After the psychologist hypnotized my husband, a single keyword would switch him into a mode of relentless seduction. One day, while I was out, my sister snuck into our house and started a video call. Through the screen, she smiled, a taunt in her eyes. "Sis, what do you think will happen if I say the keyword? Will he listen to me, too?" Just then, the study door opened, and my husband, Julian, walked out. With chilling confidence, my sister spoke the word. And I could only watch, paralyzed, as my husband began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. 1 After Julian’s therapy session concluded, a message from his psychologist, Dr. Sharma, lit up my phone. 【The hypnotic suggestion has been successfully implanted.】 【Activation Phrase: Начинать】 【Deactivation Phrase: Конец】 【Upon activation, he will perceive the speaker as his beloved wife and embody the role of a perfect, attentive lover. Afterward, the memory of this period will not exist in his conscious mind.】 【WARNING: Do not reveal the keywords to anyone.】 I sent a quick "Understood" and slipped the phone away, my heart thumping as I approached the study. Inside, Julian sat behind his large oak desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, the weight of his corporate world etched onto his brow. "How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended. He looked up, his eyes holding their usual, frustrating distance. "Better. Thank you." A relieved smile touched my lips. "Good. You've been under so much pressure with the company. I thought a little professional guidance might help." The psychologist was my idea, framed as stress relief. The truth was far more selfish. It was a desperate gambit to bridge the chasm between us. After a year of marriage, we were little more than polite roommates, our relationship a masterpiece of respectful distance. But I yearned for him. All of him. He noticed me lingering. "Is there something else?" Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind me. The keywords were set. It was time to see if this audacious plan would work. Could the cool, aloof Julian really transform into the devoted husband of my dreams? I walked to his desk, met his gaze, and let the first word slip from my lips, a tentative whisper. "Начинать." We had chosen the Russian words for "begin" and "end" to avoid any accidental triggers in daily conversation. Slowly, a change began to ripple through his eyes. The calm, bottomless pools I knew so well started to churn. And in their depths, something new and feral sparked to life. Desire. 2 Julian’s gaze softened, now molten with an affection I’d only ever dreamed of. He rose from his chair, his movements fluid and purposeful. Taking my hand, he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. "My love," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through me. "It's time for bed." His lips began a slow, torturous ascent, a fiery path from my hand, over my wrist, along the sensitive skin of my forearm, until they reached the curve of my shoulder. A year of touch-starved longing erupted in a full-body shiver at every point of contact. Panic flared, sudden and sharp. I snatched my arm back. "Wait, just—just a second." He stopped instantly, his tenderness unwavering. His fingers gently toyed with a lock of hair at my neck. "What is it?" I bit my lip, my skin still burning where he’d touched me. "The… the bedroom." I grabbed his hand and pulled him, a willing captive, toward our room. He followed without protest, a gentle, knowing smile playing on his lips. It was like looking at a stranger—a warm, passionate stranger wearing my husband’s face. The ice mountain I had married had melted into a volcano. In the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the mattress, my nerves a tangled mess. Julian knelt before me, his voice a husky whisper. "Tell me what you want, my love." The heat in my face intensified. But then I remembered: he wouldn't recall any of this. A fresh wave of boldness washed over me. I unlocked my tablet, pulled up a video I’d carefully selected, and held it out to him. "Like… like this." His eyes flickered to the screen, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "As you wish." He was a perfect student. He replicated every move from the video with a precision and passion that left me breathless. But as we neared the point of no return, my courage evaporated. This was my first time, and I wasn't as ready as I’d thought. I gently pushed him away. He paused, his body coiled with tension, yet his voice was laced with nothing but concern. "Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?" I sat up, pulling my clothes back into place, feeling foolish. "No… it’s just… not tonight. Could you go back to the study for now?" "Of course," he rasped, his voice thick with unspent passion. He dressed quickly and left without another word. I followed him back to the study, my own heart a confused, racing drum. As he settled behind his desk, I spoke the deactivation word. "Конец." 