Not Your Average Law Firm

I was a zombie, fueled by lukewarm takeout and dreams of sleep.

As a junior associate at a top New York law firm, my life was a blur of billable hours, 72-hour work marathons, and the soul-crushing weight of corporate expectations.

After preparing for a merger that felt like a lifetime, I finally crumbled, face-planting onto a stack of legal briefs.

But when I woke up, the world was a metallic blur, cold and unyielding.

Panic surged, yet I found no lungs to scream.

I was trapped, my entire consciousness crammed inside a high-end, silver tie clip, sitting on a mahogany desk.

My new owner? Ethan Lester, the notorious bad-boy heir, whose tabloid exploits I usually scrolled past during my five minutes of daily downtime.

He called me "junk," then tossed me aside like yesterday's trash.

I, Jennifer Jones, Esq., was now a useless, annoying tie clip on a billionaire playboy's desk.

Then I watched in horror as an assassin lunged at him, a needle glinting.

I somehow, instinctually, reacted, becoming a silver projectile – a bizarre hero in a world gone mad.

A strange, robotic voice in my head declared "Protection Mission 1 complete. Life -1," and I dissolved into darkness.

I woke up as a ridiculous leopard-print mascot head, then a high-tech massage gun, each transformation triggered by saving Ethan from another attack.

What infernal game was this? Why was I doomed to possess random objects, forced to protect this man?

And how in the hell was I going to get my own body back?