All Chapters of The Ex-Change: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

There’s nothing quite as frustrating as an unexpected disruption.No, scratch that. There’s nothing worse than an easily avoidable unexpected disruption. Like the one that's currently turning my Friday morning upside down.I find myself staring at my inbox, rereading the email subject line with escalating disbelief.“URGENT: Temporary Housing Adjustment – Unit Swap Confirmation”This can’t be real. It seems like a poorly executed, immensely unfunny prank. Because there’s absolutely no way that I, a fully capable, somewhat organized adult, would inadvertently swap apartments with someone else.My fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard, poised to blast off a furious email, but a response arrives before I can even start.“Hi there! Due to an error in our system, your housing arrangement has been temporarily swapped with another tenant, effective immediately. Please check the attached details. We apologize for the inconvenience!”Inconvenience?I meticulously plan everything. I tripl

(POV – Clarice)The first thing I notice when I step into James’s apartment is that it doesn’t feel wrong.It just feels… not mine.Which is somehow worse.I set my suitcase down and take a slow, measured look around.The space is open and unstructured, but not in a careless way. His furniture is sleek and modern—dark wood, deep blue, and muted grays. Clean, sharp lines. No clutter.But where my apartment is meticulously curated, his feels effortless. Lived in. Comfortable in a way I can’t quite define.There’s no color-coded bookshelf, no symmetrical arrangement of furniture, no perfectly measured distance between the coffee table and the couch.Instead, there are sketchbooks stacked haphazardly on the console table, their edges worn from use. A half-finished architectural model sits on a side shelf, alongside a few scattered design books. A framed blueprint of the Sydney Opera House hangs above the couch—no doubt one of his favorite struc

(POV – Clarice)The apartment is too quiet.Which is funny, because I like quiet. I work best in silence, I think best in silence—honestly, I thrive in it.But this?This silence feels different.I exhale, rolling my shoulders as I scan the living room, hands on my hips like I’m about to evaluate a project scope.James’s apartment isn’t messy. It’s not chaotic. It’s just… James.Which is to say, it has zero symmetry, no obvious organizational system, and an impressive number of random objects that shouldn’t belong together but somehow do.I pick up a book from the coffee table. It’s an architecture book. Of course.Underneath it? A Morbius comic.I squint.A man in his thirties, with a degree, a career, and an allegedly functional brain, is out here stacking academic texts on top of Marvel comics like that makes sense.I roll my eyes and toss the book back.But it gets worse.The bookshelf is a mystery zone. One side

(POV – Clarice)I had been expecting a lot of things since this whole apartment swap thing started. But what I wasn’t prepared for was a phone call from James Burrows—my ex—after months of silence.My phone rings just as I’m about to settle in with a bowl of ice cream and an old sitcom rerun.I frown at the unknown number, already prepared to decline the call because, let’s be honest, if it’s important, they’ll leave a message. But then, something makes me pause. A weird feeling in my gut. I hesitate, then swipe to answer.“Hello?”There’s a beat of silence, then—“Clarice.”I freeze. I know that voice. I know it too well.I squeeze my eyes shut. “James.”It’s the first time I’ve said his name out loud in… God, how long? Almost a year? And now, just like that, we’re talking again because of a stupid apartment mix-up. Fate needs a new hobby.“Yeah.” His voice is calm, casual even. As if this is just a normal, everyday call between two perfectly normal, well-adjusted adults. “I figured

(Clarice’s POV)The moment I shut the door behind James, I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Then, I let out a groan. Loudly. Even I knew that that was — if I’m being honest — a dreadful idea. I should have never let him in. I should have just ordered takeout in comfortable silence and eaten it in my pajamas while binge-watching Abbott Elementary like everyone else. I definitely shouldn’t have invited my ex — the very same ex I hadn’t talked to in over a year — to dinner in my apartment. Well, his apartment technically.And yet. I look at the empty takeout containers on the coffee table, still hearing his voice echo in my mind. Still picturing the way he sneered every time he got under my skin. Still recalling how shockingly simple it was to slip back into old habits, as if no time had passed at all. And that’s exactly the problem. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. No use dwelling on it now. The evening is