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Author's Note:I'm finally back on track with this story. I'm currently almost done with Ch. 9 now. I meant to post this chapter earlier today but the site was not cooperating with me. Also, another identity is about to be revealed :) If you find any issues with it, DM me my stupid mistakes and I'll fix them. I appreciate any kind of feedback or comments that people might have :).
 

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7.

Jason sighed as he looked in the mirror.

Jenna was gone.

Well not gone totally, she was still there, still trying to hide. The dress and the makeup were removed, his chest was bound tight again and he was back to walking the thin line of gender again. The transition back and forth was getting harder and harder each time. The more he became Jenna, the more he wanted her to stay. The lines were blurring together more and more too. It wasn't about trying to fool people, to make them guess anymore. It was now more about how long he could keep it up.

A gentle knock on the bathroom door interrupted his thoughts.

They were in Jess's apartment now. She brought him there after they left the restaurant. It was a quiet place for him to change back.

Jess poked her head in. "Its still amazing to see. You take off a dress, hide your boobs and its like you're a completely different person."

"I feel like one too," he admitted, still staring in the mirror.

Jess was behind him a moment later, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Then why not just say, 'Fuck Jason' and be done with it" she said, not trying to come off as aggressive but not sure if she succeeded or not.

"You know why I can't".

Jess made an actual "pfft" sound. "No offense but your plan is stupid." She dropped lazily onto her large bed. "I mean seriously, that man isn't going to tell you what you want to know and you, genius super hacker, couldn't find it either."

She wasn't wrong. Both he and Maya had dug under every digital rock they could find. Whatever Arthur Whitmore was hiding, it wasn't digital. Which meant he had it in paper, probably in his private office at the manor. Which was the only reason he had allowed them to find him in the first place. He needed to get into that study and find the truth.

"You know" said Jess, propping herself up on her elbows. "You could ask him. Who knows, the bastard might surprise you."

Jason scoffed. "A man like him, with his pride, he'd never willingly tell me something like that."

Afterall, if Arthur Whitmore really was responsible for making him disappear, there's no way he'd reveal it.

"So what's the plan now?" asked Jess, sitting up.

Jason didn't even have to think about it. "First, I go home and then I face whatever they have in store for me"

*******

Jess dropped him off in front of the house, her engine still idling.

"You want me to go in with you?"

Jason looked at Jess, who was still leaning against the car door. He didn't answer immediately, instead focusing on the imposing silhouette of the Whitmore manor. The house was a monument to old money and rigid expectations, a place where every piece of mahogany furniture seemed designed to make a person feel small.

"I'll be fine," he said, his voice returning to that soft, melodic quality that often confused people. He stepped away from the car, his gait naturally graceful even in the more subdued clothing he had changed into. Despite the effort to blend in, he still looked ethereal, his features possessing a delicate beauty that defied the traditional masculine lines his father so desperately craved.

The house was quiet and empty. A bit too quiet for a late afternoon day. Not that he knew their daily routine, this was only his second day here.

As he stepped through the grand mahogany doors, the silence of the foyer swallowed him. The air was thick with the smell of old wax and a stifling sense of formality. He walked slowly, his soft footsteps barely making a sound on the polished marble. He felt the weight of the house pressing down on him, a physical manifestation of the Whitmores' rigidity.

Near the staircase, he encountered an older servant, a woman with a pinched expression and a uniform that looked as though it had been pressed for decades. He didn't know her name, and by the way she looked at him, she didn't care for his. Her eyes lingered on his delicate features and the graceful way he carried himself, a look of subtle disapproval crossing her face.

"Where is everyone?" Jason asked, his voice soft and melodic.

The servant didn't look at him directly, instead keeping her eyes fixed on a point just past his shoulder. Her posture was stiff, her expression one of deep, ingrained distaste. "The mistress and Miss Clara went shopping. Mr. Whitmore and Miss Meredith are at the office. They will all return in the evening."

"And Julian?"

The old servant scoffed. "He's in his room as usual".

That was fine. Better than fine. Not that he actually expected them to be waiting for him to come home. It actually worked better this way. Less hassle, less interacting with them.

Jason walked toward the stairs, his steps light and rhythmic against the stone. He felt the lingering ghost of Jenna beneath his skin, the memory of the iridescent fabric and the weight of the makeup still humming in his veins. He didn't mind the transition, but the contrast was stark. In the world of Vex and the company of Jess, he was a visionary, a creator of empires. Here, in the hallowed, cold halls of the Whitmore estate, he was nothing more than an eyesore. To Arthur, he was a disappointment in a feminine frame; to the rest of them, he was a puzzle they didn't care to solve.