3 The haze in Julian's eyes slowly cleared, the familiar, cool detachment returning like a mask being lowered. After a moment, he looked at me as if seeing me for the first time since I'd entered. "Is there something else?" he asked again. I shook my head, feigning nonchalance. As I turned to leave, he stopped me. "Don't forget the Dalton's gala tomorrow night." He paused, adding, "You can go to bed. I have more work to do." "I know," I nodded, my voice as flat as his. "You should get some rest, too." I retreated, the door clicking shut on the polite stranger who was my husband. The intimacy we had just shared might as well have been a dream, a fantasy played out by two other people. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Halfway to the bedroom, I remembered a question I’d forgotten to ask and turned back. This time, I didn't knock. I just pushed the door open. "By the way, should I wait for you to come home before we head to the gala tomorrow?" Behind the desk, Julian straightened up abruptly, a flash of something like panic in his eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned by two buttons, and a faint flush colored his cheeks. I frowned. "Are you hot?" It was already autumn, and the evenings were cool. "A little," he said, his voice deeper, thicker than usual. "And no, don't wait for me. Just have Arthur drive you. And from now on," he added, his tone firm, "knock before you enter." The sting of his words was sharp. His wife, treated like an intruder. "Got it." I spun on my heel and marched back to my room, a new resolve hardening inside me. One day, I vowed, I would make him pay for this on my own terms. In our bed. 4 That day came sooner than I expected. At the Dalton's gala, my sister, Rachel, "accidentally" smeared a slice of cake down the front of my gown. "Oh my gosh, Danielle, I am so sorry!" she cooed, her apology dripping with false sincerity. "My hand just slipped." Rachel and I weren't related by blood. I was the adopted daughter, she was the biological one they found years later. If the Daltons weren't such a crucial business partner for Julian, I would have avoided this party entirely. I knew she would pull something; she’d always believed she was the one who deserved to be Mrs. Julian Vance. But the triumphant smirk on her face curdled a moment later. Julian appeared at my side, took my arm, and steered me away without giving Rachel so much as a glance. He led me to a private suite on the second floor to change, waiting patiently outside the door. But as I peeled off the ruined dress, a bitter resentment began to brew. I pictured him downstairs, the center of attention, a king in his court. I’d seen the way other women flocked to him, offering him drinks, their eyes hungry. A married man, acting like he was still on the market. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. "Julian," I called through the door, my voice deliberately helpless. "Could you come in and help me? I can't reach the zipper on this dress." "Of course." The door opened, and he stepped inside. His fingers, cool and professional, brushed against my spine as he worked the zipper. The light, fleeting touches were electric. As he pulled the zipper up, I whispered the word. "Начинать." The movement on my back stopped. A beat of silence, and then strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. "Tell me what you want this time, my love." A shiver traced its way down my spine. I turned my head, capturing his lips with mine. It was like a starving beast finally tasting blood. He responded with a ferocious hunger that stole my breath. In the heated space between kisses, I breathed my command. "I want you on your knees." A dangerous light flashed in his eyes, but he obeyed without question, sinking to the floor before me. I untied the silk tie from his neck and used it to bind his hands behind his back. Then, with deliberate slowness, I began to unbutton his shirt. With each button, I let my fingertips trail over his skin, a soft, taunting caress. After a few agonizing moments, his breathing grew ragged. A dark flush crept up his neck and stained his ears. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, desperate. "My love..." I stroked his cheek, leaning in close, my lips hovering just above his. "First, you have to please me. Understand?" 5 I don't know how much time passed, but the air in the suite grew thick and heavy with unspoken promises. Later, Julian was zipping up my dress again. But as the zipper reached the top, his warm hand didn't retreat. It slid around to my stomach, pulling me back against him. He leaned in, nipping gently at my earlobe. "Do you want more, my love?" he whispered, his voice a low growl. My body trembled, but I gently removed his hand. "Not right now. Next time." "As you wish." He obediently stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. After a quick touch-up in the mirror, I ushered him out of the room, restoring the scene to how it was before. Then, I opened the door and spoke the deactivation phrase. "Конец." The haze in his eyes flickered and then cleared. "All changed?" he asked, his voice back to its usual cool tenor. "Mhm. Let's go." I nodded and headed downstairs ahead of him. At the bottom of the staircase, we ran into Julian’s secretary. "Mr. Vance, Mr. Albright has been waiting for you for quite some time." "It's only been a few minutes," Julian said dismissively. "What's the rush?" The secretary