My Toxic Bully Swapped Bodies With Me, But Joke's On Her

When Chloe Bennett handed a love letter to my fiancé, Ethan Carter, everyone in the corridor burst out laughing. "She looks like a literal whale.

How does she think she has a shot with our star quarterback?" Seeing her eyes well up with tears, I stepped in and stopped the jeering. I tried to comfort her.

But she spat right back at me. "Audrey Miller, I don't need your fake pity!

You're such a hypocrite!" The next morning, when I opened my eyes, I realized I had somehow turned into Chloe. Before I could even process what was happening, my phone rang.

It was Chloe calling from my old number. "I paid a witch online to swap our bodies," she sneered, her voice dripping with malice. "I want you to experience what it's like to be poor, ugly, and pathetic." "From now on, your billionaire parents are mine.

And Ethan is mine, too!" I hung up the phone. I looked at my reflection and actually smiled. I was finally free from that living hell of a home.

I was finally free from my toxic fiancé. She had no idea what a horrific price I had to pay for my "perfect" body. I woke up in Chloe's bed.

The rich, warm aroma of freshly baked pastries drifted into the room. I rushed out the door and saw Chloe's mom, Emma, busy in the cozy kitchen, preparing a feast of a breakfast.

I swallowed hard, my mouth watering. Emma turned around and gave me a warm, gentle smile. "Morning, Chloe.

Why are you up so early today?" "I made your favorite pumpkin waffles." I walked over to the table, grabbed a hot waffle, and began to devour it.

As I chewed, tears of pure joy streamed down my face. I couldn't remember the last time I had tasted sugar.

My breakfast had always been strictly limited to one hardboiled egg and a cup of unsweetened almond milk. Once, on Halloween, I sneaked a single piece of candy.

My mother slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. Emma froze, looking at me with deep concern. "Chloe, sweetie, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?

Do we need to go to the clinic?" Seeing her frantic, genuinely worried face made me sob even harder. My own mother had never looked at me with that kind of love.

Once, I sprained my wrist badly during ballet practice. My mother banned me from going to the hospital.

She was terrified that a cast would ruin my look for a highsociety gala that evening, ruining my chances of networking with eligible bachelors.

I reached out, holding her rough, warm hand, and whispered, "Mom, I'm okay." Hearing my voice, her eyes turned red. "Are you still upset about that boy?" "Going after the person you like is brave, sweetie.

The people who laughed at you are the ones who should be ashamed.

In my eyes, you will always be the most beautiful girl." It felt as if something warm and heavy had just filled my hollow chest.

Chloe had such a loving mother, yet she had never learned to cherish her. My phone buzzed again on Snapchat. Chloe had sent me a selfie.

In the photo, she was wearing my face, dripping in my diamonds, posing in my designer gown. Her smile was incredibly smug. "Look what your parents just bought me.

A new Tiffany necklace. I'm going on a date with Ethan tonight. I wonder if he's a good kisser.

I bet he's amazing." "Audrey, are you burning with jealousy right now?" I looked at her tiny, snatched waist in the photo and felt nothing but a wave of relief.

She had no idea how fragile and broken that body actually was.

To make me look more graceful on the ballet stage, my mother had forced me to undergo surgery to remove two of my ribs.

Every time it rained, my lower back would throb with an unbearable, dull ache. I ignored her message and took another huge, satisfying bite of my waffle.

For twenty years, I had finally had a warm, flavorful breakfast.

That afternoon, I went to the clinic for a full medical checkup.

The doctor reviewed my charts and pushed up his glasses. "Your weight is severely over the limit, but the root issue is insulin resistance." "On top of that, your metabolism is completely ruined from taking unregulated, sketchy diet pills." "But if you follow a proper meal plan, do lowimpact workouts, and stick to the treatment, you can definitely get healthy again." I gripped the report, my eyes stinging with tears.

The doctor gave me a gentle warning. "But with your current weight, do not rush into anything crazy." "No starving yourself, no intense running, and absolutely do not believe any of those 'lose forty pounds in a month' scams on TikTok." "Heal your body first.

The weight loss will follow." I nodded seriously. There were exactly two months left before freshman orientation week at Huxley University.

I didn't want to starve Chloe's body into a stick, nor did I plan to repeat the deadly weightloss routine I used to endure. This time, I just wanted to make this body healthy.