He navigated the upper corridor with practiced ease, avoiding the gaze of the few servants who still lingered in the shadows. As he reached the door to his room, he paused, glancing back toward the master wing. He could almost feel Arthur’s disapproval radiating through the walls, a thick, suffocating blanket of bigotry and tradition. The thought didn't shake him. If anything, it fueled him. There was a profound, quiet power in being underestimated, in allowing the world to see a fragile girl or a disappointment of a son while he held the strings of global industries in his palms.

Stepping into "his" bedroom, he couldn't help but groan.

The space was a curated museum of everything Arthur Whitmore believed a son should be. Heavy oak dressers, a deep navy blue color palette, and sports trophies from a life Jason had never lived. It was all way too masculine and boy to him still. The room felt like a cage designed by a man who viewed gender as a strict set of rules rather than a spectrum. Even the scent of the place, a mix of cedar and old leather, felt oppressive. He stood in the center of the rug, looking like a delicate misplaced painting in a brutalist gallery.

The only thing he liked was the gaming setup.

Jason sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped. He felt the oppressive weight of the room pressing in on him, a suffocating blend of cedar and disappointment. He was still wearing the oversized sweater he’d thrown on after leaving the restaurant, but it didn't hide the softness of his jawline or the way his long lashes cast shadows over his cheeks. Even in the dim light, he looked more like a porcelain doll than a teenage boy, a fact that usually earned him a sneer from Arthur.

Falling onto the bed, he pulled out his phone to call Maya.

"Hey boss, how was lunch?"

Jason sighed. "I thought I told you not to call me boss?"

"Force of habit," Maya replied, her voice sounding crisp and grounded, like someone who had spent a decade in a corporate office but still enjoyed a good joke. "Anyway, the quarterly reports for the Vex sales just hit. Your projections were off by zero point two percent. You're slipping, kid."

Jason chuckled, the sound a soft, melodic vibration in his chest. He leaned back against the pillows, the masculine austerity of the room fading into the background as he spoke with the only person who truly understood the scale of his operations. Maya didn't just manage his schedule; she was the central nervous system of his various ventures, the invisible hand that kept all the secrets in perfect sync.

"What about the Whitmore case?" he asked, wondering if Arthur might have slipped up and gone digital.

Maya let out a heavy sigh. "Still nothing. Your father is surprisingly very cautious. You were right to assume that whatever he's hiding, its a hard copy."

Which meant he was also right to assume that whatever it was, was somewhere in this house.

The truth.

He sighed, sitting up. "What about the other ventures?"

"All stable," Maya replied, her tone as clinical as a ledger. Then she scoffed. "If Arthur Whitmore knew how much you were actually worth..."

"Good, keep me informed if anything changes".

He clicked off the phone and tossed it onto the bed.

The silence of the room returned, heavy and stagnant. Jason spent a few minutes just staring at the ceiling, letting the mental noise of the day settle. He needed to transition out of the "Jenna" headspace before he ventured back into the common areas of the house, or at least create a version of himself that wouldn't immediately trigger Arthur's temper. He moved to the dresser and pulled out a pair of oversized cream lounge pants and hoodie. They were soft and expensive, clinging slightly to his slender frame, but the sheer volume of the fabric helped obscure the grace of his movements.

As he pulled the hoodie over his head, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Even without the makeup, his skin looked luminous, his eyes wide and framed by naturally long, dark lashes. He looked fragile, almost ethereal, a stark contrast to the rugged, aggressive masculinity Arthur demanded. He knew that to his father, this beauty was a flaw, a sign of weakness or an abomination. To Arthur, Jason wasn't a son; he was a disappointment wrapped in a girl's features.

He stepped out of the room, the soft soles of his slippers whispering against the hardwood of the second floor. The corridor was a long, dim stretch of oppressive luxury, lined with heavy oil paintings of ancestors who looked down with the same stern judgment Arthur wore like a badge of honor. Jason moved with a natural, fluid grace that he couldn't quite suppress, his hips swaying slightly even in the oversized clothes. He felt the invisible eyes of the house on him, the lingering sense of being an outsider in his own biological home.

As he passed Julian’s room, the silence of the hallway was shattered by the aggressive, distorted sounds of a high-octane battle royale. The muffled shouts of a gaming headset and the rhythmic clicking of a mechanical keyboard leaked through the door, filling the hall with chaotic energy. Jason paused for a moment, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He knew that sound, the specific cadence of the game's audio engineering and the frantic pace of the match. It was a world he understood intimately, a digital playground where the rules were written in code and logic, far removed from the suffocating expectations of the Whitmore bloodline.