shot a nervous glance in my direction. "Sir, with all due respect... it's been over half an hour." Julian froze. "Half an hour?" Sensing disaster, I quickly interjected. "I'm so sorry, that's my fault. I must have taken longer than I thought. I have to go, I'll see you at home." With that, I hurried away, finding a quiet corner to call Dr. Sharma. After I explained the situation, she confirmed my fears. This kind of "fragmented time" was an unavoidable side effect. She advised me to control the setting and duration, suggesting that right before bed was the most suitable time. "Okay, I'll stick to using it at night from now on," I said, my voice low. Just as I finished the sentence, a cold voice spoke from directly behind me. "Using what at night?" I nearly dropped my phone. I spun around to find Julian standing there, one hand in his pocket, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. I swallowed hard. "Oh, uh, nothing. My doctor… she prescribed some therapeutic heat packs for my bad sleep. She said nighttime is the best time to use them." Julian's brow furrowed, a thoughtful, calculating look on his face. "Is that so? In that case, we should sleep in separate rooms for a while. I wouldn't want to disturb you." I stared at him, dumbfounded. If I didn't know for a fact that he had no memory of what happened, I would have sworn he was doing it on purpose. 6 For the next few nights, I tossed and turned, sleep-deprived and frustrated. Once you've tasted sweetness, the bitter days are unbearable. And Julian, in his "attentive lover" mode, had been intoxicatingly sweet. I was… hooked. But my pride wouldn't let me be the one to suggest we share a bed again. To make matters worse, it seemed Julian had suddenly discovered the art of seduction. He started parading around the house after his showers wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, a stark contrast to his usual modest pajamas. He’d leave the top buttons of his shirts undone, offering tantalizing glimpses of the hard muscle beneath. And all I could do was watch, my frustration mounting with every casual, calculated display. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I started packing for a tour with my old dance company. Julian leaned against the doorframe, sipping a coffee, watching me. "I thought you only accepted private invitations or television gigs now. What's with the sudden urge to go on tour?" It's because of you, you damn siren, I screamed internally. "I just miss dancing with my old troupe," I said aloud. "It's been too long." "When will you be back?" "A week, maybe." A week was long enough to get myself under control. "Good," he said, taking a slow sip. "Getting more exercise should help with your sleep. When you get back, we won't need separate rooms anymore." My hands stilled over a silk blouse. I suddenly had a feeling a week wouldn't be nearly enough. There was a smug, teasing quality to him lately that I couldn't place. He couldn't possibly remember, could he? I glanced up, studying his face. He met my gaze over the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable. "What is it?" "Nothing. I learned a new dance. I'll perform it for you when I get back." I looked away, focusing on my packing, and completely missed the way his hand trembled, nearly sloshing hot coffee over the floor. 7 The tour was a whirlwind of motion and music, a welcome distraction that almost made me forget the complicated man I'd left at home. Almost. On the final day, as I was in the wings doing my final stretches before the closing performance, a video call from Rachel popped up on my screen. She never contacted me unless she wanted something. Worried it might be about our parents, I hesitantly answered. She was walking, the camera jostling, a wild, gloating look on her face. The background was unnervingly familiar—the garden of my own home. "Danielle," she purred. "Guess where I am?" A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. "What are you doing at my house, Rachel?" She laughed, a low, venomous sound. "I overheard your phone call at the gala, sis. The one about your little 'keyword'. What do you think will happen if I say it? Will Julian listen to me, too?" As she spoke, she pushed open the front door of my villa. My blood ran cold. The command would make him see the speaker as his wife. Any speaker. This was exactly what Dr. Sharma had warned me about. As my mind raced for a solution, the screen went black. But I could hear Julian's confused voice through the speaker. "Rachel?" The screen flickered back on, showing me a strange, skewed view of the living room. I saw Julian step out of his study. Rachel shot a final, triumphant look at the camera, then, with chilling confidence, she spoke the word. "Начинать." I watched, frozen in horror, as Julian's posture shifted. He turned his head and began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. I immediately ended the call and tried to dial Julian's number. It rang and rang, unanswered. Panic seized me. "Danielle, it's time!" A fellow dancer grabbed my arm. "We're on!" Before I could protest, she plucked the phone from my trembling hand and pulled me onto the stage.
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