Changed his appearance?

Jay lay in the plush bed of his room at The Reich Hotel, a five-star nightmare. He was exhausted, but sleep was a distant country. From the room next door, the sounds were unmistakable and relentless: the deep, rhythmic moans of a man, pushing through the walls with infuriating clarity.

"God, just give it a rest," Jay muttered into his pillow, his stomach churning with a mix of anger and disgust. He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck, I can't even go tell them to stop. It's a hotel. People pay for this.

With a frustrated groan, he shoved himself out of bed. He fumbled in his travel kit, ripped off two clumps of cotton, and stuffed them into his ears. The world became a muffled hum. It wasn't perfect, but it was a shield. He fell back onto the mattress, the angry thrum of his own heartbeat his new lullaby.

Just as he was drifting off, he realized something. Silence. The moaning had stopped. A wave of relief washed over him. He pulled the cotton from his ears, dropped the little white balls on the nightstand, and finally, blessedly, fell asleep.

The shrill ring of the hotel phone shattered the peace like glass.

Jay jolted awake, a fresh wave of fury burning through him. He snatched the receiver. "What?"

"Jay? It's Chiara." Her voice was tense, urgent.

"Chiara, do you know what time it is?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Listen to me. I think Rafe changed his appearance. The guys I had watching him lost a completely different-looking man. So be careful, okay? He could be anyone."

Jay sat up, fully awake now. "Changed his appearance? What does that mean?"

"Yeah. New hair, maybe contacts, could be anything. No way... Jay, I think we're cooked."

The irony of her warning, coming right after his sleepless ordeal, wasn't lost on him. "Fine. Noted. I need to sleep." He hung up before she could reply, the ominous news settling like a stone in his gut.

He had just closed his eyes again when a soft knock came at the door. Jay cracked one eye open. "Come in."

The door opened and a young woman from room service stepped in, her uniform crisp. She blushed the moment she saw him, her eyes darting to his bare chest and his sleep-mussed hair.

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you. Your breakfast is ready in the main hall. It's included with your stay."

Jay ran a hand through his hair, his temper frayed. "Okay. You may leave."

"Of course, sir," she said, her voice a little breathy. She hesitated, then stepped forward and placed a small card on the nightstand beside his discarded cotton balls. "My name is Lina. If you need... anything at all, just call me."

She left quickly, leaving Jay staring at the card. Why did she give me her direct line? Then it clicked. Ahh, right. This kind of hotel. The 'room service' here probably includes more than just towels. The thought was more exhausting than enticing.

He dragged himself out of bed, through a shower, and into a sharp, tailored suit. He styled his hair with the practiced ease of a model, the face in the mirror looking far more composed than he felt.

As he left his room and walked toward the elevator, a sound from the room next door—his tormentor's room—made him freeze. The door opened and a man stepped out.

He was handsome, devastatingly so, dressed in a black suit that screamed power and money. He had the sharp, commanding presence of an alpha, a man used to being in control. Jay stared, shocked by the man's looks and the sudden, infuriating connection.

The man's cold eyes flicked over to him, noticing the stare immediately.

Jay's eyes narrowed, his anger from the night bubbling over. "Hey, you."

The man paused, one eyebrow slightly raised. "So?"

"So?!" Jay sputtered, his face dumbfounded. "So, I couldn't sleep a wink last night because of you!"

The man didn't even bother with a reply. He simply turned and walked away, his indifference a greater insult than any retort.

"You— Do you wanna die?" Jay snapped, taking a half-step forward.

Just then, Lina, the room service attendant, appeared around the corner. "Sir, please, you must calm down. You can't shout at other guests like that."

Jay looked from her concerned face to the retreating back of the man, feeling foolish and enraged. He huffed and stalked off toward the elevator bank.

When the doors opened, the universe offered one final twist. The elevator was empty except for the very same man. Jay stepped in, the air instantly turning thick with a hostile, icy aura. Jay stood fuming, his back to the man, but he could feel the man's presence like a physical weight. He was so strikingly handsome it was almost offensive.

Without turning around, the man's cool voice cut through the silence. "Can you stop staring at me?"

Jay flinched, caught. He noticed? How? I was looking at his back! What is he, a psychic?

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, saving him from having to form a response. The man strode out without a backward glance. Jay followed a moment later, pulling a tin of mints from his pocket. He popped one in his mouth, the sharp flavor clearing his head. His pheromones are ridiculously strong. I could barely breathe in there.

The breakfast hall was a scene of luxurious chaos. It was packed, every plush booth and table seemingly occupied. Jay scanned the room, his irritation mounting. Where the hell am I supposed to sit?

A waitress hurried over. "I'm so sorry, sir. We're at full capacity this morning. There's one seat available at a shared table. Is that alright?"

Before Jay could answer, the man from the elevator, who had appeared beside him, spoke up. "Can't you have it sent to my room?"

"I'm very sorry, sir, but with the conference, our in-room dining is overwhelmed. We can only serve in the hall today."

The man's cold gaze shifted to Jay, a silent, challenging assessment. Resigned, Jay nodded. "Fine. Just show me the chair."

He was led to a small table for two. Jay took one seat, and the man, with an air of resigned inevitability, sat directly across from him. Jay did his best to look anywhere else, studying the intricate pattern on the carpet.

The man, however, was looking right at him. Jay saw his eyes drift to a nearby stand of magazines, landing on the cover of a high-fashion issue. There, in bold color, was Jay himself.

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the man's lips. He looked back at Jay. "So, you're a model."

Jay finally met his gaze, putting on a mask of nonchalance. "How did you know?"

The man gestured with his chin toward the magazine. "It's you."

Jay glanced at the cover and gave a slight, indifferent shrug. "Yeah. It's me."

The waitress came and they gave their orders in terse sentences. As they ate, Jay could feel the man's eyes on him again. He was studying his face with an unnerving intensity. He looks like some kind of grand leader or a mafia boss, Jay thought, growing increasingly uncomfortable. I need to get away from him.

He finished his food quickly, stood up, and left without another word.

The man remained at the table, his cold expression finally breaking into a genuine, intrigued smile as he watched Jay leave. What an interesting guy.