Leaving the clinic, I hired a professional nutritionist and signed up for a gym membership. The nutritionist drew up a detailed, balanced meal plan.

Carbs, proteins, vegetables, everything was included. Looking at the chicken breast and brown rice on the sheet, I couldn't help but smile.

In the past, my mother would also prepare "fatburning meals" for me. But that wasn't food.

Half an egg in the morning, three pieces of lettuce for lunch, and a cup of watereddown skim milk for dinner.

If the scale didn't show a drop the next morning, I would be locked in the home gym, forced to run on the treadmill until I threw up.

But now, my nutritionist told me with a smile: "Don't starve yourself.

And don't chase rapid weight loss." "We are building a lifestyle, not trying to kill you." My throat tightened. "Thank you." When I got home, Emma saw the meal plan and immediately began studying it. "How do we make this taste delicious?" she murmured.

Despite her grumbling, she was up before dawn the next morning, heading to the local market. She brought back the freshest organic beef, wild shrimp, and crisp greens.

Chloe's dad, Mike, went even further.

Hearing that I wanted to exercise, he bought a secondhand treadmill on eBay that very afternoon and hauled it up five flights of stairs with the help of a neighbor. "Take it easy, kiddo," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a warm, goofy grin. "Big or thin, it doesn't matter.

Being healthy is what counts." Looking at them, my heart felt incredibly full. Chloe, you absolute fool.

You had such wonderful parents, yet you looked down on them for being poor and simple.

On my first day of training, I only managed ten minutes of fast walking on the treadmill.

My back was completely drenched in sweat, my heart was hammering violently against my ribs, and my legs shook like jelly.

The personal trainer told me to stop, but I grit my teeth and pushed through. "Five more minutes." In my past life, every time I ran, my mother would stand behind me with a scale and a cold glare.

Now, there was no one forcing me. Yet, my steps were steadier than ever. When the fifteen minutes were up, I leaned against the handrail, gasping for air.

The girl in the mirror was flushed red, her sweaty hair plastered to her face, looking completely disheveled. But I looked at her and smiled. "Chloe, Day One.

Done." Over the next week, I did fast walks every morning and basic strength training every afternoon. Her physical baseline was terrible.

Ten squats made her knees buckle, she couldn't hold a plank for fifteen seconds, and her joints ached. I didn't force it. If it hurt, I rested. If I was hungry, I ate.

The scale moved slowly, but my waistline was visibly shrinking.

On the eighth night, someone suddenly tagged me in the freshman Snapchat group. "Hey Chloe, I heard you got a gym membership.

Is that for real?" Right after that, a candid photo of me was leaked into the group.

In the picture, I was wearing an oversized hoodie, dripping with sweat, struggling on the treadmill.

The group chat instantly flooded with laughing emojis. "Is that treadmill rated for industrial weight?" "The gym owner better have good insurance for the floorboards." "Just give up.

If you can drop from 200 pounds to 199 by the time college starts, we'll call it a miracle." Someone then tagged @Audrey Miller. "Queen Bee Audrey, what do you think?" A few seconds later, Chloe popped into the chat using my old identity.

She sent a laughing emoji, playing innocent. "Come on guys, don't be mean. It's really brave of Chloe to try and make a change." "But Chloe, sweetie, don't push yourself too hard.

Don't ruin your health just to try and compete with me." The group immediately chimed in. "Compete with you? With what?

She's a hippo, you're a swan." "Audrey is way too nice, still sticking up for her." Then, Chloe sent me a direct message on Snapchat: "See that?

No matter how hard you try, you're just a joke." "Two months until movein day. I can't wait to see you walk onto campus looking like a total freak show." I didn't reply.

I just muted the group chat and went back to prepping my meals for the next day. Real change is never made with words. In two months, they would see for themselves.

I placed the eggs into the boiling water and set the timer. The kitchen window reflected my full figure.

I reached out, gently touching the soft, chubby face in the reflection. "Just wait." "This time, I will make sure you walk onto that campus with your head held high."

For the next two months, I completely ghosted the group chats. They occasionally made jokes at my expense, but I never gave them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Every morning at 6:00 AM, I was out the door for my walk. I graduated from fifteen minutes to thirty, then to a full hour.

Afternoons were for strength training, and evenings were for skincare and fixing my posture. As the weight melted off, I realized Chloe wasn't ugly at all.