He knew the sound of the game too.

*Turbo Charge!*

It was one of the most popular online looter shooters on the market. It was Noiro Works biggest game, their million dollar money maker.

It was designed by the elusive, ZERO.

Jason lingered by Julian's door, listening to his brother curse in his headset. He opened the door a crack, taking a look.

Julian was practically vibrating with intensity, his eyes locked onto the monitor as he navigated a high-level raid. The room was a chaotic mess of empty energy drink cans and tangled cables, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of the rest of the house. Julian didn't notice him; he was too immersed in the digital carnage of the game, screaming directions to his teammates with a level of passion he never showed in real life.

Jason opened the door more, watching his brother play.

Julian was good but flawed.

Jason watched him from the doorway for a few minutes, noting the slight lag in his reaction time and the inefficient way he managed his inventory during the heat of the raid. It was a fascinating exercise, seeing a player struggle with the very mechanics that had been meticulously crafted to be challenging yet fair. He stepped into the room, his movements silent and fluid, gliding past the clutter of the bedroom until he was standing directly behind his brother's chair.

Julian didn't notice.

He was too deep in the zone, his fingers dancing across the mechanical keys in a frantic, rhythmic clicking. He was currently battling a boss that required precise timing and a specific rotation of abilities, but he was fighting the game's logic rather than utilizing it. Jason watched for a moment, seeing the mistake in Julian's positioning. He was overextending his flank, leaving himself open to a counter-attack that would wipe out his entire party in seconds.

Jason stepped forward, his presence light and unobtrusive, though his voice carried a clear, melodic certainty. "You're leaning too far into the left quadrant. If you shift your angle by ten degrees and hold your ultimate for three more seconds, you'll hit the break point."

Julian jumped, nearly knocking over his headset as he spun around to see his sibling standing there. His expression was a mix of irritation and genuine shock, his eyes scanning Jason's delicate features and oversized hoodie. "What the hell? When did you get here?"

"Been here for a while watching your suckage".

Julian stared at him, blinking rapidly. He looked back at the screen where his character was currently frozen in a panic, surrounded by enemies. The advice about the left quadrant had been oddly specific, and for a second, Julian had actually considered it, but he had been too focused on his own shouting to implement the shift.

"Get out of my room," Julian snapped, though the edge of his voice was softened by confusion. "And stop acting like you know how to play. You probably don't even know what a break point is."

Jason didn't retreat immediately. Instead, he leaned over the shoulder of his brother, his long hair brushing against the gaming chair. With a fluid, practiced motion, he reached out and tapped a sequence of keys on the keyboard, executing a perfect dodge and a counter-attack that left the boss staggering. The screen flashed a brilliant gold, signaling a critical hit that brought the enemy's health bar plummeting toward zero.

The silence that followed was broken not by Julian, but by the loud, distorted voices coming from the headset. Three different teenage boys were shouting at once, their voices echoing through the room.

"Yo, Jules! What was that? Did you just crit the boss?" one of them yelled. "Wait, who is that? Who is the hot girl standing behind you?"

Julian froze, annoyed as he realized his camera was active. He looked from the screen to Jason, then back to the screen, where three teenage boys were practically leaning into their webcams to get a better look at the person in the room. To them, the figure in the oversized cream hoodie was a stunning, ethereal girl with wide, mysterious eyes and a delicate jawline. They had no idea they were looking at the most hated member of the Whitmore household, nor that said person was a "boy".

"This is my br---sister" Julian stumbled over the reality and found himself instinctively lying.

It was hard to call someone that looked like Jason a "brother".

The boys on the screen were practically drooling, their eyes wide as they stared at the ethereal figure in the cream hoodie. Jason saw the flash of genuine embarrassment on Julian's face, a rare moment of vulnerability for the normally aggressive sibling. He realized that if he stayed in the frame as "the brother," the conversation would inevitably turn into a roast of his feminine appearance. To save Julian from the inevitable ridicule of his peers, Jason leaned into the role they already assumed.

His shifted his stance, changed his posture and when she spoke, it was not as a Jason.

"Hi guys!" she said enthusiastically, waving at the screen. "I'm Jenna, Jules little sis!"

She gave her brother a short, affectionate hug.

She felt Julian stiffen under her touch but her brother kept his face neutral. Though there was a momentary bit of surprise on Julian's face when "Jenna" spoke.

