I sat on the plush couch in the makeup van while the makeup artist gently wiped away the chiffon-glow remnants from my face with soft cotton pads and micellar water.
Every single scene from the day had been aced perfectly by me—take one magic across the board, crew buzzing with rare energy.
Even Sarah, my on-screen lover and the show’s alpha protagonist, got overshadowed by my raw emotional pull; her golden-eyed reassurances played second fiddle to my omega vulnerability stealing every frame.
The director—a wiry beta with horn-rimmed glasses—strode over with a genuine smile, clapping my shoulder light.
“You are a great actress, Lyra.
That chemistry in Scene 8?
Gold.
You’ve got range.”
“Thank you, but can I ask a question?” I replied, tilting my head curious while dabbing a stray makeup wipe on my cheek.
“Yes, go ahead,” he said, leaning in attentive.
“You used my real name in the show.
Why?
Most roles get stage names for immersion.”
He chuckled warm, adjusting his glasses.
“Well, you’re the girlfriend of the protagonist—that makes you the heroine in all but title.
If Sarah gets her canon name, why not you too?
I like flexibility in my actors, and you’re fluid as water—shifting from fragile to fierce without a hitch.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said with a polite nod, heart swelling despite the body swap weirdness.
“Keep up the good work.
We’ll need more of that fire tomorrow.” He left with a wave, already barking notes to the lighting crew outside.
My agent—a sharp beta woman in a pantsuit—fixed me with a side-eye from across the van, arms crossed skeptical.
“You’re weird today, Lyra.
Why didn’t you act like this at the audition?
You barely scraped the role—wooden delivery, zero spark.
What flipped?”
I couldn’t spill that I’m not the real Lyra—just a dude soul-trapped in her omega skin.
So I lied smooth, flashing doe eyes innocent.
“I like to keep myself hidden.
Save the real magic for set, not cattle calls.”
She gave me a small dubious look—eyebrow arched high—before nodding reluctant.
“Whatever.
Let’s go.
You have a movie to shoot next.”
“What?!
“Yes!
Cross-promotion gig—Disguised Hearts.
Let’s move.” We left the vanity van into the cooling evening lot, pap flashes popping distant as we slid into her black SUV.
Engine purred smooth; city lights blurred past during the 30-minute drive to the movie set across town.
I reached the studio and bolted straight to wardrobe with no break at all.
‘Jordan mode,’ the stylist announced while handing me the full male disguise kit.
In this movie, Disguised Hearts, I played the heroine—an omega woman infiltrating her alpha male lead’s massive tech company while disguised as a man to expose deep corruption, and for revenge.
My character’s dual name worked perfect for both sides—Jordan for my male alias ‘Jordan Hale,’ the cocky new intern, and Jordana Shalfe for my true female self, the secret investigator out for revenge.
The quick-change turned into total chaos.
The stylists glued on prosthetics for a square jaw and subtle brow ridge that made my face look sharper and more masculine.
They slicked a short black wig over my blonde hair into a business-formal style that stayed neat under lights.
I pulled on a loose button-up shirt over tight binders that flattened my breasts completely flat.
The cat gave me a silent look.
“Host, you are going to act with a man now.”
I have no choice, right?
“Nope.”
Then, it’s no use to discuss this.
Baggy slacks came next, tailored just loose enough to hide my hips and thighs.
They dotted fake stubble precise across my jaw and upper lip with spirit gum for realism.
I dropped my voice gravelly through old actor technique—chest resonance, no head tone—and practiced a swaggering walk-in front of the mirror.
The final look showed an androgynous guy in the reflection—handsome enough to blend into an office crowd, unassuming enough to spy without raising alarms.
The director briefed me quick before cameras rolled.
“Scene 12 is your first intern interview.
Jordan flirts subtle but confident.
Marcus tests your loyalty hard.
Nail that double-life tension—make us believe the disguise holds but cracks just right.”
“Got it,” I said with a nod, settling my gravelly voice.
“Jordan’s cocky but hiding pain.
Marcus smells something off.
Let’s make it electric.”
The director grinned wide.
“That’s the energy.
I strode onto the sleek office set with practiced swagger—slacks swishing, button-up crisp, fake stubble catching the desk lamp glow.
Marcus’s actor lounged behind a massive oak desk in a tailored gray suit, gray eyes piercing cold as he flipped through my fake resume.
He looked up slow, voice deep and commanding like a true CEO cornering prey.
“Jordan Hale.
Fresh out of college, no real experience to speak of.
Tell me why I should waste a valuable slot on an unproven kid like you.”
I leaned forward casual but bold, flashing a cocky grin while dropping my voice low and smooth, every word laced with movie-star confidence.
“Because I don’t just code lines, Mr.
Kane—I fix what’s broken before it ever crashes your empire.
Give me one server, one night alone with it.
You’ll see results that make your hackers sweat bullets and beg for mercy.”
He arched a single brow slow and deliberate, leaning back in his leather chair with arms crossed over his broad chest, exuding alpha control.
His faint cedar-and-steel pheromones hit the air like a subtle challenge, testing my every nerve.
“That’s a bold claim for a scrawny beta kid fresh off campus.
Most interns crack like glass under real pressure around here.
You got the spine—the sheer guts—to survive this empire, or are you just another dreamer?”
“Spine, skills, and zero quit in me, sir,” I shot back sharp, holding his gaze steady as steel while my heart hammered wild under the tight binders.
“Hire me today.
Test me tomorrow.
I dare you to watch me save your ass the first-time crisis hits—and thank me later.”
“You are saying cheesy lines, Jordan.”
“Then let me prove it to you.
I am here because I defeated all if the other candidates.”
Marcus drummed his fingers slow on the polished desk, eyes narrowing razor-sharp like he could scent the lie hidden beneath my skin.
A tense beat hung in the air before he stood tall, extending a hand firm and unyielding.
“You’re hired—provisionally, Hale.
Don’t disappoint me.
I crush failures without mercy or second chances.” I shook it strong, feeling the scripted spark ignite electric between us, cameras catching every flicker.
“You won’t be disappointed.”
“Cut!
Brilliant tension—pure movie gold!” the director yelled, jumping from his chair.