She was just severely bloated, and her face was covered in acne from stress and a terrible diet, which buried her features.

Underneath, her eyes were round and bright, her nose was cute and perky, and her lips were naturally full.

Best of all, when she smiled, a sweet little dimple appeared on her left cheek. A month in, I had lost twentyfive pounds.

My insulin levels were stabilizing, and my knees no longer ached. In the second month, I focused on body sculpting and posture. I pulled my shoulders back and elongated my neck.

The muscle memory from over a decade of ballet training began to wake up in this new body. I stood against the wall for hours, correcting my alignment.

When Emma saw me, she thought I was in pain. "Chloe, why are you standing against the wall like a statue?" "I'm practicing my posture, Mom." She walked around me twice, covering her mouth as a huge grin broke out. "Well, I'll be.

My baby girl stands up so straight now, you look just like those models on TV." I laughed. That kind of pure, unconditioned praise was something I had never experienced before.

In my past life, even when I won gold at international ballet competitions, my mother would only look at me with a cold, critical eye. "Your skirt flew up too high during that spin.

It looked vulgar." But here, I simply stood up straight, and someone was genuinely proud of me. A week before orientation, I went back to the clinic. 154 pounds.

In two months, I had lost a total of fortysix pounds. It was fast, but my vitals were perfectly healthy.

The doctor reviewed my lab results and nodded with satisfaction. "Incredible progress.

Just keep doing what you're doing." Leaving the clinic, I stood in front of the fulllength mirror for a long time. I still wasn't skinny.

My waist still had a soft curve, and my arms weren't bonethin like they used to be. But the girl in the mirror had glowing skin and bright, lively eyes.

She looked healthy, radiant, and free. This was what true beauty felt like.

That evening, a poll suddenly popped up in the freshman Snapchat group. "VOTE: Huxley University Freshman Class Ambassador." There were only two nominees. Audrey Miller.

Chloe Bennett. The group chat went absolutely wild with laughter. "Who nominated Chloe?

That is foul!" "Are we voting for an ambassador or a heavyduty forklift?" "I'm voting for Chloe.

Let's make her the official school mascot." In less than ten minutes, my vote count skyrocketed to the top. They wanted to see me humiliated on a grand stage.

According to the rules, the winner of the poll had to deliver a speech on behalf of the freshman class at the opening ceremony.

Chloe, using my old account, sent me a DM: "Surprised?" "I had my friends put your name on the ballot." "The opening ceremony is going to be livestreamed on YouTube.

I can't wait for the entire Ivy League to see a 200pound pig waddle onto the stage." "You wanted to compete with me? Here's your stage." Right after, she sent a picture of a dress.

It was a stunning white Haute Couture gown my mother had customordered for the ceremony. But in the photo, Chloe's face looked incredibly drained.

She was much thinner than she had been two months ago. Her cheeks were hollow, her lips were pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't hide.

It seemed her new life of luxury wasn't as easy as she thought.

Before I could close the app, another message popped up. "Ethan is going to be on stage presenting the academic awards." "How do you think he'll react when he sees you?

Do you think he'll throw up?" I stared at the screen, and a slow smile crept onto my face.

I tapped the screen and cast a vote for myself, "Chloe Bennett." "Thanks for giving me the stage," I typed back. A question mark popped up from her end immediately.

I didn't bother explaining. On the morning of the ceremony, Emma pulled out her secret savings card, insisting on taking me shopping.

I didn't choose a baggy black dress to hide my body. Instead, I chose a vibrant, fireengine red dress.

It had a fitted waist, a square neckline, and a flowing skirt that hit just midcalf. When I stepped out of the fitting room, Emma stared at me, speechless. "Mom?

Is it bad?" She shook her head rapidly, her eyes shimmering with tears. "No. It's beautiful. You look absolutely stunning." At 9:00 AM, the opening ceremony commenced.

The grand hall was packed with thousands of students, and the YouTube livestream view count was rising rapidly.

The class Snapchat group was still buzzing. "Where is Chloe?" "Did she chickened out?" "Get your screenshots ready, guys." On stage, the dean spoke into the microphone. "Now, please welcome our freshman representative, Chloe Bennett." Quiet giggles and hushed whispers instantly rippled through the crowd.

At that exact moment, I stood outside the heavy double doors of the auditorium, took a deep breath, and pushed them open.