The boys on the screen practically exploded. "Wait, Jules, you have another sister? Since when? Why have you been hiding her?" one of them shouted, his face leaning so close to the camera that only his nose and wide eyes were visible. "She's actually gorgeous. Dude, you're a lucky man to have a sister that looks like that."

Jenna beamed, leaning into the frame with a playful tilt of her head. "I'm not exactly a secret, just not someone you'd expect to find in Julian's chaotic little cave," she chirped, her voice hitting that perfect, melodic pitch that sounded entirely feminine. She felt the thrill of the deception, the way the world shifted its axis when she stopped being the disappointing son and became the enigmatic girl.

Julian, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to dissolve into his gaming chair. He let out a loud, frustrated groan and shoved Jason's shoulder, though the gesture lacked any real force. "Stop talking to them. Seriously, just leave," Julian muttered, his face flushing a deep red. He was visibly annoyed, not by Jason's presence, but by the sudden, intense interest his friends had in his "sister." The boys on the screen were practically tripping over their own words to compliment Jenna, completely oblivious to the fact that Julian was currently fighting a losing battle against both a digital boss and his own confusion.

After the endless string of compliments, the talk turned to the game. Specifically, they wanted to know if she was a gamer and if she knew anything about Turbo Charge!

Jenna let out a soft, melodic laugh, leaning closer to the screen. "Oh, I've seen it. It's a bit loud, don't you think? All those flashing lights and screaming bosses."

She inwardly smirked.

If they only knew.

Jenna watched through the screen as Julian’s friends practically tripped over themselves to impress "Jenna," their voices filled with a desperate, eager energy. She played the part perfectly, offering a soft, knowing smile and a tilt of the head that felt like a second nature. It was a strange, exhilarating power to be the architect of their fascination, knowing that while they saw a beautiful girl, Julian saw a confusing sibling and Arthur saw a failure. The irony was thick; the very traits that made her an outcast in the eyes of her father were the same ones that made her a goddess to these strangers.

As the gameplay shifted back into focus, Jenna noticed the party was struggling with a complex environmental puzzle, a mechanic that had been coded to reward patience and spatial awareness. She didn't give them the answer directly; that would be too obvious. Instead, she leaned in, her voice a melodic whisper that seemed to guide them toward the truth. "Isn't that strange?" she mused, pointing vaguely toward a flickering light in the distance of the game's map. "It almost looks like the boss is trying to lure you into the center, rather than the edges."

The boys on the screen paused, their characters idling. One of them gasped as he realized the strategic error. "Holy crap, you're right! The light is a lure!" they shouted in unison, quickly adjusting their formation. They began to execute the maneuver with a newfound precision, oblivious to the fact that they were receiving direct tactical advice from the very architect who had built the encounter. Jenna stepped back, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

They went on like this for an hour. Even Julian was getting involved, trying to hide how excited he was getting.

As Jenna watched her brother's frantic movements, she noticed a subtle shift in Julian's gaze. The annoyance was still there, but it was being overtaken by a raw, genuine respect. Julian had always seen Jason as a fragile, confusing anomaly, but watching him effortlessly dismantle the game's most difficult bosses while playing a feminine persona was something else entirely. For the first time, Julian didn't see a "sister" or a "feminine brother"; he saw a pro. He saw a level of mastery that he himself had spent years chasing, delivered by someone who looked like they belonged in a high-fashion magazine rather than a gaming den.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from chaotic to focused. Julian’s friends were no longer just flirting with Jenna; they were treating her like an oracle of the game. Jenna kept her suggestions vague and intuitive, guiding them through the labyrinth of the raid without revealing the mathematical certainty behind her advice. She enjoyed the irony of the situation, knowing that the very mechanics these boys were worshipping were lines of code she had written in the quiet hours of the night. For a brief moment, the oppressive weight of the Whitmore legacy vanished, replaced by the simple, electric thrill of being the smartest person in the room while remaining completely invisible.

However, the clock on the wall reminded her that the grace period of an empty house was ending. The subtle shift in her posture and the way her voice regained its soft, melodic quality signaled the end of the performance. She stepped back from the monitor, offering the group a playful, enigmatic wave that left them wanting more. She could see the confusion in Julian’s eyes, a mixture of irritation and a new, begrudging curiosity about who his sibling actually was when the world wasn't looking.

"Sorry boys, this girl has things to do", she announced, turning effortlessly on her heel and flowing out of the room.

As soon as she stepped into the hall, just like that, Jenna was gone.

Jason sighed.

He only got about a foot or two down the hall when he heard a voice, Julian: "What the hell was that?"

A second later, his older brother was standing in front of him.

Jason took a long, hard look at his older brother.

