.
His timeline was locked. Protected. Which meant he remembered everything—the real Erin, the quiet woman he'd worked with for three years. The woman who believed in justice. The woman who would never, ever have done this.
"What have you done?" His voice was barely a whisper.
Erin sauntered toward him, hips swaying, every step a performance. She watched his eyes drop to her body despite himself—to her breasts threatening to spill from the lace, to the curve of her waist, to the long tanned legs that seemed to go on forever.
"I fixed myself, Nathan." She stopped inches from him, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something expensive and intoxicating, a scent she'd worn since high school in this timeline. "I took a broken, pathetic little mouse and I made her into this."
"You've corrupted your entire timeline. Erased people. Violated every law we—"
"Became happy?" She tilted her head, studying him with amusement. "Became powerful? Became the woman I was always meant to be before life fucked me over?"
"You were good, Erin. You believed in—"
"I was invisible." The word came out sharp, edged with old fury. "I was nothing. I spent my whole life being overlooked and underestimated and less than, and you know what?" She leaned closer, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "I'm done. I'm so fucking done being the good girl."
Her hand came up to rest on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath her palm.
"I remember what it was like," she murmured. "Being the bully instead of the bullied. Taking whatever I wanted because I could. Making people cry and feeling powerful instead of guilty." Her nails scraped lightly down his shirt. "Do you have any idea how good that felt? To finally stop apologizing for existing?"
Nathan grabbed her wrist. "I can fix this. I can go back, undo everything—"
"Can you?"
He froze.
Erin's smile widened. Wicked. Triumphant.
"Oh, Nathan." She pulled back, laughing at the confusion on his face. "Did you really think I wouldn't plan for this? That I'd spend weeks reshaping my timeline and never consider that my partner might try to stop me?"
"What did you do?"
"I made a few... adjustments." She circled him slowly, trailing one long nail across his shoulders. "To your past this time. Nothing too dramatic—I wanted to save the best for last. But let's just say the Nathan under that bracelet isn't the boring, rule-following Boy Scout I've been working with."
His hand moved instinctively to his paradox device. Still blue. Still protecting him.
"Take it off," Erin whispered, pressing herself against his back, her breasts soft against his shoulder blades. "And find out who you really are now."
"You're insane."
"Mmmm, probably." Her hands slid around his waist, fingers dancing lower. "But I'm also the hottest thing you've ever seen, and we both know it. The old me? You barely noticed her. But this me..." She ground against him slowly, deliberately. "Tell me you don't want this."
"I don't—"
"Liar." Her hand cupped him through his pants, feeling him hardening despite his protests. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your brain is still playing catch-up."
"This isn't you, Erin. The woman I knew would never—"
"The woman you knew was a coward." She squeezed gently, and he groaned. "Hiding behind rules and righteousness because she was too afraid to take what she wanted. But I'm not afraid anymore, Nathan. I'm not afraid of anything."
She spun him around, pressing him back against the wall, her body pinning his with surprising strength.
"I made you an alpha," she breathed against his lips. "I went back and gave you everything. Confidence. Power. A body that matches mine. A moral flexibility that lets you take instead of just watching." Her tongue traced his lower lip. "All you have to do is take off that bracelet and let yourself become the man I made you."
"That's not who I am."
"It's who you could be." She kissed him—hot and demanding, tongue sliding past his defenses—and felt his resistance wavering. "Don't you want to stop being the good guy for once? Don't you want to stop following rules that only hold you back?"
She pulled back, watching his flushed face, his rapid breathing.
"Don't you want to fuck me, Nathan? Because I promise you—" she dropped to her knees before him, looking up through long lashes, "—the version of you I created is very good at it."
---
Part Nine: Surrender
Her fingers made quick work of his belt. His zipper.
And then she had him in her hand—hard and thick and throbbing—and the look on his face was everything she'd ever wanted to see. Desire. Conflict. The war between what he knew was right and what he needed.
"You should stop me," she purred, stroking him slowly, her long nails scraping gently along his length. "You should push me away, lock me up, reset the timeline."
"I—"
"But you won't." She leaned forward, letting her breath ghost across his tip. "Because you want this. Because some part of you has always wanted this—to let go, to stop caring about the rules, to just take what feels good."
She took him in her mouth.
Nathan's head slammed back against the wall as pleasure overwhelmed him. She was skilled—memories of a lifetime of using her body as a weapon, of bringing men to their knees and leaving them desperate for more—and she deployed every trick she knew.
Her tongue swirled around his head. Her lips stretched obscenely around his shaft. She took him deeper, deeper, relaxing her throat until her nose pressed against his pelvis and she could feel him pulsing against her tongue.
"Fuck—" His hands fisted in her hair, pulling her closer even as his conscience screamed at him to stop. "Erin—"
She pulled back with a wet pop, grinning up at him with swollen lips and smeared lipstick.
"Tell me to stop," she challenged. "Tell me you want to go back to the way things were. To boring cases and boring rules and your boring, invisible partner who never made you feel like this."
He couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
"That's what I thought." She stroked him faster, watching his face contort with pleasure. "Your bracelet is the only thing keeping you from becoming everything I made you. Just take it off, Nathan. Take it off and let yourself feel."
"I can't—"
"You can." She took him back in her mouth, and this time she held nothing back—sucking hard and fast, her head bobbing with pornographic enthusiasm, moaning around him like he was the best thing she'd ever tasted.
His resistance shattered.
She could feel the orgasm building, his cock swelling against her tongue. Could feel his willpower dissolving with every movement of her lips. And when her free hand reached up to wrap around his wrist—around his bracelet—he didn't stop her.
"That's it," she murmured around his cock, fingers finding the clasp. "Just let go. Let go of the good guy. Let me make you better."
The clasp clicked open.
And as Nathan came—spurting hot and thick into her perfect, hungry mouth—she ripped the bracelet free.
---
Part Ten: Transformation
The wave hit him like an avalanche.
Nathan barely registered Erin swallowing around him, barely felt her satisfied hum as she cleaned him with her tongue. Every synapse in his brain was firing at once, memories rewriting themselves in cascades of pleasure and power.
He saw his new past unfold.
A childhood of privilege instead of struggle. Private schools where he'd been king instead of outcast. A body that responded to every workout, building the kind of physique that made women stare and men step aside. Confidence that came from a lifetime of getting what he wanted.
He'd still become an investigator. But not for justice.
For control.
For the intoxicating knowledge that time itself was his playground, and no one could tell him no.
The guilt that should have come—the horror at what he was becoming—flickered briefly and then drowned beneath the surge of his new self.
He looked down at Erin, still on her knees, gazing up at him with knowing satisfaction.
And he smiled.
Not the careful, controlled smile of the man he'd been. Something sharper. Hungrier. The smile of a predator who'd finally found a worthy mate.
"There you are," Erin purred, rising fluidly to her feet. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Nathan caught her waist and pulled her against him—hard, possessive, claiming. "You manipulative bitch."
"Guilty." She didn't resist; if anything, she melted into his grip, her curves pressing against him with obvious invitation. "But look what I made. Look what we are now."
He kissed her—not the desperate, conflicted kiss of before, but something darker. Deeper. Two apex predators recognizing each other.
"I should be furious," he growled against her mouth.
"But you're not."
"No." He spun her around, bent her over the dresser, watched her gasp as he ground against her from behind. "I'm grateful."
"Then show me," she breathed, arching her back, pressing her perfect ass against his rapidly hardening cock. "Show me who you are now."
He took her without ceremony—one brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt. She screamed in pleasure, her nails scratching against the wood as he set a punishing pace.
"This is who we are now," he snarled in her ear. "This is what you made us."
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Selfish. Corrupt. Perfect."
She came with a scream that shook the walls, and he followed moments later, emptying himself inside her with a roar of triumph.
---
Epilogue: The New Order
"What now?" Nathan asked, tracing the curve of her hip.
Erin smiled—that wicked, knowing smile that had become her signature. "Now? Now we have fun."
"The agency—"
"Can't touch us." She propped herself up, blonde hair spilling across the pillow. "We have temporal access, Nathan. We can see them coming from a century away. We can reshape anything we need to stay ahead."
"So we're criminals now."
"We're gods." Her eyes sparkled with malicious delight. "All of time—every moment, every choice, every possibility—ours to reshape as we please. We can make ourselves richer, more powerful, more everything."
Nathan considered this. The old him—drowning somewhere beneath his new memories—would have been horrified.
But the old him was dead.
"Where do we start?"
Erin laughed, pulling him down for another kiss. "Everywhere, baby. We start everywhere."
---
They were never caught.
How could they be? Every threat was neutralized before it formed. Every investigator was corrupted or erased. They became legends whispered in the temporal agency—the Alpha Pair, the Timeline Tyrants, the couple who'd learned to play god and never looked back.
Erin sometimes thought about who she'd been. The mousy, invisible woman who'd believed in rules and justice and doing the right thing.
She didn't mourn her.
She laughed at her.
Because that woman had never known what it felt like to be powerful. To be beautiful. To be the bully instead of the bullied, the queen instead of the peasant, the wolf instead of the sheep.
And Erin—the real Erin, the only Erin who mattered now—had learned the most important lesson of all:
Corruption wasn't falling.
It was rising.
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