NOAH
The person staring back at me from the full-length mirror was a stranger. He was polished, refined, and looked as though he belonged in the upper echelons of Barcelona society... the kind of person who didn't blink at a four-figure dinner tab or a six-figure donation.
The suit was a masterpiece of tailoring: deep black with pinstripes so subtle they only caught the light when I moved, hugging my shoulders and tapering perfectly at my waist. It was the kind of suit that demanded respect.
My hair had been wrestled into submission by a professional Alex had sent to the suite. It was slicked back, every stray strand cemented into place, revealing the sharp lines of my face that usually hid behind a messy fringe. It wasn't me. It was a costume.