Julian was twenty years old and looked like a rough draft of the man Arthur Whitmore wanted Jason to be. He was broad-shouldered and heavy-jawed, possessing a rugged, traditional masculinity that felt like a weapon in the sterile environment of the manor. He was everything Jason was not; where Jason was fluid and ethereal, Julian was blocky and imposing. He stood with a confident, sprawling aggression, staring down at Jason with a look of genuine bewilderment, as if he were trying to solve a riddle that didn't want to be solved.

His slicked back blonde hair and expensive clothes a complete contrast to Jason's casual laziness.

"What was what?" he asked innocently.

Julian stepped closer, his brow furrowed. He looked at Jason as if seeing him for the first time, searching for the confident, tactically brilliant girl who had just commanded his friends. The contrast was jarring; the boy standing before him was draped in a cream hoodie that seemed to swallow his slight frame, his expression one of wide eyed, serene detachment. For a second, Julian actually felt a spark of curiosity, a strange urge to understand how someone who looked so fragile could possess such a piercing level of insight.

"Stop playing dumb," Julian muttered, though the aggression was gone, replaced by a cautious intrigue. "What was all that Jenna shit? And the game, how did you know all that shit?"

Jason smiled sweetly and with a shrug, and using the Jenna voice, he said, "What ever do you mean, dear brother?"

Julian let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a snarl. He looked at Jason, really looked at him, and for the first time, the sheer confusion of the situation seemed to outweigh his usual contempt. He'd only known this little "brother" of his for a couple of days and he was already confused as hell. Initially writing him off as nothing important, now he couldn't help but wonder what kind of person his new sibling really was. That shift from male to female was scary and his knowledge of Turbo Charge! was beyond pro.

He had definitely underestimated this little brat.

He smirked. "Stay out of my room and away from my friends" he finally declared, trying not to show how impressed he was with his mysterious new sibling.

Jason smiled smugly. "No problem, bro."

With that, Julian turned and stomped back to his room. Jason watched him go, still with a smug satisfaction.

Then a second later, he pulled out his phone. He made a quick call.

"Ben, its me" he said, speaking with a bit of authority.

The man on the other end of the line, Ben Mercer, President of Noiro, was surprised. "Miss Boss, long time, no hear."

Jason sighed. Another one who just couldn't use his name. He let it slide.

"Listen, Ben," Jason said, his voice shifting into a more commanding, focused tone. "I just spent an hour watching a live user experience the latest raid. There is a critical frame-drop occurring during the transition to the second phase of the boss fight. It's not a hardware issue; it's a collision error in the environment assets. The bosses’ hit-box is clipping into the floor geometry, which is why the 'break point' is so hard to hit. You need to push a hotfix for the map coordinates in the left quadrant immediately, or the community is going to tear the forums apart by tomorrow."

On the other end of the line, Ben Mercer went silent for a heartbeat. The President of Noiro knew that whenever "the boss" called with a specific technical grievance, it was usually a mistake that had slipped through a thousand hours of QA testing. "I'll get the dev team on it right now. Thank you for the heads-up."

"Good" Then he ended the call.

When he and Ben first created Noiro two years ago, the plan was simple. Jason came up with the games, Ben executed them. It was a simple partnership. Neither of them expected Turbo Charge! to become the instant hit that it did. With it though, came fame and notoriety. Jason wasn't one for the spotlight, so he let Ben handle it all.

The ZERO thing had all been Ben's fault. He let slip once that the designer of Turbo Charge! wished to remain anonymous. He was never sure where the name ZERO came from but somehow it just stuck.

Sighing, he wandered back to his room.

He paused immediately because Meredith was standing there. His older sister seemed to command every room she stood in. Here in the hallway, it was no different.

How long had she been there? Had she heard him talking to Julian just now?

He stopped in front of her, hoping to throw her off guard. "Why are you always lurking?"

She didn't take the bait. Instead, she handed him a leather folder. "I've sorted out everything with Mount Valor. You start Monday morning."

That was surprising. He never expected her to go out of her way to handle it herself. Not that he actually needed her help of course. He wouldn't let her know that of course. It was like the two of them were currently playing a game. He knew she was smart, she knew he was smart. He knew she was mysterious and she knew the same. Both of them were testing each other at the moment. He just couldn't figure out what her game was though.

"Thanks" he said, taking the folder.

Meredith smiled and leaned off the wall. She looked like she was about to leave but before she did, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered: "You looked really cute in that pink dress today, little sister."

A cold chill quickly ran up Jason's spine.

Meredith smiled, reminding him about dinner later then slowly walked away.

Shit.

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF