"I'm calling my private psychiatrist," Donavon said, his fingers flying across the screen. "We need a full neurological scan and a toxicology test immediately."

Dara closed the distance in two massive strides. She reached down and snatched the phone right out of his hands.

"Are you insane?" Dara growled, the deep vibration of Donavon's voice rumbling in her chest. "Do you want to be locked in a psych ward?"

Donavon glared up at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "We have been poisoned or exposed to a neurotoxin. We need medical intervention."

Dara let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Think about it. If the CEO of the Monroe Corporation walks into a hospital and tells a doctor he woke up as his wife..."

She leaned down, getting right in his face. "The Board of Directors will trigger the incapacity clause within twenty-four hours. They will strip you of your title, your shares, and your power."

Donavon froze. His jaw locked.

He knew she was right. The vultures on the board had been waiting for three years for him to show a single sign of mental instability.

"Fine," Donavon hissed through his teeth. "What do you suggest? We signed divorce papers last night."

Dara looked at the desk where the documents still sat. A complicated knot formed in her stomach.

"We maintain the status quo," Dara said firmly. "Until we figure out how to reverse this, no one can know. We pretend everything is normal."

Donavon's eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. "Is this some kind of trick? A way to invalidate the divorce?"

Dara threw her hands up in the air. "Look at me! Do you think I am enjoying being trapped inside the body of a muscle-bound asshole?"

Donavon felt a sudden, bizarre flush of heat hit his cheeks. He instinctively crossed his arms tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of the lack of clothing on his new chest.

"If we do this," Donavon said, his tone shifting into pure business mode, "we sign an NDA. Right now."

He marched over to the desk, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and began writing rapidly. He drafted a brutal, ironclad Non-Disclosure Agreement, forbidding either of them from damaging the other's reputation or assets.

He shoved the paper toward Dara.

Dara picked up the pen. She tried to sign Donavon's name, but her hand felt too large and clumsy. The signature came out looking like a jagged mess.

Donavon stared at the paper, horrified. "You need to practice that. If you sign a corporate document like that, I'll be investigated for fraud."

"And you," Dara shot back, "need to practice acting like a woman who just got kicked to the curb."

Before Donavon could reply, a sharp, intense pressure hit Dara's lower abdomen.

Her face went completely blank. She squeezed her thighs together, shifting her weight awkwardly.

Donavon noticed the movement. He looked at her, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face.

"Need help? Or have you completely forgotten the basic anatomy of your own body?" Donavon asked, his voice dripping with a cold, condescending edge that belonged in a hostile boardroom.

Dara's face burned with humiliation. She spun around and practically ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it.

A series of loud thuds and muffled curses echoed through the door.

Donavon stood in the bedroom, shaking his head. Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing pain flared across the back of his right hand.

He hissed, looking down.

The gauze had slipped. A massive cluster of angry, fluid-filled blisters covered the skin, surrounded by dark red inflammation.

Donavon's breath hitched. He stared at the severe burn, a flash of memory hitting him-Dara standing in the dining room last night, her hand trembling as she poured his water. He had completely ignored it.

Before he could process the guilt twisting in his gut, a shrill, furious voice echoed from the first floor.

It was Jacquelin. And she was screaming Dara's name.

Chapter 6

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