Chapter 21

Morning light filters through the blinds, casting harsh stripes across the disheveled king-sized bed where Giorgia and Isabella lie tangled together, their naked bodies intertwined in a way that would have horrified them just days ago. Empty bottles and discarded clothing litter the floor around them, silent witnesses to last night's debauchery.

Giorgia stirs first, her eyes fluttering open to reveal confusion rather than the vapid excitement that animated Gia's gaze. She winces at the pounding in her head, then freezes as she becomes aware of the warm body pressed against hers. Looking down, she sees her sister's head resting on her bare breast, one leg thrown possessively over her own. With a startled gasp, she jerks away, pulling a sheet up to cover herself.

"Isabella! Wake up!" she hisses, her voice cracking with panic. She stares down at her platinum blonde hair with pink tips, grabbing a strand in horror. "What the fuck happened to my hair?"

Isabella awakens with a groan, her honey-blonde extensions tangled around her face. For a moment, she simply blinks at the ceiling, then her eyes widen with dawning comprehension. She scrambles to sit up, clutching her head in pain as the hangover hits her.

"Oh god," she whispers, looking down at her naked body marked with hickeys and fingerprints. "It happened again." Her gaze meets Giorgia's, and tears well in her eyes. "I remember everything this time. Dr. Stern... he did this to us."

"What are you talking about?" Giorgia demands, her voice trembling as she searches the room for her clothes. "Why are we naked? Why are we in bed together? What happened to our hair?"

Isabella reaches for her sister's hand, her expression grave despite the ridiculous extensions framing her face. "Listen to me, Giorgia. Dr. Stern has been hypnotizing us. He created alternate personalities in our minds – Gia and Bella. They're... they're like bimbo versions of us who do whatever he wants."

"That's insane," Giorgia whispers, but her hand shakes as she touches her platinum hair again. "I remember going to the mediation last night, and then... there are just fragments. Dancing on a table? Kissing you?" Her face contorts with disgust and confusion. "Oh god, did we...?"

"Yes," Isabella confirms, her voice hollow. "And worse. He's been doing this for days. Remember when you thought I was acting differently? That was Bella. And you've been becoming Gia. Last night wasn't the first time. The video of you having sex with Jackson, that’s Gia too."

Giorgia's face drains of color. "No. That's not possible. I would never—"

"Neither would I," Isabella interrupts, her voice stronger now. "But Bella would. And Gia would. And they did. He's been using us, Giorgia. Turning us into his personal entertainment. And he's blackmailing me with videos of... something I did with Professor Whitman."

Giorgia stares at her sister, horror dawning on her face as fragments of memories surface – snippets of Gia's actions, the feeling of surrendering control, the fraternity brothers' hands on her body. "We have to stop him," she whispers, clutching the sheet tighter. "Before he does this to us again, or anyone else."

Isabella nods grimly, reaching for a discarded t-shirt on the floor. "We need to get out of here first. Before anyone sees us like this. Then we need to figure out how to prove what he's done."

As they hurriedly dress in their provocative clothes from the night before, both sisters avoid looking at each other, shame coloring their cheeks as they struggle to process the violation of their minds and bodies.

Giorgia and Isabella emerge from the fraternity house, squinting in the harsh morning light. Giorgia's platinum blonde and pink hair is a tangled mess, her olive skin marked with visible hickeys. She's wearing her metallic pink micro-dress from last night, tugging it down self-consciously as it rides up her thighs. Isabella walks beside her, honey-blonde extensions falling in disarray around her face, her pale skin equally marked with evidence of the previous night's activities. She's wrapped someone's oversized flannel shirt over her sheer crop top, clutching it closed at her chest.

"Everyone's staring," Giorgia whispers, her voice cracking as a group of students openly point and snicker. She pulls her phone from her tiny purse, then freezes, her face draining of color. "Oh god, Isabella. Look at this." She turns the screen toward her sister, revealing dozens of notifications from social media apps.

Isabella takes the phone with trembling hands, scrolling through what appears to be videos and photos from last night. "They're everywhere," she murmurs, her voice hollow with despair. "Us on the table... us kissing... everything." She hands the phone back to Giorgia, who continues scrolling with growing horror.

"My coach," Giorgia suddenly gasps, opening a text message. "'Giorgia, we need to discuss your position on the team immediately. The videos circulating are a violation of our athletic code of conduct.'" She looks up at Isabella, tears welling in her eyes. "They're going to kick me off the volleyball team. My scholarship..."

Isabella wraps an arm around her sister's shoulders, guiding her forward as more students stare and whisper. "We need to get back to our dorm and figure this out," she says firmly, though her own voice quavers. "Dr. Stern did this to us. We need to find a way to prove it."

As they walk across campus, the whispers follow them like a wave. "Those are the Valentini sisters," they hear a student explain to his friend. "They were like, super smart before, but now they're complete sluts. Did you see the videos?"

Giorgia's phone continues to buzz with notifications. She glances down at it again, then stops walking abruptly. "Isabella," she whispers, her face ashen. "Someone sent a video of you and Professor Whitman to the school board. All of them."